welcome to my escape! feel free to request any comic characters/series that you want to get into but don’t know where to start if google is too confusing for ya. wait time: a long time. Sorry lol I’ve been working on the modern Hawkeye ones for at least a year I’m just lazy.
otherwise, feel free to escape real life and read some of my favorite fics! it ranges from marvel, to haikyuu, to even voltron from way back when. oh and i can’t forget about young justice and even narnia hahah...
feel free to use whatever writing prompts i have (just one for now) for any writing challenges you may have or for inspiration
𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨: genshin impact + marvel + hints of tears of themis
main/personal: @thestarsintheknight [i reply + follow back from here!]
sfw writing: @knightofameris
nsfw writing: @mxxnlitwonders
this blog is filled with 18+ content. all characters are aged up 18+ especially in nsfw pieces. nsfw content will be tagged with “ameris needs a drink”
anything with dark content will be labeled with “dark content” + “ameris hides in the dark”
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— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding kink, spit kink, cum eating, very messy, possessive boys, lovesick and pussydrunk giggles, oral (fem! receiving), hitting it raw
⚝ — BLADE
there's no lead in with your boyfriend, no warm up— not with blade, yeah? not with him, just your thighs lazily thrown over his shoulders and his mouth dragging down between them like he's searching for something that'll surely save his heart.
his tongue was brutal and mean attacking the little pearl through the protective hood of your clit, making you instantly flinch into him, whimpering from the pressure as he groans like it only made him harder the more he heard you voice yourself. by now, his face shimmered of spit and slick before he pulls back— just to let a thick globule of spit hit your messy cunt again, big and heavy and right on your entrance— blade groans out at the sheer sight, "you want to be used, don't you? made a mess of? filled so deep it leaks out of you for days."
"that's what you've said, haven't you?" he was awfully good at giving you what you've sought after and blade doesn't stop, not even when you're shaking, not even when your breath fractures into broken little sobs.
he only drives into you over and over, stuffing you so full it spills out around him and covers his girth and pelvis, a sight both so hot and humiliating it turned your thighs into jelly— not to mention when it's sticking to his skin or soaking into the ruined sheets below.
you feel it all— feel the mess you've made and the weight of it on both of your bodies, the slow, endless filling of his cum pumping into you until you felt like you couldn't possibly breathe anymore— yet he just kept going, naturally, like he's literally carving himself into you, like he's trying to brand his existence into the deepest, most secret parts of your body so he'd for once, love being alive.
he huffs out when you sob into his lips, a gravelly noise torn from the bottom of his chest as he continues grinding into you with a brutal force that left you gasping, half-sobbing against his strong chest, "i'll ruin every inch," and you can't tell if he's actually shaking from restraint or insane hunger for you.
every greedy shove of hips against your cunt carved a deeper wound inside you, raw, passionate and the friction unbearable, your thighs slick and weak from the hefty fullness he's forced upon your hole, your hands sliding uselessly against his arms— clinging one moment and slipping the next, your body too wrung out to do anything but take him.
slick and semen spill out around where he bullies himself deeper, a vulgar, sticky testament to how little control he has left— how little you have left, all you can do is tremble and arch into him, as well as clutch at him with your numb fingers grazing at his biceps while he groans into your throat like he'll die if he doesn't break you open a little more.
his hands were splayed at your hips like he's holding together something broken, but it's not you— it's him, something's fracturing, something sharp and cavernous and when blade finally presses in once more, pistoling his cock through everything you've given him, the filthy mixture of your arousal and his cum covering the insides of your thighs as blade groans— a raw, strangled thing that sounded like a force of life had crushed through him.
well, there you see it, he was showing it, already wanting to be ready for another round, correct?
because blade's not done, oh no don't be silly now— he'll never be done, his cock was already glazed in the evidence of your last few rounds and still he shoves it back in like he's punishing you for how wet and how soft and how tight you were for him.
"you'll keep squeezing me like that, i'll fill you again, i swear—" his voice catches, one uncoordinated thrust of through your hole and he moans, hips twitching with mild overstimulation, "fuck, i'll keep doing it until you can't walk" as the tremble in his hands betrayed how close he truly was, how the tight, wet clench of your walls sucking him in was unraveling him thread by desperate thread.
⚝ — WELT
"this is all i was asking for," welt purrs at you, his voice resembling poisoned silk as he dragged two fingers through your soaked mess, his lips curled up in a smirk, "you're leaking already for me, how shameful."
the man doesn't hide how hard he got seeing the way your body reacted to his faint touches— how he readjusted his boxers when your slick gathered so easily on his fingers, the way it glistened when he held it to the light like a chemist examining his prized specimen.
welt tastes it instantly, although slow, his tongue curling around the evidence as he groans at your taste infiltrating his taste buds, "i'll fuck you until you cry for mercy and beg me not to stop, i want to see it all— your spit, your cum, me, dripping from every hole, every inch of you marked," there, listen close, welt was laughing again.
not mockery, but devotion— fanged and fevered, unwell and you're beneath him and he's already soaked you again, cock smacking against your folds with disgustingly wet slaps of slick and spit glazing your thighs as welt just hums like a man given purpose.
"you think i'm stopping?" he whispers against your temple, tongue dragging hot over the shell of your ear, "after I just made you cum on my cock like that?" as you're still twitching from the aftermath, overstimmed to the brim, your cunt a mess and full, fuck, and he just shifts back slightly to admire the sight, what a man gone mad.
welt couldn't stop looking at how your hole pulses and spasms like it's begging for more, reaching for him, greedy and flushed and leaking cum, "look at that, so empty, so needy," he smears his fingers through the mess he's left inside you, presses the slick digits to your lips, "taste that, that's mine," and when he fucks back in, he abruptly spits on your tongue.
"don't swallow it yet, let it stay there. let me see it— dripping down your chin like the perfect little thing you are."
⚝ — ANAXA
anaxa doesn't wait, in fact, ugh, come on now, lets remain honest here— did he ever strike you as somebody who'd kindly wait for you to settle onto the bed when you don't even need to blink before he's shoving you onto the bed like gravity has betrayed you all by himself?
like he owns the air in your lungs and intends to squeeze every last moan out with his hands, his hips, his cock.
"witness yourself," anaxa breathes out, a low, menacing murmur, gloved fingers prying you apart with slow, clinical cruelty, like he's cataloging something rare and precious in his mind, only to later defile it with his slender hands, "already soaked for me? already out of breath too? and i've barely even laid claim on you, ah, how do you expect to survive me, little one?"
he leans in to be face level with your glistening pussy, his breath fanning against your folds as he spits, repeatedly— once slow, twice again— right over your swollen folds. it trickles down in a glistening line and he watches with a hollow, consuming hunger, like a scholar before a ritual.
"even better now," his voice cuts low, scraping through the thick air as you whine out his name, your nipples hard and erected from how anaxa has been handling you, "so prettily aching for me, huh? you want to be ruined, don't you? stretched wide, stuffed full, yeah, so full it spills out of you, again and again and you'll still beg for more."
"I just know you will," as he pushes himself in with a groan, the large and shuddering stretch on your pussy stinging instantly before you felt a familiar heat greet your walls— the split alone folds you in half, has your toes curling and your nails scrambling for anything to hold onto as anaxa carefully pinned down your wrists, dragging your hands up above your head, beginning to fuck you.
"you're mine now," he breathes, lips brushing your ear, "every drop you spill— mine, every tear you cry from getting fucked so hard you forget your name— it belongs to me."
he thrusts harder, chasing the sound of your body squelching beneath him as you clench tight and cry out, making him lose his fucking mind. one hand leaves your wrists to force your jaw open, his spit falling directly onto your tongue before he leans in to kiss it deeper into your throat.
"i'll ruin you so many times, you won't know which mess came first, mine or yours," and when he does, inch by inch, a high pitched moan shatters over your cries as you wince out his name when his cock massaged over your walls repeatedly well, his skilled fingers rubbing your tits ever so tenderly.
if only he wasn't so damn messy— your thighs slick with everything he's spilled inside you, rubbing the head of his cock through the cum-slick mess between your legs just to spread it over yourself more, fuck, anaxa really cannot stop.
⚝ — PHAINON
an impassioned and heavy stillness seemed to press down the air on itself, and in that darkened room you've found yourself splayed out right underneath phainon's towering frame, trembling under the cool, hefty weight of him.
"sweetheart, you're clenching," he says, quite fascinated, as he pushes into you with a low, shaky moan, "gripping me so tight— do you want to milk every drop out of me?"
he's obsessed with it, the mess, the physical evidence of what you're doing to him as he leans down, biting your shoulder, thrusting deeper just to hear the wet, obscene squelches of his warm cum inside you, "again," he whispers, voice cracking, "i need to see more, more of it leaking out, down your thighs, on my cock, fuck, fuck, on your stomach too, fuck— i need to paint you with it."
you're both drenched, tangled in sweat and spit and endless release, his hands greedily spreading your folds to admire the way you glisten with all he's spilled inside you, "you'll remember me by the way you drip," he breathes, "every time you move, it'll remind you who ruined you."
phainon has already fucked you twice and still looks like he's starving.
his hair was stuck to his forehead as sweat dripped down his chest, yet his hands haven't stopped shaking since the moment you moaned out his name and pulled him in the first time.
you're dazed, truly, raw and full of warm cum and yet he's still staring between your legs like you're an unanswered prayer, "can't help it," he murmurs, almost apologetic— almost, "when i see it like that."
his voice trails off as he drags his fingers through your wrecked cunt with cum dripping out of you instantly, coating his fingers in strings that glisten under the low light, "fuck— fuck," phainon moans before immediately shoving his fingers into your mouth, "taste it, baby come on, tell me it's not perfect."
you filthily whimper around his fingers, suckling on them and rolling your tongue over his knuckles as his cock twitches, "no, no— don't close your legs now," as he pulls them open again, wider this time and groans at the sight of his cum leaking out in slow, wet rivulets, "keep them open, yeah? i want to see it, all of it, i need to see how many times i can fill you before your body can't hold it anymore."
phainon leans in, whispers hot against your throat as he presses his cum-stricken fingers against your tongue, "you'll let me try, won't you?"
Okhema City was a marvel of elegance and energy, its golden towers glowing under a soft, perpetual light. The streets hummed with the sounds of music and conversation as people moved through the grand plazas and intricate skybridges. Laughter drifted from bustling vendors, and faint trails of sweet, spiced aromas filled the air.
Phainon walked beside you, exuding what could only be described as dramatic confidence. His regal coat swished behind him, the embroidered gold and blue threads catching the light with every exaggerated step he took. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, trying to appear casual but failing miserably.
You, however, were entirely oblivious to his nervous antics. Your gaze was fixed on the city around you, marveling at the sheer beauty of the architecture and the lively atmosphere. “This place is amazing,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at the softly glowing arches above. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Yeah, it’s... something,” Phainon replied, his voice a little too eager. “But, uh, I could show you the really amazing parts. I know all the best spots.”
“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Oh, uh...” Phainon faltered, his confidence slipping under the weight of your direct attention. “Like, um, this fountain right over there! It’s super... historic?” He pointed toward a glowing marble fountain that you were already walking toward, his enthusiasm betraying the fact that he hadn’t actually thought this through.
Trailing behind you were Phainon’s companions: Tribbie, a small girl with fiery red hair and vibrant blue eyes who seemed incapable of standing still, and Mydei, tall and intimidating with his untamed blonde-and-red hair and an aura of perpetual irritation.
Tribbie grinned as she jogged to keep up with you two. “He means he wants to show you off,” she whispered conspiratorially to Mydei, giggling. “Look at him! He’s been tripping over himself the whole time!”
“I noticed,” Mydei muttered, crossing his arms as he followed. “Not like he’s being subtle.”
Phainon overheard them and whipped around. “I am being subtle!” he hissed, his face red.
“Sure you are,” Mydei deadpanned, not even bothering to hide his smirk.
“Don’t listen to him,” Tribbie said, skipping up to Phainon’s side. “You’re doing great! Well, except for the part where you keep blushing every time Y/N looks at you. But other than that, perfect.”
“Tribbie, please!” Phainon groaned, glancing nervously at you to see if you’d noticed their conversation. Fortunately—or unfortunately—you were completely engrossed in admiring the intricate carvings on the fountain.
“It’s okay!” Tribbie whispered loudly. “Y/N’s totally clueless. You’ve got time to pull it together!”
“I don’t need to pull anything together!” Phainon snapped, though the panic in his voice betrayed him.
“What are you two whispering about back there?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.
“Oh, nothing!” Tribbie said with a grin, skipping back to walk beside you. “Phainon was just telling us how much he loves—uh—fountains! Right, Phainon?”
Phainon coughed, his cheeks still pink. “Yes. Fountains. Very majestic.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t press the matter, much to his obvious relief.
Tribbie, however, was far from done. “So, Y/N,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting her head in a way that could only be described as way too innocent, “what do you think of Phainon? Pretty cool, huh?”
You blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Uh... sure. He’s great.”
Tribbie gasped dramatically, spinning to face Phainon. “Did you hear that? Y/N thinks you’re great!”
Phainon’s eyes widened, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “She didn’t mean it like that!” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
“I mean,” you said, looking between them with a confused smile, “you are great. You’re a good leader, and you’re... fun to be around. Why wouldn’t I think that?”
Phainon opened his mouth, then closed it, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “I—uh—thank you?” he managed weakly.
Tribbie clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is too good. Mydei, isn’t this great?”
“Yeah,” Mydei said, rolling his eyes. “If by ‘great’ you mean ‘painful to watch.’”
“Okay, that’s enough out of both of you,” Phainon said, his tone equal parts exasperated and mortified. He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Y/N, do you want to see the market district? It’s a lot livelier than this part of the city.”
You nodded, still oblivious to his obvious fluster. “That sounds fun.”
As you all made your way toward the bustling marketplace, Tribbie leaned closer to Mydei, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know,” she whispered, “we should help him out. Like, nudge things along a bit.”
Mydei gave her a flat look. “Or we could let him suffer. That’s been entertaining enough.”
Tribbie stifled a giggle as she looked up at Phainon, who was now awkwardly trying to match your pace without looking like he was trying too hard. “He’s so hopeless,” she whispered.
“I can hear you,” Phainon muttered without turning around.
“Good!” Tribbie chirped. “Maybe it’ll inspire you to actually do something about it!”
Phainon groaned, his face in his hands as he walked. You, meanwhile, simply admired the sights, blissfully unaware of the chaotic energy simmering between your companions.
By the time you reached the market district, the air was alive with music and the scent of freshly baked bread. Phainon, for all his flustered awkwardness, managed to walk beside you with his usual confidence—though his companions’ constant teasing kept his nerves simmering just beneath the surface.
For Phainon, it was a miracle you hadn’t picked up on his obvious feelings. For Tribbie, it was her favorite ongoing drama. And for Mydei, well, it was just another day in Okhema City.
The market district was a riot of colors and sounds, with stalls overflowing with intricate wares: handwoven fabrics, shimmering jewelry, and jars filled with glowing powders that seemed to hum faintly with energy. Street performers danced and spun glowing ribbons in the air, while vendors called out their prices, each trying to outshine the next.
You walked ahead, drawn to a stall filled with delicate glass ornaments that sparkled in the warm light. Phainon hovered a step behind, trying to look relaxed but still stealing glances at you.
“You know,” you said, turning a small, intricately carved pendant over in your hands, “this place is so vibrant. I feel like I could spend days here and still not see everything.”
Phainon took a deep breath, willing himself to act natural. “If you wanted, I could show you around tomorrow. Or, you know, whenever you’re free.”
Tribbie appeared out of nowhere, practically popping up between you two. “Ohhh, a private tour? How romantic!”
Phainon choked on his own breath, quickly covering it with a cough. “Tribbie, not now!”
“What? I think it’s sweet!” she said with an exaggerated pout, blue eyes wide with mock innocence.
You blinked at her, clearly confused. “I mean, it’d be nice to have a guide,” you said, glancing at Phainon with a smile. “You know a lot about this place, don’t you?”
Phainon’s heart skipped a beat at your words, but before he could reply, Mydei strode up, carrying a skewer of grilled meat and giving the group his usual deadpan stare. “What’s going on now? Is Tribbie making it weird again?”
“She’s trying,” Phainon muttered under his breath.
“I’m helping,” Tribbie said brightly. She grabbed Phainon’s arm and gave him an encouraging shake. “Go on, tell Y/N about how you’re practically an expert on Okhema City!”
“Uh, well,” Phainon stammered, clearly thrown off by the sudden pressure. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to pull himself together. “I’ve spent a lot of time here, so I guess you could say I know it pretty well.”
“You guess?” Tribbie teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Come on, sell yourself! Tell them about that time you saved that merchant from bandits!”
Phainon groaned, his face turning red. “Tribbie, that’s not relevant—”
“Wait, you did that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah,” Phainon admitted sheepishly. “But it’s not a big deal or anything.”
“Not a big deal?” Tribbie gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. “Y/N, did you know he fought off three bandits at once? With nothing but his sword and his sheer determination!”
Mydei snorted, taking a bite of his skewer. “Don’t forget the part where he tripped over a crate halfway through.”
“Hey!” Phainon snapped, glaring at him. “That crate was in a bad spot!”
“Sure it was,” Mydei said dryly, smirking.
You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, the sound drawing Phainon’s attention back to you. His flustered frustration melted into a soft smile as he watched you, his companions’ teasing momentarily forgotten.
“Still,” you said, glancing at Phainon, “that’s impressive. You’re braver than I thought.”
“Brave?” Tribbie repeated with a grin. “He’s practically a hero! You should see him during training—he’s always going on about protecting people and doing the right thing.”
“Tribbie,” Phainon groaned, his face buried in his hands.
“What? I’m just saying you’d make a great knight in shining armor!”
“You mean a dramatic idiot,” Mydei muttered, earning a glare from Phainon.
“You’re not wrong,” you said with a playful smile, making Phainon freeze in place.
