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pseudowho · 8 months

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The JJK Crew as Firemen

Okay lads and gentlebugs, it's damsel time! This is how they meet you, rescue you, and fall in love...all in their fully uniformed line of duty.

Starring: Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Higuruma, Sukuna and Toji

Warnings: Building fires, road traffic collisions, suicide attempts, injuries, earthquakes, floods, wildfires, near-drowning, Ferris wheels, highly irresponsible use of fire-trucks

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Gojo

Satoru had agreed to take an extra shift, with the threat of bad weather, and he regretted it-- this storm was biblical. The skies were so black and pregnant with rain, it may as well have been night. The billowing rains slapped and stung Satoru's cheeks. Drivers were blinded, their wipers failing to clear their windscreens even at maximum speed. People stumbled, buffeted into the roads by violent winds. And Satoru's sense of humour could only get him so far when members of the public made increasingly irrational decisions, and placed themselves in danger.

But not you, he thought, as he stepped into the wild torrents of overflowing river water, to the dismayed shouts of his colleagues, you absolutely don't deserve to die like this.

Trying to head home, kept cruelly late by a manager who didn't care how far you had to travel, you had missed your bus, and had to take a dangerous detour over a little river bridge, public transport services all abruptly cancelled. One violent sweep of wind was all it took to rock you over the little fence, and you clung desperately to weeds on the riverbank, soaked, shivering, gulping at murky, frigid, terrifyingly climbing waves.

"I'm coming," shouted the fireman, white-haired, tall, throwing off his heavy uniform jacket, with no regard for his own safety, "just hold on, I'll get you out, I promise--" Satoru sloshed and slipped, his t-shirt muddy and plastered to his chest as he slid down the riverbank. He allowed his colleagues to hurriedly harness him. Hitting the water, his abs clenched painfully with the cold, and he began to wade towards you.

You cried out, feeling your grip on life be washed away as the riverbed crumbled, releasing the weeds you clung to. As the river grasped you, your hands flung desperately out, holding your breath, praying, praying--

An enormous hand gripped your own, and a long forearm drew you close with one almighty heave. Satoru dug his fingers deep into the river wall, feeling the jarring rub of stones embedded in smooth wet squelch.

"Don't let go, just hold onto me--" Satoru reached under the water, gripping your thighs and making you grasp them around his hips. You flung your arms round his neck, your face in his chest, and he held you like this, stepping back against the onslaught of the river as his colleagues reeled you both in.

Still carrying you, his arms locked under your bum, Satoru staggered up the riverbank, drenched, chest heaving you up and down against him. You glanced up at him meekly, trembling and cold. Satoru sighed, grinning down at you.

"Come on then. Tell me your name, 'cos we're gonna have to get undressed for me to warm you up."

Nanami

A wave of heat slapped across Kento's face, and he pulled equipment to his body in a practiced rush. A smash and a roar burst from the inferno in front of him, as a window exploded, blackened glass spraying through the air. The apartment block was being gutted as he watched.

"Sir! Sir!"

"What is it, Ino?"

"Evacuation incomplete, sir. There's someone left on the second floor."

Kento pulled his mask down, eyes shooting up to an opened window, a white sheet hanging out of it, flapping as the heat rose from below. Crews around him shouted to be heard over the roar of flame, with cannons shooting water, attempting to quell the fire from the lower floors. Crowds of pyjama'd residents were herded away, confused and bleary-eyed as flames ate their homes.

"Is the left stairwell clear, Ino?" Takuma faltered as Kento stamped his boots into place, yanking on his gloves.

"For-- for now-- you can't be serious sir--" Kento huffed inside his mask, clapping Ino on the shoulder, Ino buckling slightly at the strength behind it.

"I'm always serious, Ino."

Without another word, Kento stepped towards the building, sweating in his suit as he moved into a stairwell, belching smoke. His senses were dulled, his vision boxed-in, hearing his own panting breaths in the fishtank of his helmet. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hesitated and turned at the top; Kento looked down the stairs, feeling heat scorch up towards him, the fire spreading rapidly, closing off his exit.

Out of time, he thought. Approaching a corridor, its doorway jammed, swollen and warped, Kento lifted a foot and kicked it effortlessly through with a roar, the door splintering and buckling under his boot.

"Are you here? Shout for me," Kento bellowed into the corridor. His ears pricked at the shouts and coughs from the end of the corridor. Building into as much of a run as his equipment would allow, he reached another door, its paint raised and wrinkled by the heat.

Kento stepped back, turning sideways as he rammed the door with his shoulder, once, twice, three times, and barrelled through as it splintered under his weight.

Spinning his head, he saw you, crouched on the floor beneath your window, terrified and relieved in your pyjamas. Kento stepped to you, kneeling, his gloved hands moving over your body, checking you for injury. You stared into him, unable to stop yourself from grabbing his forearms, hands shaking and cold despite the blazing heat churning through the floor.

"I thought-- I thought I was going to die here," you gasped, trembling. Kento's heart creaked, and he was surprised, shaking it off-- do your job, Kento, he chastised himself.

"At least if we die here, we won't die alone. Can you stand?" You nodded, rising on shaking legs, and immediately dropped down, your eyes stinging and burning from the smoke billowing across the ceiling, pouring in from the corridor.

Kento's heart dropped to his stomach as the floor shook- an almighty crash down the corridor signified its collapse. Keeping you close with one arm round your waist, Kento leaned out of your window. With a grateful lurch, he could see his colleagues ready with the parachute canopy, waving, calling, beckoning him down.

Kento pulled you close, your back against his chest, both arms wrapped in an arresting grip around your belly and chest-- "Do you trust me?" His heart skipped again as you turned your head, gazing into him through his visor, nodding.

Kento sat backwards on the window ledge, forcing you to sit on his lap. He tried to bracket you with his arms and legs, giving a satisfied grunt as you pressed yourself hard against him.

"On three," he toned, low and heady in your ear, "...one." You squealed and squeezed his arm as he dropped backwards, both of you gripped by gravity and hauled earthwards. Kento grunted as you landed in the parachute, shielding you from impact.

The weightlessness continued as the parachute was carried from the building and placed gently on the ground. Shouts and cheers and roaring flames rang into the night, and heavy gloved hands clapped on Kento's arms and shoulders, from which you had not been released. You trembled in his lap, feeling his chest heave against your back.

When Kento broke out of his reverie, he caught your eyes staring up at him, soft and grateful, trying to see him through his helmet.

"My hero," you whispered, just quiet enough for him to hear. Kento's heart stuttered. He lifted one gloved hand and removed his helmet, blond hair messy, a fine sheen of sweat across his cheeks, his brown eyes flickering amber in the firelight. You bit your lip, drinking him in. He still had not let you go.

Geto

The whispering crowd was infected; the morbid curiosity of a thronging mass, negated the base empathy of its participants, and replaced it with a spectacle-hungry monster.

Suguru felt the grumbling rubber-neckers by the bridge be reluctantly pushed back by police officers. The first out of his fire truck, Suguru pushed through, sleek as a fish swimming upstream, and ducked under the police officers' arms, unhindered due to uniform privilege. He picked up pace as he approached the stairs, his heart in his mouth.

And, on the railings of the bridge, stood you; you trembled, so exposed and vulnerable. Nothing could make this better. Nothing could ease this naked agony. Nothing in death could be more painful than the burden of life. Nothing could possibly eke you back from the edge of this--

"Hey. I'm Suguru. I'm sorry this is happening to you."

His voice pierced your reverie, and the world slowed around you both. The passage of leaves on the wind stilled. The collective voice hushed. The railings gripped you tightly by the hands.

"And it's not going to be easy. Coming back from this. Getting better."

Your lips puckered upwards and you hiccuped, your sobs wet, your nose dripping. As you shook, one foot slipped off the edge of the bridge and the crowd shrieked as you partially dropped, the collective voice now drowning you, leaves twirling on a whirlwind, railings forsaking you--

You felt two strong arms grip around your waist. Scrabbling against them with stress-bitten nails, your foot tried to gain purchase again. Your weak little heart caved at the effort required and you teetered, weeping and floppy, half-on and half-off the bridge.

"I can let go of you. If you need me to. I understand. But...I don't think you do want me to."

Embraced like this, you felt warm. It was much easier leaping from the cold air than from warm arms, which had given you permission both to die, and to live. Your heart creaked, the choice suddenly made easy.

"Pull me up," you sobbed as you felt the arms tighten around you, "pull me up pull me up pull me u--"

You fell with a thud against the warm voice, and grasped onto it, curled into its lap, sobbing your heart out, the crowd beneath you sounding both relieved and disappointed. The warm voice soothed you, rocked you, stroked your hair.

You found yourself, in a few slow blinks, sat in the back of an ambulance, hands trembling around a hot drink, wrapped in a silver foil blanket. You stared blankly, numb, into the rising steam. A few short taps came from the ambulance door.

You looked up to see a beautiful man who you didn't recognise, handsome, slanted eyes glimmering, his long black hair pulled up into a bun. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognised to whom the warm voice belonged.

"You should be proud of yourself. It's not easy accepting help. Can I sit with you?"

Ino

The road was carnage, with debris scattered across tarmac, the remnants of one car smouldering weakly in dying flames, and the cries and sobs of a bloodied man being carried away on a stretcher. Still, the queue of traffic behind beeped and cussed, so outrageously inconvenienced.

Your car was crushed around you, the splitting pain in your leg made so much worse by the anxious claustrophobia of these crumpled walls, and not knowing how injured you really were. The sickening speed of the crashrolltumblecrash that had trapped you here, replayed in your mind on repeat. You felt panic claw up your throat, tasting your own blood as it dripped down your cheek and into your mouth.

"Wow, girl! You really didn't like this car, huh?"

The ridiculous flippancy of the statement was so incongruous, you laughed. Sniffling and trembling, you looked sideways through broken glass. A young man, his face friendly and open, squashed in his helmet, stared back at you, a sympathetic smile in his eyes.

"My name's Takuma. I'm here to get you out of this car, me and my friends. You look like you could use some help." Your lips pinched and you moved to nod, but Takuma's hands darted out, his fingertips to your cheeks and temples, holding your head.

"No. Don't. Your neck could be injured. Just...still as you can, okay? Good girl."

Takuma reached into a pocket, pulling out earplugs and putting them in for you, gingerly pulling a pair of goggles over your eyes. He removed them again briefly, gently swiping his thumb over a drip of blood about to run into your eye, wiping it on his trousers, replacing the goggles.

Takuma and his crew made short work of cutting through the pillars of your wrecked car, lifting the roof and doors off as if they were made of cardboard. After paramedics confirmed the integrity of your spine, hips and legs, Takuma managed to kneel beside your seat, working to release your trapped leg.

Fearful, your hand reached out, lying on Takuma's shoulders, gripping the back of his collar. Wordlessly, and without looking back, Takuma shook off one glove as his other hand worked, and reached up to hold your hand in his, rested together on his shoulder. You felt a curious tranquility run through you at his effortless kindness.

