Masterlist: The Death and Rebirth of John MacTavish | Pairing: Call of Duty, TBI!Johnny x f!Reader | Rating: T | Read on AO3 here
On the twenty-first week, you’d filled several scrap pages with drafts of a poem.
It wasn’t good, or anything. It was just… necessary. You had so many feelings swirling around inside you these days it felt like you would burst if you didn’t find some creative outlet. It began with a few lines and sentiments scribbled on post-its at work, before it snowballed into something actually resembling verses. It needed a lot of work, and you weren’t even sure what to do with it when you were done, but at least you no longer felt like there was an ever-swelling knot of emotion in your chest.
“Hi Johnny,” you said as you entered the room. To your surprise, there were balloons tied to the end of his bed and a pile of birthday cards on his end table. “Oh my gosh,” you blurted, “happy birthday!”
Johnny had one knee folded to his chest in some sort of exercise as he sat on the bed. He straightened up and said, “Thanks, lass.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t know,” you pouted, bracing yourself against the back of your usual chair. “I would have got you a little gift.”
He seemed utterly unbothered, waving you off. “I have everything I need. Family came to see me, got some bloody good cake, and now my guardian angel’s here.”
His words set your face on fire as you looked away and smiled. “Is that gonna be a thing, now?”
“Yep. Also, check this out.” Johnny took a deep breath and very carefully shut one eye in a wink, punctuating it with a thumbs-up for effect.
“Ten out of ten,” you assessed to his delight. You plopped into your chair and asked, “So what would you like to do today?”
“Actually,” he said, shifting towards you. “I know I’ve been real focused on recovery and all, but I was thinking. Maybe today we just chat?”
An interesting development. Johnny had mastered many things since you began visiting him, but moderation didn’t strike you as one. “Yeah, of course,” you told him easily, secretly relieved that you wouldn’t be taking another intimate walk to the chapel. Not that it wouldn’t be thrilling. You just didn’t trust yourself not to kiss him if he put his arm around you like that again.
Johnny asked a bunch of questions about you, your job, your family, and your day to day. It was much more light-hearted than an interrogation, but something about it felt pointed. Like maybe there was something he wanted to ask and couldn’t come right out with? He never pushed into territory that was too personal.
He also revealed more about himself, explaining why he joined up with the RAF and some of the countries he’d been able to visit during his tours. The snowy places, like the Alps and Scandinavia, were his favorites. “Beaches all look the same,” he told you dismissively. “And the only activity is lounging. But snowboarding in the mountains? Proper adrenaline rush.”
While you also appreciated the snow, you were less of an adrenaline junkie. He likes shy, you reminded yourself, feeling self-conscious about what you considered to be boring hobbies compared to his.
“How is physio going?” you asked him.
“Ah, it’s been great! I can do really short distances without the walker. Now we’re spending more time on fine motor skills, like being able to type on the damned phone.”
Even without these updates, you could sense from his energy level, his increased loquaciousness, that he was nearing the pinnacle of his recovery. “Pfft. At this rate, are you even going to be here when I visit next week?” you teased.
“Dinnae say that,” he scolded, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “There’s plenty I’m still struggling with, and they won’t release me until I can pass a bunch of tests. So. M’not going anywhere anytime soon.”
While you were grateful to spend more time with him, you wondered how accurate his assessment was. He seemed so… so normal. Ready to reintegrate with society. Then again, your untrained ass had no idea what to look for. Everything you knew about TBIs, you’d learned from Google.
“Evening, Sarge.” You both looked up to see Nevaeh sticking her head in. “Time’s up, I’m afraid.”
You quickly got to your feet and waved goodbye to Johnny. Nevaeh walked you out of the room, but to your surprise, didn’t head back to work. She strolled alongside you towards reception.
“So,” she began, looking adorably nervous. “I’ve kind of been texting with Johnny’s friend.”
You gasped. “Really? Kyle, right?”
“Yeah. He’s sweet.” The girlish smile she wore made her look half her age. “I was thinking, when your boy gets out, we could do a double date or something.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think…”
“Don’t deny it,” she interrupted. “That act might work with him, but I’m not blind. You two like each other. And there’s nothing wrong with staying in touch once he’s discharged. Plenty of Ambassadors grab coffee with their patients or send Christmas cards.”