“W-wait, what?” he stammered.
“Nothing,” you replied innocently, already turning back to the glass ornaments on display.
Tribbie leaned toward Phainon, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “She totally likes you.”
Phainon let out an exasperated groan. “Tribbie, stop!”
“Or,” Mydei said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “you could just tell them how you feel instead of embarrassing yourself all day.”
“I’m not embarrassing myself!” Phainon protested, though his flushed face suggested otherwise.
“You kinda are,” Tribbie chimed in with a grin.
“You know what?” Phainon said, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m just going to go buy something. For Y/N.”
Tribbie gasped. “Oh my gosh, are you getting them a gift?!”
“It’s not a gift!” he said quickly, already heading toward a nearby stall selling small, carved figurines. “It’s... uh... a gesture of friendship!”
You raised an eyebrow as you watched him stride off, clearly flustered. “What’s he doing?”
“Something dumb,” Mydei muttered around a bite of his skewer.
Tribbie clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels. “Oh, this is the best day ever.”
As Phainon returned with a small, delicate figurine of a bird carved from white stone, his nervous smile made you tilt your head in curiosity.
“For you,” he said, holding it out. “I saw it and thought... well, it reminded me of you. I mean—not in a weird way! Just... it’s graceful. And unique. And, um...”
“Thank you,” you said, cutting him off before he spiraled completely. You took the figurine, turning it over in your hands with a smile. “It’s beautiful.”
Phainon’s shoulders sagged with relief, though Tribbie immediately burst into applause.
“He did it!” she said, grinning at Mydei. “He actually did something right!”
Mydei just shook his head. “Don’t encourage him.”
You laughed again, the sound filling the air like music. Phainon smiled, his heart swelling despite his companions’ relentless teasing. Maybe you hadn’t caught on to his feelings yet—but moments like this gave him hope.
For now, walking beside you through the glowing streets of Okhema City was more than enough.
As you passed through the busy market, your eyes caught sight of two familiar figures ahead—Dan Heng and Trailblazer.
“Hey, Y/N!” Trailblazer’s voice called out, a mischievous grin spreading across their face as they waved toward you.
"Hey!" you called back, a bright smile spreading across your face. Without missing a beat, you waved back and started making your way toward them.
Behind you, Phainon straightened up at the sound of their names, his steps growing a little stiffer. Tribbie noticed immediately and nudged Mydei.
“Looks like Phainon’s acting all nervous again,” she whispered, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s got that look.”
Mydei grunted. “He’s not fooling anyone. Especially not Y/N.”
Phainon pretended he hadn’t heard them, but his cheeks were just a little flushed as he joined you, Tribbie, and Mydei in greeting Dan Heng and Trailblazer.
“So, what brings you two here?” you asked as you approached.
Dan Heng nodded with a small smile. “We were checking out the local sights. Thought we’d catch up with you and see how things were going.”
Trailblazer grinned, their eyes flicking over to Phainon before returning to you. “Well, it looks like Phainon’s been keeping you entertained.”
Phainon stiffened at the sudden attention, his white hair swaying lightly as he gave a small nod. “I’ve only been showing Y/N around. It’s nothing special.” His voice was a little too casual, and his gaze flickered away nervously, though no one commented on it—except for Tribbie.
“Nothing special?” Tribbie shot a glance at Phainon, her voice full of playful innocence. “Phainon’s so modest. He’s been the perfect tour guide—especially when he bought Y/N a gift earlier. So thoughtful!”
Phainon’s face went crimson. “I—Tribbie, please.” He looked around desperately as if hoping for a distraction, but everyone was watching him now.
You blinked, completely unaware of the undercurrent of tension. “Yeah its pretty cute look"
“It was just a little trinket,” Phainon mumbled, now avoiding eye contact as he fidgeted with the hem of his coat. “Nothing to make a fuss over.”
“Oh, I’m sure its just a little trinket,” Trailblazer teased, arching an eyebrow at him. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Trailblazer…” Dan Heng’s voice was flat, warning them to ease up on the teasing.
You, still oblivious, gave Phainon a warm smile. “I think it was really sweet.”
Phainon tried his best to hold his composure, but his cheeks were a little too pink for anyone to miss. “It’s... really not important.”
“Sure it’s not,” Trailblazer said, nudging Dan Heng with a sly grin. “What do you think, Dan Heng? Think we should give them some space?”
Dan Heng didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes flickered briefly between you and Phainon. He sighed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he answered. “If you want to, sure. But we know how Y/N is when they’re excited about something.” He turned to you with a faint smile. “You’re enjoying the city so far, I take it?”
You nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely! Phainon’s been an amazing guide. I’ve learned so much about Okhema already.”
Phainon’s stiff posture relaxed slightly at your words, though he was still visibly flustered. “I’m happy to help.”
Trailblazer, clearly enjoying the awkward tension, leaned toward Phainon with a grin. “You’re making great progress, Phainon. Keep it up.”
Phainon’s eyes widened slightly. “I—I’m not—”
Mydei crossed his arms, leaning in slightly toward Phainon. “You’re not fooling anyone, man. You might as well just admit it.”
Tribbie giggled at Phainon’s embarrassment, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, Phainon. You’re doing fine.”
Phainon sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know what you’re all talking about.”
But his blush was all the answer they needed.
Dan Heng gave a small, knowing smile. “It’s alright, Phainon. You don’t have to say anything.”
Trailblazer tilted their head slightly and gave Phainon a wink. “Oh, I think Phainon’s doing just fine.”
You, still unaware of the subtle back-and-forth happening around you, smiled and glanced between your two crews. “We should all hang out together more often! You all seem like you get along great.”
“Yeah, we totally get along,” Trailblazer said, their grin far too wide. “Just like a big happy family.”
“Don’t encourage them,” Dan Heng muttered under his breath.
You laughed, giving Dan Heng a playful shove. “Come on, Dan Heng. You can’t be that grumpy.”
As you continued chatting with Dan Heng and Trailblazer, Phainon found himself strangely quiet, caught between the overwhelming urge to retreat and his desire to stay close to you. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that your attention was like a distant star, just out of reach, even as you smiled at him occasionally.
ི𓏶 paring : mydei, phainon, anaxa, aventurine, blade x f!reader
ི𓏶 tws : nsfw / smut, multiple of rounds, breeding kink, creampie, anal sēx with anaxa, spanking, mydei puts you in a headlock, cockdrunk reader, hair pulling, size kink and tit play / fucking.
ི𓏶 synopsis : when he already stuffed you so many times, but he still wants more. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
ི𓏶 note : not proof read, sorry (or not)
★ MYDEIMOS !
Your voice had gone hoarse hours ago. You didn’t even know what time it was anymore, not with how many times Mydei had made you come, how many times he’d stuffed you so full of his cock you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but take it.
You were on all fours, or you had been, until your arms gave out and left you face down in the pillows, drool staining the sheets, your body limp but still trembling. Your thighs were sticky and slick with a sinful mix of spit, sweat, and so much cum. His cum—thick and hot and leaking out of your pussy with every thrust, only for him to fuck it right back in like he couldn’t stand the idea of you wasting a single drop.
And he wasn’t slowing down.
“Mydei—fuck—please, no more,” you whimper, voice shaking, ruined.
He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, your spine arching sharply against his strong chest as his other arm snakes around your neck and locks you in a chokehold. His bicep flexes against your cheek, his scent all around you—spicy, warm, suffocating. His. You’re wrapped in him, trapped in him, and you’ve never felt more claimed.
“No more?” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “You say that every time, little thing. And every fuckin’ time, this sweet cunt pulls me in tighter, like it can’t live without my cock inside it.”
You whimper again as he slams into you from behind, brutally deep, your pussy already so sore and swollen from the last few rounds that your body just twitches. Your eyes roll back. You’re not even sure if you’re moaning or sobbing at this point—maybe both.
His cock feels massive. Each thrust splits you open all over again, dragging along your walls with obscene wet noises, and when he reaches down and presses a possessive hand to your lower tummy, you nearly scream.
“Feel that?” he pants, rough and close. “That bulge right there? That’s me. That’s how deep I am in you. Stretchin’ out your guts so good, you can’t even talk straight anymore.”
He lets go of your neck only to shove you back down into the mattress, your face crushed to the sheets as he lifts your hips higher and pounds into you like he’s lost his fucking mind. You can hear him snarling behind you, feel the heavy slap of his hips against your ass, and worst of all—you love it.
Your pussy gushes around him, your body begging for more even as you cry into the pillows. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is him. His name, his cock, his cum—him.
“You’re mine,” he snarls, gripping your hips so tight you’ll bruise. “This pussy’s mine. I’m gonna fill you up again, stuff you until it’s leaking outta you for hours.”
“M-Mydei—‘m full—‘m too full, can’t—!”
He laughs, “You think I care? You think I give a fuck if you’re full? You’re gonna take every last drop. You’re gonna thank me for it.”
Your walls clamp down on him again, another orgasm wracking your body as his thrusts grow sloppy, rougher. You feel it—feel the twitch in his cock, the way his grip tightens as he grunts through gritted teeth.
And then he’s spilling inside you again, hot and thick, pumping rope after rope of cum deep into your womb like he’s trying to breed you.
You’re boneless, brainless, cock-drunk and twitching as he leans over your back, panting.
But he doesn’t pull out.
Instead, he stays there, buried deep, grinding slow and lazy like he’s still hungry.
And he is.
“Still not enough,” he whispers, voice full of dangerous need. “I want you dripping with me. I want your belly round with it. I want to fuck you until the only thing you know is me.”
You shiver.
You’re not sure how much more you can take.
But Mydei?
He’s just getting started.
Your body barely registers when he shifts you, arms sliding beneath your trembling thighs as he lifts you effortlessly into a new position—your back against the bed, legs bent, knees touching your chest. The way he folds you up so tightly leaves your soaked, ruined cunt wide open for him, still drooling his seed like your pussy’s forgotten how to close.
He stares.
Mydei kneels between your legs, his cock still rock hard, slick with the mess of your shared lust, twitching against your overstimulated folds. His eyes are dark—possessed. Hungry. Like he’s worshipping what he’s broken.
“Look at this perfect fuckhole,” he mutters, dragging two fingers through your slit, spreading it, watching the way your hole flutters and leaks. “So full of me… but not enough. Never enough.”
You can’t speak. All you can do is blink up at him, dazed and flushed, your hair a tangled halo, lips parted and damp with spit. He leans down slowly, pressing a single kiss to your stomach.
“Gonna fill this up, sweet thing,” he murmurs against your skin. “Make it swell. Gonna stuff you ‘til you can’t walk. ‘Til there’s no question who you belong to.”
And then he pushes in again.
You cry out, back arching, toes curling as his cock spears into your wrecked cunt, inch by thick inch, until he bottoms out once more. The stretch is brutal. Delicious. Your walls clamp around him helplessly, milking him like your body’s desperate for his seed, even if your mind is long gone.
He groans—deep. His hands grip your hips hard, dragging you down to meet each punishing thrust as he starts again, faster this time. The sound of your bodies slapping together echoes in the room, wet and obscene, drowned only by the tiny, broken noises spilling from your throat.
“Take it. Take it all,” he snarls, voice feral. “This pretty little cunt’s mine. I’ll breed you until you're ruined.”
He leans forward, mouth brushing against your ear, and whispers, “What would you do if I knocked you up right now? Hm? Would you cry? Beg me not to do it again? Or would you spread your legs wider like a good slut and let me put another one in you?”
Your cunt spasms around him violently.
“Fuck—there it is,” he growls, slamming in harder. “You want it. You fucking love this.”
Tears prick your eyes, your body unable to stop responding. Your thighs shake around his waist, your nails dig into his back, and another orgasm rips through you, your pussy spasming around his cock, sucking him in deeper.
Mydei doesn’t let up. He grabs your hips and thrusts through it, like he’s trying to fuck your orgasm out of you and stuff another one in its place.
His voice is ragged, breathless. “I can feel your cunt begging me. You want me to breed you again? Say it.”
You sob, choking on your words. “Y-Yes—Mydei—want it—want you to—please—!”
That’s all he needs.
He grabs your thighs, pins them down as his thrusts become savage, reckless, and then he groans deep in his chest, spilling inside you again. Hot, thick ropes of cum flood your womb, and he keeps going, rutting through his release like he’s chasing another one. Your belly squishes under his weight, already bulging from how big he is, and he presses a palm to it possessively.
“Mine.” His voice is a whisper, trembling with obsession. “I’m gonna keep you like this. Round. Full. Dripping. You're not leaving this bed ‘til I’ve filled you enough to keep me in there for weeks.”
Your vision blurs. Your head lolls to the side. But your body? It clings to him, trembling and soaked, aching for more.
And Mydei?
He’s still hard.
★ PHAINON !
Your thighs are already trembling when Phainon lays you back down, his warm palms gliding along the curve of your waist with reverent care. His touch is gentle, but firm—deliberate. He spreads your legs with his knees, eyes drinking you in like you’re something holy.
“Sweet thing,” he whispers, voice low and smooth, “You’re shaking. Want me to stop?”
You shake your head instantly, breathless and already dazed. Your body’s sore, twitching, and filled with his cum from the last round, but the ache between your legs hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s only gotten worse with how slowly he moves, how softly he touches.
His lips curl into the faintest smile as he leans down, brushing a kiss over your breast, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You arch into the heat of it, whimpering when his teeth graze you. One hand kneads your other breast, fingers gentle but possessive, tugging and pinching your nipple until you’re moaning softly beneath him.
“Such perfect tits,” he murmurs, voice low against your skin. “So soft—so full. I could spend hours here.”
You gasp when his hips shift forward, his cock sliding against your slick folds—already hard again, thick and heavy with need. He groans when he feels how soaked you still are.
“Still so wet for me… you really can’t get enough, can you?”
He lifts your hips gently and presses in slow, the stretch making your breath catch in your throat. He’s big—your walls part around him gradually, your body trembling as he sinks deeper and deeper. His forehead rests against yours as he pushes all the way in, and he moans your name softly when he bottoms out.
“There we go,” he breathes. “That’s it, darling. Taking me so well.”
You let out a soft cry as he begins to move—gentle rolls of his hips that press his cock deep, slow enough for you to feel every inch. Your body welcomes him eagerly, even through the soreness. You can feel the way you’re stretched around him, your body molded to him like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.
Then, without warning, his hand slides to your thigh and lifts your leg higher. He angles his hips slightly and spanks you—once, a soft, stinging slap to your ass cheek.
You gasp, blinking up at him, but he only smiles—gentle, sweet, but with a flash of something darker in his eyes.
“You like that,” he says, spanking you again. “I can feel your cunt squeezing me when I do it.”
You whimper, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to thrust harder, faster—still controlled, still loving, but with a rhythm that speaks of deeper hunger.
He dips his head to your chest again, sucking one nipple into his mouth and groaning against it while his cock glides in and out of your soaked, fluttering heat. The squelch of it is wet, constant, obscene. You’re losing yourself to the pleasure again, walls spasming around him every time he rocks deep.
“I want to fill you up again,” he breathes against your skin. “Want to watch it spill out of you… want to know you’re carrying me.”
You sob softly, tears brimming as your body tightens again. “Please—please, Phainon—want it—want you to—”
“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he soothes, nuzzling your cheek. “You’ll get it. I’ll give you everything.”
He picks up the pace, hips smacking against your thighs as he fucks into you with loving urgency. His hand slips between your bodies to your lower belly, pressing down gently so he can feel himself moving inside you.
“Right there,” he pants. “Right there. That’s where I want it.”
Your walls flutter helplessly as your orgasm hits you, sudden and hot, your entire body arching as you moan his name over and over. Phainon groans deeply, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes in all the way and stills.
His cock twitches inside you as he cums—thick, hot ropes pouring into your already full pussy. His breath shakes as he holds you there, locked to your trembling body, letting every drop settle as deep as it can go.
“There we are,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “You’re mine now. Full of me. Just like I wanted.”
And as you tremble beneath him, dazed and stretched and leaking, Phainon only pulls you close and rocks his hips again—soft, steady, as if he has no intention of stopping.
★ ANAXAGORAS !
Your legs are trembling where they hang off the edge of the bed, your chest heaving, nipples still swollen from his mouth. You don’t even have time to catch your breath before Anaxa grabs your hips again, fingers sinking into your skin as he pulls you back toward him with a hungry, sharp thrust.
“Still not full enough,” he mutters, voice silk-wrapped steel. “You’re going to take every fucking drop I give you.”
He’s not rough—not brutal—but purposeful, bold. Every move calculated. He doesn’t lose control. He guides it.
His cock is buried deep inside you again, slender hips flush against your ass as he groans low in his throat. You’re soaked, throbbing, stretched from how many times he’s already filled you, but Anaxa just leans over you, mouth trailing along your collarbone, and coos, “You can handle more, can’t you? Don’t play shy now, not when your body’s begging like this.”
You moan, nearly sobbing when he rolls his hips, dragging the full length of his cock through your swollen cunt. Your walls tighten around him, still fluttering from the last time he came inside you.
“You want it,” he whispers against your ear, his slender fingers trailing up to toy with your sensitive nipples. “Want to be full of me, leaking down your thighs, marked so deep your body can’t forget me.”
You nod, frantic, keening when he pinches a nipple and rolls it between his fingers, sending another jolt through your core. He watches your face the whole time, pupils blown wide, breath hot against your cheek.
Then he pulls out, slow, letting your body feel the loss of him. You whimper—until you feel his fingers press against your ass, slick and confident.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “I told you I wasn’t done.”
You feel the tip of his cock nudge your other hole, and your body tenses instinctively. But Anaxa is patient, steady—he leans down, tongue flicking your nipple while his cock presses in slow, opening you up with agonizing precision.
Your breath catches, your fingers claw at the sheets as he stretches your ass wider, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully inside you. Your pussy clenches helplessly around nothing, twitching, as the new stretch sends sparks flying up your spine.