Your foot released, with a rush of pain as blood throbbed in your toes. You felt a twinge of disappointment as Takuma stepped back, allowing himself to be replaced by the concerned hands of medics.

"Not every day you get to be rescued by someone so handsome, huh?" Takuma laughed, framing his jaw faux-smugly between his thumb and forefinger. You smiled up at him, cute and appreciative in a way that made his belly clench.

"No. It's not every day I get to be rescued by someone so handsome."

You did not realise heroes could blush so sweetly.

Megumi

"Here. C'mon boy-- over here. You-- over there. Good boys."

Megumi expertly directed his dogs, one black and one white, against the threat of night-time's approach. News crews inconvenienced him, and he scowled, traversing rubble and wires as shouting rescuers tried desperately to set up floodlights. A chill bit through the air.

"...tonight, as a 7.8 magnitude earthquake rocked the city. The search for survivors continues as..."

Megumi raised his head to the tune of three short barks from his dog, and he jogged to the corner of a collapsed school, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. His black dog pointed keenly to a crushingly large pile of rubble, no building left for lessons and lunchtimes. Megumi reached into his pocket, offering his dog a treat, scratching its ears and head to the tune of a proud wagging tail.

"Good boy, good boy. Wait here for me." Megumi headed to the rubble, keen eyes scouring, ears astute and listening. He found an opening, the remnants of a collapsed doorway. He heard shuffles, coughs. He shoved some loose brickwork aside, and you felt rays of evening sunlight pierce what you thought was to be your grave.

"Can you hear me?" shouted Megumi, and you clung to his voice from your little coffin. Your eyes pricked with tears as the shadow of a young man blocked the rays of light, and he raised a torch, creating a beam of light, illuminating yourselves to each other.

"You got under a table?" Megumi asked, impressed, appreciative, "That saved your life. Good job."

You smiled wetly, your cut hands clotted with brick dust, and you moved to come out from under the table towards him. A perilously leaning wall teetered above you as you emerged, and you felt a shadow begin to drop over you.

With a scream, and Megumi's harsh shout, you braced for impact...and felt none. Your body felt suddenly warm, pleasantly cushioned. Opening your eyes you felt the young man lying full-length across you, his forearms braced on the floor, impossibly strong as he shielded you from the collapsed brickwork. You gasped, still and shocked, as he planked against you.

"Get yourself out. Now," he grunted. You nodded, slithering out from underneath him, leaving bloodied handprints on the brickwork as you clambered out to safety. A rough groan behind you signified Megumi somehow shaking most of a wall off his back, and crawling out to meet you.

Again, impossibly, you were the one who swayed on your feet, and Megumi reached his hands out to steady you. Two eager dogs sniffed around you both, and Megumi's frown deepened with a pretty pink blush as you gazed into him with unabashed admiration.

"Get yourself to the medics," Megumi grumbled, rubbing brick dust out of his spiky hair, "they'll help you from he--"

"I will. If you give me your number."

"You-- you are out of your mind."

Yuuji

Yuuji lowered his visor, and regretted it immediately as the rain slapped against it. Reluctantly, he raised it, feeling instant cool trickles from fringe to eyebrows. Blinking water away, he crowded amongst his colleagues, all fresh fire-service arrivals to provide relief and rescue from this flooded valley town.

Twisting round, flicking muddy splatters, Yuuji's ears pricked as his Captain, Nanami Kento, barked orders.

"Ino, Maki-- provide aid and rescue for the eastern quarter. Kugisaki, to the west. Itadori--"

Nanami hesitated at Yuuji, who would have been wagging his tail if he had one. On a hitched breath, Nanami continued.

"Itadori, survey the northern lane's integrity before we move towards evacuation. Do not," Nanami warned, slanted eyes narrow through his visor, "do anything dangerous."

Yuuji appeared thoughtful; "And by dangerous, you mean...?"

"Itadori."

"Got it sir. Nothing dangerous," Yuuji offered with a wink and a salute. Nanami stared after him with silent despair as Yuuji jogged, splashing down the waterlogged lane.

Yuuji hummed to himself, his voice breaking and springing as he jogged, blowing rivulets of water away from his lips, slipping through the mud road between lanes, hedges, trees, descending down a winding hill. He heard the hushed roar of torrents of water, and rounded the corner curiously.

The river had burst its banks, submerging a hidden dip in the road. The water sloshed, murky with sediment, lapping at an enormous felled tree, underneath which--

"Shit...shit!" Yuuji cussed, seeing a small car, almost completely submerged, partially crushed under the weight of the tree. Yuuuji sprinted, feet slapping and skidding in the wet slop of the road. Inside the car, splashes, and a desperate wet voice.

"Oh fuck--hang on, just hang on, I'll get you out." Yuuji sloshed into the flood, chest deep, keeping his footing as the undercurrent threatened to sweep him away. Leaping over felled creaking branches, rattling in the wind, Yuuji met a pair of small pale hands at the window of the car. He pressed his broad palms flat against the glass, your last remaining barrier to complete submersion.

Tear-stained, awaiting death, you stared out at him, hyperventilating, gasping, "I don't want to die here-- not like this-- I can't get out--" Yuuji took a step back, eyes wide and fearful, brimming with doubt. You saw this in him, and your lips puckered, sobbing, snotty and cold.

"I know," you reassured him as you shook, "there's nothing you can do...the tree-- you can't move it in time. I can't-- I can't--"

"I can."

You stopped, palms flat against the glass, sweet eyes boring into Yuuji, and he was possessed by malcontent.

"I can," he insisted, throwing his yellow jacket and helmet off to sink away into the muddy depths. His black t-shirt clung to his form. Even young and drenched, he looked...powerful. Still, you shook your head, slowly at first until you filled with certainty.

"You can't," you insisted, assuaging him from guilt, "you're not strong eno--"

"No, I'm strong. I'm really strong. Not smart, but--" Yuuji pulled his gloves up, taking a staggered stance with his palms flat under the tree. He turned sideways, eyes wide and innocent as he grinned.

Teeth gritting, Yuuji roared as he heaved the tree trunk. His arms shook, wet biceps bulging against his sleeves as he heaved and bellowed. As you opened your mouth to insist he stop, the words caught in your throat-- somehow, in a masterclass feat of strength, you saw the tree trunk begin to lift off the roof of the car, taking pressure off the frames and doors.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, voice strangled in amazement, "keep going, you're doing it, good boy good boy good boy--"

With one final wild exertion, Yuuji shunted the tree, and it rolled with a thick splash down the bonnet. Wading towards the car, Yuuji gripped the door handle, ready to pull against the stunning mass of water.

"When I open this, the car's gonna fill up," he pondered aloud, "so..."

"I'll reach out for you," you nodded, gasping, the water up to your chin. Yuuji's lips curled appreciatively, and he maintained eye contact as he counted down.

"Three, two, one...go!" Yuuji grunted, heaving the door open, filled with terror as your face disappeared in a rush of brown. Shoving his thick thigh into the gap, he reached in, begging, praying--

-- Yuuji felt two cold hands grip his forearms, and he gripped in return, heaving you through the torrent into his arms.

In mutual relief, chests heaving against each other, you coughed and spluttered in Yuuji's arms, fingers sinking into his hair, planting wet kisses of thanks to his cheeks.

"You saved my life," you pressed, voice breaking, "How am I ever...how can I ever...?"

"You can...just call me 'good boy' again? Just once more?"

Higuruma

"Shit-- it's spread so fucking fast--"

Higuruma Hiromi wasn't sure if the crushing, oppressive heat was coming from the sun, the scorched earth beneath his feet, or the wall of flames devastating the dry summer forest before him.

Eyes wide and appalled, his frown wrinkled his hooked nose, drips of sweat trickling through spiky black hair and onto the thirsty earth. His black t-shirt was claustrophobically tight against prickling skin, and he ran two hands down his chest before pulling on his yellow jacket and helmet.

With a sharp intake of breath, he began to boom orders to his scurrying team; "you know what to do-- restrict the spread, we have to stop this encroaching on the--"

"Sir, please! Please, listen, there's someone in there--"

Hiromi's head snapped round, hawkish black eyes like beetles in the firelight, and landed on a park ranger, fighting to be heard over the roar of flame and barrier-arms of police officers. Hiromi stomped over to him, one harsh finger pointed in the officers' face to prevent his interruption before he could start.

"You say there's someone in there? In the forest? Be clear," Hiromi commanded. The park ranger gulped.

"One of the other rangers, she-- she's trying to save some of the bird-boxes-- endangered species--"

Hiromi laughed, humourless, as he rubbed his face, gazing to the heavens, between two long-fingered hands.

"Endangered species-- she's a fucking endangered species, at this rate--" Hiromi laughed again, breathing in through his mouth, and out with a sandy groan and a decision.

"Begin at the edges," he commanded to his team, jogging towards a break in the trees, "I'll be back, if I'm lucky." Hearing the frantic shouts of his team beckoning him back, Hiromi's boots stamped over the embering earth, all noise fading and replaced by hellish heat and the lick of devil's tongues.

Hiromi panted, chest heaving as it gulped in heavy air and ashes, embering leaves wisping to the floor around him. Spotting a sign, its information barely legible as the paint wrinkled up from the surface, he sprinted onwards through the inferno, leaping over logs, skidding through wafer-dry foliage, the flames in the branches above him creating the burnt-umber sunset of a hellscape.

Approaching a circular fence, the bird sanctuary was engulfed, and inexplicably, a woman halfway up a tall wooden ladder was detaching a bird-box from the side of a tree. Hiromi skidded to a halt, incredulous, snorting in derision.

Your skin felt as dry as tanned leather on your cheeks as you tucked the bird-box under your arm and began to step down the ladder. Just one more, you thought, I can get just one mo--

"I don't like to interrupt someone passionate about their job, but are you quite finished?"

You jumped, clasping the bird-box to your chest as Hiromi loomed over you, his anger rising so much taller than he was. You swallowed, tongue like sandpaper, answering honestly.

"I'm not, actually, I've got one more to--"

Hiromi's gloved hands had cupped around the birdbox, gently plucking it out of your hands and into his. You squealed indignantly as he ducked, throwing you over his shoulder with one arm, grunting as you wriggled and kicked.

"Do as you're told," Hiromi chastised as you thumped at his back with your fists, crying out, sobbing as he carried you away, "I appreciate your diligence but--"

"No, please-- just listen--" you sobbed, reaching back as he carried you and the single bird-box away, "--the eggs-- the last breeding pair--"

Hiromi stopped despite himself, feeling the flames ringing closer around him. He tapped his foot, furious, considerate. Placing you down with a huff, he walked back to the ladder. As he picked it up, he shot you a hot-eyed look of sarcastic inquisition. Lips puckering mulishly, you pointed to the tree beside him.

Wordlessly, his body language dramatically muted, Hiromi placed the ladder and took it two rungs at a time. Removing the birdbox, gripping it in one fist, Hiromi slid down the sides of the ladder and stamped back to you, pressing the bird-box into your arms beside the other.