From her perspective, you could understand how it looked like you and Johnny were two peas in a pod. What she didn’t understand was how everything would change once he was back in the real world and rebuilding his social life. Maybe an exchange of Christmas cards would be possible, but a double date? No way in hell. Besides, the more you thought about it, the more you worried there was something predatory or grooming-adjacent about going from being a caregiver to a girlfriend.
“Thanks, Nev. I’ll think about it,” you said. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at your dismissal and gave you a hug goodbye at the exit.
===
I promise that despite appearances, I am actually going somewhere with all this. Thanks again so much for everyone's support. And I have decided to do a (skippable) smut epilogue, so I've been working on that alongside the regular chapters. Enjoy the weekend! 💌
Masterlist: The Death and Rebirth of John MacTavish | Pairing: Call of Duty, TBI!Johnny x f!Reader | Rating: T | Read on AO3 here
On the twenty-second week, Johnny stood up to greet you when you entered his room. No walker this time – just a bit of leverage from the bar on the side of his bed.
“Guess who’s got two thumbs and can walk?” he asked while jabbing his thumbs into his chest.
“Wow! How does it feel?”
“Ah, amazing,” he gushed. “The days pass so much quicker, now I’m movin’ around a bit. Still gotta be supervised, though.”
“So I’m your chaperone for the hour?” you asked, depositing your bag against the wall so you wouldn’t have to carry it around.
Johnny gave you a cheeky grin and stuck out his elbow, like he expected you to loop arms. A thrill shot up your spine at the notion. You gingerly walked over to him and tried to fix a smile on your face so you didn’t look so terrified.
Bicep to bicep, you hooked your arm through his and tucked your hand against your breastbone, securing yourself to him. You cursed yourself for wearing a long-sleeve while Johnny was in a tee, his warm skin bared to you. Your heart was smashing itself against your ribs.
“Where to?” you asked him.
“Let’s go to the chapel again,” he offered, and you could feel the rumble of his words with your arm against the side of his chest.
For better or for worse, you had a gut feeling that returning to the chapel meant Johnny would finish what he started. That his interest would no longer be expressed in just playful quips and an arm behind you on the pew. Equally frightening, you weren’t sure you had the willpower to stop yourself from responding, even with the knowledge that his discharge from Saint Ambrose was imminent.
Because… would it be so bad, if all you got out of this was a toe-curling kiss and beguiling, empty promises for another couple of weeks? If he treated you like the only girl in the world, because you were the only girl in hisworld right now?
Maybe all this worrying for naught anyway. You were admittedly pretty jaded from not-so-great dating experiences and a history of never quite impressing men enough to make them stick around. Johnny might be different. Wouldn’t it be sweet if you really did get together, and stay together, from meeting at the rehab center like this…?
You stopped in front of the elevators, but Johnny tugged you forward. “I been practicin’ stairs every day,” he told you confidently. “Wait ‘til you see me in action, lass. It’ll knock yer socks clean off.”
You giggled and let yourself be led to the stairwell. To your disappointment, he unlinked his arm from you and placed a hand along the railing.
“Should I be – I don’t know, at the bottom of the stairs to catch you? Or behind you, like, to steady you?” you asked, suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility of being his chaperone.
With a shrug and (to your mortification) a wiggle of his ass, he said, “Depends which view ye prefer.”
You buried your face in your hands and groaned as he laughed. Peeking between your fingers, you saw him take the first wobbly step, then the second. His eyes were trained downward with unshakable focus.
But his knees gave on the third stair, and he fell like a sack of potatoes.
Fortunately, his grip on the railing saved him from sliding down the rest of the steps. Your heart nearly stopped as you rushed over and squatted down beside him.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, wildly panicked.
Johnny kept his fingers wrapped around the railing as he lay splayed over several steps. His eyes were still squeezed shut as he gritted out, “’M fine.”
Your head whipped to the top of the stairs as you saw someone who appeared to be an administrator step into view – she must have heard the fall. Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene. “Can you get help?” you blurted, but she was already dashing back to find a nurse.
Inhaling deeply, Johnny attempted to pull himself up with the arm that was holding on. Almost as a reflex, you put your hand on his chest and said, “Wait. They’re coming with help.”