“You’re shaking,” he purrs, one hand sliding between your legs to press gently at your slick folds. “But look at you—still dripping. Even your cunt misses me.”
He starts moving.
Deep, grinding thrusts that force your body to take him fully, completely. The stretch is sharper, tighter, your whimpers high and breathy as he fucks your ass and plays with your clit, pinching and rubbing while his other hand twists your nipple again.
“I’ll fill every hole you have,” he whispers, breath hot against your cheek. “You’ll be dripping from both, trembling and ruined. My perfect little thing.”
Your orgasm hits suddenly, violently. Your thighs spasm, your walls clench around empty air, and your cries are muffled by his shoulder as he keeps you steady. Then Anaxa groans low—deep, throaty—and slams in hard, staying there as he cums deep inside your ass, filling you with his seed like he owns you.
You’re gasping, twitching, drooling a little as he slowly pulls out, letting his cum spill down your thighs. But even then, he doesn’t stop.
He reaches between your legs again.
“We’re not done yet,” he says, gently easing his cock back into your raw, stretched pussy. “One more time, sweet thing. Gotta make sure it takes.”
And with a slow roll of his hips, Anaxa starts again.
★ AVENTURINE !
“Still with me, darling?”
Aventurine’s voice is velvety smooth, slick with charm and sharp as a dagger. His hand tilts your chin up so your dazed eyes meet his, the corners of his mouth curling when he sees how ruined you already are. Your thighs are trembling, skin marked by his touch, lips parted with soft, breathy gasps—but you nod, needy, desperate.
“Good. I’d hate to think I broke you this early,” he purrs, brushing his fingers down your cheek before sliding them along the curve of your breast.
You gasp when his palm cups it—warm, firm, deliberate. He thumbs your nipple, watching the way it stiffens beneath his touch, then leans down and presses a kiss to the other one, lips soft before he bites—just enough to make your hips buck. You arch into him, whimpering as he sucks, teeth grazing the swollen nub with just enough pressure to keep you breathless.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ruin you like this,” he whispers, voice dipped in velvet. “All those little looks. All that shy squirming. You were practically begging for it.”
You try to speak, but your words melt into a moan when he pulls your nipple with his teeth, then releases it with a soft pop. His hands slide down to your hips—greedy, possessive—and he slots himself between your thighs again.
His cock presses to your entrance, and he lets it linger there, not moving. Just watching you squirm, watching your hole flutter and clench, your cunt slick and twitching around nothing, desperate to be filled again. Aventurine hums, amused, the sound low in his throat as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering the mess that’s already dripping from you.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, dragging the swollen head over your clit in a slow circle before teasing your entrance again. “You want it that badly?”
You nod frantically, but that’s not enough for him. He fists a hand in your hair and pulls—not too hard, but just enough to make your spine arch and your gasp catch in your throat.
“Use your words, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk, voice dangerous in its playfulness. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your cock,” you whimper, dazed and desperate. “Please—put it in, I want it so bad—”
“See?” he coos, releasing your hair just to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good little thing. Always knew you’d beg beautifully.”
Then, with one firm thrust, he slides into you—slow, but unrelenting. You feel every inch as he fills you, stretching you around his thick length until he’s buried deep, his hips flush to yours. You cry out, gripping his arms, thighs trembling under the pressure of it.
Aventurine groans, low and heady, leaning in to bite at your neck while his cock pulses inside you.
“Fuck, you feel perfect. Like you were made for me.” He draws back just a bit, then rolls his hips in a grinding thrust that punches a whimper from your throat. “And this greedy little pussy? Already sucking me back in.”
He starts moving—slow, deep thrusts that make your breath hitch with every push. One hand stays on your hip, but the other slides up, tracing your breast again, toying with your sensitive nipple until you’re writhing beneath him. You’re dripping, squelching with every roll of his hips, the heat in your belly coiling tighter and tighter.
“I’m going to breed you,” he says casually, like it’s already decided. “Going to fuck it so deep into you, you’ll still be feeling me tomorrow. Maybe longer.”
You sob softly, overwhelmed, and that only makes him chuckle.
“Don’t go shy on me now. You were the one begging, weren’t you?” He leans close, lips brushing your ear. “You wanted to be full, didn’t you? To carry something of mine?”
He grabs your hair again, gently tugging so he can see your face—lips bitten, eyes glassy, tears catching on your lashes.
“Answer me, sweetheart.”
“Y-Yes,” you gasp. “Want it—want you to cum inside—please—”
He groans through gritted teeth and slams into you harder, his pace picking up, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. Your tits bounce with every thrust, nipples raw from his touch, and he doesn’t stop playing with them, tugging and rolling until you’re crying out his name over and over.
“I’ll give it to you,” he pants. “I’ll fill this perfect little cunt, fuck it so deep you won’t be able to think about anything else—”
You unravel under him, body spasming around his cock as your orgasm hits like a wave crashing through your spine. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a broken moan, and your cunt clenches around him so tightly he falters for a second, groaning loud and deep from the sudden squeeze.
“Fuck—look at you,” Aventurine hisses, watching you come undone beneath him, his eyes drinking in every twitch and gasp. “So beautiful when you break like this.”
He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he chases your high, fucking you through your climax with a determined rhythm, hand still tangled in your hair, the other returning to your breast to squeeze and tug with greedy precision. You’re shaking, body limp beneath him, but you don’t beg him to stop. You can’t. Not when every thrust makes you clench harder, makes more slick spill from your overstimulated cunt.
“You’re going to take every drop,” he pants, voice wrecked now, the usual composure slipping as he grinds into you, faster, rougher. “I want it dripping out of you. Down your thighs. On the sheets. You’ll smell like me for days.”
Your head rolls back with a sob as his hand slides down, fingers pressing against your clit in tight, perfect circles. He’s everywhere—filling you, touching you, whispering filth against your throat—and your overstimulated body just keeps responding, pleasure building again so fast it knocks the breath out of you.
“A-Aventurine—” you choke, voice shaking, but he cuts you off with a kiss—wet, hot, claiming.
“I know, baby. I know. Give me one more.”
With your cunt clenching desperately around him, he groans sharply and slams in one last time—deep, to the hilt—as his cock twitches violently. Heat floods your insides as he cums, spilling everything inside you in slow, pulsing waves. He stays there, hips pressed to yours, body shuddering through the pleasure as he groans into your neck.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes, grinding his hips just once more, forcing his seed deeper. “That’s my good girl. Taking every last drop.”
You’re a mess beneath him—legs spread, skin flushed, cum already leaking from your stretched hole—but he’s still kissing your cheek, still stroking your hair like you’re a precious thing he just unwrapped.
And even as he pulls out, slow and careful, letting the mess between your thighs spill freely, he smirks down at you and whispers, “You’re not done, are you? Because I haven’t even started rolling the dice yet.”
★BLADE !
There’s a moment—silent, still—where Blade just looks at you, eyes narrowed, chest rising slow and deep. He’s already hard, cock flushed and twitching with restraint, but he doesn’t lunge at you like an animal. No. That’s not his way. Blade's discipline makes him more dangerous.
You're lying back, bare and breathless, skin flushed under his intense gaze. He kneels over you, cock in hand, dragging the leaking tip slowly up your chest until it rests right between your breasts.
“You’ll hold them,” he orders, voice low and cold like tempered steel. “Let me feel them wrap around me.”
You obey instantly, fingers trembling as you press your tits together. The second they close around him, Blade thrusts forward—slow at first, testing, watching the way your softness molds around his cock. His lips twitch upward, barely a smile, just a sign that he approves.
“So soft,” he mutters, moving again. His length glides easily through the valley of your chest, wet from precum and heat. “This is how a body should serve—warm, trembling, obedient.”
He keeps your head still with a sharp tug of your hair, making you look up at him while he fucks your tits in steady, calculated strokes. The head of his cock nudges your lips with each thrust, and when you open your mouth instinctively, he groans—low and guttural.
“Open wider.”
You do, and his cock pushes just past your lips on the next roll of his hips. Just the tip, just enough to taste him. He grunts in satisfaction, slowing down only to drag the head of his cock across your tongue before pulling away entirely.
“That’s enough. I need more from you now.”
He releases your hair and slides down your body, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them so wide your hips ache. His body presses against yours, and his cock lines up to your dripping hole, already fluttering and slick from the teasing. You feel the weight of him at your entrance, the girth, the heat—and your whole body tenses in anticipation.
Blade doesn’t warn you. He pushes in with a brutal snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt in one motion. Your back arches off the sheets as you cry out, the stretch too much, too fast—and he just leans over you, exhaling through gritted teeth.
“Perfect,” he growls, voice rough and almost breathless. “You take me like you were made for it.”
He starts to move—deep, unforgiving thrusts that make your entire body jolt beneath him. His pace is sharp and relentless, his grip bruising as he pulls your hips up to meet every thrust. You’re already dripping around him, and the sound of skin slapping echoes through the room, loud and wet.
Your moans get louder—messier—especially when his mouth finds your breast, biting your nipple until you yelp. He soothes it with his tongue, only to tug it again between his teeth. You can’t think. You can barely breathe.
“Keep crying,” he snarls against your chest. “I want to hear everything.”
He shifts your legs higher over his shoulders and fucks down into you with cruel precision. Your body shakes with every thrust, heat building faster than you can control it.
“You want my cum?” he asks, cock grinding deep against your cervix. “Want me to ruin this pussy from the inside out?”
“Yes—yes, please—”
“Then take it.”
Blade grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. His other hand snakes into your hair again, tugging your head back so he can kiss you—claim you—while his cock slams into you faster. Your cunt flutters, tightens, and you scream against his lips as your orgasm hits, hard and shattering. You clamp down around him, sucking him in, and that’s what tears his restraint apart.
He groans—loud, rough, guttural—and slams in deep, hips pressed tight to yours as he cums hard. His cock throbs inside you, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum directly into your womb. He holds you like that, unmoving, his body shaking from the release, letting every last drop spill into you.
You whimper, feeling it flood you, fill you, drip down your thighs even while he’s still inside.
Blade doesn’t pull out immediately. He stays there, buried to the base, panting quietly against your neck, his long hair sticking to his face and chest.
“Good girl,” he finally murmurs. “Now keep it in.”
He pulls out slowly, watching with a hungry stare as his cum leaks from your ruined pussy. He runs two fingers through the mess and shoves it back inside you.
“We’re not finished,” he adds, voice low and final. “I’ll breed you again and again until your body knows nothing but me.”
"Pretty," he gasps out. "S-so, mmh, so pretty for me."
Your pussy squelches obscenely as Phainon pulls out, then sinks back into you slowly. You whine, gasp, eyes filling with tears that he leans in to kiss away.
He throbs within you, so hot and heavy and huge that you swear he might break you. Every vein, every twitch presses up against your ribbed walls, sending sparks of pleasure that has you clenching down on him.
“So soft,” he murmurs, nuzzling a kiss behind your ear. “So warm. Gonna, mmph…”
A hand makes it to your lower stomach, caressing your skin as he grinds into you. He presses down gently, swearing that he can feel how full he's stuffed you.
You cry out, shuddering, and Phainon stills.
He presses down again, massaging lightly, until you're writhing, slamming tight around him.
“Mmh, mmh, like that, so good…” he pants out, rutting into you without really pulling out, like he couldn’t bear to be away from your heat. “Gonna, mnph, gonna fill you up, okay? Gonna make y’feel good…”
“Don’t,” you cry, clawing at his back. You might as well have been scratching at a wall. “Not inside, please, Phai…”
If he hears you, Phainon makes no indication of it, his balls slapping wetly against your skin, a ring of milky white forming at the base of his cock. He mumbles sweet, desperate nothings, massaging between your hips until you’re thrashing under his weight.
“Cumming, sweetheart, I’m cumming, I- mmh mmh mmh.” His rhythm stutters, his hips shuddering, and your back arches as he floods you with his thick, hot seed.
His fingers trace your stomach - if he squints, he can see a slight bump where his dick and cum have you stuffed to the brim. Phainon nuzzles his head against your collarbone, panting faintly. Maybe now you’d have a reason to stay.
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☆ : thinking about filthy and rough sex with Phainon’s second form.
Phainon towers over you, his body a brutal masterpiece—rippling muscles shining like molten bronze, skin glowing under his wings of blazing gold fire. His eyes burn deep, wild and hungry, and that thick, swollen cock between his legs is already dripping, aching to fuck you raw.
He grabs you hard, like you’re nothing but his plaything—his big hands digging into your waist, lifting you up and smashing you against him. His wings flare wide, casting flickers of heat that make your skin crawl with desire and fear all at once.
His scruff-covered jaw is tight with hunger, lips curled into a savage snarl. He yanks your hair so hard your head snaps back, exposing your throat to his grip—his fingers pressing down, cutting off your breath, making you gasp for air.
“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick and dark like hot whiskey. “So wet, so fucking needy. You’re my Angel, and I’m gonna break you wide open.”
His cock slams into your dripping pussy with savage force, stretching you wide, pounding deep and merciless like he owns every inch of you. Your pussy clenches around him, slick and trembling, and he loves the way you scream and beg, tears mixing with sweat on your flushed cheeks.
His golden wings flicker behind him as he fucks you harder—harder than you ever thought possible—each thrust shaking the room, his body a storm of raw power and hunger. His voice cuts through the haze, rough and commanding.
“Say my name. Say it like you mean it.”
You choke out his name, broken and desperate.
“Good girl,” he snarls, biting down hard on your lip as he drives in even deeper. His hands are everywhere—one crushing your throat, the other dragging you closer, his chest pressing tight against yours.
Then his mouth crashes down on yours—biting, sucking, tasting every desperate moan as his cock fucks you like a god damn beast. His muscles flex and pulse, wings beating slow and heavy behind him, trapping you in his fire and fury.
When he finally pulls out, thick and dripping, he doesn’t let you go.
He shoves you down to your knees, eyes blazing with cruel hunger.
“Clean me up, angel,” he commands, voice cold and unforgiving.
You don’t hesitate. You want this. Need this.
You take him in your mouth, swallowing every inch, tasting your own wetness on him as you worship the savage god who just claimed your body—hard, filthy, and completely fucking his.
He groans, fingers tangled in your hair, fucking your face as you suck him like the desperate whore he’s made you.
“Mine,” he growls. “Forever.”
His golden halo hovers above him, pulsing with a fiery glow that bathes your skin in its wicked light. It’s like the goddamn sun itself is watching you get fucked raw—holy and filthy all at once. The heat from it mixes with the fire in his wings, wrapping you up in a blaze you can’t escape.
Phainon’s chest heaves, sweat gleaming on that bronze skin, muscles tight and flexing as he holds you firm. His eyes lock onto yours—dark, hungry, burning with something savage and possessive. Every inch of him is alive with power, and you’re drowning in it, desperate and dripping around his cock.
He yanks you up, spins you against the wall, the halo’s glow tracing every curve and every slick drop sliding down your thighs. His hands are brutal, ripping your clothes off, exposing your trembling skin to his scorching touch. You’re his—marked by his heat, his hunger.
He slams into you again, harder this time, his cock filling you deep, pushing past every limit until your screams echo off the walls. The halo blazes brighter, like it’s feeding off your desperate cries, making everything around you glow golden and filthy.
His mouth finds your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks beneath that burning light while one hand crushes your throat, the other gripping your hips so tight you know he could snap you in two—but he won’t. Not yet.
“Goddamn, you’re mine,” he growls against your skin, voice thick and ragged. “Under this light, you belong to me.”
I think we all agree sex with Phainon would just be feral as hell. He is an awful combination of down bad and emotionally repressed. Give him an inch and he’ll go a mile. The moment you let him into your bed, you are NOT leaving until he’s filled you with his spend. But the best worst part is that every time you think he’s finished, he gets himself going again by watching all his cum leak out of your used hole.
“Just one more,” he tells his, ignoring your whines and pulling your hips back, “one more, I promise.”
Phainon is a liar. One more means one more hour. One more means one more day. He has more than enough stamina and if you so much as indicate you want to be fucked stupid… well, who is he to deny your wishes? That is what he lives for, no?
Against the wall, your personal bath, your dresser, even the balcony is not safe. Speaking of which, you’re starting to think Phainon gets off on doing it outside. One of his hands is always gagged around your mouth, hushing you and telling you you’re being too loud and to quiet down, unless you want to be caught. He says all this, all the while his other hand is ruthlessly pressed against your clit, rubbing small firm circles around your sensitive bud, ramming his hips against yours and angling himself against that soft, spongy spot deep inside that he knows makes your head feel light and stars dangle in your eyes.
Phainon is the type to pull strings and use everything in his power to clear his schedule if it means he can spend a whole day just fucking you. Whether or not you’re conscious for that entire session is entirely dependent on how well prepared you are for him. He’ll coo at you during sex, ask if you’re too tired and if you want to rest. It’s so condescending and he laughs when you nod yes, just to keep going like you aren’t about to pass out underneath him.
“Come on, love, I’m almost done… just keep it up, you’re doing so, so well for me…”
Phainon would go until he shoots blanks. You may think you’re safe by then, but you aren’t. He nestles his head around your legs, kissing your sensitive thighs and nipping the skin lightly, coaxing you down from your last high. It’s the first kiss to your overstimulated cunt that you realize what he intends to do. You can push him away all you like, but he intends to feast on you while he still can.
Mydei, on the other hand, I feel you have to coax into bed. You can drop all the hints in the world, trail your hand up and down his chest, tease the hem of his pants, tell him your dirtiest fucking desires for him and he’ll still tell you no (but you can best bet you’re the reason he starts praying to every god in Amphoreus. Cerces, bless him to keep sound of mind and withstand the urges of pouncing you. He is reason, he is reason, he is reason—) The only real effective way to get him to fuck you the first time is by inviting him to your room and then stripping yourself bare. Even then, you STILL have to talk him into it.
Mydei is a gentle lover. He’s aware of his size and stature and how easily he can hurt you. His hands have committed more atrocities than he can count. They have torn the heads of his enemies, crushed bone and flesh, and spilled blood countless times. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Goodness no. He’d never forgive himself if he did.