As your eyes melted at him in a soft little smile, embracing your bird-boxes, Hiromi blushed, glaring at you without venom. He ducked down in front of you slightly, not breaking eye-contact. Your head tilted owlishly, and Hiromi felt his belly twist in odd delight.

"What are you--" the air was thumped out of you as Hiromi hefted you over his shoulder again, and he huffed out a laugh as you swore at him. You clung to your bird-boxes as he ran through the flames, gasping and squeaking as he leapt over, under, through...

Hiromi burst out of the forest and into the open, cooled instantly by the wind-carried cool spray of a dozen hoses. Hiromi dropped you down, and you fell to your knees beside each other, panting, feeling the water drizzle down your bodies.

"So," Hiromi gasped, throwing off his jacket and t-shirt, groaning at the cool water dripping down his chest, "tell me about your birds."

You pressed your forehead to his bare-chest, breath grazing across it as you laughed, sending shivers down Hiromi's spine. Resting your cheek on him, looking up with lovestruck, appreciative eyes, Hiromi wondered faintly that he could listen to you tell him about birds all night.

Sukuna

This was the worst day of your life. You had made a horrible error of judgement, and you prayed to the god who had forsaken you, steeping in the consequences of your own actions. You would live the rest of your days in terror, stomach cold and gripped and roiling with fear, never happy again--

To the amused intrigue of onlookers, you were enjoying an extra-long ride at the top of a colourful Ferris Wheel. But you were afraid of heights, and had chosen a beautiful summers' day to challenge yourself. And then the Ferris Wheel got stuck. And now you were going to die up here.

You slid off the seat and onto the floor, and sobbed as your little carriage rocked in the wind. The Ferris Wheel creaked, and you felt a cold terrified sweat drop down your chest, your hands flinging out to clutch the seats. Head tipped back and eyes closed, you felt panic settling in--

"Oi. Woman. Do you want this, or not?"

You shrieked at the suddenly-appearing pink-haired man clung to the outer bars of your carriage, his face nothing short of bored and pissed off as he held a bottle of water out to you.

"What the fuck-- are you doing up here-- did you climb here?"

Sukuna snorted at you, eyes narrowed and cruel as he took you in, all sweat and tears and skirt tucked all the way up to your hips.

"Look at you, what a fucking mess," he cooed to your furious blushes, eyes brimming with tears again, "you're normally my type, but--"

"Are you just here to make fun of me?" You hiccuped, snatching the bottle of water out of his hand, unscrewing the cap as Sukuna laughed at you. With a wicked glint in his eye, Sukuna jumped his feet against the bars, rocking it, and you shrieked, clinging to the seats and sloshing water over your thighs as he laughed harder.

"Oh baby," he mocked, "you scared of heights? Want me to hold your hand?" He lifted his feet to rock the carriage again, but stopped, frowning as you answered.

"Yes," you hiccuped, "please. Hold my hand." As your little hand slid up the wall of the carriage towards his gripped around the bars, Sukuna snorted, turning his face away from you.

"It's hot," he stated, blunt, "I was told to bring you water. I've done my job. I'm not gonna hold your--"

"Please." His stomach flipped, cock twitching involuntarily inside his uniform as you begged. Sukuna snorted again, ignoring you. As you started to sniffle, weeping, your hand slid down away from his. A heartbeat passed, and you felt a strong, warm hand reach in, fingers plaiting through yours.

"You're pathetic," he mocked, still staring out across the sea, his voice a little softer now, "what the hell are you doing in a Ferris Wheel if you're afraid of heights?"

"I wanted...I wanted to see if I could--"

"Idiot. Now you're stuck here," he snapped, almost sounding concerned, his heart fluttering in a way that made his neck prickle as you rested your tear-dampened cheek against his hand in yours.

You and Sukuna stayed this way, your cheek against your fingers plaited in his. The carriage became gradually bathed in a warm pink sunset, lighting up the coral of his hair. The sway was gentle, a little boat on lilting tide.

Finally, a short jolt rumbled the carriage to life, and it began to trail in a circle back towards the ground.

Just before your carriage ground to a halt, Sukuna spoke, slow and mischievous.

"Hey. Woman."

"What?" you answered, unaware of your skirt hitched up around your waist.

"Cute little panties you've got there."

The shrieks of rage and cackling laughter could be heard all the way down to the beach.

Toji

"You've called-- you've called him in? Are you out of your mind?" Satoru gaped at Nanami, his fellow Captain, gobsmacked as Nanami pursed his lips in irritation.

The fire-truck was parked to the side of the main road; all cars were halted, abandoned, swarmed by rioters in scarves and balaclavas, hundreds upon hundreds of them, a swirling mass of destruction in the streetlights. Riot police vainly attempted to form a blockade, stumbling as bodies slipped past them, shop windows smashing, flaming bottles tossed.

"We need the bodies," Nanami pressed, stripping his t-shirt off, thick muscular arms reaching into the truck to find a clean one, "how often do the riot police call us in for support? Besides, he looks...intimidating. He may serve as a...deterrent."

Satoru snorted derisively, "He was fired for a reason, Nanami, mark my--"

"Hey, kid, long time no see."

Satoru stiffened as a shadow loomed over him, one heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. Toji smirked, his scar twisted, raising his boot to put out his cigarette on the sole. He stamped his boots into place, his yellow rubber trousers tatty and worn, jacketless and terrifyingly ripped in a tight black t-shirt.

"So..." Toji continued, staring into the chaos ahead of him, "support the cops, yeah?" He sucked his teeth, rolling his shoulders. Nanami nodded, brisk, shoving a helmet towards Toji, grimacing as it was immediately rejected. Nanami shrugged, not wishing to waste time arguing, and directed the firemen towards the crowd to encourage some form of calm.

Toji stayed back, choosing where to go. At a glance, he saw a young woman duck down behind a car, arm raised to toss an egg at the back of a police officer's head. You caught Toji's eye, a bandana pulled up covering your lower face, and he laughed under his breath as your eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Little minx," he muttered, admiring the quiet subversion. Laughing out loud as you tossed the egg, landing a direct hit, Toji moved on, stepping towards a shop, his passive presence alone enough to scatter the looters inside.

The pressure from the crowd built, peaking, and Toji felt the mood in the air change from rave gone overboard to aggression and spite.

Seeing the crowd pulse and surge, Toji spotted you in the front, crushed, buffeted against the officers' riot shields. You caught his eye again, now desperate and pained, instead of playful. Toji felt himself clench, stepping in behind two of the riot officers, who barely had time to glance at him between wild shouts at the crowd.

Easily, with two strong hands, Toji parted the shields just enough for you to drop through, and he caught you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. As you stared up at him, speechless and waiting to be arrested, he looked down at you, the glimmer in his eyes threatening shenanigans.

"I don't know about you," he drawled, low and slow, "but these clowns couldn't break a nail, let alone a crowd." You laughed, tinkling and sweet, and Toji felt a burst of ego for having caused it.

"Ever been in a fire truck, sweetheart?"

Moments later, the fire truck rumbled to life, its sirens ringing and flashing in warning. The pressure of the crowd eased for a moment, hundreds of enquiring eyes on you and Toji in the front seats, one of his hands resting across your belly, protective, shielding you in place.

The enquiring eyes turned fearful as the fire truck reversed, then slowly swung to face the crowd and riot officers alike, revving.

With a smirk, Toji allowed the truck to jolt forwards. The crowd cried out collectively, its stance breaking, dozens of people scattering to escape the scene. Revving again, the truck jolted forwards once more, harder this time. Half the crowd stumbled, falling over themselves to run. With one final booming rev, the crowd shrieked and shouted, scattering like spiders up and down the length of the street, no act of protest apparently worth getting run over for.

And as you and Toji were pulled, laughing, from the fire-truck, both being slammed and cuffed against the nearest police car, your eyes met, and your bandana slipped down to reveal your lovely grin.

Toji smirked, heads on the car facing each other. Shooting you a wink which made you giggle and blush, he snorted to think that maybe he was just the right dismissed ex-fireman to get the job done.

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Wheeeee, rescue me fire daddies 🚒🔥

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dmitriene · 7 months

Text

THOUGHTS ABOUT BIKER SIMON AND HIS ATTRACTION TO YOU.

cw: fluff, comfort, smut, established relationship, brief mention of simons past, coul be slightly ooc simon, unprotected sex, p in v, public sex (on motorcycle), creampie, kisses, mentions of posessive behavior, simon having a hard time to confess his love to you, that's all. pairing: bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

simon's behavior comes down to how a black cat behaves next to a person he has taken a closer look at, he is as affectionate as a cat can be, whom miss fortune has been desperately avoiding all his life, but at the same time still going towards affection, in this case, to you, the one who gives it.

it is very easy to notice that he accepts care for him slowly, meekly, but in response he cannot squeeze out a word, he responds with actions, and to almost every “i love you, si„ there is not an expected confession, but a gesture that shows his affection wider than a few fleeting words.

if you needed to get somewhere quickly or leave somewhere, simon was right there, the motorcycle parked near the place where you were waiting, while both of his gloved hands held the second helmet, bought especially for you as soon as you started dating — with the aim of not only protecting you, but also carefully introducing you to part of his life, riding and fiddling with bikes.

you carefully extracted information from him about his life and hobbies, every time you drove together along the wide streets at high speed, your arms gently wrapped around his waist and clung to his leather jacket, he answered your every question willingly, with a gentle chesty growl, sometimes laughing hoarsely under his breath and teasing your desire to get to know him better

— “curious thing you are, darling„

and you always playfully pouted, resting your helmeted forehead against his back and lightly pinching him where your hands were placed on his waist, squeezing tightly so as not to slip away, and at the same time touchingly playfully attacking him through the fabric of his clothes with small pinches, to which he just laughed, listening to your mutterings

— “just wanna know you better, si.. you don't tell me anything„

and you’re right, he knows this, but his service in the task force and the nightmares he experienced forbade him to talk too much about himself or his feelings, the person hidden under the balaclava of the skull was considered forever dead and hiding in the shadows, and the absence of a photograph on his dossier in the army will be remembered there forever, but little by little there is less and less of that ghost of a man left, because you are definitely bringing back that side of him that he managed to bury.

simon gave flowers to someone for the first time in his life when your relationship just started, he didn’t even buy them for his own grave from which he fled, but he knew that he had to buy them for you, and the colorful fragrant petals became the beginning of your relationship, as bright as a lipstick mark on his bare cheek that day, and he would happily never wash it off, but you both know that you will put more and more of them, marking his whole face.

his affection is reflected in reverent touches, sometimes obsessive, every time you go out somewhere together, the heavy hand on the bottom of your back feels like a pleasant weight, with the care of which he later outlines your waist, holding you close to him not to control, but out of concern.

despite the fact that he is slightly unfamiliar with being so close to women, to signs of attention, you still notice that he is not afraid to take your hand in public, hug you, allow you to slightly lift his mask to kiss his lips or cheek, but it is even more tactile in the warmth of the walls of your home.

