#tw: mean mugging :

[xariarte]

the power of friendship all through training camp!! ✨🇨🇦

also bonus quotes from when the current team met with the five past olympic teams last weekend 💖

[grimbeak]

sipped some cold water out of a coffee mug (meant for hot things that are not plain water) (coffee) (mug cake) (hot coco) (tea) (NOT plain cold water) and it was so violently different than what my instincts told me it was full of (something hot) (not full of cold water) despite my brain knowing what it was full of (cold water) (i filled it) that it made me genuinely nauseous

[luveline]

spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression? 

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?" 

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong." 

"Something looks wrong." 

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice. 

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile." 

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy." 

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?" 

"Gabs?" he asks. 

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it." 

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met. 

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?" 

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange. 

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air. 

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?" 

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk." 

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?" 

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too. 

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?" 

"I'm okay. I just feel strange." 

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card." 

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far. 

"Hm?" you hum in question. 

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?" 

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting. 

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms. 

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing. 

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?" 

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair. 

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?" 

"Yeah, he did." 

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?" 

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you." 

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you. 

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years. 

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?" 

"She's in her room. Call her." 

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner. 

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove. 

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared. 

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!" 

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her. 

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him. 

"Woah, careful." 

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late." 

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long." 

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.  

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers. 

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back. 

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back. 

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home." 

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says. 

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital. 

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella. 

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!" 

"Well, come and sit. What mug?" 

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you. 

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot." 

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness. 

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?" 

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot. 

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing." 

"The thing?" 

You frown. 

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses." 

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia. 

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after. 

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!" 

"Blow in her ear," you mouth. 

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm. 

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it. 

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?" 

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks. 

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke." 

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low. 

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel. 

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up." 

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?" 

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks. 

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure. 

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry." 

"For what?" You blink. 

"I don't know." 

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?" 

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off. 

"You're really something special," he says quietly. 

"How so?" 

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you." 

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features. 

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time. 

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love. 

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?" 

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad." 

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.  

"I must have some good luck," he says. 

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness. 

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to. 

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–" 

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time. 

It's not a bad kiss. 

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin. 

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him. 

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers. 

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time. 

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear." 

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included." 

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?" 

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[shotmrmiller]

Tormented by a Ghost

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

TW: small mention of smut and simon being kinda mean

TY TO MY BETA FOR MAKING THIS 10X BETTER @c-h-a-r-n-i-k

Tired of living with your family, you decide to move out. There's just one problem— Rent is too costly to afford on your own. You complain about it to your friend, and they tell you that they know someone who's also looking for a roommate and preferably another female. Fantastic!

Your friend gives you her number and ya'll are moving in together by the end of the month. It was great. No nagging parents, no micromanagement, nothing. You loved it. Until your roommate brings her man over. And he's a fucking bully.

--

You're crawling home from a hard day at work, and you want nothing more than some wine on a quiet night. Unlocking the door, you step into the flat. The lights aren't turned on so you assume your roommate isn't home.

Dumping your bag in your room, you make a beeline towards the kitchen. As you're bent over in the fridge, your roommate's door opens.

"Hey,” you call out, "I'm pourin' myself a glass of wine if you're interested!"

Then an assertive, baritone voice speaks from behind you.

"You must be the roommate."

You give an ear-piercing scream as you jump, whipping around to face him with a hand over your racing heart.

"Fuckin' hell! No, it's okay, I don't need my hearin' er nothin'." he scolds.

"What the fuck! I almost flat-lined with my head in the fridge because of you!"

Then you get a good look at him. This monster of a man is a minimum 6'3, with a black balaclava covering his face, a black long-sleeve shirt, and grey sweats. You tried real hard to not ogle the tattoo that stains his exposed left arm. And the grey sweats, we all know why. Cursed be your fetish for thick forearms and big hands.

He leans his head back, looking down his nose at you.

"I think it'd be an improvement," he says, "You face down, I mean," and your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline as he chuckles.

You don't know who he thinks he is, talking to you—a complete stranger— like that but you aren't about to take his shit.

You sneer. "Fuck you. Yeah, I bet that's the view you get the most. Women willingly turn away to not get a look at your mug. Did my roommate ask you to put that mask on so she could face you during sex?"

He steps forward, his height allowing him to tower over you, and growls out, "You callin' me ugly?"

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Of course.

"I don't see any other reason for you to hide your face. Not that it matters to me— I'm not the one that has to tolerate it."

His eyes squint at you as he retorts, "I'm quite the opposite."

Opening your mouth, you're about to tell him that he can say whatever helps him sleep at night when your roommate calls out to the big brute in front of you.

"Ghost? What's taking so long?" she asks.

You tried and failed miserably to hide your mocking giggle at hearing his name, and he leers at you in response. "Go on, Ghost. You're being called back into the realm of the dead."

As he steps away, he says with contempt, "Dumb little bird doesn't know what she's talking about," before walking over to your roommate, looping his arm around her shoulders and going into her room.

He probably doesn't even know your name and he laid into you like he's hated you his whole life. After pouring yourself a glass of wine, you shake your head and walk towards your bedroom. Freak.

--

One day, after having your friend with benefits over in the morning for some nice stress relief, you walk him out. And fucking Ghost is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed. You quickly shuffle your friend out the door, face glowing with embarrassment.

Why was he here? Jesus Christ, now he's going to watch you do the walk of shame around the flat. Hopefully, he won't say anything. As you walk away from the door to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, Ghost speaks up.

"Well, that was pathetic."

You hang your head and close your eyes in resignation. Should've known someone as toxic as he wouldn't mind his own goddamn business.

"What now, Ghost?"

He sounds oddly smug as he says, "I've been here for a couple of hours, and I didn't hear anything coming out of your room. Sounds like he doesn't know what to do with a cunt."

Behind gritted teeth, you grind out, "Don't worry about my pussy, bud. You've got yours coming in," and you hold the n as you look at your watch, "30 minutes. Now piss off."

As you stomp away towards your room, the bottle of water all but forgotten, you hear him let out a deep chuckle. He's an asshole. A physically attractive one, sans the face, but still an asshole. You're going to have to get your friend to come over more often if Ghost is going to continue being around with those jacked arms and deliciously tight grey sweats.

Sucking your teeth, you make a mental note to ask your roommate why she gave him a key to your shared flat without asking.

--

A week later, your roommate has Ghost over and you figure it'd be a good time to get some action yourself. You send him a text and in less than 20 minutes, you're letting him in. Hugging him, you tell him to go to the bedroom. But he's not paying attention to you— he's looking directly behind you.

Turning around to look, it's Ghost. Goddamn it. And this time he's shirtless with his arms crossed and a skull mask on. God fucking damn it. Pulling the arm of your friend, he looks down at you and you tell him to go on, that you'll be there soon.

He nods, walking away with one last look at the phantom leaning against your roommate's door. Exhaling a ragged sigh, you turn back to Ghost.

"Can I help you?"

He shakes his head mutely before responding, "No, lovie, but I can help you." You shake your head at his nonsense.

"No. I'm not doing this with you."

You turn to walk away when he speaks again.

"Yer really gonna let him touch you again? He clearly doesn't know what he's doing— Bedroom's silent as a crypt. Even with those glasses he's got on, he can't find what he should be lookin' for."

Insulted for your friend, you face Ghost with a disbelieving look on your face.

"You're not seriously standing here trying to cockblock me. You—" his audacity has you stammering, "You have no idea what I'm like. Maybe I'm just naturally quiet in bed."

Ghost stares at you for a solid minute before he shrugs and goes back to your roommate.

Unbelievable asshole. Why does he have to look so good shirtless, the berk.

--

You start noticing that Ghost is there a couple of hours before your roommate gets there and you'd think it's weird if you weren't too busy being distracted by the fact that he's always taunting you one way or the other. And then one day, you question him on it.

"You do know your girlfriend won't be home until the evening? It's barely 3."

Ghost turns his head from the TV to look at you and grunts.

"Not my girlfriend." That's news to you.

"Then why you spendin' so much time over here? You're gonna have me thinkin' you like spending time in my delightful presence." you banter with a teasing smile.

Ghost continues to stare at you and the heated look in his eyes confuses you but then he turns back to the TV.

"I can't stand ya, ya daft bint."

You pretend you don't hear the muted tenderness in his voice.

--

And on a sunny day, it all comes crashing down. The boys are over again, but this time Ghost is boring holes into the back of your head as you both go into your respective rooms. You're straddling your boy's hips shirtless when you hear your roommate's furious yelling from the other side of the flat and then stomping towards the front door before it slams closed.

After your bedroom door is busted open, the bolt being broken out of the faceplate from the brutal strength behind the force— and you're jumping off the bed and crossing your arms over your exposed chest.

It's Ghost and he's staring directly at your friend on the bed.

"No." He stomps over to grab your friend by his shirt and drags him off the bed and towards the front door before tossing him against it with a nasty-sounding slam.

"Get the fuck out."

Your friend is spluttering when Ghost cuts him off.

"If I see you here again, I'm turnin’ those silly little glasses," and he taps a lens with his finger, "into contacts. Now get the fuck out. I won't repeat myself." And with that, he trips over his own feet running out the door.

You're standing in the living room. eyes are wide in disbelief. What just happened? There's a moment of silence before Ghost breaks it.

"Your roommate won't be coming back today." He walks over to you picks you up to sit you on the kitchen countertop and lifts his mask over his mouth.

"Now. You're going to come on my tongue before I fuck you and personally test out this 'I'm quiet' theory, pet." You look down at him and sigh.

"I think I'm gonna need a new roommate," you lament.

Pulling the gusset of your knickers to the side, he says, "Don't worry your pretty little head over that. I'll be moving in with you. Also, no. You don't have a choice."

He digs his fingers into your thigh and purrs against your skin, “If you find it in you to scream, my real name’s Simon.” 

And with the way his usually sharp tongue delicately rubs against your clit, you can't find it in you to argue.

A/N: dreamt of this and it had me in a chokehold.

[pin-k-ink]

OMG AJABAJANAUABAJA I WANNA KNOW HOSHINA'S REACTION IF HE GOT U PREGNANT AND U GUYS ARE NOT READY FOR THE BABY YET!!! 🤭🤭🤭 (idk how u can add sum smut in it but pls do)

the sidelines // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ hoshina being extremely overprotective, mentions of marriage, unplanned pregnancy, hoshina is absolutely down bad, dry humping, grinding, making out, cunnilingus, cum-eating, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, dirty talk, daddy kink, manhandling

wc ⇢ 7.8k

a/n: did i do it right?? 😭

"I'm tellin' ya Captain, she called me a kumquat-headed skid mark!" Hoshina groaned, raking a hand through his already disheveled bob. "My own girl hittin' me with bizarre insults before I've even had my morning coffee."

Ashiro leveled him with a long-suffering look over the rim of her mug. "Is that so? And what prompted such...creative name-calling from your girlfriend this morning, pray tell?"

Hoshina opened his mouth to respond, but then his expression did an abrupt 180 as his mind seemed to drift elsewhere entirely. A slow, dopey grin spread across his face as his eyes went slightly unfocused in a way Ashiro recognized all too well.

"Actually, funny you should mention promptin'..." he began in a tone thick with suggestion. "Because just last night, [Y/N] was feelin' pretty prompt herself when I—"

"Nope!" Ashiro swiftly cut him off with a raised palm, having heard enough. "I'm going to stop you right there before you start oversharing details that will scar me for life again, Hoshina."

Hoshina blinked, the hazy reverie evaporating as he registered her irritation. He had the decency to look slightly abashed, the tips of his ears pinking.

"Err...right. My bad, Captain." Clearing his throat gruffly, he forcibly dragged his mind back on topic. "Anyway, like I was sayin' - for some reason [Y/N] was in a totally foul mood this morning. Snappin' at me, stormin' around, almost took my head off with a shoe when I asked if she was okay..."

Trailing off with a perplexed frown, Hoshina searched Ashiro's impassive features. "Ya don't think...I mean, she can't be, y'know..."

He made a vague gesture towards his midsection accompanied by an exaggerated widening of his eyes.

Ashiro's brows hiked upwards as she processed his insinuation. "You're wondering if she's expecting?"

She watched realization slowly bloom across Hoshina’s features, only for him to instantly dismiss it with an indignant shake of his head.

"What? No way, there's no chance of that!" he scoffed, a touch too emphatic to be completely convincing. "We're always super careful, if ya know what I mean."

Here he waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous attempt at subtlety that made Ashiro want to down the rest of her coffee in one burning gulp.

"Trust me, Captain, she’s not pregnant. At least not yet..." Hoshina added with a wolfish grin. "But a guy can dream, am I right?"

Smothering the urge to drop her head into her hands, Ashiro simply gave a longsuffering sigh. "Then if not an incoming arrival, what does the esteemed Vice Captain believe is causing his girlfriend's...let's call it, mercurial morning temperament?"

Hoshina’s bravado dimmed slightly as he actually stopped to ponder the question, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop.

"Well, could be she's still pissed about me forgettin' to fill up her snack stash again," he mused, brow furrowed. "You know how [Y/N] gets when she runs low on munchies..."

Trailing off, a lightbulb seemed to blink on behind his eyes as the truth dawned on him.

"Oh damn, it's 'cause I turned the TV off durin' that romantic movie marathon last night!" Hoshina burst out with a groan, smacking his palm to his forehead dramatically. "She always gets bent out of shape when I ruin her 'stories' like that. Shoulda just stuck it out through the last five Mr. Darcy remakes instead of suggestin' we fu—"

"Not another word!" Ashiro hastily cut him off again, fighting off the burning creep of a blush. "I think I have enough of an idea what triggered your girlfriend's...mood without the graphic play-by-play, thank you."

Snatching up her emptied mug, she fixed Hoshina with a flat look over one shoulder. "My advice? Buy her some fresh snacks, rent a few cheesy romance movies, and do not try to distract or debate her until this blows over. Consider it an order from your commanding officer."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and strode off, leaving a mildly cowed Hoshina sipping his coffee in begrudging silence. Buying peace with treats and chick flicks it was then...at least until your mercurial spell passed for whatever incomprehensible reason.

Hoshiro wandered the halls of the Defense Force headquarters feeling vaguely unsettled after his chat with Ashiro over breakfast. Sure, he had joked and waved off her suggestion that your recent moodiness could be due to pregnancy. But a nagging little voice persisted in the back of his mind, whispering 'what if?'