Hence why you have to sweet talk him, practically beg him have to have his way with you. You have to tell him you won’t be satisfied until you’re fucked within an inch of your life and your guts have been rearranged. Taunting also works. He may be afraid to hurt you, but above all else he can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. You are one of a few good things in his life and god forbid he fumbles this one.
“Fine. I guess I’ll just go find that Deliverer—”
There’s nothing more effective than that. Is it cheap? Yes. It is. But, it gets the job done.
In his hands, you’re going to be stretched and bent in ways you never thought possible. Poking a sleep lion is never a good idea, especially when you don’t have the energy to keep up with him. But, you’ve been teasing him for months on end, so it’s only fair he gets his fill of you.
Sex with Mydei can be quite slow, with three fingers stretching you wide and his tongue lapping your cunt. You have to cum at least three times before he even thinks about slipping his cock inside. If you aren’t delirious by then, then you’re absolutely gone when his cock sinks inside. We all know this man is packing, it’s a struggle no matter how well prepped you are. You’re creaming around him just from the stretch alone, and you have a moment of panic where you aren’t sure he’s going to fit. But, ever the attentive lover, he’ll hush your worries away and press soft circles against your clit, massage your breasts, pinch your sensitive nipples, distract you until he finally bottoms out.
“Please, please, please, Mydei…” you can whine, wrap your arms tight around him and pull him close, kiss him sloppy and messy until you’re reaching another high from him simply grinding into you.
He’s hypnotized, hooked on the feeling of you, taste of you, everything about you. He fulfills your every wish of being pummeled deep inside, massaging your walls with every thrust, the head of his cock pressed against the most sensitive spots, with your every breath becoming nothing more than short punched out gasps.
Unfortunately, however, while Phainon is more than eager to fuck his cum inside you, getting Mydei to cum inside is an entirely different matter. He’s so afraid of continuing his lineage in such unstable times, not to mention, he doesn’t want to burden you with his child. But, once you DO convince him that it’s fine, something in his head gets rewired and the idea of ‘gentle’ gets tossed out when he spills inside you for the first time and sees just how excited it makes you. He then has an existential crisis because now he can’t imagine sex any other way and he’s aching to do it again.
Sex with Phainon is easy because he wants to please you and fulfill every dirty dream he’s ever had of you.
Sex with Mydei is a mind game, where you have to ease him in at first, then assure him three-hundred different times that: yes, you want him and yes, you know what you are doing.
18+ sharing your warmth with caleb.
size difference. pet names. breeding. use of gravity evol.
“You can’t feel me at all?” you ask again, your fingers stroking up his forearm. It’s still hard to believe his arm is not entirely his anymore – that they’d modified it. It still felt like him – like he always had: warm and strong and yours.
He watches the meandering path you make up his arm, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Not like this,” he answers in a whisper.
It wasn’t right. They’d taken part of him from you. It makes you angry.
He hisses as you pinch the skin at his elbow.
Then, he smiles. “So cruel.”
His smile drops off his lips as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I hate them,” you mutter, bringing his hand towards your lips. You hold him there, a breath away, knowing he can’t feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.
He’d held your own hands like this just the day before, warming them with his hot breath and shoving them into his pockets before they could turn to ice again.
He’s reminded of the same thing; he’s having the same thought. You see it in his eyes as he pulls your intertwined hands towards his own lips now. “I won’t always be able to tell if your hands are cold,” he says. “Not unless you always walk on my left… unless you hold my left hand.” He pauses, eyes moving from your joined hands to look back at you. “Will you do that for me, Pips?” He asks. “So I know when you’re cold?”
“I can just tell you.”
He smiles again, squeezing your hand a little. “Can I trust you to tell me?”
You frown slightly.
He laughs.
“On my left, then,” he says, decision made.
It’s a familiar end. His decisions were hard to shift once he’d made them. He was hard to steer. Still, you would always try.
You readjust your position on his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs.
“Would you tell me if you were cold?” you ask.
He tilts his head, his hair falling across his forehead.
You know the answer before you’d asked. But it wasn’t about getting an answer. You were attempting to make a point: the same point you’d been trying to make for months now – since he’d come back.
You tug your hand from his and place your hands on his chest, pressing him back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. Answer me, you threaten silently.
“Why would I?” he asks as his right hand settles on your hip, like you might need help just to stay perched in his lap – like you could fall and he needed to be ready to catch you.
“So I can help you, like you would help me,” you answer.
His lips part, then close. He looks to the side, out into the snowy night, then back at you. “I’m never cold.”
In the past, you might’ve huffed and crawled off him – left him there to stew in his own stubborn refusal to admit to a completely human weakness. Instead, you cup his cheek with your palm, gentle, “Don’t tell childish lies. We’re adults now, you know.”
He smiles softly – a slight curve of his lips that seems to soften his eyes, too.
“I can warm you when you’re cold,” you whisper, quiet, unwilling to risk scaring the softness away.
He blinks. His eyes drop to the hand at your hip. He’s quiet.
You wait.
Then, “What if I can’t feel your warmth?” he asks, so quiet you almost can’t make out the words.
You take a shallow breath, and then you lean forward into him, pressing your chest up against his. Your face rests comfortably against his shoulder — warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You can feel me everywhere else,” you remind him. Everywhere but his right arm.
His fingers press into your hip, and then his hand drops away.
Retreating.
You turn your head a little and press your lips to his skin, just in the crook of his neck.
He freezes.
Retreat paused.
“Right?” you prod, lips brushing against his warm skin as you speak. “You can feel it here?”
He takes in a shaky breath, and you’re sure he’s about to lift you off him, say something to lighten to mood, distract you like he always does: retreat again.
You part your lips and exhale against his skin, “It’s warm, yeah?” you ask, determined.
You swear, just for a second, that you feel the brush of his hand at your back, but it’s gone before you can be sure of it. He’s still, apart from that, until, finally, “Yeah,” he breathes.
Victory.
You know it, just in that little word. He wasn’t backing away; retreating.
He was giving in.
You take in a few shallow breaths, shaken by the prospect of him finally surrendering. Then, gently, you press your lips to his neck in a kiss. “You’ll tell me then?” you ask. “You’ll tell me when you're cold?”
His hand presses to your lower back, you’re sure this time. It’s heavy and unwavering. “So you can warm me?” he asks in return, his voice far less steady than his hand at your back.
“Mm,” you hum, moving your head side to side a little so your lips graze his skin in the spot you kissed him.
“All right,” he breathes.
“Promise?”
He’s silent, unmoving.
You hook your finger into the collar of his t-shirt and pull it down slightly, enough that you can press your lips to his collarbone. “Promise,” you prod, never moving far enough away that your lips aren’t touching him. Always touching. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re cold.”
His head moves a little, chin dipping. Then, like an afterthought, he speaks, “Yes. Yeah. I’ll tell you. Promise.”
Then his hand presses into you harder, like he’s trying to close the little gap between your bodies.
You resist for a moment, then give in, letting him press you up against him.
You’re forced to lift your head from his neck as you readjust; forced to meet his eyes.
His pupils nearly engulf his purple irises entirely, darkness swarming and mixing with the softness that still hasn’t left. That’s how he was these days, you ponder as he looks back at you: soft and comfort and all those things that made him so familiar, but also, dark – cold, unpredictable, different – someone capable of igniting fear in a crowd of uniformed men.
“It makes me feel greedy,” he says, pulling you from the swirling in his eyes.
You blink, “Greedy?”
“Just thinking about it,” he clarifies. “You’re so warm that I…” His eyes dip to your lips as he speaks, short little glances that wouldn’t be so noticeable if they weren’t so frequent – if he didn’t linger there the more he looked, like the act of looking away was wearing him down. “I might… take it all. I might never stop. I might want it all and never ever stop.”
You squirm a little, just slightly, an involuntary almost roll of your hips. “That’s okay. You’ve been cold for a long time, yeah? You need lots and lots of … of warming up.”
He nods, but it looks a little uncontrolled, like he wasn’t thinking much about answering you at all. It’s a lazy kind of nod; distracted.
Lazy. Kind of like the way you begin to roll your hips.
He doesn’t look away as you roll against him, transfixed there as your breathing slowly shifts into deeper, unsteady, puffs of air between parted lips.
You can feel his hesitation, like breaking himself from his frozen trance might make it all stop – as if he were in a dream.
“Am I warm here?” you ask on a shaky exhale, rolling your hips with a little force this time – pressing your heated centre into him.
Then you’re still, captured by the invisible force you’ve always known as his evol. It holds you there as his hand snakes up your back, a firm warmth that shifts the fabric of your shirt a little with it as it goes. It only stops when he reaches the back of your head. There he holds you, fingers tangled in your hair. You blink. His gravity releases you, and he falls forward – his forehead pressing against your own.
His breath mixes with your own as he holds you there, waiting on his response.
“That’s where you’re warmest,” he says, finally. “There,” he closes the gaps between your lips a little more. It almost tickles, the ghost of him – so close. “And here.”
Then he’s on you, delving into your mouth in a way that leaves no room for escape. His hand holds you to him as he takes and takes and takes, tongue’s dancing and spit making a mess down to your chin.
Your hips move on their own.
You grind into him as you consume each other, assisted a little when his other hand presses into your lower back.
Warm.
It’s all you’re thinking.
You’re so warm. He’s so warm. His warm hands holding you close; his warm chest pressed to yours; his warm thighs underneath you; his hot tongue, slick against yours.
An embarrassing sound slips from your throat. You pull away, gasping in much-needed air as his eyes flick across your face.
His fingers twitch against your back.
You shiver.
His hand, at the back of your head, drifts down to cradle your cheek.
It’s his left hand.
His thumb brushes against your skin in gentle strokes.
“I’m cold,” he says.
You shiver again. It’s not from the temperature. The truth is, it’s not cold at all. His apartment might even be a little warmer than most people would find comfortable. He kept it that way for you, especially on winter nights like this: the ones you felt a little harsher than he ever did.
“You are?” you question, bringing your hand up to his cheek, mirroring him.
Warm. His cheek is soft and radiating heat to match the red flush of his skin.
He nods, looking suddenly a little like a wounded puppy. You could almost swear his lower lip, wet from your kisses, was protruding a little… almost like a pout.
You press against him, chest to chest, as if there was any space left to close between you. “Even after…” you pause. “But I thought that was my warmest part?” you question, reaching up to touch your lips with your fingers.
His eyes drop and linger there, watching where you touch your mouth. Then, “Yeah, it is. You’re so warm there. So, so warm,” he says, distracted.
You wrap your arms around his neck. His arms fall to your waist, wrapping around you tight.
“But you’re still cold?” you ask.
His eyes flutter closed. One shaky breath. Two. They open again. “Greedy,” he breathes. “I told you, yeah?”
Your cunt pulses between your legs, hot and sensitive. “Maybe…” you drift off, distracted by the increasingly desperate urge to shift a little to the side and press down directly onto his firm thigh. “Maybe you need to use both.” Your voice is breathy. It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so distracted.
“Both?”
Your lashes flutter as you fight closing your eyes and giving into temptation. “Both my warmest places,” you whisper.
His fingers press into your waist, and then, he’s pulling you down, firm, into his lap. “I need to use both?” he asks, breathy.
You nod. “I’m warm there, I promise.”
He looks between your eyes and his head drops back a little, eyes closing, before he catches himself. He rocks forward again, keeping you close. “Yeah?” he breathes.
“So warm,” you say with another nod, your voice taking on a desperate, pleading, sort of tone. “Hot. It’s hot. I’ll warm you up, Caleb. I promise. I’ll keep you warm.”
His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks, “Yeah, baby? I might need to stay inside, though. You might have to keep me in there so I can stay nice and warm, yeah? Is that okay?”
You nod. It’s a little frantic, as desperate as your pleading.
When his lips press to yours again, you’re vaguely aware of movement elsewhere, of him using a combination of his evol and his hands to lift you just enough to shove his pants down his legs a little and resettle you in his lap, one less layer between you.
You nibble at his lower lip as his warm fingers play with your flimsy shorts, slowly, lazily, snaking their way into one of the legs. You gasp into his mouth, jolting at the tickle of his fingers as they brush over your underwear, over your throbbing cunt.
“I can feel it,” he says as he sucks in shallow breaths. “I can feel how warm you are.”
You blink at him, incapable of saying anything at all – focused instead on catching your breath.
He continues, warm fingers brushing lightly back and forth against the cotton between your legs, “Right here,” he breathes. “Hm? Right here, yeah?”
Your lips part, and close, and part again. Then, you nod.
Your world tips. He lifts you and lowers you onto the pillows before tugging you backwards against his chest – flush against his body, each of you lying on your sides. His breath is warm on your neck when he speaks, “I should check,” he says. “Just to be sure.”
It’s easier to speak like this, with your eyes on the snow falling though the window, instead of looking at him. “How?” you ask, a little crack in your voice.
His palm moves to your lower stomach, settles there a moment, then presses, forcing you right back against him. “You’ve gotta be close,” he says, his voice taking on the tone he’s always used when he was helping you study, gentle, patient – listen closely, it says, I’ll help you. “Just like this,” he continues. His hand leaves your stomach. He shifts a little. Then, his finger sneaks back through the leg of your flimsy pyjama shorts, forcing them to rise up right around the tops of your thighs until they’re basically a second layer of underwear. “We’ll leave these on for now, okay?”
You nod, nonverbal.
He tugs your underwear a little. You have no idea what for, distracted by the pulsing between your legs.
Then, heat, soft. His cock slips beneath your underwear, and in one smooth motion, slips along your sensitive cunt, skin to skin.
You whimper, twist towards him, and grip his bicep – stunned by the sudden reality of feeling him like this, pressed hotly against you. You’re sharply aware of the wetness he finds there; of the way you’ve been leaking for him.
His hand moves back to your stomach, holding you steady. “Just like this,” he breathes. You can’t see his eyes like this, twisted back towards him just enough that he can take your lips in his.
You whimper into his mouth again, unable to stop your hips from rocking back and forth. You take him with you as you rock – his cock trapped in your underwear.
You can’t get enough friction. He’s hot, and he’s hard, and you desperately want to reach down and press him against your cunt harder, so you can grind against the length of him like you did to a pillow when you were younger. As it was, you were pushing closer and closer to something almost painful.
You whimper and whine against his lips as he laps at you, making his own sounds – each one triggering a tightening of your walls, empty and desperate. Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
It’s an internal mantra that eventually seeps out of you in a pathetic, murmured, incomprehensible whine.
He separates from you enough to mutter, “What?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed without the distraction of his lips.
“What was that?” he asks again.
Your eyes flutter open, “I’m so empty.” It’s a pathetic sort of sound, the way those words slip out of you. But it was hard to be embarrassed when his pretty brows were twisting up and his lips were falling open and – “Fuck,” he breathes.
His hips roll into you, a satisfying pressure that has you gasping and gripping onto the arm that holds your waist.
“Say that again,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me how it feels inside.”
“So empty,” you answer, pressing back into him – bodies aligned perfectly now you’re twisted back to face the window. “All empty inside.”
“Yeah?” His cock slips against your slick hole, soft and warm. “Here?” he asks. He rocks against you as he mumbles into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You all empty, pretty girl? Just here? Just for me?”
He could be saying anything. You nod, hardly hearing his words, just rocking back to meet the roll of his hips. “For you… for you,” you mutter breathlessly.
His hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing to your lower stomach. His breath ghosts behind your ear, and then he whispers as close to your ear as he can get, “Here?” His hand presses firm, right where that emptiness hurts most.
The sound that leaves you could be a cry. It’s a squeaky, broken sound.
The weight of his evol settles over you, a comforting weight that holds you still, preventing you from rocking against him. Then he’s rolling his hips back a little, just enough that his leaking tip prods at your swollen entrance. He plays with you like that, rocking in tiny movements – prodding over and over and over.
“Your hot little mouth isn’t your warmest spot, baby,” he says, still holding you still. “It’s right here,” he breathes, stilling prodding at your twitching hole, “Right between your soft thighs. Where I can’t see. Where no one can see.” His hot breath hits your neck as he speaks; as you hopelessly fight the weight preventing you from pushing back into him. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” he continues, wrapping his arms around you fully.
“Caleb,” you whine, desperate.
“Mm? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Let me go. Please. Let me–”
“Why? Will you be a good girl? Or are you going to try and take me inside? Hm? You being greedy?”
“Inside,” you answer without thought, too desperate to do anything but say exactly what your mind is screaming. “Inside.”
“Mm,” he hums, nibbling at your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Naughty girl.”
He shifts his hips back a little, taking away the only thing keeping you sane. “No,” you whimper.
Caleb kisses at your neck, wet, lazy kisses that feel a lot like how he was kissing your lips earlier, but then he sucks. It comes with noises. Wet, messy noises.
“Let me go,” you cry. “Let me–”
The weight lifts. He lets you go. You shift backwards, forcing his length along your cunt, over and over – an uncontrolled type of movement resulting from the build up of desperate need.
Then you catch the tip of him. You can’t reach down between your legs with the way he’s wrapped around you. You’re forced to roll your hips and try and guide him inside. His hand drop to your hip, preventing you, just as you get close. It’s too much. You’re at the end. And just when you’re about to break, he rolls you over onto your belly, his body covering you completely. He seems bigger like this – so big the world seems to disappear.
“Okay, okay,” he says in that way that so often makes you want to stamp your foot or punch him in the gut – a tone of voice that usually makes you feel like a baby having a tantrum. Not now, though. Now, it’s sweet relief.
His big hands reach down and drag your shorts down your legs, then your messy underwear, soaked through.
Then, his leaking tip finds you again, right where you’re desperate to take him inside. He prods a little, feeling the way you attempt to suck him inside, slick and warm. “You can be greedy now,” he whispers, letting his tip nestle at your twitching cunt as you grind back against him, trying to push onto him. “You can be greedy with me, baby.”