hugs from the back, arms exploring your body completely openly, small kisses on the back of your neck and face, he practically carries you around the house in his arms — all just for the urgent purpose of having you close, so that he can cuddle up to you and feel you close, while are you gently teasing him with the words — “aren't you clingy, si?„ but simon only grumbles and buries his nose in your chest while you carefully sorting the light strands of his hair, stroking.

but at a certain moment he breaks down, unexpressed feelings gather in an uncomfortable lump that worries simon, you are so affectionate for him, so beloved, but he cannot even answer a word of mutuality to you, he feels that he is not enough, feels helpless, and therefore solves everything with intimacy, squeezing your body in his arms carefully, gloves are hastily thrown off at the feet so that bare, rough, warm palms touch your soft skin, squeezing your hips and rising to your waist as you spread your legs for him, so lovely, leaning on his motorcycle.

your legs wrap around his waist, trembling slightly with each powerful thrust as your bodies press against his bike, balancing in a dangerous, uncomfortable position, elbows rubbing against the leather seat and the smooth surface of the bike, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in your body and the heaviness in bottom of your stomach.

simon's kisses are hot and demanding, his tongue sliding wetly into your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers, the taste of his lips mixing with the overwhelming sensations rushing through your body as he greedily captures your mouth, his lips and tongue exploring every inch, making you to suffocate and at the same time desperately demand more.

he breaks the kiss, his completely darkened caramel eyes meet yours, silently ordering you to remain silent, before he nevertheless exhales into your wet and swollen lips, holding back his moans at the very edge

— “gonna be quiet for me, love, can't let anyone stop and go check from where all this pretty sounds go, yeah?„

and the need for discretion can't help but intensify the tension of the moment, igniting the thrill of the forbidden even more, causing you to hastily nod your head and moan into his open mouth as he again pushes his tongue to intertwine it with yours.

with each quick and desperate thrust, his cock plunges deeper into your sloppy cunt, allowing the wetness and heat to envelop his meaty cock all the way to his pelvic, as the sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with the quiet whimpers escaping your lips despite your best efforts to remain silent and obey simon.

he can feel your orgasm approaching, telltale signs evident in your moan and the way your body trembles against his as simon's tongue explores your mouth with newfound eagerness, sucking on your tongue and eliciting muffled moans from your lips that he swallows.

with every deep thrust, his cock hits your spongy spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing the tight muscles of your cunt to clench around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the night air as simon's cock slips out slightly, but then pushes back into your tight, slick warmth, pushing you closer to the edge, making you practically scream, babbling

— “si, simon, hmnhrgh!! c-close, i'm close„

and then your hands slide with a slight creak from the surface of his motorcycle, and you instinctively reach out and grab his neck, your fingers curling, clinging to the back of simon's head, somewhere brushing the fabric of his leather jacket and the blond strands of his hair as you give in to the all consuming pleasure, falling completely silent.

every movement of his hips elicits a moan from your lips, your body eagerly responding to his primal dominance, all his feelings poured out into his erratic and rough thrusts as he strokes your waist carefully before pulling you close and straightening up, allowing you to be literally impaled on his girthy cock, muffling the loud sobs in his shoulder as he leans one hand into the seat of his motorcycle, white knuckled, and the other squeezes your thigh, impaling you again and again.

simon's hips snap with more force, driving himself deeper into your slobbering and throbbing cunt, he enjoys the way you clench around him in this new position, almost milking him, making his cock throb with every thrust into your slickness and squirm against your soft walls.

the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix sends a wave of pleasure through your body, coiling the tension in your belly tighter and tighter, and then it snaps, your walls clenching around him, milking him out as you reach your peak, practically biting down on his shoulder from the intensity of the feelings rolling in like a wave of heat.

your slick fluids and cum coat his cock, further lubricating the already slippery rhythm between you, the pulsing, gripping sensation driving him over the edge, his sighs and moans mixing with your incoherent mutterings, and you sing almost in unison about your feelings for each other

— “si, si, fuck!! aahn, l-love you, si, i love you„

— “i know, sweet girl, i know, mngh! f-fuck, love ya too, i love ya too„

his cock throbs inside your walls as he releases his hot cum, filling you up with his potent seed, painting you inside with his milky release and letting it drip down from your clenching cunt, coating his messy, wet from both your liquids cock and down his balls, somewhere there on the ground are still his gloves, on which white drops of your vulgar encounter now falling, the shared release creates a raw, intimate connection between you, the words he has kept for so long fall from his lips incessantly, and he whispers them in your ear, covering the side of your face with hurried, warm kisses.

he doesn’t care about the gloves, he doesn’t care about the roar of cars passing in the distance, which can turn here at any moment, the only thing that worries him is your warm body in his hands and the confessions that he can’t stop whispering to you, he kept them inside himself for so long, and finally gave them a path to the surface, and you will remember this for a long, long time, but for now, let simon take care of you and bring you two back home.

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fangirl-writes · 10 months

Text

Small Spaces

JJ Maybank x Reader; John B. Routledge x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): claustrophobia, anxiety attack, swearing

Request: jj maybank dating jb’s twin sister and her joining in on their adventures but she has severe anxiety so just him being super sweet and loving to her?

Notes: This is totally based on another fic I read that I can't find rn but it's my spin on it so I hope you like.

Fuck this, you thought. Seriously, fuck this.

You were squeezing yourself through a small hole in a mausoleum that had "Redfield" written across the top, just to see what was inside.

For John B., of course, because he was your brother, and he needed to find this clue almost as much as he needed to be breathing.

But god damn it, this was all you needed.

Between the near visit from child services, the hurricane, the dead guy's boat, the guy's gun, getting shot at, and surely more to come, you were due for a panic attack.

Your feet hit the ground with a loud smack and you winced at the noise.

"Still alive?" John B. asked.

"Oh my god, shut up,"

"Yep, she's alive."

You rolled your eyes and took the flashlight that Kie was offering you.

You shined the light around the space, bigger than you were expecting, but the fact that your exit was so small and that it would be a struggle getting back to it was making the anxiety stir in your stomach.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Real helpful, JB," you mumbled, shining the flashlight around and trying to focus on finding whatever it was rather than the darkness and the walls that felt like they were going to close in on you.

You gasp when a flash of white catches your eye.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Y/N?" JJ asked again. "I'm gonna need some word confirmation that you're okay."

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied. "I think I found it."

"What? Really?" John B. said, peaking into the space you'd crawled into.

You pulled out a long white envelope from a small space in the crypt, the words "FedEx" and "Bird" written on it.

Thanks for including me, Dad, you thought before taking the envelope over to the space and handing it to John B.'s outstretched hand.

"That's not gold," Pope said, a little disappointed.

But John B. was looking at it like it was. "Holy shit."

"JJ, a little help?" you said, reaching a hand through the space.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotchu, babe," he replied, helping you out of the crypt.

"This is from our dad," John B. said, looking around at the group.

"Yeah," you said, trying to catch your breath. "To you."

"Code red. Code red." JJ warned, the smoke from his joint fluttering up into the air. "Square groupers! Square groupers!"

Your stomach drops as the five of you start moving, JJ's hands grabbing your arms rougher than he probably meant to.

"It's the guys who robbed your house," JJ said.

Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You guys hide on the side of the mausoleum, turning off and tucking the lights under your shirts.

You can feel it start to bubble up, your breathing becoming unsteady.

"Hey, I see something!"

"Do you think it's them?" Kiara asked.

"Homie's got a gun," JJ said as he and John B. peaked around the corner.

"Screw this," Kie said, taking off. The others followed her, including you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Right here!" One of the men shouted.

JJ's hand was on your back the whole time, but it did nothing to calm you down.

You each scaled the fence with little trouble except for Pope, who got his pants stuck on the gate.

It was funny until you were in the van and that anxiety attack had caught up with you, the adrenaline fix going away.

Your hands shook. Your chest tightened. Tears began streaming down your cheeks.

You were starting to hyperventilate, and your head was spinning. Even though you knew you were safe in the Twinkie now, you couldn't help the dread that was washing over you, the fear for your life that coiled around you like a snake.

"Hey, hey, hey, Y/N," JJ said, quickly catching on to what was happening. "You're okay, you're okay."

He made you look at him and took a few deep breaths for you to copy, which you did over and over.

"Shit, get this joint out of here," JJ said, handing it off to Pope.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out the window or something, get it outta here. It only makes her worse."

You'd tried that anecdote before, and, as he said, it really did only make the panic attack worse. Through trial and error, JJ and John B. found the only things that helped you through a panic attack were calming words, help getting your breathing back to normal, and hugs.

So, JJ did just that. He held you close and whispered in your ear, rocking you back and forth slowly.

John B. checked your state in the rearview, feeling bad that he'd brought you along at all, even if you had insisted. Then he looked at the envelope sitting next to him and knew that, somehow, it would be worth it.

#jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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revasserium · 7 months

Note

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

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artinconstructio · 2 years

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sweetercalypso · 11 months

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Pearl Rosary || Din Djarin

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession

Notes: part three in my week of horror series! minors dni; public(ish) sex, finger sucking, deepthroating, cock worship, facial, reader is a Mandalorian who takes her helmet off, so much religious imagery

In the Cathedral of Mandalore, there’s only just enough light to make out the back of the wooden pew in front of you. The doors and windows are adorned with an ornate red glass that wash the chapel in a somber crimson gloom, a reminder that only those dedicated to their creedal faith are permitted inside.

The nave is silent beyond the occasional clink of beskar and the solemn bells ringing overhead in hourly intervals. You’d counted three resounding chimes, then four, then five, as the day stretches on outside the walls of the chapel.

In your tightly coiled spiral of pensive rumination, time seems to stand still.

Your eyes snap up as another Mandalorian passes by your aisle in their departure from the confessional. The small curtained booth at the front of the church has a strangely foreboding presence, and you’d been working up the courage to step inside all day.

The front doors close, and you’re left with your guilt once again.

If you admit to the thoughts weighing on your conscience, maybe you’ll have the chance to repent. Or, if the pit of dread in your stomach is any prediction, you’ll be cast out for your inclination towards a life of sin.

Before you can work up the nerve to decide whether to gamble your fate, the head of the church, Din Djarin, steps out of the other side of the confessional, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiff ache of being confined in his narrow compartment.

His armor has grown dull with age and wear, buffed with a flat luster that speaks of its obstinate strength.

Others have said that his appearance makes him seem ordinary, but you’ve always thought that his mannerisms were what set him apart. His imposing stance, his commanding way of speaking, the way his head tilts when he’s deep in thought – he’s beautiful if you know where to look.

When he turns in your direction, your breath catches in your throat.

“You’ve been here for quite a while.” His voice has an unexpected warmth that licks up your spine. “Are you here to speak with me?”

Your eyes flicker warily to the confession booth. “I’m not sure.”

He seems to pause for a moment before making his mind up to join you, floorboards groaning under his heavy boots as he draws near. You shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, squirming under the spotlight of his attention. He stops at the end of your row and rests a hand behind you on the back of the pew.

“We can speak out here if you’d prefer.”

You’re surprised that he’d recognized the source of your unease, though you’re not sure if he realizes why the embrace of the confessional is so distinctly unnerving.