Shaking his head firmly, he tried to dislodge the notion. No, there was absolutely no way you could be...in that condition without him realizing, right? He knew your body's cycles and patterns like the back of his hand after all this time together. If you were unexpectedly harboring a bun in the oven, Hoshina was confident he would have sensed it.

With a self-assured nod, he rounded the corner towards the usual sectors where he expected to find you catching up on training sims or combat prep. Except after poking his head into the third empty rec room, realization dawned that you must have already deployed for a mission while he was grabbing food.

"Dummy," Hoshina chided himself, spinning on his heel to trace his steps back towards the central operations hub. "Shoulda checked the boards first before wanderin' around aimlessly."

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the massive tech-walled nerve center, the main display showed a seemingly routine reconnaissance op already underway. There you were, rendered in a slightly grainy live feed from your combat suit's visual input - deftly scouting the rubbled outskirts of a kaiju-ravaged sector.

Despite himself, Hoshiro felt his lips quirking up in a fond smile as he watched your focused movements, the slight furrow in your brow as you signaled for your platoon to hold position. Even just the tiny visual was enough to settled him, the lingering worries from Ashiro's suggestion fading like bad static.

You looked alert, capable, radiating that intense air of quiet fortitude he had come to love and admire over the years. Ashiro had been way off base with her misguided theory - there was clearly nothing out of the ordinary with his girl as far as Hoshina could tell.

His attention drifted from the main visual feed to the peripheral unit showing the hard data and biometrics streaming in from each combat suit. It was there that Hoshina frowned, perplexed by the readout displayed next to your name. Unless he was misreading things, which seemed unlikely given his extensive field experience, the sensors appeared to be detecting...two separate life signatures?

A second heartbeat synced up alongside the expected readouts from your suit's internal monitoring array.

"Okonogi-chan, ya seein' this too?" he called out, tone laced with confusion as he angled towards the operations leader overseeing the various data streams. "These readings from [Y/N]'s suit can't be right..."

The girl frowned, fingers already flying across her haptic interface as she pored over the same readouts. There was a strange tension lingering around her brown eyes that immediately set off warning flares in the back of Hoshina’s mind.

"No, Vice Captain, I'm afraid the data isn't glitching or throwing false positives," she said at last, voice carefully measured in a way that did nothing to settle his growing disquiet. "Those two biorhythmic signatures are genuine."

She glanced back up, finding Hoshina's gaze laser-locked on her with sudden, undivided intensity boring straight through. For a long moment, the only sound was the filtered ambient noise of your voice calling out terse status updates over the open channel.

Then Okonogi cleared her throat slightly, realizing she would have to be the one to voice the breathtaking implication they were both rapidly arriving at despite his earlier dismissals.

"It seems Platoon Leader [Y/N] is...well, she's currently tracking with metabolic readings consistent with...with an active pregnancy."

Hoshina could only gape at Okonogi, her words rebounding inside his skull in a maddening loop as the undertones gradually sank in. An active pregnancy...metabolic readings...biorhythmic signatures...

For a suspended moment, every shred of the Vice Captain's renowned unflappability and combat poise deserted him entirely. He simply stared, dumbstruck, as the revelation washed over his consciousness in a cascading torrent.

His [Y/N] was…

Pregnant. With child. His child. Harboring new life within that deceptively sturdy frame he had mapped with fevered lips and calloused palms more times than he could count over their years together.

The very idea should have sparked euphoria, giddy elation, any number of transcendent emotional responses from the man who secretly harbored dreams about one day starting a family with you. And yet, as the implications filtered through Hoshiro's whirlwind thoughts, all he could latch onto was a single, fervent litany pounding through his psyche:

Danger.

You were in danger, even if the current mission objective read as relatively low-stakes recon. Hell, you, his beautiful, strong-willed warrior was unknowingly putting yourself in harm's way just by waking up and drawing breath each morning in that condition. Every cell in Hoshina’s body combusted with the compulsive drive to neutralize that threat immediately.

The realization of your undetected pregnancy catalyzed an instantaneous shift within Hoshina’s demeanor, as if someone had thrown an switch converting him to maximum combat-readiness in a nanosecond. Gone was the usual sly, irreverent banter - his features settled into an immutable mask of grim determination.

"Okonogi-chan, abort [Y/N]'s mission immediately and recall her back to base," he barked out in a tone broking zero disagreement. "Platoon Leader [L/N] is officially relieved of all active duty obligations until further notice."

The young operations leader started at his clipped order, eyes widening slightly before darting back towards the readouts in evident uncertainty. "Vice-Captain, this is merely a recon run through the city’s outskirts," she began carefully. "All environmental scans have confirmed no kaijus remaining in that area. [Y/N]'s platoon is at virtually zero risk carrying out their objective."

Hoshina’s jaw tightened fractionally, terse patience already fraying in the wake of her mild pushback. "Your data interpretation is duly noted, Okonogi-chan," he ground out through gritted teeth. "But I ain’t takin' any chances, no matter how small, where [Y/N]'s wellbein' is concerned right now. Not with..."

He trailed off, subtly inclining his head towards the secondary monitor displaying those two synced biorhythmic signatures. Okonogi's expression flickered with understanding, but she still looked torn about defying protocols over something so seemingly innocuous.

"Okonogi," Hoshiro growled out her name in low warning as the tense beat stretched. He took a single step forwards, unconsciously widening his stance in an unmistakable tell of escalating aggression. "I said abort the operation and recall [Y/N]. That's a direct order I expect ya to carry out immediately, do I make myself clear?"

The sudden spike in intensity made the younger woman flinch back reflexively, mahogany eyes going wide. For several charged seconds, she could only stare back at Hoshina’s stonefaced scowl, tension radiating off him in palpable waves. Then, seeming to wilt beneath the weight of his authority, Okonogi gave a tight nod of acquiescence.

Swallowing hard, she began executing a series of inputs on the holographic interface, opening a priority channel to feed directly into your active earpiece. Hoshina followed her motions peripherally, arms crossed over his chest and jaw still locked in a rictus line.

"Platoon Leader [L/N], this is Okonogi from the Operation Room," Okonogi spoke steadily into the comm pickups, keeping her tone officially neutral. "Your reconnaissance mission has been cancelled due to unspecified priority reassignment. Please confirm."

For a long stretch, there was only silence broken by faint audible static. Hoshina felt his heartrate kick up another notch as the delay stretched on, every instinct screaming at him to intervene and force your compliance through sheer verbal dominance if need be. Then your voice crackled back over the speakers, clear surprise and defiance laced through each clipped syllable.

"Say again? I must have had some interference, because I could have sworn you just recalled my team from a routine operation without explanation."

Okonogi darted a nervous glance towards Hoshiro, but received only a hard, expectant look in return. She wet her lips before repeating, "Affirmative, Platoon Leader. All Third Division assets currently in Sector Delta are to immediately abort their mission profile and return to—"

"The hell?!!" Your sharp retort crackled with enough force to make the operator flinch. "We're barely three klicks from the primary recon area and holding steady positions. I demand justification for this inexplicable overruling."

Your obstinance was to be expected, of course - Hoshina felt his lip twitch fondly even despite the urgency of the situation. But this was hardly the time to coddle your predictable prickliness. Not when such vast, unknowable dangers now surrounded your unwitting circumstances. Stepping up to the console, he brusquely took over the broadcast with a hand wave dismissing Okonogi.

"Sounds like ya didn't get the full meanin' the first time, Platoon Leader," he growled out in a tone dripping with iron authority. "So allow me to make this order explicitly clear - you and yer team are to disengage from yer current objective and report back to Tachikawa Base for immediate stand-down and reassignment under my direct supervision."

He paused a beat to allow the weight of his words to settle before continuing in an octave that brokered zero argument.

"Non-compliance will result in official charges of willful insubordination towards yer Vice Captain with all resulting disciplinary actions and demerits. Is that understood?"

There was another protracted silence over the open channel. Hoshina could vividly envision you practically sputtering with indignant rage at the brush-off, practically able to see the way your eyes would narrow to thin slits of mutiny while your jawline grew taut and unyielding. But behind it all lurked a deeper current of defiance fueled by something beyond mere wounded pride - the foundational belief in your own fortitude and unwavering capability. The self-same strengths he had always loved, even as they set you frustratingly at odds when he tried to implement protective measures.

When your response finally filtered through, it was clipped and frosty with clearly audible displeasure. "Orders received and understood, Vice Captain. We're heading back now."

But Hoshina already knew that wouldn't be the end of this particular confrontation...

The armored transport rumbled into the hangar bay, and Hoshina was right there waiting - arms folded and combat boots planted wide in an unmistakable stance of stern authority. The moment you stepped out, he could see the spark of defiance blazing in your eyes, lips already parted to let him have it.

Before you could unleash your tirade, Hoshina closed the gap in two long strides. He grabbed you by the shoulders and crushed his mouth against yours in a forceful, searing kiss that instantly doused the righteous flames licking at your tongue.

You went rigid initially, taken by surprise at his bold move to shut you up. But within moments, Hoshina felt the fight bleed out of your lithe frame as you melted against his solid bulk with a muffled whimper. Just as he knew you would.

Hoshina drank down the needy little noises spilling from your lips greedily, delving his tongue past the plush seam to explore the warm cavern of your mouth with slow, thorough sweeps. His large hands roamed down to palm the sloping curves of your waist and hips, pulling your lower body flush against the insistent bulge rapidly straining at the front of his fatigues.

Only once he had mapped every lush inch and left you a trembling, breathless mess did Hoshina finally tear his mouth away with a final nip at your swollen lower lip. He didn't even try to hide the smug satisfaction curling his lips as he took in your dazed, lust-blown expression.

"Save the bitching for later, baby girl," he rumbled in that low, gruff timbre that never failed to make your thighs clench. "We've got way more important things to discuss first..."

Without waiting for your inevitable objection, Hoshina snagged your wrist in one calloused hand and tugged you along behind him, leading you down the nearest unoccupied corridor. As soon as you rounded the corner into the vacant passage, he spun and pinned you against the wall with his solid weight, caging you in with tree-trunk forearms braced on either side of your head.

"Let's start with ya tellin' me why the fuck my girl thought it was okay to suit up for combat while keeping a pretty big secret from me," Hoshina ground out, eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You blinked up at him, utterly bewildered by the sudden accusation and possessive fervor radiating off him in palpable waves.

"Wh-what secret?" you managed after a moment, mind racing to figure out what had him so riled up. "Soshiro, I have no idea what you're talking abou—"

He cut you off with a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate straight through your bones. Abruptly, his entire demeanor shifted from simmering anger into tightly leashed intensity. Hoshina leaned back just enough to allow his piercing stare to rake over your body in a heavy, lingering caress.

You squirmed self-consciously under the smoldering weight of his scrutiny until his gaze finally settled on your midsection with undisguised focus. One of his large, calloused hands drifted down to splay over the soft plane of your abdomen, fingers flexing almost...possessively against the material of your suit.

"You're pregnant, [Y/N]," he stated in a low rasp choked with barely restrained emotion. "Carrying my brat whether ya realized it or not."

The blunt words hung in the hushed air for a suspended beat, seeming to leech all oxygen from the cramped corridor. You could only gape up at him, speechless and reeling as the enormity of his revelation ricocheted through your consciousness.

Pregnant? You were pregnant? With...with Hoshina’s child?

A thousand different thoughts and responses clamored for attention in your mind as the reality slowly sank its razor-tipped hooks past the layers of shock. But before you could sort through the jumbled tangle of emotions, Hoshina pressed on in that same low, gravelly murmur.

"The readings from yer latest mission tripped the recognition protocols," he explained, hand still molding to the subtle swell of your abdomen with soul-searing tenderness. "Showed two distinct heartbeats synchronized together - yours..." He paused, swallowing hard as his throat worked convulsively. "And our baby's."

On the last two words, Hoshina’s voice cracked audibly with a hairline fracture of vulnerability he rarely allowed to breach his tough exterior. You saw his jaw ticking as he visibly struggled to regain his composure, thick lashes lowering to veil the maelstrom swirling in those indigo depths.

For several thumping heartbeats, the only sound was the hollow pounding of blood roaring in your ears as your mind attempted to catch up. Then you felt Hoshina shift fractionally, the first stirrings of tension re-entering the iron-carved lines of his shoulders and neck.

"The real question is..." he rumbled out after clearing his throat gruffly. "Did ya already know about this, and just neglected to tell me? Or are ya as oblivious as I was until a few goddamn minutes ago?"

The spark of anger reigniting in the graveled rasp made you flinch instinctively. You quickly shook your head in a frantic negative, still too overwhelmed to vocalize any response beyond the raw, visceral turmoil of emotions roiling in your gut.

For a fleeting moment, Hoshina’s expression wavered in what you could've sworn was disappointment before the fierce scowl slammed back into place. That split-second flicker was all the confirmation you needed to understand his meaning.

Just like that, your voice found itself again on a trembling exhalation edged with the first fissures of hurt and confusion cracking through the layered shock.

"You thought...you thought I would deliberately keep something like this from you?" you rasped out in a bare whisper. "That I would risk not just my own safety, but our...our child's life by..."

You broke off, throat constricting as a swell of tears blurred your vision unexpectedly. Swiping at them angrily, you leveled Hoshina with a wounded glare as a protective arm curled around your midsection.

"How could you even consider that I would—"

Before you could finish that accusatory question, Hoshina surged forward and silenced you with another fierce, claiming kiss. This time there was no initial surprise or hesitation on your part - you melted against him instantly with a low keen muffled between your joined mouths.

Hoshina wasted no time deepening the liplock, his questing tongue sweeping past your pliant defenses to map every velvet inch with ardent dedication. One hand cradled the back of your skull, thick fingers threading through your hair as he angled your faces for even deeper penetration. The other roamed down your side to palm your hip and grind your lower bodies flush together, ensuring you felt every rigid inch of his erection.

You arched helplessly against him with a whimpering exhalation, suddenly unbearably aware of Hoshina’s sheer size and virile strength engulfing you so completely. Tiny sparks of pleasure lanced straight to your core each time his hips rolled in a possessive grind, rekindling the deepest cravings he always stoked so easily within you.

Just as your lungs began burning with the need for air, Hoshina finally relented enough to tear his mouth from yours with a harsh inhalation. You panted harshly against each other's slick, swollen lips, gazes locked in a heated battle of wills as the world slowly reoriented around you.