He sinks inside, letting you suck and clench around him with a pathetic sort of broken cry.
It’s not without suffering all of his own. You feel the vibration of the sound he makes into your neck. It sounds like he’s in pain – like maybe it’s too much.
You’re suffering together as you pulse around his heavy cock, twitching where it’s buried deep inside.
“Warm,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your neck. “Oh, fuck.”
You clench around him.
He whimpers.
“Warming you up,” you mutter, feeling very much out of your mind – like maybe you’ve forgotten how to string words together to make a sentence.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. Keeping me warm. Pretty little pussy. So warm.”
Your responding hum sounds more like a squeak.
His arms tighten around you, warming you in his own way – his body heavy all over you.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he mutters, hips starting to grind a little, hardly pulling out at all, just pressing you into the mattress over and over. “Can I keep you like this? Hm? Keep you under me, fucked full, fucked… so full.” His palm shifts to your belly, right where he’s buried. “Here,” he groans, then bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Right where you’re warmest, yeah?”
“Mm,” you hum, gripping the sheets in your hands, desperate for something to hold onto.
It’s not until he’s pulling out and dropping his hips back into you that you speak again, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hips smacking against you loudly with each drop – shoving you into the mattress. “Don’t leave,” you sob. “Ple-please, don’t stop.”
His harm loops around your front, draped across your collarbones, holding you firmly beneath him. “Greedy girl,” he says, breathless. It sounds like praise. “It’s okay,” he says with a soft kiss to your neck. “Need to stay inside. Gotta stay warm. We’ll get you nice and full, yeah? Full of hot cum? Hm?”
“Okay,” you agree with a sob.
His responding, “Okay,” sounds like a sigh. “Yeah, nice and full. And we’ve gotta keep it there. Gotta stay inside.” His hips snap against you a little faster, a little less time pressed heavy and still at the end of each drop. “Until I’m hard again,” he continues between shallow breaths. “Until I can fuck you with it.” He sucks at your throat. “That okay? Can I breed my pretty girl? Hm? Get you all messy?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever been capable of speech in your life. It’s gone. Your lips part and you can’t make anything come out apart from a tiny, broken, call of his name.
“You can do it,” he coos. “Say it for me, baby. Tell me I can fill your little belly with cum. Tell me I can make you nice and warm inside.”
One of his hands finds your jaw, then his finger is pressing between your lips, like he’s trying to help you get the words out.
“Yes, please,” you manage. It’s small and pathetic and a little muffled by his finger in your mouth.
He shudders, his entire body suddenly a little heavier over you. It’s still then, all tension and weight. The next time he moves, it’s the pad of his finger pressing against your tongue. “Gonna give you everything.” His finger presses into your mouth in tandem with his cock deep inside you. That’s how he fucks you, pressing inside each of your warmest places, where he belongs.
a/n: *sighs* I should be studying but here we are. This is meant to be a little self-indulgent piece bc everything I hear about the current quest is nothing short of soul-crushing. unlike shaoji, I'm not lying when I say that this as a light-hearted story so please enjoy (；∀；) p.s. dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps
taglist: @naenaex0xx, @silvermah, @chokifandom, @digitalspool, @winteryreads. Anyone who wants to be added, just let me know :D
synopsis — you didn't think you were treated any differently by phainon. But as you were preparing to leave amphoreus, you were told that apparently the fancy souvenirs he gave you might indicate something else entirely. (TL;DR an AU where everything gets magically resolved and you go home)
word count — 1.9k
“Hey, guys. I'm recording our… um, last hours here in Amphoreus before we board the Express again." Caelus adjusts the phone in his hand, brows scrunched up in concentration, before he continues, "we've said our goodbyes to everyone, but honestly, I don't think the waterworks were necessary. It's not like we'd never stop by again.”
He begins to walk.
“Dan Heng's getting our luggage ready for when the crew comes down here to pick us up. Here, this is our… stuff,” he angles the camera to capture a pile of bags stacked in an orderly fashion, “we went here with little baggage and came home with a lot. The citizens gave us more than we anticipated, but then again, I guess that shouldn't be all too surprising for us considering what we did. And honestly? I'm not complaining. I'm not one to turn down free stuff. But, um… just letting you in on this. One of us here… got more than the rest.”
The camera whips towards you, shifting the focus to your face adorned in a faint pink hue.
“So… [name], mind telling us what gifts you got from a certain Chrysos Heir?”
Your shoulders raise in alarm and a near imperceptible trace of embarrassment. “H-Hey… don't make a fuss. It's not like you and Dan Heng weren't given anything by him.”
A snicker is heard from behind the camera. “That's because we didn't. At least, nothing as significant as yours. I definitely don't remember receiving anything of personal value.”
You turn your body away as you rub your neck.
“C'mon! Tell the Crew what you got! Yo, guys, one of us got special treatment!”
The camera goes dark, echoing rustles and some muffled voices.
“Okay, okay… give us the tea, [name]. Tell us what you got.” The camera lens zones in on Caelus as he nudges your side. “What did the Phainon of Aedes Elysiae get you?”
Despite his question, he aims decisively at the camera at the long golden plate covered in breathable cloth used mainly for edible goods during transport.
“Um… Phainon got me fish from his hometown. A thoughtful souvenir, in my opinion.”
Caelus draws his face closer to the camera as if to whisper something to the viewers. “Souvenir, my ass. It's a courting gift.” He removes himself from view and opts to put all the focus on you. “[name], I know you're not telling us the full story. Come on! Stop being so secretive! Tell us more!”
You rolled your eyes. “You're so nosy. Are you sure this isn't just you being jealous?”
“Damn right I'm jealous. You got this much delicious food that could last you an entire week!”
“The other Chrysos Heirs gave you something too! Stop acting like you weren't given anything!”
“Stop deflecting!” The camera shows Caelus’ hand pointing at you in an accusatory manner. “Now, hurry up and spill! Tell us more about this gift.”
It's obvious to Caelus by the indignant frown on your face that you prefer to be anywhere else than here, bothered non-stop by his persistent probing. A beat passes in charged silence, and Caelus is ready to bolt if you decide to retaliate physically. Until finally, you give in with a huff.
“Okay, okay… Phainon brought me to his hometown the other day and told me all about the place. He gave me a brief tour around the village, showed me where he lived and even where his parents work—”
“Oh~ introducing you to your future in-laws. How sly of him.”
“Don't interrupt me!” You shoot a weak glare at the smirking Nameless behind the camera. “A-And afterwards, he brought me to the lake where he talked about the fish there. Said it was the best in Amphoreus.”
“So, he caught a big one for you?”
“You should've seen him. He immediately jumped into the water before I could even say anything.” You burst into a fit of laughter, blissfully unaware of Caelus' intrigued look at the subtext of what his hasty actions implied. “When he got out, he brought the fish home and we waited for his clothes to dry on a hill. And then, when we got back, he told me I could walk around for a bit while he cooked the fish. And… yeah! That's about it.”
You're greeted by an awkward pause, and the camera is whipped around to capture Caelus’ comically bewildered expression.
“Yo… [name], he's courting you.”
“What? Seriously? Caelus, don't joke around—”
“N-N-No, I'm being serious. I don't think he was just being a hospitable tour guide.”
A breeze flies between the two of you; the silence remains unbroken. The serious way he relays that information makes your stomach churn with something fluttery yet uncomfortable.
“Oh…” You glanced down, fidgeting.
“What else did he give you?” Caelus walks closer to the smaller heaps of items placed adjacent to the cooked fish.
“Just some antique stuff.” You kneel down and carefully lift another object swathed in fine fabric. Once the wrapping comes undone, Caelus switches to his front camera to record his slack jaw.
“[name]...” He starts slowly, the teasing glint completely gone from his face. “This looks expensive.”
“Phainon didn't say where it's from specifically. Just that it's a treasured possession he managed to bargain from one of the stores in Marmoreal Market.”
“From Theodoros?”
The camera switches perspective and locks in on you.
“[name]... I want you to hold my hand while I say this.” You take his outstretched hand in spite of your bemusement. “I've helped him detect fake treasures before, and he imparted quite a lot of things about the items he encountered in his years of doing treasure appraisal. This—" He emphasizes his point by carrying the dolium and nearly shoving it in your face. "—is an extremely rare artifact. A highly sought out piece of earthenware.”
You both stare at each other like a pair of birds whose gaze reflects absolutely zero thoughts behind them.
“Oh my gosh… didn't Phainon mention that he doesn't get lucky often? His purchases turns out unlucky more often than not.” You slap a hand over your mouth as the gradual revelation pieces itself together. “You don't think he… gave me one of the rare good ones from his collection, do you?”
“I was about to call him a simp, but I think he deserves more than that title.” Caelus steals a glance at the camera, his voice dropped to a hushed murmur. “He's probably way past that point.”
“Do you think this garment is also of high quality?”
Your distraught comment prompts him to arch a brow.
“He gave you clothes… on top of the fish and dolium?”
When you respond with a wordless nod, he has to smother the crackle of jealousy that burns inside him. Seeing you receive all these luxurious gifts makes him feel as though he is witnessing a friend win the lottery.
By the time he's done stirring in envy, his jaw nearly crashes to the floor at the sight of the garment in your hands.
“[name], what the hell!? That's one of the expensive ones in Aglaea’s catalogue.”
“What!?” You both pull a face in sync.
“The ones for sale are limited in stock! And by that, I mean there's less than a hundred of them. How did he get this!?”
“Oh, man! Now I feel bad! But I can't return these! That'll hurt his feelings!”
You fold the piece of attire with utmost care and calculation, setting it back inside the finely crafted box tailored to match the garment and offer it protection without sacrificing an ounce of the aesthetic value.
"Don't tell me he gave you more!"
Caelus is all but having a meltdown right now. Sure, the two of you plus Dan Heng had been more than just heroes of Amphoreus. You all put your life on the line for a planet that you've set foot on for less than a quarter of your lifetime, and helped avert any and all forms of catastrophe from coming to fruition. He shouldn't be surprised if the gratitude of the people here in Amphoreus were conveyed through plentiful gifts and endless praise, but something tells him that the way Phainon is gifting you all these things conceal something more than just gratitude and a sense of camaraderie.
He would know, after all neither he nor Dan Heng received anything as excessive or as personal as you.
“He's bleeding himself dry for you!”
“Don't say that!” You lightly slap his shoulder. “M-Maybe… it was something that Aglaea gave him. I mean, they're pretty much family to each other, I'm assuming. Is it so surprising that the revered Deliverer got something expensive and intricately handcrafted by the Goldweaver herself?”
Caelus picks up on the nervousness that lies beneath your forced optimism. “You're not buying your own lie.”
“Please! I can't bear the thought of him draining his bank account for me!” You're so deep in your own distress that you fail to catch Caelus’ longing stare at the collection of high value souvenirs you got.
“I wish someone would splurge this much on me…”
Before you can reprimand him for his words, you both sense a familiar presence approaching. In an almost comically synced fashion, you both swerve your heads to the sight of the aforementioned guy walking up with his signature charming smile.
“Hey, you two! Is everything alright over there?”
“Phainon!”
Caelus raises a questioning brow at Phainon’s smile seemingly widening as he draws closer to you instead. His camera is still recording everything, and he's nothing if not nosy and bothersome with no intentions of letting this opportunity slip by.
He subtly aims the camera at you both, zooming in on Phainon's face enough to capture the minuscule twitches and crinkles every time you respond to him.
“Do you two need help carrying these?” Phainon gestures at piled up luggage.
“We should be fine. I don't want to trouble you anymore than we alrea—”
“Hey, what's with the reluctance?” He inclines his head towards you ever so slightly, mindful of the space between you while also indulging in his desire for a speck of proximity. “I'm more than happy to help.”
“I know I've probably said this a lot of times, but thank you.” You don't think it's physically possible, but Phainon's face grows radiant. “Truly. For the gifts. Especially the gifts. You've been an amazing host and companion to us."
“I'm glad it's to your liking. I want to make sure that you leave Amphoreus with nothing but the absolute best piece of it.” He flashes you his trademark grin, the one he shares with children and elders, the one he sports when he greets the vendors in Marmoreal Market. Maybe it's a trick of the light, but even his regular smile feels more blinding than usual.
It almost takes your mind off the fact that this man is burning through his own life savings just to buy you parting gifts.
Somewhere not too far away, Caelus stands unmoving, positioning his camera at you and Phainon like a paparazzi whose rent is due.
“Look at them, guys.” He makes gagging noises. “Can you believe they're that dense? Aeons, you can just see his tail wagging non-stop. How does one resemble an excited puppy so much?”
From within the screen of his phone, your silhouette huddles close to Phainon's. One would argue that it's actually the opposite. But seeing him outstretch his hand towards like you like a freezing man would towards a fire, seeking comfort yet afraid of touching; and the way he seizes your hand with nimble force whenever you so much as touch one of your carry-on as if to prevent you from doing a task he deems is reserved solely for him, Caelus has a not-so-arbitrary inkling that Phainon would probably spend even more on you if he could.
He decides to end the recording when he sees something sticking out of the warrior's pocket.
He ends up keeping the camera rolling, zooming, zeroing in on the object when the man himself extricates it from his pants and presents it to you.
The image in his screen sharpens from its previously blurry state.
A bracelet—brown strings, white beads with a few blue ones. Something glints at the center. By the time Caelus recognizes the sun shape, he's jamming his thumb at the ‘stop’ button with a frustrated yell.
18+ sharing your warmth with caleb.
size difference. pet names. breeding. use of gravity evol.
“You can’t feel me at all?” you ask again, your fingers stroking up his forearm. It’s still hard to believe his arm is not entirely his anymore – that they’d modified it. It still felt like him – like he always had: warm and strong and yours.
He watches the meandering path you make up his arm, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Not like this,” he answers in a whisper.
It wasn’t right. They’d taken part of him from you. It makes you angry.
He hisses as you pinch the skin at his elbow.
Then, he smiles. “So cruel.”
His smile drops off his lips as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I hate them,” you mutter, bringing his hand towards your lips. You hold him there, a breath away, knowing he can’t feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.
He’d held your own hands like this just the day before, warming them with his hot breath and shoving them into his pockets before they could turn to ice again.
He’s reminded of the same thing; he’s having the same thought. You see it in his eyes as he pulls your intertwined hands towards his own lips now. “I won’t always be able to tell if your hands are cold,” he says. “Not unless you always walk on my left… unless you hold my left hand.” He pauses, eyes moving from your joined hands to look back at you. “Will you do that for me, Pips?” He asks. “So I know when you’re cold?”
“I can just tell you.”
He smiles again, squeezing your hand a little. “Can I trust you to tell me?”
You frown slightly.
He laughs.
“On my left, then,” he says, decision made.
It’s a familiar end. His decisions were hard to shift once he’d made them. He was hard to steer. Still, you would always try.
You readjust your position on his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs.
“Would you tell me if you were cold?” you ask.
He tilts his head, his hair falling across his forehead.
You know the answer before you’d asked. But it wasn’t about getting an answer. You were attempting to make a point: the same point you’d been trying to make for months now – since he’d come back.
You tug your hand from his and place your hands on his chest, pressing him back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. Answer me, you threaten silently.
“Why would I?” he asks as his right hand settles on your hip, like you might need help just to stay perched in his lap – like you could fall and he needed to be ready to catch you.
“So I can help you, like you would help me,” you answer.
His lips part, then close. He looks to the side, out into the snowy night, then back at you. “I’m never cold.”
In the past, you might’ve huffed and crawled off him – left him there to stew in his own stubborn refusal to admit to a completely human weakness. Instead, you cup his cheek with your palm, gentle, “Don’t tell childish lies. We’re adults now, you know.”
He smiles softly – a slight curve of his lips that seems to soften his eyes, too.
“I can warm you when you’re cold,” you whisper, quiet, unwilling to risk scaring the softness away.
He blinks. His eyes drop to the hand at your hip. He’s quiet.
You wait.
Then, “What if I can’t feel your warmth?” he asks, so quiet you almost can’t make out the words.
You take a shallow breath, and then you lean forward into him, pressing your chest up against his. Your face rests comfortably against his shoulder — warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You can feel me everywhere else,” you remind him. Everywhere but his right arm.
His fingers press into your hip, and then his hand drops away.
Retreating.
You turn your head a little and press your lips to his skin, just in the crook of his neck.
He freezes.
Retreat paused.
“Right?” you prod, lips brushing against his warm skin as you speak. “You can feel it here?”
He takes in a shaky breath, and you’re sure he’s about to lift you off him, say something to lighten to mood, distract you like he always does: retreat again.
You part your lips and exhale against his skin, “It’s warm, yeah?” you ask, determined.
You swear, just for a second, that you feel the brush of his hand at your back, but it’s gone before you can be sure of it. He’s still, apart from that, until, finally, “Yeah,” he breathes.
Victory.
You know it, just in that little word. He wasn’t backing away; retreating.
He was giving in.
You take in a few shallow breaths, shaken by the prospect of him finally surrendering. Then, gently, you press your lips to his neck in a kiss. “You’ll tell me then?” you ask. “You’ll tell me when you're cold?”
His hand presses to your lower back, you’re sure this time. It’s heavy and unwavering. “So you can warm me?” he asks in return, his voice far less steady than his hand at your back.
“Mm,” you hum, moving your head side to side a little so your lips graze his skin in the spot you kissed him.
“All right,” he breathes.
“Promise?”
He’s silent, unmoving.
You hook your finger into the collar of his t-shirt and pull it down slightly, enough that you can press your lips to his collarbone. “Promise,” you prod, never moving far enough away that your lips aren’t touching him. Always touching. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re cold.”
His head moves a little, chin dipping. Then, like an afterthought, he speaks, “Yes. Yeah. I’ll tell you. Promise.”
Then his hand presses into you harder, like he’s trying to close the little gap between your bodies.
You resist for a moment, then give in, letting him press you up against him.