The people of Mandalore are not known for their empathy, especially not those held in high regard by the church. Din Djarin is a fiercely orthodox man, and you doubt he understands the position you’re in.

“I’ve seen you during services,” he comments. “Always so attentive.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought of being recognized in the mass of devoted warriors that frequent his sermons. Is your shame so pronounced that you stand out in a crowd? “I didn’t know you paid attention to the assembly.”

He hums in response. “I care deeply for everyone in my congregation, especially those who are in danger of losing their faith. Tell me, what’s been troubling you?”

You hesitate before answering, skirting around the truth as much as you can, as much as he’ll let you.

“I’ve had… impure thoughts, father.”

“Oh?” His voice is rich with interest. “Indulge me, cyar'ika. What tempts you?”

His smooth, full baritone makes it impossible to deny his entreaty, like he’s wrenching your secrets from the far reaches of your mind.

“I’ve thought about… taking my helmet off in the witness of non-believers. I’ve thought about what you look like underneath your armor.” You pause for breath. “I’ve thought about your image at improper times.”

His chest falls with a heady sigh, though the sound is lost beyond the rasp of his modulator. “I see. And how do you think you should pay for your transgressions?”

The presence of other Mandalorians can be heard from outside the chapel – an admonition of what you have to lose if you are turned away. The air in the room shifts. Your hands flex at your sides.

“I’ll do anything.” You push forward onto the edge of your seat, ardently pleading for your chance at repentance. “Tell me how to make things right.”

He shifts in place, mulling over his options for what feels like an eternity. You swallow the urge to scream as silence rings in your ears.

Finally, he speaks.

“Maybe you’re too curious,” he decides. “Too concerned with things you cannot have.”

Your fingers dig into your palms, awaiting the final blow of his judgement.

“I think you need to experience firsthand the gravity of your desire.”

He leans down like he’s sharing something that no one else can hear, a sentiment too clandestine to be born in a house of worship.

“This is a sacred place,” he explains. “If you’re going to commit an act of sin, let it be here.”

You’re taken aback by the implication of his words. You’d been expecting a show of indignation, maybe even outrage for your betrayal of the Way, but it seems like he’s encouraging your lapse in faith. Surely, you’ve misunderstood.

The hand caressing your shoulder tells you that you haven’t.

“Revealing yourself to anyone a sin, and the public would have you exiled for removing your helmet. But here, in the presence of a higher being, I will make an exception.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his hands are on the underside of your helmet, tipping your head back with the force of his grip. The fabric of his gloves glides against your jaw as he lifts your beskar veil and exposes you under the chapel’s dim, ruddy glow.

You squint at the sudden shift in the light, surprised to discover what your dark-tinted visor had been hiding from you. The red halo cast around him is much more intense without the obstruction of your helmet. His outlined form burns with a fiery sanctitude that makes you shudder.

Your attention is drawn to his hands ghosting over your face, cradling your cheeks with a curious touch. The pad of his thumb presses against your mouth, tugging at the plush of your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?”

You swallow thickly and chance a look up at him, finding your face in the reflection of his visage. Your lips part in fascination at the sight of your own eyes staring back at you.

“That’s it, open up for me.”

His thumb presses further into your mouth and hooks behind your teeth. The taste of the holy chrism melts across your senses, balsam and olive oil and something you can’t name. When your tongue swipes out to meet his digit, he hums low in his chest and pulls his other hand back to curl around his belt.

“Does this make you feel good? Corrupting a man of faith?”

You whimper around his thumb, eyes blown wide with lust. The metal buckle at his waist glints in the low light, seemingly pleading for your touch. You don’t know how far he’ll take this lesson, but you’re hoping it ends in a mutual exchange of sin.

As if persuaded by your thoughts alone, he works open his belt and the fastenings of his pants, revealing a patch of tawny skin that contrasts the muted tones of his beskar.

“You need more than this, though. Don’t you?”

With a low hiss, he pulls his hardening cock from its confines, and your mouth waters at the sight. He’s eager, alive, twitching in his tight grip. The tip of his cock weeps as he bucks into his hand.

The heat simmering in your belly has grown into a blazing flame. When he swaps his thumb for the head of his cock, your thighs clench with the urgent need to consume him in every way.

His warm, salty taste is so human, so unlike the righteous figure he’s made out to be. You can almost picture what the rest of him looks like by the glimpse of what he’s offered you.

Your lips wrap coyly around his length, an earnest appeal for his approval.

The tint of his visor hides his eyes, but you gaze up at him anyway in hopes that he meets you halfway, that he commits the image of your debauched affair to memory.

“C’mon, this is your chance to atone.”

You trace the vein on the underside of his cock, tongue laving over him in search of a reaction, in search of redemption through your greedy act of worship. His hips stutter in response and the head of his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth.

He mumbles something akin to prayer and focuses his efforts, sliding further into your mouth until your nose presses against his pelvis and his cock settles in the back of your throat. You gag at the foreign pressure and try to pull away, but he settles a hand on the nape of your neck to hold you in place.

“That’s it, take it all.”

His thrusts are slow, lazy, careful not to overwhelm you. When he moves, it’s a gentle drag over your tongue, not the heedless intrusion you’d expected from him. He bucks his hips like he wants to know you’re enjoying it too.

“Fuck,” he grunts, chin dropped to his chest. “Your filthy mouth was made for this.”

You wish you could see him without the beskar disguising his reaction. The heave of his chest, the flex of his hands, the jump of his cock when you tongue the right spot – his body is so expressive, you have no doubt that his face would be too.

A few more juts of his hips and he’s pulling out of your mouth and forming a fist around his length, flushed skin glistening with your spit.

He chokes out a broken noise and angles his hips towards you, painting the evidence of your transgressions over your cheeks and your lips.

You touch your fingers to your face when he pulls away, eyeing his handiwork with a sound of approval. This part of yourself, it’s his now. Desecrated for the use of someone more sacred than yourself.

The corners of your mouth stretch into a grin. This is exactly the forgiveness you were looking for.

#sweetercalypso’s week of horror #Din Djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin one shot #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fic #din x reader #Star Wars #star wars x reader #star wars smut #priest!din #priest!din Djarin

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not-sleepys-blog · 7 months

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Wolf!Nanami in heat

Content: Wolf hybrid Nanami who is have a rough time with his heat, !escort freader, masterbation, sex, size kink?, unprotected sex

Word count: 1,595

A/N: I made reader black because me too sis

“I don’t need help” Nanami grumbles into his phone, the voice on the other end sighs. “You can’t keep pretending that you can handle your heats by yourself, Nanami” Satoru, Nanami’s friend co-worker at the office he works at finally says. He can already imagine the shit eating grin on Satoru’s face as he continues talking. “You know this service is legit, they have all kinds of escorts, hybrids, sirens, succubus, and I’m pretty sure they even have humans working for them! Maybe I should try out a pretty little human.” Satoru giggles mischievously, earning an annoyed groan from Nanami as he hangs up on Satoru. Nanami tosses his phone on the couch next to him alongside balled up tissues and ripped up porno magazines that didn’t help satisfy his heat. His hand moves up to his hair, his nails digging into his scalp as he struggles to fight off the urge to punch a hole into his wall near his tv.

Nanami’s heats have always been bad but this never this bad. Satoru was right even though he didn't want to give him that satisfaction of being right. Nanami is at his breaking point, he should've known that the back alley doctor’s heat suppressants he’s been taking would eventually fail him.

He can feel his cock hardening again, basically pulsating in between his thighs as he’s sitting on the edge of his couch. He groans rather loudly, the overstimulation almost painful. He’s already come six times, maybe eight. He stopped counting being too lost in the temporary relief of jerking off to care. But no matter how many times he cums it still doesn’t ease up his heat and he knows he can’t do it alone anymore. It’s been proven that going heats alone puts the body through stress and causes health problems. It’s gotten to the point that the government legalized escort services, for all the lonely and single hybrids that didn’t have a partner to ease the heat.

The last thing he’d imagined himself doing was ordering from one of the many relief services he heard from Satoru and Suguru. He pushed it off for as long as he could but as the troublesome duo sent him links to various websites just as the haze of his heat came over him. By the time he realized he ordered an escort it was too late and there was no damn way to cancel. The worst part he didn’t know who he ordered, what he did know was that next time he saw Satoru and Suguru he was going to grab them by their tails and jump rope with their annoying asses.

The front door rings, his fluffy ears perking up as he’s pulled out of his thoughts. He stands up from the couch, his rock hard cock slapping against his thigh, dripping pre cum onto the floor beneath him. He doesn't even have enough common sense and mental capacity to put on pants or boxers, his breathing is ragged and heavy and his vision is blurry as he reaches the door to his apartment, yanking it open. He feels embarrassed when the cool air from the night time blows in from his doorway, the heat and musk of his more apparent but he’s too busy looking at you. His pupil dilating as a damn near debilitating rush of heat washes over him, his bushy tail swaying behind him, He wasn’t expecting a cute, petite human. He could probably break you in half if he wasn't careful. Your brown skin, curly hair, and curvy body was driving him crazy, well in his current state any woman would drive him nuts, but you were just… something else. Everything about you made his cock throb, the scent of your perfume and the way your hips moved as you rubbed your thighs together trying to hide your own arousal. “Fuck me” he muttered under his breath unable to tear his eyes away from you curvy figure. He wanted to break your tiny frame.

His hand reached out, grabbing your arm roughly, yanking you inside before slamming the door shut behind them. “You’re going to do as I say, understand?” He growled as he grabbed your face, squeezing it slightly, not enough to hurt you, he didn’t want to damage your pretty face. You nod, whimpering as your breath catches in your throat. Your nod satisfied him, he licked his lips as he imagined how good you would taste, how good you would feel around his cock. He imagined your soft moans and whines as you claimed his thick cock wouldn’t fit in your pretty little pussy. He shook his head to focus on the pretty little thing in front of him, making his tail wag. “On your knees, doll. You’re going to suck me off.” His voice, low and husky. You drop down to your knees taking his already hard cock into your hands, kissing the shaft before you licked a small lick along one of his veins. You open your mouth wide, taking his cockhead into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around the head, teasing the sensitive spot beneath his foreskin. You sucked on his cock, your lips moving up and down his shaft, earning a groan from him as you massage his heavy balls. Nanami’s eyes glazed over with pleasure, his giant hands braced against the wall, his hips rocking slightly. “Fuck, thats a good little slut.” He praised.