"Ya know why I considered it, baby girl," he growled out at last, voice rendered even more gravel-rough from your passionate exchange. Hoshina shifted his stance infinitesimally, using his superior bulk to crowd you more thoroughly against the bulkhead. "Because ya have a nasty habit of puttin' everyone else's safety before yer own without hesitation. And I'll be damned if I stand by and let that selfless bullshit continue now that you've got precious cargo on board."

As if to punctuate his point, Hoshina dragged his palm from the flare of your hip down to cup your abdomen again in a shockingly tender caress completely at odds with his gruff demeanor. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he stroked your skin reverently, eyelashes fluttering.

"This changes everything, [Y/N]," he murmured in a tone caught between wonder and quiet ferocity. "Our priorities, the risks we can’t allow, the future we need to start considering beyond just the next mission... Yer gonna be a mother to my child, ready or not. And I'll rip this entire base apart before I let ya jeopardize that role over some misguided sense of duty."

There was an edge of steel underscoring every word, daring you to defy the irrefutable truth he laid out. You could feel tension re-accumulating between your joined frames once more as the severity of the situation reasserted itself in the wake of Hoshiro's brief emotional lapse.

Drawing yourself up as much as his looming stance would allow, you opened your mouth to offer a retort - only to be silenced again as Hoshina’s palm flattened against the wall beside your head with a muted thump of emphasis.

"Don't even try arguin'," he cut you off with a low, impatient growl as your lips pursed mutinously. "I know you, [Y/N]. I know that stubborn defiance yer gearin' up to unleash because ya can't stand being sidelined or coddled for any reason. Well this time there's no goddamn debate - yer grounded."

You sucked in an outraged breath, fully prepared to vehemently protest such a unilateral decision curtailing your duties. But before you could unleash the torrent of objections burning in your larynx, Hoshina leaned in until his forehead was nearly touching yours and his next words emerged in a resonant, thrumming murmur.

"I don't give a fuck how indignant ya are, baby. You can rage and scream at me all ya want once we get back to my quarters. But while my child resides beneath yer heart..." Here he paused to splay his palm over the slight swell of your abdomen again with clear reverence. "Ya belong hidden away from any harm, understood? This isn't open for discussion."

The charged silence hung between you like a taut highwire after Hoshina’s implacable declaration. You could feel the sparks of defiance sizzling beneath your skin, that infamous stubborn streak demanding you not acquiesce so easily to being sidelined. And yet...when you parted your lips to unleash your objections, all that emerged was a soft, begrudging huff.

Some deep-rooted part of you instinctively understood the simple truth driving Hoshina’s hardline stance. He wasn't trying to control you out of some misplaced alpha male bluster. In that moment, with his palm reverently cupped over the slight swell harboring your shared offspring, Hoshina embodied the pure essence of an ancient protector archetype. His sole priority was safeguarding the new life taking root, no matter how it constrained either of your usual roles.

And truly, what objection could you muster against that? What retort could possibly overcome the blazing intensity of love and ferocious devotion burning in his eyes as they bored into yours?

So instead of spitting denials, you held Hoshina’s smoldering stare and gave a terse nod of reluctant acceptance. You wouldn't fight him on this, not now...not when the two of you were now defending much more than just your own lives.

The minuscule surrender had an instantaneous effect on Hoshina’s granite countenance. You saw the bands of tension framing his eyes and jaw loosen infinitesimally as the rigid line of his shoulders lost some of its coiled potential energy. Silently confirming he had emerged victorious in this pivotal round, if only for the moment.

Before you could ponder the implications of where this new dynamic shift might lead your relationship, Hoshina was ducking his head to capture your lips again. But where the previous kisses were fueled by scorching desire and unrelenting dominance, this one was almost...soft. Tender, even, as he took his time mapping the seam of your mouth with tender, coaxing sweeps of his tongue.

You melted against him with a shuddering exhalation, palms flattening against the solid contours of his chest as you instinctively pressed closer. Hoshina angled his head to deepen the intoxicating exchange, one hand cupping the back of your skull to hold you in place as he thoroughly ravaged your senses.

Just as you were teetering into a hazy, lust-drunk delirium, Hoshina abruptly broke away with a sharp inhalation. You blinked up at him, bemused by his sudden retreat, only to suck in a shaky gasp at the blazing heat now smoldering in those indigo depths.

Hoshina’s pupils were blown wide with naked hunger, his lips already reddened and slick from your passionate communion. You watched, utterly transfixed, as his tongue swept out to capture the lingering taste of you glossing his lower lip. The unconscious gesture punched straight through the core of your increasingly liqefied determination with devastating impact.

Then his gaze dropped to rake over your body in a molten caress, sweeping down from your flushed cheeks to linger on the swells of your breasts straining against your combat suit. Lower still, mapping the flare of your hips and the taut vee accentuated between your thighs from his muscular bulk pressing you into the unforgiving bulkhead.

"Shit, baby girl..." Hoshina ground out in a gravel-rough timbre laced with undisguised sin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were tryna rile me up over here. Get me all worked up so I'd forget the little reminder waitin' at home for us..."

He punctuated the words by rocking his hips against you in a wicked grind, allowing you to feel every hardened inch of his cock outlined against your abdomen. A breathy whine slipped unbidden from your parted lips, nerves alight and sparking wildly at the delicious friction.

Shamelessly, Hoshina rutted against you again with a low, appreciative rumble stoked straight from the depths of his chest. His head dipped to nuzzle against the sloped column of your throat, lips skating across your thundering pulse point in a scorching brush of contact.

"That's it, pretty girl..." he growled against your oversensitized skin. "Let Daddy see how much his touch still affects ya, even with my spawn takin' root inside..."

The words were pure molten sin caressed over your psyche in Hoshina’s distinctive timbre. You felt your core liquidize in a heady rush, thighs reflexively parting to accommodate the insistent bulk pinning you against the unyielding steel at your back. Somewhere beneath the haze of awakening lust, you were dimly aware of the cloying reminder you shouldn't be indulging these rampant cravings while being in such a…delicate condition.

Yet every rational synapse in your consciousness whited out as Hoshina sealed his lips over the thundering pulse at the hollow of your throat. The glide of his tongue bathing your scorching skin in unhurried, sumptuous strokes obliterated any last vestiges of higher thought still clinging on.

"That's my good girl..." he purred against your straining tendons in graveled approval. "Soon as we get behind closed doors, Daddy's going to remind ya exactly who ya belong to while worshippin' every inch of this pretty little body..."

Hoshina didn't give you a chance to formulate any response before he was already moving. With a low, feral growl reverberating from his depths, he hitched you up against his powerful frame, calloused hands cupping beneath your thighs to anchor you in place.

You gasped out a breathy sound of surprise that morphed into a throaty whimper as he ground his clothed cock against your core with wicked intent. Hoshina rumbled an approving noise against the thundering pulse at your throat, lips blazing a scorching path along the vulnerable column bared to his questing mouth.

"That's it, pretty girl...let me hear how much ya need this," he rasped out between openmouthed kisses and teasing nips. "Need me to take ya home and make it official before this brat gets any bigger."

You shuddered hard at the blatant suggestion laced into his rough timbre, feeling a fresh gush of slick heat flood your core at the thought of being well and truly claimed by this wrecking ball of a man. There would be no more delaying or skirting around the inevitable anymore - not with ironclad proof of your union now taking root.

Ankles locking behind the sinewy V of Hoshina’s back, you arched shamelessly against the rigid bulge grinding against your clothed pussy. Chasing that delicious friction, that smoldering promise of being staked and bound to him permanently in the most primal way imaginable.

"Please..." you heard yourself whining out, beyond caring how desperate and needy you sounded. "Soshiro, I need...need you to—"

"Hush now, mama," he cut you off with a rasping growl, already stalking down the vacant corridor with you cradled snugly in his embrace. "Save it for when I've got ya laid out and beggin' properly."

The words punched straight through you with merciless impact, robbing you of breath. You could only cling to Hoshina with trembling limbs, knuckles whitening from your death grip on his shoulders as the world seemed to blur around you. All that existed was the scorching heat of his body surrounding yours, the rasp of his graveled tone thrumming through your very marrow, and the dizzying spiral of want hazed in your very bones.

Hoshina didn't bother with niceties or propriety as he carried you through the installation's winding passageways. He moved with liquid speed and purpose, not breaking stride or sparing a single glance to anyone you passed. At some point, you were vaguely aware of one young officer actually leaping out of his path with wide, panicked eyes - clearly recognizing the danger of crossing the Vice Captain in this state.

Nobody else dared hinder Hoshina’s determined strides as he bore you rapidly through the maze of corridors and security checkpoints towards the restricted command quarters. You felt your pulse kick up as the armored bulkhead to his private room finally loomed into view.

Then you were through the portal and ensconced in Hoshina’s familiar sanctum, alone at last. The instant the door cycled shut behind you, cutting off the outside world entirely, his mouth crashed back over yours in a searing, demanding kiss.

This time, there was no preamble or softness - only raw, unrestrained need fueled by emotion too volatile to contain any longer. Hoshina devoured you with lashing sweeps of his tongue and teasing nips from blunted teeth, robbing you of breath entirely with his merciless onslaught.

You hardly even registered the scorching path he carried you along, or when your back met the broad expanse of his bed. All that existed was the searing brand of Hoshina’s calloused palms skating over every available inch of bare skin as he started peeling away layers with frantic urgency.

Only once he had you stripped to just your underwear did he finally tear his lips from yours, leaving you gasping and squirming against the rumpled sheets. Hoshina reared up onto his knees, straddling your thighs as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him - hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips already rubied from his voracious attention.

More importantly, his gaze raked lower to linger on the subtle swell of your abdomen, pupils blowing even wider. His large hand drift down to map the gentle curve with soul-searing reverence.

"Perfect...fuckin' perfect," Hoshina ground out in a sandpaper rasp choked with too many conflicting emotions to parse. "And soon as this next round is over, I'm locking ya down for good as my wife. No more puttin' it off or dancin' around what ya are to me."

With that growled vow, he dipped his head to seal his mouth over your inner ankle, already working his way up your calf with a meandering path of scorching, openmouthed kisses and teasing sweeps of his tongue.

"Mine..." he purred against the quivering skin of your inner thigh between each sinuous lap of that wicked appendage. "My woman...my wife... gonna lock ya away and keep ya naked and dripping for me at all hours,"

You arched off the mattress with a keening cry as Hoshina reached the crease where thigh met groin, his hot breath ghosting across the thin lace separating him from his destination. Then he was latching his lips onto your swollen clit, suckling through the barrier with a low groan of satisfaction.

"Mmm, yeah, just like this..." Hoshina hummed his approval against your soaked core, drawing another helpless moan from your lips. "Keep ya ready and waiting on Daddy's cock so I can breed this tight little cunt whenever I want. That sound good, baby girl?"

A ragged whine was the only coherent response you could muster as Hoshina continued teasing you with languid laps of his tongue. You were already reduced to a writhing, trembling mess, the last shreds of your self-control fraying by the moment under his masterful attentions.

When he finally dragged your panties down your legs with a few quick tugs, you were already panting harshly and clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled death grip. But before you could beg him to hurry, to stop torturing you with his wicked ministrations, Hoshina was diving back between your thighs and sealing his lips around your clit again.

This time there was no lace barrier separating you - only the slick heat of his tongue lashing across your pulsing bundle of nerves and two thick fingers pumping into your dripping core.

"S-shiro, I-I'm..."

You couldn't even finish the plea, your words dissolving into a shattered moan as a fresh flood of wetness coated Hoshina's knuckles. He growled against your pussy in clear approval, the reverberations thrumming through your nerve endings.

"That's it, pretty girl, cream all over Daddy's fingers..."

He punctuated the order with a particularly sharp curl and twist of his digits, raking over that spongy patch of flesh just beyond the second knuckle. You saw stars and bucked against his face, riding the wave of ecstasy cresting through your senses.

Hoshina continued his assault, wringing you dry until you collapsed back onto the sheets, panting and shaking. Even then, he didn't relinquish his hold, still lazily sucking and lapping at your hypersensitive clit until you were twitching with overstimulation.

When he finally tore himself away from his favorite pastime, your mind was still so hazed with lust and pleasure you hardly noticed him stripping his fatigues. You didn't fully register the moment he crawled over you, his massive bulk caging you in with familiar warmth. Not until he was nudging your legs apart to nestle the broad crown of his cock against your drooling entrance.

Then his mouth crashed over yours, swallowing the needy keen as he surged forward in one forceful thrust. You felt the breath punch from your lungs as Hoshina immediately set a bruising pace, his hips pistoning back and forth with unrestrained fervor.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Hoshina hissed between gritted teeth as his entire body bowed above you, muscles straining and tendons popping out against his skin. ""Knew...knew you'd look so fuckin' gorgeous like this, breeding ya up nice an' deep..."

His hips snapped forward with each word, burying his cock to the hilt in your dripping channel. The filthy promises he was rasping against your ear only made the sensations more acute, spiraling your need higher.

"Mine...fuck, yer all mine now, sweet girl. My beautiful baby mama..."

Hoshina growled against the column of your throat as his hips continued pounding away between your thighs, every thrust driving him impossibly deeper. Your nails raked across his shoulders, his nape, his biceps - everywhere you could reach, anchoring yourself against the onslaught of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

You were barely aware of the sounds pouring from your throat, the pleading, breathless moans and keens spilling from your parted lips. Then Hoshina angled his thrusts to grind against that spongy spot within, and your back arched off the mattress with a piercing wail of delight.

"Go 'head an' moan f'me, mama. Let the whole base hear who owns this pretty cunt..."

He punctuated the words with an especially forceful thrust, slamming his hips against yours and grinding his pubic bone against your swollen clit. Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, clinging to him with every last scrap of strength in your trembling frame.

"Fuck, baby, don't get greedy now. Daddy's close, an' he needs to see ya cream all over his cock first. You can do that f'me, can't you?" He punctuated the request by rolling his hips in a filthy grind, raking the flared head over your g-spot with deliberate precision. "Don't hold back, gotta let it all out when I'm fuckin' ya deep. Need to hear my gorgeous mama squeal for Daddy's cum..."

His hands shifted to cradle the curve of your ass, angling your hips upward and tilting your pelvis just enough for him to grind even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and your jaw dropped, a breathy exhalation catching on a keening moan as he continued pummeling your pussy into the mattress.

"Shiro, please, I-I can't, I need..."

Your words trailed off into a whimpering keen as his thrusts became impossibly faster, rougher. Hoshina's entire frame was taut as a bowstring above you, every muscle flexing and straining with the effort of his punishing pace.