You’re forced to lift your head from his neck as you readjust; forced to meet his eyes.
His pupils nearly engulf his purple irises entirely, darkness swarming and mixing with the softness that still hasn’t left. That’s how he was these days, you ponder as he looks back at you: soft and comfort and all those things that made him so familiar, but also, dark – cold, unpredictable, different – someone capable of igniting fear in a crowd of uniformed men.
“It makes me feel greedy,” he says, pulling you from the swirling in his eyes.
You blink, “Greedy?”
“Just thinking about it,” he clarifies. “You’re so warm that I…” His eyes dip to your lips as he speaks, short little glances that wouldn’t be so noticeable if they weren’t so frequent – if he didn’t linger there the more he looked, like the act of looking away was wearing him down. “I might… take it all. I might never stop. I might want it all and never ever stop.”
You squirm a little, just slightly, an involuntary almost roll of your hips. “That’s okay. You’ve been cold for a long time, yeah? You need lots and lots of … of warming up.”
He nods, but it looks a little uncontrolled, like he wasn’t thinking much about answering you at all. It’s a lazy kind of nod; distracted.
Lazy. Kind of like the way you begin to roll your hips.
He doesn’t look away as you roll against him, transfixed there as your breathing slowly shifts into deeper, unsteady, puffs of air between parted lips.
You can feel his hesitation, like breaking himself from his frozen trance might make it all stop – as if he were in a dream.
“Am I warm here?” you ask on a shaky exhale, rolling your hips with a little force this time – pressing your heated centre into him.
Then you’re still, captured by the invisible force you’ve always known as his evol. It holds you there as his hand snakes up your back, a firm warmth that shifts the fabric of your shirt a little with it as it goes. It only stops when he reaches the back of your head. There he holds you, fingers tangled in your hair. You blink. His gravity releases you, and he falls forward – his forehead pressing against your own.
His breath mixes with your own as he holds you there, waiting on his response.
“That’s where you’re warmest,” he says, finally. “There,” he closes the gaps between your lips a little more. It almost tickles, the ghost of him – so close. “And here.”
Then he’s on you, delving into your mouth in a way that leaves no room for escape. His hand holds you to him as he takes and takes and takes, tongue’s dancing and spit making a mess down to your chin.
Your hips move on their own.
You grind into him as you consume each other, assisted a little when his other hand presses into your lower back.
Warm.
It’s all you’re thinking.
You’re so warm. He’s so warm. His warm hands holding you close; his warm chest pressed to yours; his warm thighs underneath you; his hot tongue, slick against yours.
An embarrassing sound slips from your throat. You pull away, gasping in much-needed air as his eyes flick across your face.
His fingers twitch against your back.
You shiver.
His hand, at the back of your head, drifts down to cradle your cheek.
It’s his left hand.
His thumb brushes against your skin in gentle strokes.
“I’m cold,” he says.
You shiver again. It’s not from the temperature. The truth is, it’s not cold at all. His apartment might even be a little warmer than most people would find comfortable. He kept it that way for you, especially on winter nights like this: the ones you felt a little harsher than he ever did.
“You are?” you question, bringing your hand up to his cheek, mirroring him.
Warm. His cheek is soft and radiating heat to match the red flush of his skin.
He nods, looking suddenly a little like a wounded puppy. You could almost swear his lower lip, wet from your kisses, was protruding a little… almost like a pout.
You press against him, chest to chest, as if there was any space left to close between you. “Even after…” you pause. “But I thought that was my warmest part?” you question, reaching up to touch your lips with your fingers.
His eyes drop and linger there, watching where you touch your mouth. Then, “Yeah, it is. You’re so warm there. So, so warm,” he says, distracted.
You wrap your arms around his neck. His arms fall to your waist, wrapping around you tight.
“But you’re still cold?” you ask.
His eyes flutter closed. One shaky breath. Two. They open again. “Greedy,” he breathes. “I told you, yeah?”
Your cunt pulses between your legs, hot and sensitive. “Maybe…” you drift off, distracted by the increasingly desperate urge to shift a little to the side and press down directly onto his firm thigh. “Maybe you need to use both.” Your voice is breathy. It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so distracted.
“Both?”
Your lashes flutter as you fight closing your eyes and giving into temptation. “Both my warmest places,” you whisper.
His fingers press into your waist, and then, he’s pulling you down, firm, into his lap. “I need to use both?” he asks, breathy.
You nod. “I’m warm there, I promise.”
He looks between your eyes and his head drops back a little, eyes closing, before he catches himself. He rocks forward again, keeping you close. “Yeah?” he breathes.
“So warm,” you say with another nod, your voice taking on a desperate, pleading, sort of tone. “Hot. It’s hot. I’ll warm you up, Caleb. I promise. I’ll keep you warm.”
His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks, “Yeah, baby? I might need to stay inside, though. You might have to keep me in there so I can stay nice and warm, yeah? Is that okay?”
You nod. It’s a little frantic, as desperate as your pleading.
When his lips press to yours again, you’re vaguely aware of movement elsewhere, of him using a combination of his evol and his hands to lift you just enough to shove his pants down his legs a little and resettle you in his lap, one less layer between you.
You nibble at his lower lip as his warm fingers play with your flimsy shorts, slowly, lazily, snaking their way into one of the legs. You gasp into his mouth, jolting at the tickle of his fingers as they brush over your underwear, over your throbbing cunt.
“I can feel it,” he says as he sucks in shallow breaths. “I can feel how warm you are.”
You blink at him, incapable of saying anything at all – focused instead on catching your breath.
He continues, warm fingers brushing lightly back and forth against the cotton between your legs, “Right here,” he breathes. “Hm? Right here, yeah?”
Your lips part, and close, and part again. Then, you nod.
Your world tips. He lifts you and lowers you onto the pillows before tugging you backwards against his chest – flush against his body, each of you lying on your sides. His breath is warm on your neck when he speaks, “I should check,” he says. “Just to be sure.”
It’s easier to speak like this, with your eyes on the snow falling though the window, instead of looking at him. “How?” you ask, a little crack in your voice.
His palm moves to your lower stomach, settles there a moment, then presses, forcing you right back against him. “You’ve gotta be close,” he says, his voice taking on the tone he’s always used when he was helping you study, gentle, patient – listen closely, it says, I’ll help you. “Just like this,” he continues. His hand leaves your stomach. He shifts a little. Then, his finger sneaks back through the leg of your flimsy pyjama shorts, forcing them to rise up right around the tops of your thighs until they’re basically a second layer of underwear. “We’ll leave these on for now, okay?”
You nod, nonverbal.
He tugs your underwear a little. You have no idea what for, distracted by the pulsing between your legs.
Then, heat, soft. His cock slips beneath your underwear, and in one smooth motion, slips along your sensitive cunt, skin to skin.
You whimper, twist towards him, and grip his bicep – stunned by the sudden reality of feeling him like this, pressed hotly against you. You’re sharply aware of the wetness he finds there; of the way you’ve been leaking for him.
His hand moves back to your stomach, holding you steady. “Just like this,” he breathes. You can’t see his eyes like this, twisted back towards him just enough that he can take your lips in his.
You whimper into his mouth again, unable to stop your hips from rocking back and forth. You take him with you as you rock – his cock trapped in your underwear.
You can’t get enough friction. He’s hot, and he’s hard, and you desperately want to reach down and press him against your cunt harder, so you can grind against the length of him like you did to a pillow when you were younger. As it was, you were pushing closer and closer to something almost painful.
You whimper and whine against his lips as he laps at you, making his own sounds – each one triggering a tightening of your walls, empty and desperate. Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
It’s an internal mantra that eventually seeps out of you in a pathetic, murmured, incomprehensible whine.
He separates from you enough to mutter, “What?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed without the distraction of his lips.
“What was that?” he asks again.
Your eyes flutter open, “I’m so empty.” It’s a pathetic sort of sound, the way those words slip out of you. But it was hard to be embarrassed when his pretty brows were twisting up and his lips were falling open and – “Fuck,” he breathes.
His hips roll into you, a satisfying pressure that has you gasping and gripping onto the arm that holds your waist.
“Say that again,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me how it feels inside.”
“So empty,” you answer, pressing back into him – bodies aligned perfectly now you’re twisted back to face the window. “All empty inside.”
“Yeah?” His cock slips against your slick hole, soft and warm. “Here?” he asks. He rocks against you as he mumbles into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You all empty, pretty girl? Just here? Just for me?”
He could be saying anything. You nod, hardly hearing his words, just rocking back to meet the roll of his hips. “For you… for you,” you mutter breathlessly.
His hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing to your lower stomach. His breath ghosts behind your ear, and then he whispers as close to your ear as he can get, “Here?” His hand presses firm, right where that emptiness hurts most.
The sound that leaves you could be a cry. It’s a squeaky, broken sound.
The weight of his evol settles over you, a comforting weight that holds you still, preventing you from rocking against him. Then he’s rolling his hips back a little, just enough that his leaking tip prods at your swollen entrance. He plays with you like that, rocking in tiny movements – prodding over and over and over.
“Your hot little mouth isn’t your warmest spot, baby,” he says, still holding you still. “It’s right here,” he breathes, stilling prodding at your twitching hole, “Right between your soft thighs. Where I can’t see. Where no one can see.” His hot breath hits your neck as he speaks; as you hopelessly fight the weight preventing you from pushing back into him. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” he continues, wrapping his arms around you fully.
“Caleb,” you whine, desperate.
“Mm? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Let me go. Please. Let me–”
“Why? Will you be a good girl? Or are you going to try and take me inside? Hm? You being greedy?”
“Inside,” you answer without thought, too desperate to do anything but say exactly what your mind is screaming. “Inside.”
“Mm,” he hums, nibbling at your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Naughty girl.”
He shifts his hips back a little, taking away the only thing keeping you sane. “No,” you whimper.
Caleb kisses at your neck, wet, lazy kisses that feel a lot like how he was kissing your lips earlier, but then he sucks. It comes with noises. Wet, messy noises.
“Let me go,” you cry. “Let me–”
The weight lifts. He lets you go. You shift backwards, forcing his length along your cunt, over and over – an uncontrolled type of movement resulting from the build up of desperate need.
Then you catch the tip of him. You can’t reach down between your legs with the way he’s wrapped around you. You’re forced to roll your hips and try and guide him inside. His hand drop to your hip, preventing you, just as you get close. It’s too much. You’re at the end. And just when you’re about to break, he rolls you over onto your belly, his body covering you completely. He seems bigger like this – so big the world seems to disappear.
“Okay, okay,” he says in that way that so often makes you want to stamp your foot or punch him in the gut – a tone of voice that usually makes you feel like a baby having a tantrum. Not now, though. Now, it’s sweet relief.
His big hands reach down and drag your shorts down your legs, then your messy underwear, soaked through.
Then, his leaking tip finds you again, right where you’re desperate to take him inside. He prods a little, feeling the way you attempt to suck him inside, slick and warm. “You can be greedy now,” he whispers, letting his tip nestle at your twitching cunt as you grind back against him, trying to push onto him. “You can be greedy with me, baby.”
He sinks inside, letting you suck and clench around him with a pathetic sort of broken cry.
It’s not without suffering all of his own. You feel the vibration of the sound he makes into your neck. It sounds like he’s in pain – like maybe it’s too much.
You’re suffering together as you pulse around his heavy cock, twitching where it’s buried deep inside.
“Warm,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your neck. “Oh, fuck.”
You clench around him.
He whimpers.
“Warming you up,” you mutter, feeling very much out of your mind – like maybe you’ve forgotten how to string words together to make a sentence.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. Keeping me warm. Pretty little pussy. So warm.”
Your responding hum sounds more like a squeak.
His arms tighten around you, warming you in his own way – his body heavy all over you.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he mutters, hips starting to grind a little, hardly pulling out at all, just pressing you into the mattress over and over. “Can I keep you like this? Hm? Keep you under me, fucked full, fucked… so full.” His palm shifts to your belly, right where he’s buried. “Here,” he groans, then bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Right where you’re warmest, yeah?”
“Mm,” you hum, gripping the sheets in your hands, desperate for something to hold onto.
It’s not until he’s pulling out and dropping his hips back into you that you speak again, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hips smacking against you loudly with each drop – shoving you into the mattress. “Don’t leave,” you sob. “Ple-please, don’t stop.”
His harm loops around your front, draped across your collarbones, holding you firmly beneath him. “Greedy girl,” he says, breathless. It sounds like praise. “It’s okay,” he says with a soft kiss to your neck. “Need to stay inside. Gotta stay warm. We’ll get you nice and full, yeah? Full of hot cum? Hm?”
“Okay,” you agree with a sob.
His responding, “Okay,” sounds like a sigh. “Yeah, nice and full. And we’ve gotta keep it there. Gotta stay inside.” His hips snap against you a little faster, a little less time pressed heavy and still at the end of each drop. “Until I’m hard again,” he continues between shallow breaths. “Until I can fuck you with it.” He sucks at your throat. “That okay? Can I breed my pretty girl? Hm? Get you all messy?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever been capable of speech in your life. It’s gone. Your lips part and you can’t make anything come out apart from a tiny, broken, call of his name.
“You can do it,” he coos. “Say it for me, baby. Tell me I can fill your little belly with cum. Tell me I can make you nice and warm inside.”
One of his hands finds your jaw, then his finger is pressing between your lips, like he’s trying to help you get the words out.
“Yes, please,” you manage. It’s small and pathetic and a little muffled by his finger in your mouth.
He shudders, his entire body suddenly a little heavier over you. It’s still then, all tension and weight. The next time he moves, it’s the pad of his finger pressing against your tongue. “Gonna give you everything.” His finger presses into your mouth in tandem with his cock deep inside you. That’s how he fucks you, pressing inside each of your warmest places, where he belongs.
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𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.
Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.
As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.
“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”
It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.
“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”
He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”
Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.
A hardened criminal, indeed.
You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.
“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”
Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”
It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.
After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.
“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”
Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”
You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”
Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”
You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.
“Yes?”
Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.
“Have you seen the Duke today?”
There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.
But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.
“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”
Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.
“Absolutely not.”
But nevertheless, she persisted.
Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.
But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.
And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.
“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”
You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.
“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”
“Well, you should go see him.”
You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.
“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”
She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.
That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.
And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.
Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.
The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.
And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.
But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.
“I need you to run an errand for me.”
You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.
“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”
She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”
You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”
She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.
“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”
Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”
You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?
And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.
“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”
If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.
You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.
The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.
You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.
Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.
You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.
As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.
“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”
And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.
It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.
You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.
“Your Grace?”
You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.
“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”
You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.
And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.
Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…
You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.
His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.
You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.
“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”
“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.
“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”
He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.
“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.
“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”
Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”
You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.
“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”
You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.
You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.
After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.
Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.
“It’s very sweet.”
You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”
Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”
You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.
“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.
“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”
Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.
“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”
You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”
Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”
Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”
It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”
You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.
But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.
His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.
“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”
You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.
“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”
You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.
“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.
“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”
You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”
A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.
“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”
Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.
“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”
You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”
He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”
Suddenly, you made the connection.
Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.
Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.
“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”
Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”
You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.
Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?
“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.
You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.
“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”
Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.
The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.
You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.
“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.
“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.
Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.
“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”
Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”
His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.
“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.
He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”
And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.
“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”
Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.
“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”
You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.
“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”
“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”
You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.
“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”
Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”
You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.
“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”
Oh. Oh.
As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…
You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.
“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.
“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”
“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”
Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.
Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.
Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.
“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”
He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”
You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”
“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”
You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”
Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.
“Do you have an antidote?”
You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.
“There… kind of isn’t one.”
Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.
He was hard.
A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.
You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.
“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”
You spared him a glance. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”
Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.
Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.
That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.
You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.
“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”
Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”
You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”
He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”
You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”
He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.
“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”
It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.
“You… what?”
A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.
“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”
Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.
And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.
Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.
“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”
Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.
“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.
Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.
Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.
This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.
The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.
You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.
Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.
The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.
Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.
“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”
He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.
“You said your hands– oh!”
Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.
It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.
Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.
When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.
You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.
And with everything you had, you delivered.
You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.
“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.
The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.
“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”
Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.
Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.
You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.
You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.
“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”
Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.
“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You let out a short, breathless chuckle.
“Do you have a rag or something?”
He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.
“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.
“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”
You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.
He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”
Oh. Oh.
You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.
“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”
“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.
“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”
That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.
“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.
“How could I possibly refuse?”
And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.
His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.
You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.
His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.
The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.
“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”
His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.
He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.
He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”
His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.
You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.
One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.
Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.
He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.
“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.
You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.
The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.
“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”
You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.
It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.
One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.
You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.
You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.
Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.
“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”
You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.
“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.
He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.
“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”
Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.
“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.
“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.
“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”
You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.
You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.
“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”
You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.
The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.
A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.
“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”
The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.
“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”
He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.
“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”
His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.
Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.
You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.
His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.
“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.
“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”
You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.
“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”
He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.
Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.
You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.
He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.
His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”
He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.
“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”
“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”
A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.
“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”
It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.
His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.
You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.
A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.
“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”
He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.
You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.
It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.
His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.
The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.
“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.
“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”
He snorted.
“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”
You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.
“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”
He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”
Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.
“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.
“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”
You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”
His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.
He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.
The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.
“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.
“What?” You asked.
“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”
You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.
“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.
“I guess she did.”
You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.
Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.
And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.
BONUS:
You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.
What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.
“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.
“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.
She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”
You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”
You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”
She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”
You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”
Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”
You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.
“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”
She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.
With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.
(haven’t written for Sanji in a while, glad to have him back on this blog! Also, bestie Usopp is a lovely concept for me, he’s so fun to interact with!)
Enjoy!
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
“…what are you doing?”
“Shhh!!”
You intend for your finger to land against Usopp’s lips. Instead, it pokes his nose, slips, and almost strikes his eye. The anticipation of prospective silence is shattered by a piercing screech.
“Oh my god, shut up! I didn’t even hit, shut up!”
“Ohhh dear god, I could’ve lost an eye! A whole eye! What good is a sniper without an eye?!”