You suck in your cheeks making your already tight mouth, more snug. Your teeth gently grazed against his shaft, you moaned around his cock as you took his full length. His eyes widened as you took his entire length into your mouth. He couldn’t help but moan, his hips rocking faster, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. His hands gripped your beautiful curls, holding your head steady as his fingers tangled into your locks. Nanami’s cock throbbed in your mouth, his cum building up inside of him ready to come out. He pulled out of his thick cock glistening with your saliva. “Stand up” he demanded as he pulled you up to your feet. He pulled his shirt off, revealing his muscular body. His wolf ears twitched and his tail flicked behind him, the tip twitching with excitement. He stepped closer to you, his cock pressing against your pussy. Without any kind of warning he lifted you up, pinning you against the wall with one hand while using his other hand to yank down your skirt and panties. His cock rubbing against your sensitive folds, teasing your entrance. You whine in response to his teasing, he responded to your whines with coos “Shhh doll, be patient. You’ll get it soon enough.” He groaned as he rocked his hips back and forth, rubbing his cock against your wetness.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard” He groaned, thrusting his cock into your pussy “Ahh, fuck you’re so fucking tight babydoll” he moaned as he began to pound into you, his hips moving in sync with his thrusts. His cockhead hitting your G-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands slide down cupping your ass, squeezing it before giving it a slap, while his other hand grips your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck and collarbone.You let out a series of loud mewls, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. “It’s too big… can’t take it, won’t fit.” You whined into the wall, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. Nanami growled, his wolf instinct taking over as he felt you clench around his cock. His ears perked up, and his tail swished back and forth. He couldn’t help but bite down on his lip, his teeth scraping against his skin as he thrust harder and deeper. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, your sweet moans and whimpers filled his ears, driving him to the brink of madness.”You feel so good around me” he growled, his voice filled with lust. “I’m gonna make you take every inch of my cock, and you’ll love it like a good little whore.” His hand slid down to your clit, rubbing it in circles, his thumb flicking over it with the write amount of pressure. His other hand tightened its grip on your hair, pulling your head back even further. He leaned in, his fangs grazing your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys as he whispered into your ear.

“Mine. You’re mine now doll, I’m going to fill you up and breed you yeah” He grunted his voice rough with desire as his own climax building rapidly. His cock twitched violently inside you, hitting your g-spot again and again. “‘M gonna cum” you babbled, his cock has you seeing stars as he rammed into you. “Gonna cum f’ me? Cum for me doll” A string of mewls leave your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as you come around his fat cock. Your vision became blurred as he thrusted into you repeatedly.

His cock twitched violently inside you as he felt you hitting your peak. He thrusted into you, burying his entire length inside her, his cockhead hitting your cervix. He grunted as his knot formed before his cum spilled into your tight hole, filling it to the brim. His hand moved back down to your clit rubbing faster, milking every last drop of your orgasm from you. His hips sputtered, his cock still buried deep inside you, as he continued to pump his seed into you, claiming you as his. <3

#jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #jjk kento #kento x reader #kento smut #nanamin #sleepy’s thoughts #sleepy’s thoughts on nanami

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m4ctavish · 2 years

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Alejandro Vargas — 141. (Pt. 1)

Masterlist.

Pairing : Alejandro Vargas/GN! Reader

Desc : Developing interest in a 141 soldier wasn’t exactly on Alejandro’s bingo card but here we are.

A/N : I’m here for the Alejandro love. Also, 1) ¿Nuevo perrito faldero? = New lapdog?

Alejandro Vargas :

The moment you stepped off the transport helo and onto the airstrip, Alejandro’s eyes were on you.

There was just something about you that drew his attention and he couldn’t quite place it. Was it your gaze? Perhaps the way you carried yourself? Or was it the way you tilted your head at him in silent inquiry?

He brushes it off as simple curiosity, though. You were something new in a place of familiarity and it was just human nature to be curious about the unknown, nothing more.

But it could never just be that, could it?

You were quite curious about him as well, though. He was one of Laswell’s many contacts but he was a new face, one you were inclined to learn more about.

On the drive through Las Almas, the two of you exchange stories from your time in the service with you telling about some of your near death experiences in the 141, as well as some of the more absurd moments (things like free falling out of a transport helo, hanging out of a moving vehicle, etc.); Alejandro inquires about how you came to work under Taskforce 141. (It’s not really that exciting as it may sound though. Price presented you an offer that’d make use of your skills and you accepted, nothing more nothing less.)

Aside the raw magnetism you seem to emanate, Alejandro is drawn to your efficiency in the field. He likes the way you work. (He’s watching you intently as you kick down the door to a building, a stun grenade being thrown in to the fray soon thereafter. Moments later, you’re cleaning up house with a few quick but well aimed shots, a sharp, “Floors clear. Moving to next level,” following suit)

On the trails through the mountains, you’re following close behind him, careful not to lose your footing on the rocky incline. This isn’t exactly how you imagined your week would be going; running from the Mexican Army, sliding down some countryside trails with bullets raining down on you from every angle. But some things never go according to plan, do they? (And to be fair, you signed up for this.)

If you do lose your footing, he’ll be sure to pull you upright with a playful but subtly flirty, “Falling for me already, eh?”

When it comes to the drop off of the cliffside, you’re following right after him, “I HOPE YOU’RE RIGHT ABOUT THIS, COLONEL!” The wind is whipping past your face and your heart is pounding with adrenaline as the water below you continued to get closer and closer as you descended. Alejandro hit the water sooner than you did, surfacing just moments before you breached the water’s surface and were sent under. It’s absolutely fucking freezing and you’re soaked, but you’re alive.

I feel like his interest would build gradually but I also don’t think it’d be anything serious yet. I don’t think he’d be announcing his love for you by the weeks end considering the short amount of time the campaign took place over but I think it’d still give him enough time for him to be like, “wow, this person is cool. maybe i should talk to them more when we aren’t at risk of dying.”

What’d really get him though is if you actively went out of your way to protect one of his people and/or him. Be it by pulling them behind cover or tending to his wounds if it’s just the two of you. (The two of you are sitting in a building, with you crouched beside Alejandro as he propped up against a wall. You’re tending to a wound on his upper arm, a tense silence washing over the two of you. You’re keeping pressure on it with your left hand as your other scoured around for whatever it was you were looking for; preferably some wrap and gauze. He’s wincing every time you shift your fingers; you’re trying your hardest not to hurt him but it’s a bit hard to avoid. A quiet, “ ‘M sorry,” escapes you as you shift a bit closer, finally having found whatever it was that you were looking for. He gives an affirmative, “Hm.” He’s trying to distract himself from the pain with the way your hands move, gloved fingers now stained a deep crimson. When he finds himself unable to look at your bloodied hands any longer, he’ll find himself looking at the way your eyes glance this way and that way, as well as the color of them. “Got me good, no?” The question isn’t exactly directed at you but you find yourself huffing a small laugh and shaking your head, “If they were any better, you might be dead right now.”)

Meeting Valeria/El Sin Nombre is when things get interesting and somewhat difficult. She picks up on the way the two of you share a few glances every now and then almost instantly, sending Alejandro a curt, “¿Nuevo perrito faldero?” (1) Of course what’s going on between you and Alejandro is nothing serious yet and if anything is just back and forth banter with some subtle flirting, but the fact that she picked up on it that quickly is enough for him to get defensive fairly quickly. You know better than to respond to her and her ribbing— she just wants a reaction out of you. (But does knowing that stop you from responding? That’s up to you ig)

#alejandro vargas x you #alejandro vargas x reader #colonel vargas x you #colonel vargas x reader #call of duty x reader

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fantasyinallforms · 8 months

Note

For the January Fotfics roulette. I give you.

Royalty au

And

Awful first meeting

This was so fun to write! Thank you! and thank you to the Fotfics team for hosting the event!