"So slick and swollen for me...fuck, yer pussy was made to grip Daddy's fat cock like this..." he snarled against your lips, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Now cum, baby, I need ya to milk me fuckin' dry..."

On cue, his hand slid between your writhing bodies, fingers circling and teasing your throbbing clit. It was the final shove over the edge.

You screamed his name, vision whiting out as a surge of rapture crashed over you. Waves of sensation wracked your entire body, leaving you shaking and shuddering as your walls clenched down around his pounding cock.

"Fuck, yes..." Hoshina groaned hoarsely as you came apart beneath him, his own rhythm becoming choppy and erratic. "Say my name, mama. Let me hear ya scream for yer husband's cum."

It was too much, the combination of his cock pistoning away between your thighs and his rough, possessive rasp filling your senses. You cried out incoherently as your release spiraled even higher, feeling the delicious burn of his girth stretching you to your limit.

"Soshiro! Yes, please, Daddy, cum in me...please!"

The words were little more than a keening sob, but they had the desired effect. With a feral snarl, Hoshina buried himself to the hilt and went rigid, his entire body bowing beneath the weight of his release. You felt him pulsing within your depths, coating your quivering walls with molten heat.

"Fuuuuck, baby girl...yeah, take it, take Daddy's cum...that's my good little wife, milkin' my cock dry with her sweet cunt." His hips were still rocking back and forth, though much more shallowly now. You moaned and squirmed beneath him, hypersensitive from the force of your shared orgasm.

Finally, he seemed to run dry, and collapsed forward onto his forearms, panting harshly against the sweat-slicked column of your throat. For a few moments, the only sound was the ragged rasp of your joined breaths.

Then Hoshina shifted his weight, hissing softly as he slowly withdrew from your still-fluttering depths. You shivered at the sensation, the sudden feeling of emptiness left behind by his absence.

He settled back on his haunches and nudged your thighs further apart, gaze lingering with palpable heat on the pearly mixture oozing from your entrance. With a low rumble of approval, Hoshina's thick fingers delved into the mess, pushing the cum-slickened digits back into your core.

You whimpered and tried to squirm away, oversensitive and sore from his thorough use. But he merely shot you a stern look and held you firmly in place, continuing to toy with your dripping entrance.

"Hold still," he ordered gruffly. "Need to get my mouth on that pretty pussy, baby. Let Daddy clean up his pregnant wife..."

Before you could offer any objection or protest, he was already ducking down to lap the mixture of both your fluids from your swollen folds. You moaned and arched against the bed, fingers twisting in his sweat-dampened locks.

Hoshina hummed his approval as his tongue dipped and swirled, collecting every drop from your quivering flesh. Each time his mouth latched onto your clit, you couldn't suppress a needy keen, still too sensitive from the force of your shared release.

When he finally reared back onto his knees again, the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips was thoroughly satisfied. Hoshina swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still eyeing the apex of your thighs as if contemplating diving right back in.

"There we go, baby girl. Nice and clean," he rumbled out after a beat. "But just 'cause I took care of the mess doesn't mean yer done getting fucked."

With that, Hoshina was already scooping you into his arms and shifting your positions so he was the one sprawled against the mattress, with you straddling his hips. You blinked down at him in wide-eyed shock, still too dazed and overwhelmed to formulate any words.

Not that you got the chance. Within seconds, he had already lifted you effortlessly and lowered you back onto his throbbing cock. You moaned, spine arching as he stretched you open again, feeling the thick length pulse within your depths.

Hoshina didn't wait for you to adjust before he was already guiding you into a smooth, rolling rhythm. His hands were clamped on your hips, lifting and dropping you on his cock in time with his own upward thrusts.

"Go ahead, wifey, ride Daddy's cock just like that..." he purred, pupils blown wide as he watched you bounce atop him with an expression caught somewhere between rapture and ferocity. "Gonna keep this pussy nice and wet and full, until my seed's drippin' down yer thighs again."

You didn't even try fighting the tide of ecstasy washing over you, letting Hoshina steer the tempo of your lovemaking. His hips bucked up off the bed to meet your downward plunge, burying himself as deep as possible in your quivering depths.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," he grunted, palms gliding up your sides to palm your breasts. "Look at these pretty tits, all swollen an' ready for when our brat arrives. Can't wait to see 'em all nice and full, baby..."

You keened in response, not trusting yourself to speak while lost in the sensations of him filling you over and over. Your hands splayed across his rippling abdomen, using the solid muscles for leverage as you rode him.

"That's it, mama, bounce on Daddy's fat cock like you were born for it. Such a perfect little cock-sleeve..." Hoshina punctuated the words with a sharp, upward thrust, his hips rising off the mattress. You gasped and rocked back against him, grinding down with needy intent.

"Fuck, yeah, just like that, sweet girl," he growled approvingly. "Take what ya need, go 'head an' use me to get yerself off."

Your eyelashes fluttered and a fresh surge of wetness flooded your core, leaving you gasping and trembling as his words hit you straight in the gut. He gave a rumbling laugh, the sound pure sex laced through his graveled voice.

"Shit, that does it for ya, baby? My greedy little mama, always so needy for her husband's cock..."

Hoshina surged upright suddenly, his mouth crashing over yours in a ravenous kiss. You melted into the embrace with a whimper, fingers tangling in his sweat-dampened locks. When his tongue thrust past your lips, you could taste the heady mixture of your combined flavors, and something within you sparked to life.

With a breathless groan, you ground down harder against him, chasing that elusive friction that would push you over the edge. Hoshina responded by wrapping his arm around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he helped guide the motion of your hips.

The two of you continued rocking and grinding, tongues tangling and breaths mingling. The heady combination was intoxicating, robbing you of all higher thought until nothing remained but the pleasure and need spiraling through your veins.

Hoshina was the first to succumb, his rhythm growing increasingly choppy and desperate. Finally, he broke away from your lips with a strangled curse and a shudder. Then he was hilting himself in your depths, cock pulsing and spilling deep within.

You followed suit instantly, keening out his name as your release slammed into you, a white-hot surge of ecstasy. Your head tipped back and your hips bucked against his, riding the crest of pleasure until you were spent and sagging bonelessly in his embrace.

Hoshina cradled you close, peppering kisses across the sweat-slicked column of your throat, his breath still coming in harsh pants. Neither of you moved for a long time, simply reveling in the afterglow and each other's presence.

At some point, Hoshina carefully shifted you to his side, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. You curled into his broad chest, sighing contentedly as he nuzzled against the crown of your head.

"Rest now, sweet girl," he murmured against your hair. "Daddy's got ya. We've got plenty of time before I'm ready to take ya again."

[pearlywritings]

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Here is the second part btw

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly. 

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge. 

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?” 

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan. 

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it. 

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.

[makethatelevenrings]

"back off" with Jaason?

TW: patronizing man

Scary dog privileges. That’s what Artemis called it once when she saw him in action.

Even if you were simply stopping by the corner store for some more bananas and yogurt, he was there. Anytime the sun set on Gotham and the criminals began to crawl out of the shadows, you couldn’t go anywhere without your guard dog.

At first it rubbed you the wrong way. Did he not trust you?

But then you learned quickly that it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. It was the leering monsters of Gotham who preyed on young women like you. You found solace in his presence, even if he insisted on following you the ten feet it took you from your work to your front door.

But this was the first time that Jason Todd had to go into scary dog mode during the day.

He had left the table the two of you were occupying so he could go help a woman outside who appeared to be struggling to juggle her grocery bags and her cane. You loved your kindhearted man and savored the sight of the way the corner of his eyes crinkled with his laughter. He took her bags in one of his big, strong hands and offered her his arm which she gladly took. Jason glanced at you through the window and jerked his head towards the left before holding up four fingers. 

He wouldn’t be gone long so you could hold down the fort for a bit.

The humid Gotham air caused condensation to gather on the surface of your travel mug and you absentmindedly drew your finger through the droplets as you thumbed through some paperwork that Bruce asked you to take a look at. For Wayne Enterprises, that is. Not the night job.

The Bowery wasn’t just Jason’s territory. You pulled the marionette strings for the daytime practices. As he cleaned up the mob, you focused on filling in the power vacuums left behind by various murders and arrests. Job training programs, continuing education, supporting schools, that was your thing. So when Bruce approached Jason about building a new library in the Bowery, your boyfriend directed his father to you.

You were so engrossed in the details of the building plan that you didn’t look up when the chair across from you pulled away. You assumed it was Jason, of course.

“Did you know your dad wants the entire first floor to be for children and teens while also supplying a social worker program on the second floor for the unhoused?” you mused. When your question went unanswered, you raised your head to find a man who was decidedly not your boyfriend leering at you.

“Can I help you?” you sighed.

“Hi. I’m Mark. I was working over in the corner and noticed that you were really focused. Can I ask what you’re working on?”

“No, but you can fuck off,” you said as politely as your sharp words would allow. “If you saw me sitting here, then you saw my boyfriend seated here too.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was just looking to make polite conversation but you’re over here jumping to conclusions. Can’t a guy just come say hello?”

You clasped your hands in front of you on the table and leaned forward. “Alright, Mark. What were your intentions when you came over here? Especially since you waited until my boyfriend was gone. That doesn’t seem to be polite conversation but predatory behavior.”

You flashed him a fake smile and batted your lashes. His lips screwed up tightly and he scoffed. “All of you females are the same. I mean, you really thought that I would want to hit on you? How arrogant can you be? Here’s a tip: learn to respect men an-”

He was cut off by a hand curling around the collar of his shirt. Jason yanked Mark up and out of the chair and pulled him in close, his lips peeling back in a sneer.

“Here’s a tip: you see any girl, but especially my girl, and you learn to back off before I break your arm off and shove it down your fucking throat,” Jason growled. You blinked up at the two men and then grinned, leaning your head on your hand and watching as your guard dog went into attack mode.

“Hey man, I was just trying to be friendly,” Mark gasped out. There was no way he could take on the over six foot tall tank that was Jason Todd. Your boyfriend’s jaw clenched and a vein throbbed under his skin, which you really shouldn’t find so hot. 

“Yeah? I wasn’t. You should be glad I’m feeling charitable today. Now, you’re gonna pack your shit up and get out of my fucking sight.”

He let go of the weasel and stepped back so his thigh brushed against your shoulder. Jason crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his already massive form with the bulge of his biceps. Mark raised his hands as he scooched around the mountainous man and darted back to his table.

“Sorry, Mallory,” Jason called to the owner of your favorite cafe. She merely waved him off and shot you a wink. You leaned your head against Jason and raised your hand to settle on his waist but he didn’t relax until Mark was out of the store, the bell ringing behind him as the door slammed shut on his ass.

“He didn’t touch you, right?” Jason asked. His voice still held that sharp edge to it but it softened when he turned to face you. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and you smiled at his touch.

“No, baby. I wouldn’t let him touch me even if he tried.”

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he rounded the table and settled back in his seat. One of his hands remained clasped over yours as he gazed at you from across the table.

“Guess what your dad wants to do on the first floor?” you asked as you waved the building plans in front of his face.

“Tell me,” he hummed. Jason Todd might be your guard dog, but you never saw his fangs directed at you. Despite his size and stature, he was just a little puppy when it came to you.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - unhealthy relationships, mentions of gore/human experimentation, forced marriage. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Recently, all your mornings had started the same way: ten or so feet below the ground, buried under the satin sheets of an otherwise empty bed in a stone chamber decorated with all the love and tenderness of a hospital room, freshly cleaned after the death of its last occupant.

Blearily, you stumbled out of bed, grimacing at the feeling of the cold, rough floor against your bare feet. Temperatures in Snezhnaya rarely rose above freezing, and while your husband didn’t seem to mind the cold, you weren’t so resilient – shrugging on your heaviest robe before so much as opening your eyes. A mug of coffee was clumsily assembled in your minimalistic kitchenette (a feature you insisted on, after being forced to share a communal ice chest with one of his more dissection-focused segments), then a cup of tea; herbal and rich, a blend from Sumeru he had imported every few months. For as many years as you’d been with Zandik, you’d never been able to make sense of what he considered worth his time and what he disregarded as frivolous wastes of effort and mora. You supposed you could only be thankful you fell into the former group, lest your body be the next to adorn his vivisection table.

Once you’d managed to shake the chill and bring yourself to a state of near-consciousness, you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the corridor, ignoring the curious looks of young researchers and patrolling soldiers and shrugging open the steel door at the end of the hall. The smell of rot and preservatives hit you as soon as you stepped into Zandik’s personal laboratory, but your eyes only glazed over the dark puddles splattered across the floor, the amorphous mass covered with a white sheet and laid across a metal table before landing on your husband – slumped over his desk, his face buried in his arms and ink staining his fingertips, his left cheek. With a sigh, you made your way to his side, placing both mugs on the edge of his desk and resting your hands on his shoulders. Letting your eyes fall shut, you lowered yourself to his height, resting your lips against the top of his head and only pulling away when he began to stir.

He'd always been a light sleeper (in comparison to you, at least), and it’d never taken much to rouse him. You straightened your back and as if on cue, he bolted upward, gaze darting to the door, then his operation table, then you – where it would stay. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he pushed his chair away from his desk and tapped his leg, and without protest, you climbed into his lap; straddling his thighs and burying your face in the crook of his neck. One of his hands found its way to your hip while the other took to rubbing small, slow circles into your back. You waited for him to settle underneath you before breaking the silence. “I want to go home.”

Home, meaning the gothic, looming mansion you usually resided in when he wasn’t working out of one of the Fatui’s countless underground facilities or traveling abroad. It was also dark and drafty and a far cry from your previous home, the home he’d taken you away from the day he married you, but you’d been able to decorate it to your preferences and you didn’t need to go through ten of his soldiers just to step outside. He hummed, the sound passive and dismissive, and you frowned into his shoulder, nudging gently at his chest. “I’m serious, Zandik. Everything smells like blood and you haven’t come to bed in days. Being around all these chemicals is going to be the death of me – that is, if boredom doesn’t do the job first.”

Another hum, this one slightly more thoughtful. “You know I would pluck the stars from the sky for you,” he started, his voice still low and coarse with sleep. “But I am here on the Tsaritsa’s orders. Are you sure you’d have me test the good will of an archon for something so mundane?”

“Yes.” You’d seen him butcher orphans and burn villages to the ground. If he was still in his goddess’ good graces after so many centuries of relentless carnage, you were sure she wouldn’t mind a sudden relocation. “There’s nothing you do here that you couldn’t do in your own laboratory.” You thought for a moment, then added, “Unless you’ve decided that you love your archon more than you love me.”