“If you don’t zip it up, we’ll find out together because this time I won’t miss!”
And there it is, the trembling calm and quiet. You listen carefully for any added presence outside the door and, satisfied with no (more) intrusion, go back to clicking buttons on your camera.
A curious, though now considerately cautious nose stretches past your shoulder.
“So. What are you doing?”
You flick the nose’s tip. As an apology for the muffled yelp induced, you catch the tip to stop its springing up and down and give it a gentle tap.
“Other people’s work because, apparently, the Marines are awful at every aspect of their job.”
The nose moves further forward, replaced beside your face with Usopp’s cheek, and now he can see much better what you’ve been clicking away at.
Sanji’s photos. You’ve been going through Sanji’s photos on your camera.
“…sincerest apologies but are you a stalker?”
Usopp doesn’t need to check for proof of your embarrassed flush; he senses the heat perfectly with how your cheeks are almost pressed against each other.
“I didn’t even take half of these. Robin helped.”
“Wouldn’t say it exactly makes the stalking any less of a stalking.”
“It’s not!”
This time it’s Usopp’s finger that (actually) finds your lips and seals them shut before your exclamation attracts any more concerned company. Once he’s sure you’ve calmed down enough (considering how the scorching crimson of your cheeks has turned into more of a baby pink), he lets you go and also lets you have a moment to compose an explanation which would not make the situation any more awkward. For both of you.
“It’s not, really. Stalking. I just…he was so upset,” you frown and focus back on clicking the buttons. “When he saw the poster. And whatever Luffy says, Sanji doesn’t look the bit like whoever these Marines drew. Can’t believe they earn so much from arrestees and won’t hire a decent artist.”
The camera screen is sheepishly shoved into Usopp’s face. On it, there is a picture of Sanji. A really nice picture, where he’s smiling with his teeth and where his nose is all scrunched up in a genuinely joyful manner.
Usopp takes the camera from your hands and starts assessing every other photo he finds in the storage.
“Ooh, these aren’t so bad.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. No, wait, what were you gonna do with them?”
When Usopp raises his eyes at you, the blush has already returned half-force.
“Send the Marines some, of course. Don’t know which ones yet.”
And it seems you won’t in the near future, as both of you are suddenly aware of someone’s audibly impatient footsteps making their advance towards the room you’ve been hiding in.
“Oi, Usopp, you in there? Are you deaf? That’s the last time I call for dinner, you either come up or get your food next morning.”
“And you want to make this guy happy,” Usopp grumbles and sputters as you push the camera into his chest; sputters some more when you spring to your feet and look around for somewhere to escape through.
“I do whatever I can,” you shrug and grant your friend with a shy smile. “Let’s keep the…stalking our little secret, please?”
“Yeah, and Robin’s.”
“Yes, our little secret, okay?”
You actually slink away after pressing some plate on the wall (seems like Franky’s been showing you around the ship more; Usopp should really reconsider who he spends his free time with) and leave the poor man alone to Sanji’s uncomplimentary commentary.
Which is in a fee days replaced with boisterous boasting upon seeing his new bounty poster, with that one first picture you showed (forced onto) Usopp. While wondering about how Sanji has lost a lucky opportunity to stay unrecognisable by the Government, from the corner of his eye the sniper sees you give a timid high-five to a proud Robin.
a/n: this was inspired by this haikyuu fanfic (pls read if ur a sakusa enjoyer, i promise you it's worth the read!!). anyways, i feel like zoro is always the one i write for as my first fic back from a hiatus hehe
sleep usually comes to zoro quite easily, greeting him like an old friend. tonight, however, it evades him like he’s offended it. he’s restless, tossing and turning, back and forth, until he finally gives up.
he looks at the clock.
it’s been 2 minutes.
ugh, fuck it.
he sits at the edge of the bed, reaching for the snail sitting on his bedside table. the receiver rests between his ear and his shoulder as he dials, leg bouncing up and down as he waits for the voice he’s so desperate to hear.
purururururu-
“hello?"
your voice is a little fuzzy through the phone, and zoro presses the receiver even closer to his ear.
“hi.”
for a second, there's only silence and zoro frowns. nami did warn him that there was a storm hitting the island. it’s also really late.
maybe it wasn't such a good idea to call-
and then your laughter comes through, finding him like a ray of sun peeking through dark clouds.
“zoro, what even- i have so many questions!”
at the sound of your voice, he can feel a wave of comfort wash over him. he sinks into his bed and, instinctively, he smiles.
“oh yeah?”
“yeah!” you giggle. "where did you get a den den mushi? why are you calling? shouldn’t you be asleep?”
before he can answer, you gasp. “wait,” your voice drops to a whisper. “did you… did you steal a phone?”
you sound so horrified and zoro laughs — earnestly, truly, and oh-so easily. somehow, happiness is so effortless with you.
“zoro!” you chastise him, scandalized at his laughter. “tell me you didn’t!”
he nestles into his pillows. with you in his ear, it almost feels like you're right next to him.
“i'm a pirate, not a thief.” he huffs. “nami was hoarding a couple in her room and with a little - ahem - negotiating, she let me use one.”
“oh boy,” zoro can hear you shuffle in bed. “i hope you didn't trade the rest of your life savings just for a snail.”
“life savings? you mean the 10 berries i hold to my name?”
“uh, have you seen your bounty? you hold a lot more than 10 berries to your name.”
“you keeping tabs on me?“
"of course i am," you say it so matter-of-factly that zoro can't help but grin. he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror — god, he looks as lovesick as the stupid cook.
but he doesn't hate it.
“i know it's late but don't act like you weren't still up. i know you don't sleep.”
“maybe i can't sleep because i don't have my white noise machine here with me.”
he scoffs, “is that what i am to you? just white noise while i sleep?”
“please.” zoro smiles; he can practically hear you roll your eyes. “you're lucky you can't hear yourself snore. and you should consider it a compliment! it means it's useful to have you in bed.”
“just useful, huh? i feel like mind-blowing might be a better way to describe my performance in bed.”
you click your tongue and zoro laughs. it's truly amazing how you can still make him feel so weightless from across the seas.
“always so cocky,” you tsk. “is that a job requirement when you sign up to be a pirate or something?”
“if it was, chopper and usopp would've never made the cut.”
“don't pick on them!” zoro hears a soft thud! as you fall back against your pillows. “gosh, it feels like forever since i've seen them.”
“because it has been. they miss you."
after a beat, he adds, “i miss you.”
“i miss you too.”
for a moment, neither of you speak. all he hears is the patter of rain in the background and when he closes his eyes, he can imagine you cozy in bed with a window open. you always love the sound of rain at night.
“i'm excited to see you all tomorrow,” you say quietly.
“yeah, but me the most, right?”
“of course.”
he sighs, looking out the window at the night sky, moonlit and cloudless. he wishes that it was rain instead — because that would mean he’s not so far away.
“i wish i could see you right now.”
you laugh and zoro can picture the way your eyes crinkle when you do, “i think you can wait a few hours.”
“actually,” he says. “accounting for the storm, it'll take us another 16 hours. but who's counting?”
“definitely not you.”
“definitely not.”
“you're just always impatient.”
“correct.”
“patience is a virtue, you know.”
“i'm not virtuous.”
“no, you're ridiculous.” the affection in your voice makes zoro's heart ache. there’s more rustling, and he wishes for nothing more than to be under the covers with you.
tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
“go to sleep.” it's like you can read his mind. “i promise time will pass by a lot faster if you do.”
zoro stares at the moon, wondering if it knows that it'll never come close to outshining you.
“tell me a story first.”
“what?”
“tell me a bedtime story.”
“now?” you sigh. “but it’s so late. my brain cells stop working after business hours.”
“yeah, but i’m a vip client.”
“sorry, we don't do after-hours services.”
“if you do, i promise to give you a present tomorrow.” he reaches over to grab the aforementioned gift from his bedside, as if you’d be able to see it through the phone.
“a present?” curiosity colours your pretty voice. “wait, it better not be something lame, like a... kiss or a hug.”
“i dare you to call my kisses lame to my face.”
“or what, big boy?” you tease.
“oh, you don’t wanna know,” he warns. “i am a pirate after all.”
“ooh, so scary. i better do what the scary pirate says.”
and with that, zoro smiles to himself. he opens your present, playing with the contents as he gets comfortable, eyes closing as he waits for you to start.
you're not even halfway through your story before his snores travel through the snail, and you shake your head with endearment. your heart longs for him the way his wants you. you were only half-joking earlier; it really is that much harder for you to sleep without him.
there is nothing more comforting than the sound of zoro’s gentle slumber, the feel of his breath against your skin as he snuggles close, chest against your back, an arm snaked around your waist.
a sigh echoes in your lonely room. you should really take your own advice; tomorrow will come faster if you sleep.
you choose not to hang up. instead, you place the receiver next to your pillow and you pull up the covers, ready to join zoro in dreamland.
“good night,” you whisper to the rain, the moon, and your lover.
“i can’t wait to be with you.”
and from across the ocean, zoro sleeps soundly with starlight illuminating his room, catching the edges of a ring falling out of his hand — one with glittering diamonds, that he's spent days picking out, that he'll offer on one knee as he confesses,
a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops
9:00 pm
“y'know, there’s really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn’t there.”
you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.
“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”
zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”
“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”
crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.
summary: sometimes, zoro really can't handle your praise...
pairing: zoro x afab!reader
cw: mdni, choking, praise, creampie
wc: 600sih
an: a little blurb of smut bc i was getting too fluffy •`_´• jk we love fluff here
the hold you have on the swordsman is immeasurable.
you have him wrapped around your finger, even in moments like this when his large hand is wrapped around your throat.
“so, so good, zo’!” you manage to whine out, the sound barely audible over the sound of wet slaps and his rasped breaths. one of your hands is over his, tracing his knuckles as he chokes you, while the other plants itself higher up on his forearm where you can feel the muscle tensing underneath. "m'want more, i need it!"
he grits his teeth, squeezing just a bit tighter until your eyes flutter closed. he knew you liked it though, at least he figured you did judging by the way your walls pulsed around him.
he needed you to stop talking.
his cheeks are burning, the reddish hue on them darkening with every bit of praise that spilled from your lips. "be quiet, will ya?" he grumbles, perhaps a bit too sharply, not knowing how much more of your cloying words he could take.
his thrusts get harder, his hips hammering into yours with an intense passion. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix and coats it with pre-cum, desperate to spill into you.
you’re so sweet to him.
it’s a blessing so foreign to him that sometimes he forgets it’s okay to be seen, to be vulnerable. even though he knows you’ve seen the depths of his soul, there are moments where he reverts to old habits and puts up a tough front.
that’s why he’s trying so hard to keep his cool.
your pretty little pussy squeezing around him like a damn vice is one thing, but the praises that dripped like honey past your lips was a completely different story. when you struggle to take an inhale, gasping sharply, he loosens his grip. the feel of your rapid pulse under his palm only drives him closer to the edge and he hopes, for his sake, that you're too fucked out to spoil him with more undeserved praise.
he should've known better though.
a solid intake of air is followed by a shaky exhale turned moan as your head becomes light with ecstasy. your lashes, dotted with tears, make you look like an angel underneath him and he growls, his abdomen tensing as he tried to stop himself from cumming too fast.
he always made sure that you came first. your pleasure was priority and he takes a deep breath, closing his eye as he focused on maintaining some sort of self-control. he could hold out, he thinks, continuing to fuck you at a steady pace.
it all goes out the door when you open your mouth again. "y'make me feel so good!" you moan, desperately bucking your hips to his tempo to drive him deeper. "cum inside me, baby, please!"
the hand on your throat squeezes once more, his hips losing their rhythm as he begins bucking into you uncontrollably. "stop talk-" his breath hitches, the coil inside of him snapping as he snarls and throws his head back. "fuck!"
his whole body shudders and he bites down on his tongue, almost pushing you into the headboard of the bed as he buries himself deep inside of you. there's no point in keeping his cool anymore, his muscles relaxing and mouth falling open as he let out a sinful groan.
you're overflowing with his release, the thick, hot liquid dripping out of you and onto the bedsheets below. when you look up, the smile you give him is much too innocent and he clicks his tongue at the sight. you know damn well that he's putty in your hands and you know that he loves it.
even now, as he looks down at you with furrowed brows and reddened cheeks, his exasperated tone does little to hide the affection he feels toward you.
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summary: Zoro and you are in a thing - what kind of thing? Who knows but Sanji decides to flirt with you to get Zoro jealous.
The laundry line had been put up for the day, Nami and you were on folding duty. A blanket was laid out on the grass, and you sat comfortably folding clothes into piles for each crew member. Nami was taking clothes off the line and placing them in a basket. The two of you had an efficient process and admittedly were having a good time just chatting. The navigator finally pulled down the last article of clothing and joined you on the blanket. She started matching socks and asked what your plans were for the next island docking.
“I need some new clothes,” she sighed, holding up one of her shirts with a large hole in it. “I don’t even know how this happened.”
“I think we could all use some new clothes.” You held up one of Zoro’s shirts and stuck a finger through the tear at the neckline. Nami laughed when you wiggled a finger at her. “He hates picking out clothes though…I’ll probably just pick out a few things for him.”
Nami smirked. “Wow. Are you just so domesticated.”
“It’s not like that,” you shrugged, folding the shirt, and placing it in Zoro’s pile of clothes. Your eyes didn’t meet hers and that’s all she needed.
“Do you want it to be like that?”
“I’m just happy being on this ship and being by Luffy’s side.”
Your smile was bright and eager, but Nami saw through the feign contentment in your eyes, but she also knew there was truth to my statement. She said nothing else, but you weren’t foolish enough to not think anything of it. For one, you were sure it was obvious to all that Zoro had a place in your heart and maybe, you in his. Not that either of you would ever admit it out loud – whatever was going on between him and you were a mystery to you like everyone else. The swordsman had a one-track mind, and you knew that from the first time you met. In the beginning, the two of you had bonded over trying to keep Luffy alive. Real friendship bloomed through late night drinking and exchanging stories, triumphs, laughter. Then one night, when everyone else went to bed, he kissed you under the moonlight. His kiss was eager but insecure until you kissed him back. You slept together that night and most nights after that – whenever privacy allotted.
But he never called it what it was or could be or should be.
Neither did you.
Now it’s been months of this, and you were trying your best to not want him in ways he wasn’t willing to give. Not that you really knew what his willingness would amount to because you never talked about our relationship. It was confusing. But you also didn’t want to be the one that needed more, who craved more because it felt weak.
“All done.”
You smiled at Nami and divvyed up the piles to deliver the clean laundry. She left with her basket of clothes to take back to our dorms, and you made your way to the guy’s quarters. You knocked first but when no one answered you walked in; you were surprised to see Zoro napping but tiptoed around the room and placed each pile on different beds. When it came to the napping man’s pile of clothes, you moved to his portion of the wardrobe and placed them on a shelf. You nearly made it to the door when he called out your name and you turned.
“What’s up?”
“Come here,” he murmured, eyes hazy with sleep. He was on his back when you approached, and he quickly pulled you down to the bed. You fell on top of him, hands on his chest as he wrapped an arm effortlessly around your waist. His hand snaked around your neck and pulled you down, hair falling over his face. He grinned slightly and yanked you downwards for a kiss. Your body reacted in the way it always did when he touched you, and you wanted nothing more than to let him ruin you, but he kissed you hard once more and released you.
His eyes closed and then he started to snore.
You rolled your eyes and got off the bed, bringing his discarded blanket off the floor to cover him up. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, and you touched his cheek; his skin went warm and red, like he was blushing. He looked peaceful and you left him to his nap; needing something cold to drink to ease the heat of his lips on yours.
…
The kitchen smelled like baked fish and fresh bread; you sauntered toward the kitchen island and asked Sanji if he needed help. He refused but asked you to sit and keep him company, offering up a bread roll when you agreed. The roll was warm and buttery. You groaned and thanked the man, but going quiet as he worked around the stove.
“You’re awfully quiet over there. What did that idiot do to you?”
See, everyone knew.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sanji smirked, lighting a cigarette. He pointed a spatula at you and said you were a bad liar. “You can do better, by the way, but I guess I can’t say I’m blind. Everyone can see the way you two look at each other – as sick as that makes me.”
His dramatics made you smile. “I don’t even know what us is. I mean, we all know how talkative Zoro is.”
The cook laughed with a shrug, deciding you could help, and motioned for you to come help with dicing. You got up and moved around next to him, he handed you a knife and instructed you on how to dice the green onions. You worked side by side for twenty minutes while he gave you advice on how to talk to Zoro – as much as that pained him. “He’s a competitive asshole. So, work with that.”
“How so?”
Sanji watched as you plated the salmon, nodding to the door just as it swung open from the deck. Your eyes went to Luffy who barged in with a smile and Zoro who had followed him, fresh from his nap. “Here, try this.”
The cook had grabbed you by the chin, turning your head gently to him. With his other hand, he spoon fed you a taste of the desert pudding and your cheeks went red. It was delicious but Sanji’s eyes weren’t on you – they were on Zoro’s, who was glaring from the doorway. You grabbed a hold of the spoon and Sanji released you, patting you lightly on the head before announcing that dinner was ready. Unable to even look at Zoro, you wiped your mouth with a kitchen cloth and helped Sanji serve the plates. After making sure everyone had a plate, you sat in the empty spot next to Zoro. He stiffed a little as you sat but then relaxed when you asked how his nap was. He smirked and just asked if you wanted some ale. The rest of the dinner went uneventful. The food was delicious, the drinks cold, and the conversations were lively. You offered to help Sanji with the dishes, but Zoro pointed it you already helped with dinner.
“Let the lazy cook do the dishes.”
Sanji retorted back with a curse but gave you a knowing smile. You stole a peek at Zoro and noted jealously in his eyes – Sanji was right, but you weren’t sure how much you wanted to push it. Instead, you asked Zoro if he wanted to come to the library with you. “I found that book we were talking about.”