This kinda oops into a plot bunny.... ENJOY!

~~~

“The plane left!” Bilbo stood at the terminal kiosk clutching his phone with the screen pointed toward the customer service lady so she didn’t think he was a loon. “The ticket clearly states that the flight was for noon. It’s just past eleven now!” Bilbo struggled to lower his voice. He didn’t mean to shout. It wasn't this poor lady's fault, but he was panicking. He collected himself and continued in a more reasonable tone. “Ma'am. I need to be in Erebor before four in the evening tomorrow. Please, is there anything you can do?”

“I’m very sorry about all of this, Mr. Baggins. Please have a seat, and I’ll see what I can do.” The lady replied and motioned to the hard plastic chairs to her right. Bilbo took his seat with his head in his hands. An hour ticked by, and every minute that passed felt like forever. How long had he worked to get this posting? All for it to get washed away by a computing error? It was too terrible to think about. A long hour ticked by, made worse by his nervous habit of checking the clock every three minutes. He tried to work on some papers to keep his mind off the time, but he hadn't managed a single sentence despite trying.

“Mr Baggins?” A woman in a clean and pressed flight uniform called his name. She was holding a ticket in her hand, and Bilbo’s spirits soared.

“Yes, that’s me!” He gathered his papers together haphazardly and hurried to greet her.

“We managed to find you a ticket on another flight. It leaves soon, but I can escort you to the jet bridge now. Please follow me.” She motioned forward, and they started walking. “The only seat available was a first-class seat, and we’ve taken the liberty of upgrading you due to all the trouble.” relief and a brief excitement washed over him as they kept a brisk pace. She escorted him as promised. Once inside the plane, a stewardess checked his ticket and led him to the first-class eating area. Bilbo had never been in a proper first class. This was a fairly large plane with fancy accommodations. He was wide-eyed, trying to take it all in. Most of the seats were side by side near a window with a partition separating the seats from the aisle. His seat, however, was in a row that went down the middle. The seats had curved walls that extended around them, creating the illusion of a closed-off space, and the seats faced opposite each other so you could face the person you shared the area with. It was clearly meant for people traveling together, yet his ticket indicated that it was indeed his row.

Bilbo struggled to keep ahold of his papers as he strained his neck to look at the numbers above the seats. He was tired, and it had already been a long day, so when he thought he had found his seat, he plopped himself down only to be met with the very unexpected noise and feel of warm of the air leaving someone's lungs on the back of his neck as hands came up automatically to meet his hips. Bilbo startled immediately and stood up at once. Behind him was a tall, broad, handsome man with a short beard and silver-streaked black hair. His face gave away nothing about his feelings on just getting sat on, and Bilbo was absolutely mortified. To make matters infinitely worse, the papers slipped from his hands and cascaded comically around his feet.

“This is seat A1. I believe you were looking for seat A2.” The man said in a buttery, deep voice that did nothing to help his current state of embarrassment. He pointed at the seat next to and opposite him with a smirk.”

“R-right. I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention. Let me just gather these.” Bilbo said as he crouched down to gather all his papers and stood just in time for the stewardess to come back around.

“Mr. Baggins, were you able to find your seat?” She asked. Bilbo only nodded. “Wonderful. Can I help you place your luggage in the overhead?” Before he actually thought about it, he said no and shuffled to the correct seat. Bilbo realized immediately that he should have let the stewardess help him. He had never had issues with the overhead bins in the economy or business class, but the ceilings were lifted in first class, and his height proved to be a definite problem. He stood on his tippy toes with his arms far over his head. He could tell his shirt was likely riding up from all the running around he'd been doing. He’s hardly had time to make himself more presentable. Just as he thought he would need to call the stewardess back over, a hand on his waist moved him to the side as his attractive seat companion effortlessly put the luggage away and returned to his seat without a word. Speechless, Bilbo sat down and buckled himself in. This was going to be an exceptionally long ten-hour flight.

For the next hour or so, everything went as it should. They took off, got into the air, and were finally allowed to roam the cabin and unbuckle their seatbelts. The seat had a spacious pull-out desk he happily utilized to brush up on some Ereborian knowledge. He was absorbed by his work but couldn't help sneaking glances at his unintended travel companion. He had a tight beard and a sharp nose with a well-defined jawline. After falling into the man's lap, he could also confirm he was quite a sturdy man. Every time he looked up, the man was already looking at him, and Bilbo quickly looked away in embarrassment. It was hard to stop noticing once he started noticing the man was staring. Eventually, he had to address it for his own sanity.

“It’s very rude to stare at people.” He looked up and held eye contact with the man almost defiantly. No one had the right to be that handsome and intimidating all at once.

“I’m not staring. I’m curious.” The man replied. Bilbo let out a chuckle.

“Then ask me a question. It’s off-putting being stared at by someone whose name I don’t even know.” Bilbo remarked.

“Thorin.” the man replied.

“Pardon?”

“Thorin. My name. Now you know it.” Thorin supplied

“Oh, erm. I’m Bilbo, and if this is about earlier, then I’m sorry. I’m sure that wasn’t a preferred way to start your trip.”

“I can think of worse ways to start a trip.” It was said casually, but Bilbo felt himself blush. Goddess help him. He was a 40-year-old man crushing on someone he had met two hours ago. If he noticed Bilbo’s distress, he didn't say anything and instead continued. “I’m curious why you have a large amount of research on Erebor in front of you.”

“I’m a journalist,” Bilbo replied proudly. Thorin scoffed and leaned back in his chair to take a clipped sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not a fan of my profession?” Bilbo asked.

“No, I can't say I’m a fan of an industry built on invading people's privacy and angling facts to meet their own agenda.” Thorin snorted. Bilbo immediately jumped on the statement.

“I’m not a tabloid journalist writing thoughtless pieces for the margins of fitness and gossip magazines. Going to Erebor is a dream come true for me. The country has opened its borders for the first time in sixty years. I partitioned the Ereborian government for months to allow me to interview the king, and a week ago, I was told I might have a shot! So that’s why I'm researching. I don't want to make a fool of myself. If I mess this up, I can kiss my career goodbye.” Bilbo chided. A cascade of emotions passed over Thorin's face and settled on something specifically neutral.

“So the future of your career depends on a king maybe talking to you?” Thorin replied. Even Bilbo laughed at that.

“That must sound pretty silly, but in a sense, yes. Opportunities like this don't happen all the time, after all. What about you? Why are you visiting Erebor?”Bilbo asked.

“Not visiting, returning. I was visiting my sister in London.”

“So you’re a native Ereborian! What’s it like? I imagine it's beautiful, surrounded by all those mountains.” Bilbo tried not to sound dreamy as the image of snow capped mountains all around him popped into his head.

“Is that not what all this scattered around you is for?” Thorin asked, pointing at the papers on his little desk. Bilbo cleared all the papers into his backpack and replaced them with a well-loved notebook and a pen.

“Papers can’t tell you the heart of the country or why people call it home. What is there to do in Erebor? Where do you go for fun? What’s the food like?” Bilbo asked enthusiastically. The last question was just for him, but he was hungry to know all the same. Thorin leaned in, his eyes growing warm.

“Is this all on the record or off of it?” Thorin asked, pointing with his nose to the now-open notebook in front of Bilbo. He shut the book and put his hands on top of it.

“Sorry, force of habit. Off the record then.” Bilbo said with a smile. Thorin chatted with him about the tall pine trees and blankets of snow in the winter. He spoke with reverence about the craftsmanship of the Ereborian people and the rich communities that raised their children together and built a life in a place once thought inhospitable. Bilbo caught himself in a lazy smile as he lost track of the words being said, opting instead to enjoy the gravel of his voice. He was desperately trying to hold back the other less tame thoughts of how that voice would sound wrapped around his name in pleasure when he realized the conversation had come to a natural end. Thorin taking a sip of his drink allowed Bilbo to collect his thoughts and respond appropriately. “That’s the kind of thing I can't get from online articles and books written sixty years ago.”

“Will this king you're interviewing care about such little things as that?” There was something about the way that Thorin asked that caught him off guard. Like he suddenly had a spotlight on him. As warm as it was, that gaze still held an unnatural intensity.

“Maybe not, but I care about it,” Bilbo replied. “I think the king must care about things like that. They’re his people, after all. This king is the one who opened the borders back up, so I think that points to good judgment. I was actually upset. I petitioned the government to be here two months ago to see the coronation, but they weren’t allowing anyone into the country yet.”

“It was a simple ceremony. Not a lot of pomp or circumstance. It would've been boring to watch anyway.” Thorin commented with a smile

“You were there!” Bilbo shouted before ducking his head and lowering his voice. “I mean, were you invited? Or was it televised?”

“All of Erebor was invited,” Thorin said simply.

“Do you like your king? Or… actually, is that rude to ask? People always ask that about the queen, but I know a few staunch monarchists that take offense to the question.” Bilbo was buzzing with so much curiosity, and Thorin, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the conversation. Or, at the very least, he found Bilbo’s limitless questions amusing. Thorin took a long pause before answering.

“I like the king most days. I can't say I envy him, though. Running a country is… challenging.” Bilbo thought that was the end of it, but he continued. “Though all of this is a moot point.”

“Is it?” Bilbo replied.

“It is. The only way to truly get to know a new place is to experience it, not just read or be told about it. I should take you to my favorite tea shop. You did ask about the food.” Thorin offered casually. Bilbo was unsure he heard the man right. Had he just been invited out for tea with a stupidly handsome stranger he met on a plane? A stranger whose first interaction with him was to be sat on.

“I-I would love that, but we could be headed in completely separate directions once we land.” Bilbo spluttered.

“Maybe, but it’s a small country.” Thorin's smile was blinding now. Bilbo chewed on his lip to hide the flush on his cheeks.

“You really don't have to. I’m sure you’re a very busy person.” Bilbo stammered.

“But I want to. And if I don’t take you, you might try and go alone. You could end up in a tourist district and get the wrong idea about my country to put in one of those articles of yours.” Thorin teased.

Bilbo snorted. “Erebor doesn't have a tourist district.”

“I haven't been home in a month. One could have popped up in my absence.” They both broke out into laughter. The strictness on Thorin’s sharp face faded into something soft and nearly irresistible. The rest of the plane ride went exceptionally smoothly. They chatted some more and ate the first-class meals they were provided in between doing separate tasks like reading or watching a movie. The conversation was light and interesting, and Bilbo found that he barely felt the time pass. At some point, he nodded off to sleep with a book in his hand but woke up with it bookmarked and a thin blanket covering him. Bilbo stretched as he woke and tried to tame the sleep-mussed curls on his head. When he finally got his shoulder to pop and his hair to lay flat, he looked out of the window, and his heart sank. The tall peak of Erebor's biggest mountain was on the horizon. A breathtaking sight, and yet…

“The Lonely Mountain is what that peak is called. The royal palace is built right into the side of it.” Thorin’s deep voice cut into his disappointed thoughts. He startled with an embarrassing squeak and clapped his hand over his mouth with a groan. Thorin only laughed. “Good morning. Or perhaps afternoon. It’s eight in the evening now.” No sooner had Thorin finished speaking when the seatbelt light licked on in the cabin, and the kind voice of the stewardess asked them to return to their seats for the plane's descent.

The ten hours were up. Bilbo felt his stomach do strange flips as he snuck glances at the seemingly unbothered Thorin. It was all utterly ridiculous. He had met this man less than 12 hours ago. It was silly to pine over someone he didn’t even know. The uncomfortable look on his face must have shown because he felt something warm blanket the hand that was gripping the armrest of his chair. He was surprised to see it was Thorin who was giving him a slightly concerned look.

“Is it the turbulence or the altitude dropping? The turbulence is always stronger on the descent, especially in Erebor. I think it’s something about the wind in relation to the mountain. It should pass quickly.” Thorin remarked with a smile. It did, and soon, the wheels were touching down. This would have been the perfect time for a delay, but of course, everything ran as smooth as butter, and soon, it was time to exit. Bilbo unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the backpack on the side of his chair. When he turned around, he ran right into a solid wall of chest and braced himself with his hands in surprise. Thorin looked down at him, his eyes a sea of blue, and his arms still raised above his head to reach into the overhead. Bilbo stared up at his face, only vaguely aware that his body was positioned a hair's breadth away, hands still splayed on his chest. Then he became aware. Very aware. Bilbo took a big step backward like he had been burned apologies on the tip of his tongue only to lose his footing, trip over the chair behind him, and land facing the wrong way with his legs dangling over the armrest. He went beet-red and closed his eyes so he couldn't see Thorin's face. He opened them again to see Thorin grinning at him with his head cocked to the right and his arms crossed.

“You’re very prone to accidents, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Not usually,” Bilbo replied. It was true other than today, he was usually very well coordinated. Thorin reached out his hand and pulled Bilbo easily to his feet before handing him his luggage.

“That’s not a very big bag for a long trip. I suppose I never asked how long you were staying?” Thorin asked tentatively as they walked toward the exit.

“Foreign journalists still have their passports restricted to visits less than five days,” Bilbo said apologetically. Thorin’s brow furrowed at that. He muttered a name under his breath before dropping the topic altogether. The airport was very small, with no restaurants or coffee shops like at London Heathrow. His stomach growled audibly, and the sound of it seemed to make Thorin tense, although he couldn't imagine why. “Sorry about that. Airplane food doesn't fill you up all that much. Are you in a rush to be somewhere? I don’t know any places to eat around here, but if you have a recommendation, we can grab something. I mean, just if you want, I’m not presuming anything.” he wasn't good at this. He was a well-spoken person with a quip for every occasion, but his brain seemed to have malfunctioned the moment he stepped onto that plane. What was worse was the apologetic, almost pitying look on Thorin's face.

“I can’t right now but-”

“No, it’s fine!” Bilbo quickly interjected. “I get it, you're very busy. It’s a small country like you said. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Bilbo plastered a smile on his face and made to walk away. Thorin caught him by the waist and tilted his chin until their eyes met, then slowly but deliberately kissed him. It was as slow and tender as it was unexpected. A good unexpected, and Bilbo closed his eyes and let it wash over him. Thorin’s lips were warm and tasted like the smoke of a campfire. Thorin broke the kiss and fixed one of his curls that had fallen in front of his face.

“You should go to Rustabell’s on Gilded Square. It’s near the historic downtown area. You’ll like it.” He gave Bilbo’s form a once over before meeting his eyes one last time and briskly walking away. Bilbo stepped after him, dazed and thoroughly confused about what had just happened.

“Wait, I never got your num…ber.” The words died on his tongue as he rounded the corner. The sudden flash of a hundred cameras going off all at once made him take several steps back. He hurried forward to get away from it and blink the dots from his eyes. Looking back, he was shocked to see Thorin standing in front of the cameras, his face like stone as he faced the flashing lights. Bilbo focused on what was being said by one of the journalists, their press badge laminated and practically glowing.

“Your majesty! Your majesty! King Thorin!” Bilbo paused. King Thorin? His eyes went wide, and he pressed his fingers to his lips.

“Oh shit.”