His smile faltered, something possessive and pointed catching in his eyes. His grip on you tightened, but he recovered quickly, letting out an airy chuckle as he bowed his head and nuzzled mindlessly into the dip of your shoulder. “Two more weeks,” he promised. “Then, I’ll send you home – one way or another.”

“One more week.” You sat up, cupping his face and forcing him to meet your eyes. “Or I start spitting in your tea.”

“One more week if you start spitting in my tea.”

“You’re a vile, repugnant little man.” You leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “Deal.”

You spend the rest of that day lounging across the velvet-cushioned loveseat in the corner of his lab, skimming through your dozenth pulpy romance novel and watching your husband dismember corpses with a vigor you hadn’t seen since the first days of your marriage.

[xariarte]

ngl the Houston Rockets social media team has been killing it lately

[stoneagedevil]

Somethin’ Stupid | Alastor x F!Reader

“They’ll Understand (Somethin’ Stupid pt. 2)”

CW/TW: Jealousy, mentions of murder (obviously), implied cannibalism, feelings.

Somethin’ Stupid

Something was simmering under the surface of your flesh ever since Mimzy made another unfortunate (in your humble opinion) appearance.

It felt like envy, but different, and you couldn’t place a claw onto what it was. Annoyance perhaps? Maybe. You often felt annoyed whenever she showed her mug, only ever doing so because she needed something. That something appeared to be Alastor’s attention this visit.

You watched from the lounge portion of the foyer, taking in everything Mimzy said to Alastor. Every bat of a heart filled eye. Every touch given from her fingers that you wanted to bite off one by one like carrots. Yes, something was most definitely simmering beneath the surface of your stoic façade. You clenched and unclenched your hands, feeling magic bubble up to the surface, ready to make an example of Mimzy before the eyes of everyone in this God forsaken hotel; especially Alastor’s. But rules were rules, and one of them was “No killing in the hotel.” Courtesy of Charlie.

In your rage and confusion, you felt a hand gently touch your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down.

“You okay? Ya seem…tense, toots.” Angel said carefully. While you two had got on nicely, everyone was still wary of you. It was to be expected, you supposed. You were the other overlord in the building everyone worried about.

Your eyes darted to Angel’s, narrowing slightly. “Whatever do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.” You stated. But it wasn’t very convincing. You turned your gaze back onto Mimzy, miffed that you’d missed a few seconds of whatever the Hell she was doing. Using your magic, you lifted a part of the carpet, causing her foot to catch and fall face first into the ground. Your subtle smirk was wiped off your face the moment you witnessed Alastor help her up. In his eyes, he was only being polite. In yours? Fire.

“You’re not, Y/N. Look, I know you hide it, but you’re clearly jealous.” This time your entire neck snapped towards Angel, eyes wide as saucers.

“Jealous? Of who?” Now you were genuinely confused. What was there to be jealous of? You had everything you needed. You were a powerful overlord content in who you are as a demon. You had allies, you had enemies that you enjoyed toying with, peons you puppeted perfectly, you had found friends within the hotel, had a place to sleep at night, just what the Hell could you be jealous of?

“Of Mimzy. Don’t tell me you’re just as clueless as Smiles ovah there.” Angel threw his thumb over his shoulder, motioning to Alastor. You burst out into laughter, causing the entire hotel to look over to you.

You didn’t laugh very often. Only when a massive misfortune befell a demon (nine times out of ten you were the cause of), and when Alastor told a particularly bad dad joke, something he prided himself on. Speaking of the Devil, he was currently burning holes into Angel’s forehead. How dare he make you laugh?

When he achieved such a feat, his chest puffed out in pride, and who knew you’d have such a pretty smile when you wore that intimidating expression constantly? Pearly white fangs, scrunched nose, and apples of your cheeks shoving your eyelids closed. It was a smile he found himself chasing after.

Noticing the stares of the hotel’s residents, you turned to Angel, “Angel, let’s talk in private, shall we?” You gave no time to answer before snapping your fingers and whisking you and your companion away to your room. “Explain by what you meant by ‘clueless as Alastor?’” You felt the tightness in your chest multiply tenfold. Who was Alastor clueless of besides Mimzy? How many more demons would you have to bury?

“I mean that you’re clearly smitten with ‘im, and he’s just as crazy ‘bout you.” Angel rolled his eyes. As much as he liked setting people up, you two were particularly frustrating because of your lack of a love life. And afterlife. He thought it was astounding the way you both couldn’t understand what love felt like; how close yet so far you both were to each other.

Two peas that weren’t in a pod but should be: you and Alastor were a match made in Hell, literally. While Alastor used his smile as his intimidation tactic, you mirrored him with your unchanging stoic expression. From the outside looking in, it was very hard to guess either of your next moves. You’d beaten Husk multiple times in card games because of how impossible it was to call your bluffs; a true poker face. Then there was the fact you both were powerful overlords. Now this was a point of contention between the rest of the residents of the hotel; although it was clear as day to the rest of them that you both fancied each other, was it a good idea to bring you two together? While they thought it was sweet how passionately you both talked about music, two overlords was more worrisome than one, but add powerful emotions like love, jealousy, and obsession into the mix? These two ticking time bombs could become nuclear. Lastly, you both were deer. What were the chances of that? Two prey animals turned apex predators in the underworld.

But Angeldust was a self proclaimed “Doctor of Love,” and he’d be damned a second time if he didn’t help out someone who’s helped him out before. You’ve killed many of Angel’s stalkers, simply out of the kindness of your heart which surprised him, as well as poured over his contract trying to find a loophole to save him from the clutches of Valentino. You were a villain, not a monster, you’d told him.

“Do you… do you think he is? Truly?” You were apprehensive in meeting his gaze, and Angel was taken aback at this. He’d never seen you so nervous about something before. He put a set of hands on your cheeks and tilted you face to look at him, a second set of arms keeping you in place at your shoulders.

“Babe, I’ve neva been more serious about anythin’ in my life.” He caught your eyes to show you how serious he was. “Trust me dollface, I know.” Your shoulders dropped, but immediately tensed with the notion that you had grown romantically attached to someone. That’s it. You had everything you needed. Not everything you wanted. Everything else was so easy. With your persuasive personality and your edept ability in massacring, you’d gotten where you needed to be. But this was uncharted territory. You couldn’t gaslight, gore, girlboss your way out of this.

“To be frank with you Angel, I’m terrified.”

-

Meanwhile in the lobby, Alastor was fuming. Where had you and Angel gone? Why for so long? Was he making you laugh even more than before? How dare that perverse spider make off with his doe without notice! He unknowingly clenched his fists in frustration, catching Charlie’s attention.

“Alastor, are you okay?” Charlie whispered. She knew he didn’t appreciate people acknowledging when he was upset, but it was in her nature to check on everyone.

“Perfectly fine my dear!” Alastor stated, unknowingly parroting what you had said to Angel earlier. Of course, Charlie knew better. When one makes no guess as to what they’re feeling, working out feelings becomes as easy as breathing, and she hoped to extend this to Alastor.

“I-I don’t want to push you, but I think I know what’s wrong. If you want my help, I can help you in any way you need.” Alastor’s smile strained. How could she know what was wrong with him when he didn’t know himself?

He bent down to Charlie’s height, “And what is it exactly that you think is wrong with me?” He tilted his head in warning at a jarring angle, and Charlie swallowed nervously. She was frightened, but the prospect of two demons finding love under the roof of her passion project sent butterflies flying in her stomach.

“I think…” she paused, and suddenly a huge smile broke out onto Charlie’s face, making Alastor raise a red brow. “I think that you’re in love with Y/N!” She whispered excitedly, clasping her palms together as if praying it were true.

And boy, was it. Sharp, high-pitched feedback sounded from Alastor at the notion, and he felt his face get hot. His eyes darted around the room wildly, in search of anyone who potentially heard that, relieved to find that no one did. Vaggie was assisting Husk, and Mimzy was sat at the bar chatting with the two. However, he couldn’t risk any ears hearing this embarrassing conversation. “Haha! Charlie! Let’s speak privately in another room!” Once again, parroting your actions, he snapped his fingers causing shadows to enshroud both himself and his blonde business partner into his quarters, giving the ever suspicious Vaggie a heart attack.

Charlie grunted as she felt herself drop into an upholstered chair, sat across a table from Alastor.

“Now why on Earth would you say such a ridiculous thing? Y/N and I are merely close friends!” Alastor waved his hand in dismissal, but Charlie caught the tightening of his never ending smile. He clearly hated saying that.

“But you want to be more, don’t you?” Charlie’s brows were knitted together, and Alastor’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of having you on his arm. “Alastor, I know feelings are confusing, and no matter how brave you are, they’re terrifying, but being in love is one of the best feelings in the world. Vaggie is my everything, and I see you look at Y/N the way I look at Vaggie; the way my dad used to look at my mom. I know I was born in Hell, but I know that in life, humans would always say, ‘life is too short.’ But y’know something? The afterlife can be even shorter, or it can last for forever. Imagine a short afterlife where you never got to tell her how you feel if anything ever happened to either of you. Imagine going an eternity knowing she’s right there, but you didn’t say anything.”

He hated when other people were right. But what could he say against that? Charlie was irrefutably correct. Anytime you walked into the room, he straighten his posture, always making sure a seat was available right next to him with your name on it only. When you both found yourselves awake at night, you’d talk about music in the glow of the fireplace. You’d recommend music to him, and even if some of it was modern, you still got his tastes down, and he found himself wanting to listen to whatever you thought he might like; stubborn as he was. You’d drink tea in comfortable silence as you each devoured page after page of your books, trading novels once you each finished, and talking emphatically about plot holes, twists, heros, and villains.

He’d written down every song you recommended to him, so he wouldn’t forget, but how could he forget things when it came to you?

He sighed, his ears dropping, but his smile ever present. “How’d you get to be so cunning? I’m afraid I’ve begun to rub off on you, my dear. But simply can’t do that.” His eyes suddenly seemed very interested in the glossy table between them.

Charlie leaned closer, “Alastor, I mean this in the least patronizing way possible, honestly and truly: what are you afraid will happen if you do?” She ducked her head, catching his line of sight with her eyes. Normally, he’d slaughter anyone who proposed that he was ever afraid of anything. But when looking into her eyes, it was clear that she was honest, only wishing the best for him. He could appreciate that, if nothing else.

“I’m afraid she won’t return my affections. I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the concept of love. Countless things could go awry, it’s better this way, as I’d rather spend an eternity having her as a friend than nothing at all.” He admitted. He felt his chest cave into itself at this admission, wishing he could rip the words out of the air and shove them back down his throat to ease the pain.

“I know she loves you too, Alastor. Please, please consider it? She’s head over heels for you, and…” she wrung her hands, as if debating something, “…and she’d kill me if she knew I told you this, or even saw it, but when Mimzy was following you around the lobby earlier, I saw the carpet lift up and trip her. I think Y/N might be jealous of the attention you’re giving Mimzy.”

Alastor looked like a deer caught in a set of headlights. It was almost cartoonish the way his heart seemed to beat out of his chest, and he was sure he had hearts in his eyes. “She did? My my.” Charlie beamed at his expression, nodding excessively.

-

Angel had his hands full, which was hard to do because he had so many, but you managed. His mismatched eyes watched you pace the length of your hotel room, muttering every worry that came to your mind at the prospect of confessing your feelings to Alastor. Every worry or excuse that fell from your lips was immediately rebutted by Angel’s words of affirmation; that you did in fact have this in the bag. He was your hype man.

“Doll, ‘Tall, Dark, and Creepy’ has the eyes for you. Ya gotta go for it. Love’s hard to find in Hell.” He crossed his sets of arms and tapped his foot on the floor like a parent scolding their child. Suddenly your pacing stopped, your eyes snapped shut, and the silence was cut by a large inhale and exhale from you.

“Alright. I’m going to tell him.” Your eyes opened to find Angel absolutely ecstatic at your unwavering resolve, though deep under the surface, you were shaking in your boots. You had just confirmed with the most romantically pushy demon within the confines of the hotel that you would profess your love to the most unattainable man in Hell. Conquering territories, reaping souls, and climbing up the hierarchy of Hell was so much more easy than this. Fuck.

————————————

Thank you for reading! I’ll be making a part 2 eventually, so keep your eyes peeled. Feel free to request something in the meantime, though I can’t promise I’ll get to yours. Also, I’m making a playlist for Alastor, and will be adding to it now and then.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congrats on 700!! 🎊 May I request green with hummingbird? I would love some feral zoro omg 😫.

(I didn’t know what else to say I hope this is enough for the request 😭)

Thank you in advance and I understand if you can’t get to my request!! ☺️

Hi friend! Thank you for requesting this because I haven't written Zoro in a billion years and this was fun!

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader

Trope/Prompt: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac

Summary: Zoro steals a very secret bottle from Sanji’s stash… much to his dismay it has unwanted affects. Fortunately for you, you're up looking for a midnight snack when you encounter a very feral Zoro in the kitchen.

WC: 2000

TWs: alcohol consuption, aphrodisiac, unprotected sex (dont!) cream pies, p in v sex, a smidge of oral to get things going, doggy style bent over the counter, breeding!!!! MINORS NDI

Just This Once (+18)

— — 

Night watch was boring. Zoro would much rather be focusing on his training or napping than having to sit and stare out at the black of night for hours. He found the silence peaceful, so used to having the cacophony of his crew mates and captain resounding all around him during the day, Zoro didn’t mind the quiet of night watch. 

Tonight however, sitting against the mast of the Sunny, Zoro found his sake bottle feeling quite light. He cranes his head back and shakes the last droplets of alcohol onto his waiting tongue. It was barely anything, the bottle was bone dry now. 

“Well shit.” Zoro remarks to himself. He sighs and sets the empty bottle on the wooden deck beside him. He hoists himself up to his feet and begins to walk towards the galley, hoping that the shitty cook had hauled his lanky ass off to bed by now so he wouldn’t have to see his ugly mug. 

Thankfully the kitchen was empty and Zoro strolled straight towards the liquor cabinet. He pulls the double doors to the small wooden pantry open and surveys the array of bottles. Looking for his trusty sake, he clinks the other bottles together as he shuffles the booze around. He sees a bottle towards the back of the shelf with a note on it. 