“If Mosshead doesn’t want to enjoy literature with you, I’d be happy to after the dishes. We can light some candles, drink some wine…”
You looked over to the counter, where Sanji was arranging the dishes; his eyes were smoldering and kind, you wanted to laugh at his thoughtful attempts to help you, but the way Zoro was fuming next to you – it seemed like he was enjoying torturing his crew mate.
“Do the damn dishes, idiot.” Zoro grumbled, reaching for your hand. His large fingers around your wrist were surprising. He had never touched you in front of the others and everyone, but Brooke and Franky were around now. No one really paid attention or was trying not to, as Zoro pushed back in his chair and got up. His eyes narrowed down to you, but then a softness overcame his entire face, and he asked if you were done.
All you could manage was a nod.
Then he helped you up from your chair and led you out of the kitchen, towards the library. He didn’t say a word until you were in the library and then he dropped your hand. He moved toward the wall of books and spoke with his back to you.
“If something’s going on between the cook and you, just tell me. I can take it.”
His back tensed as he waited for you to answer him.
“You’re a real idiot.”
Zoro whipped around and cursed at you. “I’m not an idiot! You’re the one flirting with that – that – Euro trash!”
“I wasn’t flirting but even if I was, why do you care?” He seized at your question. “Well, why do you care, Zoro? We’ve never defined whatever this is.”
It was clear that he was flustered and angry, eyes burning with annoyance, but you stood your ground. All you wanted was to hear it from him; you knew Zoro was a man of action over words, but you needed this. Even if he said he didn’t want you, that he could do without you – at least he would have said it. He owed you that much.
“What the hell do you want from me?”
His voice was husked, desperate for reasoning.
“I love you.”
The words came fumbling out of your mouth with a huge relief to your body. It felt great, airing out your feelings and even if he couldn’t reciprocate, at least you said it. You stood there with the moonlight dancing through the windows and could only see Zoro lost in thought. Then, seconds later, he snapped out of it.
“Don’t move,” he seethed through his teeth before storming out of the library. You stood there in disbelief and for a moment, you were afraid that he wasn’t going to come back. That he was going to walk away from you and that would be the end of it. For a moment, you felt feign resolve; you’d get through it because you got through everything hard in your life.
Then his voice spoke from the library door and when you turned, he seemed more relaxed. He stared at you; hands crossed against his chest, cheeks a bit marooned. He looked proud and when you asked where he had gone, he smirked.
“I went to tell that cook to stay away from you.”
“You did?”
Zoro grinned, walking toward you with a bit of swagger. “I don’t need to confess anything to the rest of them or anyone, but you needed me to, so I did. I told them all that I loved you and for now on, we belong to each other.”
Your heart swayed as Zoro took your face in his hands, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Don’t play games with me. Just be straightforward, okay? If I catch anyone flirting with you again, I’m kicking their ass, got it?”
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nodded. “I got it. I’m sorry.”
Zoro kissed you roughly on the lips, hand resting at the base of your neck. His kisses turned softer after a minute, and then he pulled away to hold you against him. You felt safe in his arms and relief washed over you, tears forming in your eyes. When he felt a wetness seeping through his shirt, he gently pushed you off him.
“Shit. I didn’t mean for you to cry.”
Panicked filled his voice but you just laughed, brushing away the tears; touching the side of Zoro’s face, you watched as he melted against your touch and smiled. “I’m just really happy.”
Zoro chuckled lightly, pulling you back to him. “Come here, you little crybaby.”
.....
tagging those who were interested - 💕love you zoro hoes 💕
☆ up next: yes, your highness (knight!sanji x princess!reader)
☆ summary: you're put in a situation where you're life is put in serious danger. will they be able to save you in time?
☆ a/n: new fic yay!! so i'm working my way through the ask box slowly but surely.. a lot of the requests are for pt. 2's, so im gonna try to publish new content before getting to those... as always, thanks for your patience!
3.0k words
law - fire
Trying to calm your breathing down you closed your eyes, doing your best to not panic.
“You ok in there?” Shachi called out.
“What’s the temperature reading?” That might’ve been Bepo. You couldn’t tell.
You’d gone into the boiler room of the submarine to try and fix an issue with the central temperature.
The submarine was supposed to be descending toward the abyssal zone, and with pressures as high as they were going to be there was no room for error with the temperature.
Before you could finish, something that was moving fast hit the side of the Polar Tang, resulting in the door locking you in.
Law had designed the functional rooms of the ship to be perfect.
The boiler room locked from the inside, so that if there were ever an issue with a pressure change, any explosion would be contained to the source of heat.
You heard some debris clatter on the outside, followed by what sounded like a loud, metal clang.
A high-pitched beeping noise started to sound through the small room.
80°
You pressed the down arrow five times. With the way it had been programmed, the boiler room shouldn’t be above seventy five degrees.
Your stomach started to twist, and nausea climbed up your throat when the number didn’t change, and after a few more second read
83°.
“Y/n! You okay?!” Bepo and Shachi had started to move some of the debris that was blocking the door, “Something hit us!”
“The temperature is going up in here, it’s at eighty-three and the buttons aren’t working!”
“Hold on,” Bepo called out, “We’re moving the stuff from in front of the door, we’ll pass you the key from under the door.”
You steadied your breathing and managed to settle your nerves the slightest bit.
A silver key slid under the door and you grabbed it.
“You should be good to open the door now.”
You placed the key in the lock, and started to turn it when the ship took another hit.
This one sent you flying into the wall.
You heard Shachi and Bepo’s impact.
Your head was pounding and you fumbled around looking for the key, unable to find it.
You could hear yelling coming from outside.
“Shit! Bepo- try and move that stuff!”
You assumed Shachi had left as you heard footsteps .
Slowly you got up, your head was starting to stop spinning.
You still couldn’t find the key and tried jiggling the handle
An unnatural rattling sound was coming from the handle.
Fuck.
The key had broken off inside it, and the jagged edge that you could just barely get a finger around was too sharp to try and turn.
The temperature in the room continued to rise.
Your palms had started to sweat and you felt your chest contracting more and more with each breath.
The heat was starting to fill you up from the inside out.
You ran to the thermostat, frantically pressing the cooling button.
94°
“Y/n?!” Bepo called, banging on the door, “I moved all the stuff! Try to open the door!”
“I can’t!” you yelled, your voice straining, someone was yelling- Law, maybe? What had happened? “The key broke in the door! Bepo- the temperature won’t stop rising!”
Bepo continued banging on the door- you knew that he was starting to panic.
98°
You sunk to the floor, looking for a way out- anything.
You twisted the door knob with so much force that you worried you might have broken it. Not that it made a difference.
106°
Bepo’s banging stopped and you started to panic again.
The yelling could still be heard in the background.
“Bepo?”
No answer.
Sweat was dripping down your back and your palms were sticky. Your hair clung to your forehead and it was getting harder and harder to breathe- whether that was because of your panic or the heat you could not tell.
You peeled off your boiler suit, which offered you some temporary relief.
Sitting in a pair of shorts and a tank top now, you simply sunk against the door- banging on it occasionally.
“Bepo!!” You yelled.
That damn bear.
Where was Law?
You perked up at the question.
Where the hell was your captain?
118°
You decided you’d try the key, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto the jagged metal edges with all the strength you could muster.
You felt the metal slip past your skin, digging into the flesh of your hand.
Blood dripped down your arm in a warm, steady stream and you strained to turn the key.
It wouldn’t move- too little of it was exposed.
Black dots started to dance in your field of vision, and you felt yourself slipping out of consciousness.
It was so impossibly hot, your mouth felt dry and tacky- like a thin layer of warm glue had been poured inside it.
Your head was pounding and your lungs felt like they were full of sand.
As you started to faint, you thought you saw a pale blue glow cover the room.
You smiled to yourself before you slipped out of consciousness.
Better late than never.
131°
“Room.”
“Lift her arms,” Law ordered.
The feeling of biting cold sent a spark running down your spine as two ice packs were placed under your arm.
You blinked your eyes open, a dull pain still drumming in the back of your head.
There was something sturdy behind your chest, and you felt a hand resting on your stomach.
You tried sitting up, but the hand on your stomach held you in place.
“Not yet, Y/n.”
“Law.”
“You have heat stroke- please don’t move. Stay right there, for me.”
You relaxed back against him.
“Bepo- hand me another ice pack. Is the bath ready?”
“Almost, Shachi’s getting more ice.”
You strained to sit up again, this time Law held you down with slightly more force.
“Y/n. I’m serious,” his tone froze you in place, “Do not move.”
“The boiler room-” you started, “‘s too… hot. Pressures- Gonna go up.”
Your speech was slurred and everything in your body felt so heavy.
You felt Law look back up at Bepo and nod.
“Ok, come on.”
He lifted you up, holding you bridal style to try to keep you as relaxed as possible.
“This isn’t gonna feel great,” he said, “But you need to stay in here for at least twenty minutes.”
“Law,” you mumbled, “ ‘s very nice of you.”
Slowly, he lowered you into the makeshift tub- a large plastic bin that was usually used for storage was filled with ice and water.
The cold was biting and an icy burning spread throughout your body- lighting up your nerves as you were completely submerged.
“Dunk your head in. Just once.”
You sleepily shook your head.
Law sighed, “Alright, I’m gonna help you do it, ok?”
Your hands gripped the side of the tub, and you relaxed slightly when he brought a hand to rest on your neck and gently lowered your head down.
He helped you back up, his steady grip taking the stress off of your body.
Bepo had been sent out of the room to help the others in fixing the rest of the ship.
You sat up and leaned back against Law’s chest, drenching him in ice cold water.
He winced.
“Not so great, hm?”
“No, not so great.”
You sat there, resting against him for a while. Slowly feeling yourself regaining strength.
You had acclimated to the temperature and the sensation that replaced the freezing cold was somewhat nice.
“What happened?”
“Underwater volcano, if you’d believe it.”
You laughed, still too tired to hold a full conversation.
“I’m sorry…” Law started, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”
He sounded so sad- you turned to look at him.
“Law, everybody did the best they could- Even me, look.”
You lifted up your hand to show him the injury to find it had already been bandaged.
He smiled at you.
“What kind of doctor would I be if I hadn’t noticed that, huh?”
You gave him a gentle smile.
You could tell that he wasn’t fully convinced, and still felt guilt at having taken too long to rescue you.
Before he could even react you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug that you shouldn’t have had the strength to give.
You could feel tension spark throughout his body, but after a few seconds his arms found their way around your waist and pulled you back in.
You let go first.
He followed, a few seconds after.
“If you really want to make it up to me,” you said.
“I do,” Law answered.
“Never give me boiler room duty again.”
zoro - earth
You had four hours to get to the Sunny.
By noon you and Zoro had to traverse through eight miles of thick, unwelcoming jungle.
It was humid and neither of you were looking forward to the journey but you had a mutual respect for the other, and though it was never said out loud, shared an enjoyment of each other’s company.
Zoro liked your good natured humor and admitted to himself that you were easy on the eyes.
You liked Zoro’s stoic nature and admired his relaxed composure.
Your fighting styles were perfectly complementary. Zoro attacked first and thought later. His cuts and slices were executed with a terrifying precision and he was able to readily turn on his animalistic attack mindset. You, on the other hand, were thoroughly analytical. Zoro possessed the skill to not have to worry too much about reading an opponent beforehand, but you were able to read them as fast as he could draw his swords. Able to pick apart formations and fighting styles before they could even get a hit in, you were able to direct Zoro and predict enemy attacks perfectly.
He’d never openly admit it but he liked taking directions from you. To him, independent and capable as he might have been on his own, it felt like he was a sword and you were the hand that guided it.
He made the final cut, but it was you who had swung in the right direction.
Needless to say, you had both set off on your journey toward the Sunny with very few complaints.
The humidity increased, the further you got into the thick green that covered the island.
You pushed through miles and miles of green leaves and branches.
It was lively, the sounds of bugs scuttling across the floor, birds crying from the canopy above, and frogs chirping and yelping filled the scenery with the noise of life and energy.
You were humming to yourself, enjoying the warm weather and snacking on the chips Sanji had packed for you, handing the bag over to Zoro when he reached his hand toward you.
You’d made good progress in the two hours you’d been walking and agreed you could afford to sit down to eat lunch.
“Haha! I do remember that!”
“Or what about when that moron of a cook though he and Nami had us beat in trivia night-”
“And they lost to us in the category of cooking!”
You and Zoro were both laughing. Not such a rare occurrence when the two of you were together.
Zoro’s head suddenly snapped around.
You felt it too, the hairs on your neck rising.
A chill ran through your body and you turned to press your back against his.
“I can’t tell where they’re coming from.”
“Neither can I.”
Your breathing was in sync and you both waited, weapons at the ready.
In a split second the tension broke and your attackers revealed their position by shooting an arrow.
“On your left!”
You jumped to the side as a flurry of arrows flew past your head and heard the sound of blows being dealt by Zoro as he handled his side.
You pulled your throwing knives from your bag where they rested and aimed at the enemy.
Flashes of shiny steel flew through the colorful greens and teals of the forest, the sound of metal against metal echoing in the open space.
You and Zoro fighting together was truly a sight to behold.
You set up every hit he got, and the hits you got were courtesy of Zoro.
It was like a sport for the two of you, a team working perfectly in sync.
Skill aside, your ability to guess his next move paired with his ability to accommodate his hits to the blows you landed, made the two of you nearly impossible to beat.
After only ten minutes of fighting, you’d taken out more than half of the group ambushing you.
Your blades were dripping matching shades of red, and it wasn’t long until the remaining attackers ran.
A stray arrow was stuck in a tree and you pulled it out to inspect it.
Thick, green liquid dripped off the end of it.
Poison.
“Y/n!” Zoro called.
You dropped the arrow and ran to his side.
“Who was that? I didn’t recognize anything about those attackers?” you asked.
“Same here, but it doesn’t matter. Could’ve just been bounty hunters.”
“Working as a team? Unlikely.”
He shrugged.
“Either way, they’re gone.”
You nodded and followed behind him as you continued your walk toward your crew.
A dull throbbing had started to spread throughout your body. You had a headache, too, but shrugged it off.
You walked for another few minutes before you felt liquid trickle down your throat.
You pressed your hand to your neck, pulling away when you felt a warm film cover your fingers.
There was a small gash on the right side of your neck- you’d been hit.
“Fuck!”
Zoro turned around, eyes widening when he saw the wound.
He ran toward you and pressed a hand against your neck to stop the bleeding.
“Shit, shit, shit! Ok- Ok, um, just stay calm,” he was panicking, sweat was lining his brow.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a napkin that was meant for your lunch.
He held it against your neck and you started to feel faint.
You felt your right foot lock. You tried to move it but it felt like trying to move a steel ball with only your pinky finger.
“Zoro…” the fear in your voice was evident.
The swordsman sat you down against the trunk of a tree and held your hair up with one hand as he held the cloth to your neck.
You started feeling faint, and a slowly increasing feeling of nausea was spreading throughout your body.
“We need to get the poison out.”
You nodded, the strength slowly leaving your body, like water flowed from a leak.
He rummaged through his backpack which contained only the lunch Sanji had packed you, a standard first aid kit that Chopper had insisted you take with you, and a broken compass he had forgotten to throw away.
He grabbed the first aid kit and frantically dumped it out.
You pointed at the gauze and Zoro grabbed it.
“Okay… I’ll, um, wrap this around… your neck?”
You nodded, “But we still need to get the poison out.”
You winced in pain, doubling forward.
You grabbed a few pills Chopper had thrown in and swallowed them as Zoro continued to try and calm himself down.
“It’s spreading.”
Zoro’s head was pounding- this was definitely not his area of expertise and there was nothing in the kit that said ‘Poison Remover’.
“H-how do I,” he asked, overwhelmed, “Just tell me what to do.”
He might not have any medical knowledge but he’d be damned if he let a crew mate die on his watch.
Especially you.
Your eyes had started to close and he was set in his resolve to save you.
Get the poison out, he thought.
As he felt your grip on his arm loosening something in his brain clicked.
He brought his arm around your neck, letting your head rest against his bicep.
His lips wrapped around your neck, and you felt his warm tongue swipe over the shallow wound.
You hissed as he traced his tongue back over it, his saliva coating your soft neck in a thin glaze.
A slight pressure built up as he started to suck the poison out, occasionally spitting it out on the ground next to you.
You made it with a half hour to spare.
The rest of your crew warmly greeted you, happy to see you having made it safely.
You walked onto the ship, Zoro staying by your side, like a knight does with a princess.
Sanji was the first to notice the bandage wrapped around your neck.
“Y/n-chwan!! Are you hurt? What happened?”
You shook your head, “I got hit with a poisonous dart. But I’m okay.”
You gave Zoro a thankful look.
Sanji further inspected the wound, noticing the deep purple and red hickey that sat right on top of the gash.
“What… exactly happened?” he asked, shooting a glare in the swordsman’s direction.
“The poison had started to spread and, uh…” your voice trailed off.
You weren’t sure if Zoro wanted to announce his heroics to the crew.
He stood taller and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“And I sucked it out,” he announced.
He sounded proud enough, but his increasingly red cheeks implied otherwise.
There were mixed reactions..
Sanji was furious and started to bicker with him, Luffy and the boys were laughing, but Nami, Robin, and Chopper all seemed confused.
“But,” Nami had started, “I thought that that doesn’t work-”
You cut her off and shot her a look, that said Don’t say anything.
“I would’ve died if it weren’t for him.”
Robin giggled and ushered them all back inside to finish lunch, explaining to a very confused Chopper what was going on.
You and Zoro were left alone on the deck.
“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder, “You saved me.”
He looked away from you, rubbing the back of his neck and nodded.
“Anytime.”
Of course, you knew that sucking the poison out of a wound was an outdated myth.
It was the pills that had saved you.
But Zoro had been hellbent on saving you and did everything in his power to keep you alive.
He believed he had saved you.
And you’d be damned if someone told him otherwise.
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