~~~~

Roulette wheel is here.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thilbo #bilbo x thorin #fotfics #FIAF(me) fics

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dahliamalfoy97 · 2 years

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CLEANSED- Douma x reader

Word count: 2,351

Warnings: 18+ smut, mdni, slight dub con, degradation, swearing, lots of unholy acts. Make sure to drink lots of holy water before you begin 😉

Douma Priest AU

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As you enter the doors to the church, a sense of comfort washes over you. You immediately go to your usual spot up at the front. You just had to be near him at all times. You were running a bit later than usual so the sermon had already started.

Father Douma glared at you slightly before continuing with his sermon. You just sent him a wink, before taking out your Bible. Pretending to follow what he was reading but all you could do was take him in.

He was the reason you attended. Not for the sermon but to see him. He was always so animated in the way he preached and you couldn't help but watch with pure fascination and admiration. Your desire for him had grown over the past years. And all you wanted was for him to cleanse you in the most unholy of ways.

You always came dressed in a short dress that barely came past your thighs, and every time he'd found you with those rainbow colored eyes, you always had to clench your thighs together. He was just so sexy.

Finally the sermon came to a close.

"Y/N if you could stay behind and help me clean up that would be great," his rainbow irises flash to mine, as everyone begins to file out of the sanctuary.

"Of course, Father. I'd be happy to help."

You go to start picking up any trash off the floors, "this is your punishment for being late today,," you turn around to find Douma staring at you with dark eyes.

"I'm sorry Father, it won't happen again."

He comes to stand behind you watching you as you bend down to pick up a Bible off the floor next to the altar. "Why were you late today, Y/N? You're never late."

"Sorry i was just super tired this morning, I slept in a little late."

"Just don't do it again, or I'll have to punish you and I don't want to have to punish my most devoted follower."

You go to stand up, but a hand snakes around your waist, locking you against his front side. One of his hands wraps around your chin and forces you to look at him.

"I think you're lying to me," And your breath catches in your throat at the way he stares at you. "And lying is a sin, so tell me why were you really late today."

You swallow the urge to moan at dominating way he held you, he was so tall and you were so small in comparison. You wondered just how big he was.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Father. I would never lie to you."

His eyes narrow before shifting into a smile, "it's okay I'll just have to cleanse it out of you huh? I'll make you confess your sin to me."

With that he's pushing your front against the altar, your ass is being pushed up, and your legs being spread out.

You're eyes widen when you feel him ripping your dress in half, leaving you bare.

He smirks, "I knew you didn't have any panties on, because you're a desperate little slut that needs to be taught a lesson."

He runs a large hand along your ass before lifting it and bringing it down harshly. You jolt and gasp at the harsh sting.

A finger caresses your slit, he groans when he feels how sinful you really are.

"Of course you'd get off on that, like a naughty slut you are," then he slaps your ass again and this time I let out a whimper. And he spins me around to where I'm facing him, splayed out on the altar, soaked with desire for him. His grin widens, and he know longer looks like angel, he looks like a demon ready to devour his prey as lust is evident in his rainbow eyes. "Now tell me, why were you late to my service today?"

He kneels in between my legs and runs a finger along my slit, he eyes me intently.

"I- I told you I was tired -"

Slap.

Another harsh sting against my throbbing clit.

"Lies," he chastises, before sinking a finger past my velvet walls. "I can feel your deceit on my finger."

You can't help but moan as he begins to thrust his long finger in an out of you while his thumb plays with your clit.

"And fuck, are you soaked," he then adds another finger, and then a third, stretching me out even more, "I bet you taste as sinful as you look. You need to be cleansed of your sins, desperately."

With that his mouth descends onto you, and he begins to feast on you, his tongue flicking your clit and sucking on it in the most delicious ways, while continuing to finger fuck you with his fingers. You were in utter heaven at the way this man devoured you so hungrily. You can't help but let out a moan and throw your head back at the overwhelming sense of pleasures. But before you could close eyes your head is being yanked forward, forcing you too look into his eyes.

"Don't you dare look close your eyes," he growls against my pussy, "eyes on me, slut."

His free hand travels down to my breast, pinching my nipple causing me to moan even louder.

"Fuck, Father. Don't stop." He slaps my pussy again, "

"It's Master to you," he demands.

His assault on my pussy becomes more harsher, faster turning me into a squirming, whimpering mess. I realize he is still fully dressed in his priest clothes while I'm completely naked. Which makes me even more wet at how filthy this act is. The holy priest is eating me out on an alter while his fingers are fûcking me brutally.

"Fuck you taste so filthy on my tongue, so sinful and sweet," he groans. "I can't wait to fuck you."

His fingers quicken their pace, continuing to stretch me out, I could feel a warmth taking over me and my legs begin to shake, but then he's standing up before I can finish. And I whimper at the denial of my orgasm.

"M- Master - why did you stop-"

He just laughs, clicking his tongue, "oh no, this isn't for pleasure sweetheart, this a punishment for you. For continuing to lie to me." He once again forces me to turn around so that I'm kneeling over the altar, my arms are yanked behind me, as he removes his tie and binds them together, "but if you confess your sins, I'll reward you."

You can't help but smirk at him with defiance, "I am honestly telling you the truth, Master."

He tsks at me, before pulling my legs apart tying them something I can't see.

"Well if you continue to lie, you won't get what you want," he leaves me tied up to the altar. He disappears before reappearing behind me. Darkness clouds my vision as a blindfold is being tied around my eyes. Something is being pushed past my folds. Something hard. And then it begins vibrating against inside me, thrusting in out of me while something latches onto my clit, causing me to cry out at the overstimulation.

Somewhere nearby I hear laughter, "look at you turning into a filthy mess. You're making a mess all over my altar."

"Please Master," you whimper as orgasm after orgasm wracks through your body as the vibrator's speed picks up.

"Please what?" He sneers, as he's got his cock pulled out and he's jerking himself off as he watches you being abused by the toy that's fucking you so brutally.

He never was a priest. Just a demon in disguise, he got off on making people suffer. But you, you were his most devoted follower and he wanted you as his personal fuck toy. And he knew you wanted this too, he saw your dirty thoughts that always went through your mind when you attended his services. He noticed the short dresses you wore for him. And he could always smell your arousal. He knew how much you craved him. How far you'd go to please and serve him.

"Please fuck me," you sobbed in pleasure. Body shaking as another orgasm takes over. "I need you to fuck me master, I'll do anything."

"Confess your sins and I'll reward you."

She sobs, "I touching myself thinking about you this morning, that's why I was late. I've just wanted to fuck me. You're all I ever think about."

Douma laughs, "see that wasn't so hard. Now I can give you what we both want. And you can stop being a brat."

Suddenly I feel the vibration stop and he pulls the toy out of me. I hear rustling before I feel something poking at my entrance. Before I can get a word out, it slams into me, causing me to scream. Douma's cock spears your pussy open, not caring if it bleeds. Not giving you a moment to adjust as he begins to thrust into you hard and fast.

"Fuck you are so tight, Y/N, soo perfect for my cock."

The blindfold comes off and your head is yanked back, he kisses you hungrily and sloppily, swirling his tongue with yours. Swallowing the moans the keep falling from your mouth as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. His cock going deeper and deeper with each thrust.

His hand goes around your neck, choking you slightly, causing you to clench around his cock.

"Is it's too much," you sob, overwhelmed at being manhandled. You never imagined the priest to be so rough and dirty. But it turned you on.

He slaps your ass, "you can take it."

You can feel your climax building again, the hard slaps of his skin against yours and the way he fucked you was becoming too much. But it all felt so good, you could feel your stomach coiling and your walls tightening.

"M-master I'm going to cum."

"Say you're sorry for lying to me, and I might just let you come," he slaps me again, his hand tightens around my neck again and I want so desperately to cling on to something.

"I'm sorry", I sob, "I'm sorry for lying."

He grins madly, "good girl, now you may come. Go ahead and make a mess all over my cock."

But his thrusts don't slow down he continues to fuck me as hard as he can, his tip constantly brushing my spot repeatedly.

"Come all over my cock like the filthy slut you are!"

He chokes you even harder pushing you over the edge and you come undone all over his cock.

"That's a good little slut," he praises. "But I'm not done cleansing you just yet."

He quickly pulls out, and unties all of your bindings. He carries you over to a pew, sets you down and quickly strips out of his clothes. Your jaw drops at how gorgeous he is underneath, making you wet again. Then he picks you up at sets you on his lap.

"I want you to ride me,"

You nod weakly, your whole body ached from the many orgasms you had, but you still wanted more.

You straddle him and reach to take his cock and slide it into your entrance, his cock splitting you in a new way as you sink down on him. You whimper at his thickness as it seemed even bigger than before.

"Y-you're so big," you babble.

"And you're soo tiny," he mocks, "who knew someone so tiny as you would be able to to take a big cock so well. Or maybe it's just my cock. Huh?"

"Just your cock," I nod frantically, beginning to bounce up and down his shaft, using his rosary to cling on too as his cock split your walls in two, turning you into a jumble of whimpers. "Feels too good."

He chuckles "that's right, just my cock can make you feel this good," his chuckles turn into low moans as you quicken your pace. Your walls tightening around him with each grip. "This pussy is mine, you hear?"

But your too lost in how well he fills you up, the way he takes your breasts into his mouth sucking on them and so cock drunk, that you just nod.

He sinks his teeth around to it nipple causing you to cry and arch into him, "answer me," he growls, your blood dripped from his mouth and it turns you on even more at the sight.

"Yes this pussy is yours and only yours Master!"

He laughs against your nipple, before releasing it and flipping you over, and begins pounding you into the pew.

"Fuck don't stop Douma!"

He stills, " say that again."

"Douma," you plead "don't stop."

He laughs, "I love hearing my name come out of your mouth. It belongs there as I fuck you dumb."

He leans down and connects your lips with his, you moaning at how soft it is before turning hungry and completely devouring you whole. Just as he was with his cock.

Your nails scratch along his back, drawing blood and in return he bites down on your lip.

The action has you falling apart immediately.

"I'm going to fill you up with my cum. Breed this little cunt of yours so deep, it'll always stay with you. Maybe I'll put a baby in you. How does that sound?"

"Yes, Douma, fill me up," you're practically babbling, totally fucked out and incoherent.

He gleams at your incoherent state, then his thrusts become sloppier and his grunts become weaker. Soon he's releasing into you. You feel his hot cum filling you up, "that's it take all of my cum."

He watches in satisfaction as your cunt is filled with his cum, to wear its dripping. Before pulling out.

He leans down and kisses you softly, "you did so good for me."

You just nod tiredly.

He chuckles, “now that I’ve purified your body, let’s get you cleaned up.”

#douma x you #demon slayer #douma x reader #kimetsu no yaiba douma #douma smut

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