“What’s this?” Zoro cocks his head and squints his eyes (eye?). He sees a slender, purple bottle, a bit taller and slimmer than a normal wine bottle, with a pink label wrapping around the width of it. His attention goes back to the note stuck to it. Zoro grabs the bottle and brings it out from the back of the shelf and raises it to meet his gaze. 

‘SANJI’S ONLY!!! DO NOT TOUCH!!’ is what the note read. 

“Pfffttt yeah right.” Zoro huffs and rips the note off the bottle. He notices something is written on the back of the paper. He flips it over completely. 

‘ESPECIALLY IDIOT MOSS HEAD!!!’ Is on the back of the note in bold handwriting. 

Zoro rolls his eyes. 

“Oh fuck you.” Zoro crumples the note and tosses it over his shoulder. He noticed the bottle was a bit feminine, with the pink label and ‘XXX’ being written in swirly letters across it. “Makes sense for that fucking weirdo.” Zoro chuckles as he opens his jaw, fits the cork between his molars and pulls it off the bottle with a loud *pop*. He spits the cork to the floor. 

Zoro takes a big swig from the bottle. It was bubbly and fruity, the type of shit Nami was usually into. Zoro hums. It wasn’t what he was used to drinking by any means, but at this point he just wanted to piss off Sanji so he chose to bring the bottle out with him to the deck to continue his watch. He was determined to finish it and leave the empty bottle on the kitchen counter for the stupid pervert to find in the morning. Maybe he would write his own scathing note to go with it. Zoro chuckled to himself… he had time to think about what to write. 

Zoro settled himself against the mast again, legs spread out in front of him, bottle clutched in his left hand while he rested his right on his swords. He lets out a long sigh and gazed up at the  cloudless, starry night as he chugs more from the bottle of forbidden booze. 

Over 30 minutes go by and half the bottle before Zoro notices a strange tingling in his thighs. He runs his callused hands over his strong quads, trying to massage away the feeling. He chalked it up to the booze and the rigorous weight lifting session he participated in earlier. 

“Damn this shit’s strong…” Zoro remarks as he pulls the bottle back from his mouth to look at the label again, searching for any indication of an alcohol percentage. He sees nothing but the three red X’s adorning the pink paper label. “Weird… whatever.” Zoro throws back another few gulps. 

Soon the bottle was empty. Zoro casts it aside with his empty sake bottle from earlier in the night. His head was sufficiently fuzzy and the warm prickling in his thighs had spread from his legs up through his groin and into his chest. 

“The fuck is in this shit…” Zoro wipes sweat that formed on his brow with the long sleeve of his robe. He felt hot all over, and not the usual warmth he felt from his average daily drinking… this was different. His muscles felt tight and so did his pants.

He runs his hand over his crotch to find himself painfully hard. He was a grown man for fucks sake, he thought he had his fill of random erections. This one was particularly turgid, aching against his pants begging to be freed. 

Annoyed with his body betraying him, Zoro peeks behind him over each shoulder on each side of the mast, making sure the coast was clear before unbuttoning his pants and fishing out his throbbing cock. He gently knocks his head back against the mast and closes his eyes before stroking himself quickly. He wanted to rid himself of this feeling and return to his quiet evening. 

“Shit…” 

It seemed to be more easily said than done. He couldn’t finish. He spat in his palm and sped up his pace but it was worthless, there was no familiar signs of impending release. His skin was burning hotter and his cock leaking pre all down his thick shaft. 

“Fuck…” Zoro, flustered, shoved his dick back in his pants and stood up, not bothering to button his pants back up all the way. He made his way to the kitchen, panting a bit, feeling the need to splash some water on his face to try and snap out of it. He whips the galley door open…

—

“Ah!” You yelp, jumping a bit and turning towards the kitchen door. 

“Y/n!” Zoro shouts at you, startled as well. “What the hell are you doing here, woman?!” 

“I-I couldn’t sleep! I wanted some peanut butter!” You hold up the jar in one hand and spoon in the other as you stand against the sink. You notice Zoro’s unbuttoned pants and heavy breathing. “You okay, big guy?” You furrow your brow in concern. 

“I’m fine…” Zoro huffs out as he approaches you at the sink. “You need to get out of here.”

“Okay rude?” You cock your head and turn back towards the sink to wash off your spoon, not wanting to leave any dishes for Sanji. 

Zoro is behind you in an instant. You feel his pelvis press against your ass, covered in just some boy short panties since you had been trying to go to bed. 

Zoro ruts his crotch against you, massive hands gripping your hips to pull you closer to him. 

“W-woah! Zoro what the hell has gotten into you?” You gasp out and try to straighten your body back out. 

Zoro doesn’t let you move your ass away from him, though, he just grips your hips harder and grinds his noticeable hard-on into the soft flesh of your butt. He pushes his face through your messy hair and starts to sink his teeth into your neck. You jolt in his hold.

“I-I don’t know… I drank that stupid fucking cook’s wine and now I-…” Zoro bites you again and you yelp. “Now I need to get my dick wet or I’ll explode… you gonna help?” Zoro slides one of his hands up your baggy t-shirt and harshly twists your nipple. 

“Shit!” You gasp out as Zoro dry humps your backside and teases your breasts. “Fine! Just this once, and you owe me!” 

Zoro growls like an animal and rips your panties down your legs and then pushes his robe off his shoulders. You lift your shirt over your head and toss it to the floor. Zoro pulls his aching cock out of his pants with ease since his pants were already undone. 

Zoro immediately drops into a squat and pushes one of your legs up to rest on the edge of the sink so your glistening sex was exposed to him. 

Zoro smirks to himself before dragging his tongue from your clit all the way back up to your asshole. 

“Fuck-“ Supporting yourself on one leg made your knee buckle, but Zoro’s strong hands kept you upright leaning forward onto the kitchen counter. Zoro hummed in bliss at the sweet taste of your pussy, laving his tongue all over your folds with drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, making you extra messy.  

“Can’t wait any longer, need to be inside you…” Zoro says hungrily as he stands up and positions his dripping cock at your wet hole. He pushes himself in you quickly and lets out a loud groan. You arch your back and cry out at the sudden stretch, one elbow holding you up on the counter and you reach the other hand back to claw at your green haired lover. 

“You’re gonna have to take it for me, okay doll? I know you can do it…” Zoro tries to sound sweet but the bruising grip on your hips give away his urgency. He begins to thrust hard against your backside, creating lewd wet slaps that echoed around the dimly lit kitchen. “Such a tight little pussy, shit…” Zoro slams into you at a breakneck pace. 

“Oh- my- god-! Zo-ro!” Your body is being pulled and rammed with each unforgiving thrust, you hardly even notice yourself approaching an orgasm embarrassingly quickly. You hadn’t laid with anyone in so long and the way Zoro was abusing your body turned you on immensely. He pulled your hair with one fist and it was over for you. “Zoro! Fuck! Cumming!” You shout and you collapse against the counter, cool tile harsh against your nipples.

You shake all over and your knees fully give out, luckily Zoro’s strong body was propping you up against the counter as he took you. 

“There it is, cream my cock, doll.” Zoro picks up his pace, which at this point you thought was impossible. “I’m gonna breed this little cunt, and you’re gonna take it… gonna take my fucking kids...” 

“Z-zoro what the fuck?” You were fucked-out but you didn’t know Zoro as the kind of man to talk like that. 

“Gonna fill you so fucking good… make you mine…” Zoro pulls your hips completely flush to his as his chest collapses on top of your back. You feel his hot breath on your shoulder blade and his strong, powerful ropes of cum coat your insides. 

Zoro groans and nuzzles his nose into your spine before pulling his softening cock out of your leaking hole. He admires his handiwork and smirks. 

“Uh… sorry about that… you’re…?” Zoro scratches his neck and hands you your shirt from the floor. 

“On birth control? Yes, you animal. Warn me next time you decide to drink Sanji’s weird wine, okay?” You say as you pull your shirt over your head. You shoot Zoro a glare.

“I don’t know, that might have been worth it.” Zoro gives you a sly smile and ties his robe back on. 

You roll your eyes and playfully push Zoro’s shoulder as you walk past him to head back to bed. You should have no problem falling asleep now that you’ve been freshly fucked in the kitchen by your crew mate. 

“You coming to bed, swordsman?” You holler on your way out of the galley door. 

“Yeah, meet you in your room.” Zoro calls after you. He finds the discarded empty wine bottle and places it right in the middle of the kitchen island next to Sanji’s cigarettes and ash tray. Zoro looks to the floor and sees your panties. He grabs them and places them next to the bottle on the counter. He then picks up a piece of paper and pen. Zoro scribbles out a short note to stick on the bottle. 

‘Thanks, Curly ;)’

— — 

[daistea]

I love love love the scenarios of Kabru with a person who is oblivious, but what about someone who is hyper aware of how other people feel towards them as a defense mechanism? Someone who is constantly aware of everything that's going on and it's something they can't turn off but as a result hates guessing games and won't act unless the other person is genuinely forward. They aren't bad and are polite but will blatantly ignore hints. I think there's another layer of hilarity in that one.

Ya! I don't know if I captured what you're looking for, to be honest. But I tried my best, and I hope you like it!

1600 words !

no tw or spoilers I don't think

Cracks - Kabru x reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your heart was a fortress. There were moats and ballistas and canons aimed straight at anyone who dared approach. You weren’t sure when the fortress walls raised, but you knew when another stone was added, when they grew higher. 

And Kabru’s charming smile only piled more stones atop the wall. 

That smile was intended for another purpose, you knew. He’d realize that soon enough, but until then, you would maintain eye contact and nod along with his conversations. He didn’t talk about himself often, but he had stories to tell, anecdotes, theories. And he wanted your opinion on every single one. 

“What do you think?” Kabru asked. It was a line cast into the water with bait on the hook. It was the sliding of a chess piece across the board. And he didn’t mean to play these games, you also knew that. It was just how he was. 

“I don’t know,” was all you gave him. 

Kabru nodded to himself. He was good at covering up his disappointment, but you could practically see the gears turning in his pretty head. The only thing you weren’t sure of was why, exactly, he had wanted to see you today. 

Finally, he returned his attention to you, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

You felt yourself tense. Your shoulders slumped a little and you uncrossed your arms— he was probably reading your closed-off body language, but that was all simply habit, not a result of discomfort. 

“No, you don’t,” and you meant it. You weren’t about to inform him of why you never took the bait, but you’d throw him a bone. “You really don’t. I just… Wait, that was a very straightforward question, Kabru. How uncharacteristic of you.”

“I can be straightforward when I want to be,” He sent you another brilliant smile, though the look in his eyes told you that it was genuine. 

“Why do you want to be at this moment?”

Kabru looked away. He stared at his barely-touched mug of ale, doing his best not to shift uncomfortably on the bar stool. Yet, you saw it; the slight bounce of his knee, how his nose wrinkled. 

Finally: “I’m figuring something out,” he said. 

“Aren’t you always?” You teased. 

And he sent you another genuine smile with a hint of something, you weren’t sure. How annoying. Was it affection? You decided to push the thought aside for the sake of your sanity. 

“Yeah, you’ve got me,” he put his hands up and laughed, then took a sip of his ale as if needing something to do with himself to ease the tension that was slowly seeping between you. Tension: a noxious, invisible gas. It was about to give you a headache. 

You turned on the stool to face him, “What’s on your mind?”

Kabru’s smile turned wry, “Now you’re the one prying.” Your heart clenched. That was another stone on the wall. He knew you and it made you want to run away as fast as you could. 

“I guess,” you said, “Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” Kabru murmured. 

What a lie. 

˚ · • . ° .

“Why are you two like this?” Rin asked. Her eyes were narrowed and her hands pressed down on her hips. Both you and Kabru took in the sight and began silently reaching conclusions. 

Kabru was the first to answer. “What do you mean? What’re we like?” He wasn’t confused in the least but made a good show of it. 

“Like this!” She gestured at you both, how close you were sitting with thighs and shoulders brushing. “You’re constantly dancing around each other and, frankly, it’s obnoxious.”

She was right. One step towards each other always resulted in two steps back. Kabru would create a verbal maze that you would instantly get lost in. You knew the general layout and that you should go a certain direction, but you never did find the exit. 

“Sorry,” you offered, hoping it would quell Rin’s annoyance. (It did not.)

“Are you two aware that…” Rin paused. She seemed to choke on her words as her cheeks slowly went pink. You and Kabru both stared. And stared. And Stared. Finally, Rin groaned, “Nevermind! This is your problem to figure out. Not mine.”

True enough. 

“She’s right,” Kabru murmured after she left. He lowered his head and looked at you, trapping you beneath his spotlight. Unfortunately, you had stage fright. 

“Right about what?” You asked, standing up to create distance; that spotlight was uncomfortably warm. But the lack of that warmth from Kabru’s body next to yours only created a gaping hole in your chest. (You'd have to fill that hole with sweets and distractions later.)

Kabru pursued your attention, “About our feelings, of course.”

Your feelings? At that moment, you were feeling quite shaken as cracks began to run up your fortress walls. 

“What feelings?” You asked flatly. 

His hopeful little smile instantly fell and he started to shift uncomfortably, “Our feelings.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not making you say anything,” you corrected, taking a step backward, preparing your retreat. 

“Yes you are,” Kabru began to argue desperately, “I’ve spent months trying to give you hints! I told you ‘the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ and you started talking about how the craters kind of looked like Laois’s face. I compared our hand sizes together as an excuse to touch you, and all you said was that I have girlish hands!”

“You do.”

“You know me,” he grit his teeth, standing up from the bench, “you know how hard this is for me. I’ve given you so many hints, so many opportunities, but you’ve ignored them all!”

Hints. Even the word made you frown. Kabru wanted to play guessing games all day, while all you wanted was a simple game of truth and dare where everybody only picked truth. 

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder why you loved this man. He always banged at the walls of your fortress and, recently, some stones had begun to crumble. You added more, but they would only fall when he decided to say something outright on rare occasion.

“I don’t like games,” was all you said. 

“I know,” Kabru exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes, “I know. I’m trying, really. Usually, I’m pretty adaptable, but this is just… Different.”

“And… You don’t like it?”

“I–” his mouth opened and closed before he looked at you straight on, “I don’t hate it, honestly. It’s different in a good way, as if it’s forcing me to be better with my words.”

“You’re already good with your words. You’re too good with them, that’s the problem.”

Kabru watched you for a moment. You allowed him to analyze you despite how it made your skin tingle. After a bit, he nodded to himself. “Do you want to get a drink?” He asked. 

“...I brought my water canteen with me, so I really don’t—

“You’re just blatantly ignoring my hints, aren’t you?” Kabru announced. His eyes widened and he threw his hands into the air. Whirling away, he gripped his hair and groaned. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

“Maybe you should try a new method,” you offered, patting his back, “one that doesn’t involve implications and guesses.”

Slowly, he lifted his head. He looked a bit dead inside, and his jaw tensed. You felt as if you were watching him force himself to eat a monster out of a sheer need to please. It endeared him to you, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the guy. The things Kabru put himself through simply to maintain good graces were endless and difficult. 

“I…” he paused, blinking a few times before he finally looked at you, “Would that work?”

Probably. “Think of it like therapy,” you said as you led him back to the bench and sat down beside him. “Try to be blunt with me. Practice.”

“Practice,” he echoed under his breath.

“Come on.”

His eyes narrowed, “Fine. Where do I start? Give me a prompt.”

Good question. You gave it a moment of thought, “Alright, try asking me on a date.”

“I just did a few minutes ago.”

“No, be blunt about it.”

A heavy pause. Kabru slumped forward a little, an intense look in his eyes. “Alright. Fine. Will you go on a date with me?”

“...Why?”

“Why?” Fear and horror and exasperation filled his eyes, "Shouldn't you already know?"

“I don't. So, why?”

“Because—” just like Rin did earlier, Kabru choked on his words. His hands went up and he made meaningless gestures with them as if that would assist in the process of being blunt. “Because I would like that?”

“Good job!” You patted him on the shoulder. “Now, bluntly tell me how you feel about me.”

The horror on his face, you wanted a picture of it so you would always have something to laugh at. “Really?”

“Really,” you sang. 

“Fine. I—” another meaningless gesture as he cleared his throat, brows furrowing, “You really want me to be blunt?”

“Yeah. Tell me the truth, the whole truth, don’t dance around it.”

“Okay,” Kabru snorted, “Okay… I want to kiss you, I want to hold you, I want your attention, I want to pin you down on the couch and—”

“That’s enough,” you put up a hand— your cheeks were burning— and smiled, “we’re in a public place. But I get the point, thank you.”

Kabru sighed in relief. He closed his eyes and fell forward, burying his face in your shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh and pat his back. 

There was a lot of work to do. He still had another layer of walls to break through, but he’d learn how to defeat and conquer. He’d learn how to stop building mazes for you. And it would be good for him, if it didn’t drive him insane first. 

You buried your nose into his hair. He groaned, slack in your arms. Part of you wanted to run, retreat. The other part of you rejoiced in the moment. You weren’t sure which one to listen to, but you and Kabru would figure it out with time. 

You and Kabru would figure a lot of things out together from now on. 

[sharksnshakes]

Night Out - Tim Drake

image source: batboyblog on tumblr

When out at a dive bar with your friends, you step outside for a breath of fresh air and run into the Red Robin. For some reason, he seems... familiar?

AN; writers block is brutal and disgusting and horrible. also. i am suffering from batfamily brainrot so expect more of this (part two can be found here!)

Wordcount; 787

TW; some cursing, mentions of drinking

It's a damp spring night when you meet the Red Robin. You're out with your friends at some college dive bar on the East Side. The area's a far cry from Gotham U's campus, but with free entry and cheap drinks, it's worth the elevated risk of mugging.

"Besides," one of your friends had declared on the way to the bar, "It just means we're more likely to see Nightwing's hot ass."

You're pretty sure the dark-haired vigilante operates exclusively in Bludhaven these days, but you're not a party pooper.

The music was good, the crowd was fun, but a small room of drunk co-eds had a way of heating up quicker than Firefly's flamethrower, and so you'd retreated out the side door for a breath of fresh air. You weren't stupid; you'd taken your small can of mace with you. This was Gotham, after all.

The alleyway was blissfully empty, save for a dumpster--quite the relief, seeing as the last time you'd been here, you'd stumbled upon a couple deep in the throes of a heated make out session. Taking a breath, you leaned up against the cool bricks in the alleyway and let yourself decompress.

"There's definitely better places to hang out around here than dark alleys," a voice says from somewhere behind you.

Living in the city has taught you many things. Most importantly, how to turn off potential predators by acting downright crazier than they do.

You spin on your heel and hold the mace like it's a pistol, coming face-to-face with none other than--

"Holy shit, you're Robin," you gasp, eyes widening.

Thank god you didn't actually mace him.

"That I am," he says, warily eyeing the can in your hand.

"Like... the Red Robin," you continue. You're blinking at him, openly gaping, and it occurs to you that you should probably stop pointing the can at his eyes. You stow the makeshift weapon in your back pocket. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were a mugger or something!"

"Hey, it's fine," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it's any consolation, you definitely would've scared the shit out of a mugger."

You laugh, but it's mostly in disbelief. Red Robin is standing mere feet away from you, domino mask and yellow cloak and green pants and all, and you're suddenly very thankful you'd gotten dressed up to go out tonight. For a split second, you swear you see him give you a quick once over. But no, there's no way Robin's checking you out.

He glances around the alleyway for a moment, almost awkwardly, before speaking again. "...Any reason you're out here?"

"I'm out with my friends," you say, motioning to the building behind you, where the bar's logo is printed in peeling white vinyl. "Needed some air. Somehow, smoke and asthma don't make a good combination," you joke.

"Can't imagine why," he grins, and holy shit Red Robin thinks you're funny.

"You got any fun, exciting plans tonight?"

He hesitates.

"Wait, you don't have to answer. I know, top secret Batman stuff--"

"Nah, not that secret." It's dark in the alleyway so maybe you're not seeing things right, but you swear you can see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Just patrolling. Y'know. Keeping an eye out for muggers and mace-wielding asthmatics."

You laugh. "Sounds boring."

"Definitely could use a drink." He glances at the side door with an unreadable expression.

"Rough start to the night?"

"You could say that."

A brief silence stretches between the two of you. Traffic and the faint pounding of the bar's music fill the space, and for some reason, despite never having met Robin and likely never meeting him again, it feels... almost familiar.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one stuck at work tonight. One of my best friends, Tim, had to bail last minute since he's got an exam to study for. So, like, you're not suffering alone!" you add, thinking back to the guy you've kind of been maybe having romantic feelings for lately.

Robin chokes.

"Shit, you okay? Need me to, like, slap you on the back or something?"

"Nope," he says, voice raspy.

"You're sure?"

"Positive." He gives you an awkward thumbs-up.

"I should probably let you get back to work, then," you sigh, turning back to the side door and grasping the handle. "And I should get back in there. Don't need my friends worried about me."

When you turn back around, it's just you and the dumpster.

"Fuckin' impressive," you mutter to nobody but yourself. "See ya, Robin."

You step back inside. The door closes behind you and... fuck.

You forgot to ask for a picture.

[wordstome]

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

[pin-k-ink]

your fics r amazing..... can i req for some hoshina dubcon something ahahahaha

......thanks.... no pressure... ✌️

company policy // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ dub-con, obsessive behavior, kinda sorta blackmail?,mentions of violence, injuries and threats, breeding kink, fingering, squirting, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of lactation and pregnancy, dirty talk, male masturbation, virginity loss

wc ⇢ 4.2k

a/n: i finally remembered that this man had a kansai dialect. but i kept giggling while writing his dialogues because i kept hearing him saying it in a southern accent. almost turned this into a non-con too

"Sleep well, my lil' warrior..."

Soshiro's fingers hovered over the glass, aching to reach through and brush aside the unruly strands of hair splayed across your face. To think, after all these months of silent admiration, of doing whatever it took to keep you off the battlefield, here you were - bandaged and bedridden because of his actions.

A pang of guilt twisted in his gut, quickly smothered by the relief of knowing you were alive, recuperating safely away from harm's reach. He'd made the tough call, purposefully restricting your combat suit's capabilities before the mission so you’d be forced to take it easy. Soshiro was well aware how you'd rail against such coddling...if you ever discovered the truth.

But that was a chance he was willing to take. Seeing your battered form encased in the med bay's healing pod, he knew he'd made the right call. He'd gladly endure your fury if it meant protecting you, his secret obsession.

A rueful chuckle slipped past Soshiro's lips as his gaze drank in your peaceful features. "Who'd have thought I’d fall so damned hard for a feisty recruit I ain't never properly met?"

His fingers curled against the cool glass longingly. "One day, darlin'..." he murmured, the depth of his affections laying unspoken. "One day, you'll understand why I gotta do this."

With a regretful sigh, Soshiro tore himself away from the window and your oblivious, slumbering form. But he knew he'd return soon, compelled as always by the inexplicable hold you had over his heart.

Soshiro nursed his cup of coffee, gaze fixated across the bustling room to where you sat amongst a group of fellow recruits. Even from this distance, he could make out the weariness weighing on your features after yesterday's intense healing session.

"Keep on pushin' through, darlin'," he murmured under his breath. "That fightin' spirit of yours is one helluva turn-on."

His eyes shamelessly trailed over the curves of your face, the delicate line of your jaw, the fullness of your lips as you laughed at something your friend said. Soshiro's chest clenched with a heated yearning, imagining what it might feel like to capture those plush lips with his own. To finally sate the burning curiosity about how you tasted, how you'd melt into his embrace.

A gruff noise rumbled up from his throat. As tantalizing as such fantasies were, he knew pursuing anything more than distant admiration would only lead to your ruin. The life of a Defense Force officer was no place for fragile things like romance.

No, his duty was to shield you from the harsh realities of battle - by any means necessary. Even if that meant ruthlessly exploiting your weaknesses during training to have you discharged from active duty. The ache of losing your radiant presence would be preferable to watching you be torn apart by vicious kaiju.

Soshiro's grip tightened around his mug as you rose, tray fully empty, and began weaving through the tables towards the exit. Soon you'd report for training, ignorant of the torturous "learning experience" he had meticulously planned.

"Forgive me, darlin'," he rasped, allowing himself one final lingering look before you disappeared from sight. "But a couple bruises now are better than losin' ya for good later on..."

Soshiro's jaw clenched as he watched you struggle valiantly against the onslaught of small yoju, desperately dodging and firing with the dampened capabilities he'd restricted your combat suit to. A flicker of pride sparked in his chest at your tenacity, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

But that flicker was quickly extinguished as the timer hit zero, klaxons blaring to signal your failure to neutralize the targets in time. With a few taps, Soshiro locked the yoju away, leaving you panting and sweat-drenched in the center of the training ground.

"Not good enough," he barked out, the harsh edge to his drawl making the words cut deeper than intended. "Everyone else, dismiss'd! [L/N], stay put - we need to have a lil' talk."

You froze at his order, eyes widening slightly at the uncharacteristic sternness emanating from the vice-captain. As the other recruits filed out, he could practically feel the nervous tension rolling off you in waves.

Once the room was empty save for the two of you, Soshiro stalked forward, letting his presence loom over your smaller frame. "Just what in the hell was that pathetic display, hmm?" he growled lowly. "I expected better from someone of your alleged skills."

"V-Vice Captain Hoshina, I...I gave it everything I had," you stammered meekly, unable to meet his suddenly intense gaze. "The yoju were just too much, especially when something is wrong with my suit."

A derisive snort escaped him at your excuse. Of course the weak yoju were far beyond your temporarily reduced capabilities - all to drive home this harsh lesson. "And d'you think the kaiju'll take it easy on ya when we're out in the field?"

Unconsciously, he stepped even closer, drinking in the fearful sheen glistening in your eyes, the tantalizing scent of your exertion surrounding him. "This is the reality you'd face if you can't hack it, [L/N]. A harsh, brutal reality that will slaughter the weak without hesitation."

Soshiro's chest heaved with each ragged breath, barely restraining the urge to reach out and grab you, to shake some sense into you before you got yourself killed with this stubborn insistence on fighting. But he held himself rigidly in check, letting the heat of his words instead try to drive you away from this deadly path.

"I suggest you get your act together," he bit out grufly. "Before these small kaiju ain't enough to prepare ya for what's comin'..."

As Soshiro turned to stalk away, your uncharacteristically defiant voice rang out behind him.

"With all due respect, vice-captain, I don't think the training was fair today." You straightened your shoulders, holding his narrowed gaze. "I train just as hard as anyone, but those yoju were far too overpowered for a standard exercise."

A low, rumbling chuckle reverberated up from Soshiro's chest as he slowly turned to face you once more. In an instant, the mocking grin slipped from his lips, replaced with a predatory smirk that made your breath catch.

"Oh? And what would a silly lil' thing like you know about 'fair', hmm?" He closed the distance between you with heavy, deliberate steps, eyes roaming insolently over your sweat-sheened form. "All yer meant to know is how to follow orders without that pretty lil' mouth flappin' so much."

Soshiro loomed over you, his powerful frame radiating scorching waves of dominance that had your knees quaking. You shrank back reflexively, but not nearly far enough to evade his sudden grip on your arm, wrenching you flush against his rock-hard body.

"P-Please, vice-captain..." you squeaked out, feeling utterly dwarfed by his commanding presence, the earthy musk of his body surrounding you.

"Please what, [L/N]?" he purred darkly, warm breath fanning across your face and sending a shiver down your spine. "Use yer words carefully now...unless you'd prefer I just shut those pretty lips up for good."

His free hand drifted up, calloused fingertips grazing your jaw teasingly before thumbing at your trembling lower lip. The urge to simply seize your mouth with his, to ravage that insolent pout into sweet submission nearly overwhelmed Soshiro.

A harsh groan rumbled up from deep within him as your bodies molded instinctively closer. Feeling the tantalizingly soft curves of your form against his rapidly hardening cock proved too exquisite a temptation. With a muttered oath, he abruptly released you, putting distance between your intoxicating heat and his tenuous restraint.

"Don't flatter yerself, [L/N]," Soshiro bit out roughly, fighting to temper the raw hunger blazing through his veins. "Startin' to think my standards for this Division were set too damned low if you made the cut..."

He paced the confines of his room like a caged animal, calloused fingers raking agitatedly through his tousled hair. The memory of your trembling form pressed flush against him, deliciously pliant and alluring, had awakened a white-hot need that could not be ignored.

"Goddamn stubborn woman..." Soshiro growled under his ragged breaths, futilely trying to banish the images of you whimpering beneath his towering frame, rosy lips parted so enticingly. With a guttural snarl, he flung himself onto his bed, fingers already working furiously to free his painfully strained cock.

There was only one way to douse this all-consuming burn you'd stoked within him. As Soshiro's rough palm wrapped around his throbbing length, he allowed himself to fully surrender to the forbidden fantasy of pinning you beneath him. To hear your gasps and mewls as he roughly spread those thighs and laid claim to your tight, quivering pussy...

A punched-out groan tore from Soshiro's lips as he stroked his cock with fevered urgency, sweat beading along his brow and muscles straining against the tide of pleasure relentlessly cresting over him. He craved nothing more than to bury himself to the hilt in your velvety cunt, to mark and rut you into sweet, whimpering submission until you screamed his name.

With a hoarse roar, Soshiro's release finally scorched through his veins, painting his chest with thick ropes of creamy cum. Harsh pants wracked his heaving frame as he caught his breath, the echo of your imagined cries still ringing blissfully in his ears.

"Hah...maybe that'll...clear my head for a lil' while," he rasped out, slowly coming down from his high. "Though knowin' you...darlin', it won't be nearly enough..."

Soshiro's boots pounded down the med bay corridor, jaw clenched so tightly it creaked. He didn't even bother trying to mask the frustration rolling off him in waves - not after hearing you'd gotten injured out there...again.

This was exactly why he'd fought so hard to get you discharged from active duty! How many more of these terrifying hospital visits could his heart withstand before it gave out from the stress?

Without ceremony, he barged through the door to your recovery room, cold fury simmering in his piercing gaze as he took in your banged up form. You startled awake at the commotion, eyes widening upon recognizing your intimidating visitor.

"V-Vice Captain Hoshina! I...what are you doing here?" you squeaked out, frantically trying to pull your sheets up to preserve some sense of modesty before your imposing superior.

Soshiro felt his bravado falter for just a moment at the naked surprise and confusion shining in your eyes. Of course you had no idea about the lengths he'd gone to in secret - tampering with your gear, ruthlessly pushing you past your limits, all in hopes of forcing you from the dangers of active duty. To you, he was likely just another high-ranking officer, his motivations as enigmatic as his exterior.

But that careful illusion shattered the moment he drank in your form. A familiar feeling of cold dread and gut-wrenching fear lanced through Soshiro's core, quickly transmuting into an explosive surge of heated frustration. How many more times could he endure the torment of seeing you blown back through those med bay doors, hovering on the edge of death's embrace?

"What am I doin' here?" he growled out, taking an aggressive step towards your bed until his looming frame cast you in shadow. "I'm here cuz you constantly insist on putting yourself in harm's way with this bullheaded defense force crusade of yours!"

Your lips parted, clearly wanting to protest, but Soshiro barreled forward before you could unleash whatever platitude about duty and sacrifice. "Don't even try feeding me that self-righteous drivel about 'protectin' the people' or any other heroic claptrap. You're just a damned adrenaline junkie who can't seem to resist the urge to throw herself into mortal peril at every possible turn!"

He could feel his ragged breaths sawing in and out, pupils blown wide with scarcely restrained emotion as he drank in the fearful flutter of your lashes, the unconscious nibble of your plush lower lip. In that moment of searing intensity, a shocking new idea blazed to life in Soshiro's mind - one that could potentially solve this agonizing conundrum once and for all.

After all, the Defense Force had strict policies about pregnant recruits being prohibited from active combat...

A cruel, predatory smirk slowly curved Soshiro's lips as he leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of your prone form until his face was mere inches from yours. "Tell me, [L/N]..." he purred in a low, sinful timbre, unable to resist trailing the tip of his nose along the heated line of your jaw. "How badly d'you wanna stay part of the Defense Force? Enough to take...more permanent measures to keep that lil' body of yours off the battlefield for good?"

Soshiro's calloused knuckles grazed your flushed cheek as he cupped your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. "I asked you a question, [L/N]. Are you that damned set on keepin' your spot with the Third Division? Enough to do whatever it takes to make sure that sweet lil' body of yours stays outta harm's way for good?"

You tried to protest, to put space between yourself and the scorching intensity radiating off his towering frame. But Soshiro's iron grip held you immobile, thumb digging possessively into the softness of your lower lip as his obsidian eyes bored straight through you.

"I-I don't under—" Your words tumbled away into a pathetic whimper as he leaned in impossibly closer, lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Shhh..." he hushed you with a deep rumble. "I'm done suggestin', darlin'. From now on, it's my way or no way at all."

The broad expanse of his chest pressed against you, pinning you to the cot as his hand slid up to tangle almost painfully in your hair. You were utterly surrounded by the woody, earthy scent of him, making your head spin deliriously.

"Pretty soon, that cute lil' belly is gonna be all nice and round," Soshiro murmured, voice gone low and molten with the filthy promise laced through each word. "Then you won't be allowed anywhere near the battlefield - not while you're carryin' my baby inside you."

The way your eyes blew wide, teeth worrying that plush lower lip sent a possessive surge of heat lancing through him. Soshiro chuckled darkly, relishing your innocence for just a moment more before shattering it entirely.

"Ain't no other way to guarantee your safety besides stuffin' that tight pussy full of my hot seed, darlin'..." With an animalistic growl, he slanted his mouth over yours in a demanding, claiming kiss.

His calloused palm roamed boldly down the dip of your waist, over the flare of your hip until finally cupping your thigh and hitching your leg up to bracket his hips at the most intimate angle.

You gasped against the searing onslaught of his questing tongue, offering the perfect opportunity for Soshiro to truly plunder the warm haven of your mouth as he rolled his hips meaningfully against you. His engorged length dragged tortuously against your clothed cunt, sending delicious jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"See, now?" he murmured breathlessly against your bruised lips. "Your lil' body is already beggin' me to fill you up, darlin'...and I ain't a man who can deny a lady her desires."

With a wicked chuckle, Soshiro's large hands tugged at your infirmary gown, practically ripping the garment apart and baring you completely to his ravenous gaze. Your protests melted away at the heat in his expression, the sheer, undeniable hunger for you that blazed from his blackened pupils.

"You're a goddamned vision, you know that?" Soshiro growled, gaze drinking in every inch of newly exposed flesh. He licked his lips as he palmed the full curve of your breasts, relishing the breathy mewls spilling from your lips at the contact.

"I can't wait to see these all nice and heavy, filled up with milk just for me..." He leaned down, capturing one peaked nipple between his lips and suckling deeply, reveling in the sweet gasps falling from your lips.

"Ahh...s-stop, we can't..." Your fingers tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, deeper. Soshiro chuckled darkly, tongue swirling a tantalizing pattern around your areola before releasing the pebbled bud with a lewd pop.

"You can't deny it, darlin'..." His fingers trailed possessively over your hip, dipping down between your thighs to tease your slick folds. "Not when your body's already beggin' me to breed this sweet pussy full, nice and proper."

Before you could form a coherent response, Soshiro's thick digits plunged into your soaked cunt, a throaty moan tumbling past his lips at how perfectly you swallowed his fingers.

"Hah...damn, darlin'...you're so wet and tight around my fingers already," he rasped out, pumping and curling the digits at an agonizingly slow pace, just enough to drive you wild. "Bet you'll feel even better when I'm stuffin' my fat cock inside ya."

"Mmmh...V-Vice captain..." Your head lolled back, lost in the sensation of his skilled fingers filling and stretching your needy pussy. Soshiro's thumb began working your clit in teasing circles, bringing you dangerously close to the edge as he nipped and kissed his way down the column of your throat.

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten my name, darlin'," he groaned lowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the heated juncture where your neck met shoulder. "Not after I've worked so hard to keep you alive this long."

Your brows furrowed at his words, but before you could fully grasp the meaning, his fingers hooked up into your sweet spot, wrenching a keening moan from your lips. Soshiro drank in your blissed-out expression, the way your cheeks flushed so pretty, how your swollen, spit-slick lips parted on each desperate gasp and cry.

"Fuck, I can't wait another second..." he muttered, fingers slipping free of your clenching heat. You barely had time to protest the loss before Soshiro's calloused palms grasped your hips, easily maneuvering you onto your stomach.

A surprised squeak spilled from your lips, but before you could voice any objections, Soshiro's warm breath was fanning across your shoulder, a strong hand grabbing you by the back of your neck and forcing you down against the pillow.

"Keep that ass nice and raised for me, darlin'," he coaxed darkly, fingers teasing the soft globes of your rear, dipping into the slick pooling between your thighs. "Gotta make sure I get as deep as possible to really knock you up, after all."

"Wait, please..." you whimpered, trying and failing to twist around and catch a glimpse of him. The head of Soshiro's throbbing cock nudged at your dripping folds, the blunt pressure making you mewl. "I-It's my first time, Soshiro...please be gentle!"

A pleased rumble reverberated through him, hearing his name spill so sweetly from your lips. His hand drifted from the back of your neck, trailing tenderly along the elegant curve of your spine.

"Ain't that just adorable, darlin'," Soshiro murmured, voice gone unbearably fond. "You think I could be rough with somethin' this sweet and precious?"

Without warning, his grip tightened on your hip, jerking you back against him in one smooth thrust. You cried out at the sudden invasion, his thick cock bottoming out in your needy pussy with a filthy squelch.

"Hah...shit, yer even tighter than I imagined," he hissed, the overwhelming heat of your velvety cunt nearly bringing him to his knees. He had to force himself to hold still, to give your trembling body time to adjust to his sizable girth.

"M-Move..." The hoarse plea slipped out before you could stop yourself, feeling so incredibly full, deliciously stretched by the man whose presence both frustrated and intrigued you.

"So damned bossy," Soshiro muttered, but a smirk tugged at his lips nonetheless. His grip shifted from your neck to tangle in your hair, forcing your spine into a delicious arch as he drew his hips back before snapping them forward again.

"Ahh! S-Soshiro, that's—!" Your words dissolved into a litany of whimpers and moans as he began pounding into your quivering cunt, setting a brutal, punishing pace that had the cot beneath you creaking ominously.

"Oh, so this is what it takes to shut you up?" he growled lowly, leaning forward until his sculpted torso pressed flush against your arched back. His other arm wrapped around you, fingers splayed over your stomach to feel the impact of his thrusts as his cock bottomed out inside you.

"God, darlin', look at how well you're taking me," Soshiro crooned in your ear, pressing a heated kiss to the tender spot just behind it. "Your cute little pussy is squeezin' me so nice and tight, practically beggin' for my hot cum."

The filthy words spilled past his lips without a second thought, too focused on chasing the tight heat of your cunt. His pace only increased, the wet slap of skin against skin and your mewls of ecstasy echoing through the room.

"Fuck, you're perfect, you know that?" His grip in your hair relaxed, allowing him to cup your jaw and force you into a breathless, passionate kiss. The taste of him, the sheer dominance of his embrace had you melting, cunt clenching tightly around his pulsing length.

"Mmph...y-you can't, not inside...!" Your protest was weak, half-hearted at best, drowned out by the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you. Soshiro's tongue traced the seam of your lips, the heady scent of him flooding your senses.

"Oh, I'm definitely cummin' inside," he rasped out, a dark, animalistic glint in his eyes as he broke the kiss, his hips pistoning at a frenetic pace. "Gonna stuff that sweet pussy full and then some, 'til it's dripping with my seed, and you'll be carryin' my baby inside ya."

"Ngh, ahh! Soshiro, I-I'm—!" Your body shuddered against him, a scream of his name tearing from your lips as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in bliss. Soshiro's hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your cries as he rutted his hips forward once, twice more before burying his cock to the hilt and unleashing his release with a strangled roar.

Hot ropes of cum splattered your inner walls, his hips bucking reflexively with each spurt as he emptied his balls. Soshiro's chest heaved with exertion, the haze of lust slowly dissipating as he drank in the sight of you pinned beneath him, his seed spilling out from around his cock, trickling down the curve of your ass and coating your thighs.

"My babygirl, my good little warrior," he murmured, brushing a kiss over the back of your neck before reluctantly withdrawing his softening cock. You whimpered at the loss, body collapsing in a boneless heap, too spent to resist as Soshiro carefully flipped you onto your back and settled between your legs again.

"Look at you, darlin'," he purred, calloused fingertips ghosting up the inside of your thigh and gathering the mixture of fluids seeping out of your thoroughly claimed cunt. Soshiro's gaze darkened as he spread your thighs wide, watching his cum leak from your fluttering hole, staining the sheets beneath you.

"Hah, fuck...that's a beautiful sight, right there." He gathered up the mess, pressing two thick digits back into your cunt, the wet squelch nearly obscene in the quiet room. Soshiro's dark gaze bore into yours, smoldering with possessiveness as he leaned over your prone form, lips grazing your ear. "But this ain't enough, not even close. Gotta make sure I get my good girl nice and pregnant..."

You moaned, the sound muffled as his lips slanted over yours in a searing, demanding kiss, tongue plundering the depths of your mouth while his fingers pumped steadily. Soshiro's palm ground against your hypersensitive clit, drawing a sharp cry from you as he continued the ruthless, steady assault on your spent cunt.

"Mmph, Soshiro, please...!" you whimpered, hands scrabbling uselessly at his muscled back as he curled his fingers and pressed them relentlessly against your sweet spot. Your body jerked, cunt clenching around his thick digits in a desperate attempt to stave off the overstimulation.

"I know, darlin'," he murmured huskily, nipping along the column of your throat. "Just one more, then I'll let you rest, alright?"

The sensations were so overwhelming, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cum-slicked pussy, his warm lips and tongue trailing fire across your sensitive skin. Your toes curled, body writhing beneath his insistent ministrations, every muscle tensing, a scream caught in your throat...

"That's it, come for me, babygirl..."

His teeth sunk into the delicate juncture of your neck and shoulder, sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure surging through you. The tension within you finally snapped, a wave of bliss crashing over you as you squirted helplessly around his fingers, drenching the sheets with a fresh flood of your combined release.

Your chest heaved with exertion, unable to even muster a noise of complaint as Soshiro withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and gaping, his seed slowly trickling from your puffy lips. But you didn't have the energy to fight him as he slowly began to slip his cock back into your oversensitive cunt, murmuring praises against the shell of your ear.

"Shhh, I know, darlin'...such a good girl, makin' me proud." A strangled groan spilled past his lips as he bottomed out inside you, the delicious squeeze of your pussy nearly driving him to the edge. But Soshiro forced himself to keep still, letting your quivering walls adjust to his length before beginning a slow, gentle rhythm.

"Gotta make sure I get a few loads nice and deep," he grunted, relishing the way your walls gripped him like a vise. "Get you nice and pregnant so I won't have to worry about my pretty girl anymore..."