“I dinnae want help,” he snapped without looking at you. A shaky sigh left him. “Sorry. I just – God, this is fucking embarrassing.”
“Don’t say that,” you insisted, adjusting yourself so you were sitting on the step beside him. “This is part of recovery.”
He looked at you then, his expression pinched and uncharitable. “I know ye mean well,” he told you roughly, “but I’m getting sick to death of platitudes. I failed. Let me fuckin’ mope about it for a second.”
You were extremely grateful that two nurses arrived at that moment, giving you an opportunity to turn your head away and let tears well in your eyes. Of course, you’d said the wrong thing and made it worse. And he was right, too – relentless positivity can get exhausting, to the point that nothing feels genuine anymore. You shuffled back to your feet as the nurses lifted him from under the arms and hoisted him upward.
You did not follow him back to his room. Unsure of what you were supposed to do, especially when he’d indicated he had enough of you for today, you drifted back to reception and turned in your badge.
That night, you put the finishing touches on your poem about Johnny. It may never see the light of day, but the exercise of writing the final draft settled something restless in your heart.
“Please... please! I can’t! Please, my family needs me! Please let me go!”
The man—creature?—before you pushed back his sleeves, revealing his muscular arms, as he took one step after the other. You’ve been told about the monster in the woods. Told about what cruelty would await you if you met it. Why didn’t you believe the tales?
“I’ve been watching you, and now you’ve ventured far from your village, into my forest. I’ve been patient, but it’s time to take what is mine.”
“No! I– I will fight you! I’ll scream and shout until your ears bleed! I’ll keep running no matter how many times you catch me! I’ll never be yours!”
“I don’t think so, bunny,” he retorted calmly, squatting down before you, his hand lifting your chin. For a moment, he moved your head side to side, your eyes glued to his, unable to look away from the monster in front of you. He leaned forward, your faces just inches from each other. “Next time you try something like this, I’ll break your ankles so you won’t even think about crawling away from me.”
Humans Are Extinct Yandere TWST x Fem Reader Monster AU pt 104
Warnings; yandere, yandere behavior, multiple Yandere, platonic and romantic yandere, competing yandere, fem reader, monster AU, hurt/comfort, mention of adult scenarios, suggestive behavior, suggestive moments, Harpies being Harpies, Harpies, Shinigami, Hellcat, Sasquatch,
~~~~
You walked with the beautiful Harpy as he showed you around his home, ensuring to gesture to all the grand items at his disposal. From beautiful and hard to cultivate flowers, to lovingly carved statues of various species. Each item unique in its own way, yet still following the theme that seemed to preside over the lavish structure. Beauty. All things that could be considered beautiful by the common eye had been gathered here.
Apparently Eric shared the same taste as Vil did, both males keen to decorate their homes in whatever they considered to be beautiful. Each carefully selected piece of art either showed something beautiful, or was made up of seemingly expensive material. All manner of finery proudly displayed for anyone lucky enough to view it.
"Now they were have some time to just us, mind elaborating on whatever has happened to you?"
"What do you know about my... Recent illness?"
"Just that you were unwell and Lord Hades was concerned about it meaning your death... I am relieved to see you are well. No doubt the others who nip at your heels are also pleased to know you are well. You have told them that you have awoken, yes?"
"..."
"... Please tell me you have informed all of the others that you have not perished."
"... Well..."
"Peahen!"
Vil gave a loud and exasperated sigh, fishing his phone out of his pocket to begin poking away at his screen. All that filled the silence was the sound of his talons tapping against the screen furiously as you awkwardly waited for him to finish. No doubt he was informing the others about you miraculous recovery. Within moments of Vil lowering his phone, you own phone began wildly beeping and ringing for attention. It got to the point that you had to put your phone on silent to just get a few moments to think.
Perhaps you should have done that prior to falling off the face of the planet.
"What is happening to me now is actually a result of why I became so sick in the first place. Vil, do you know what Soul Successors are?"
"Of course I do. Only a very powerful being could even hope to exist long enough to persist after death, let alone pass their magic on to someone else."
"Well, apparently that Dragon horn I touched belonged to an ancient Luck Dragon, Fortuna. Apparently she has also selected me as her Soul Successor. As a result, my body is changing into that of a Dragon. I don't know how long it will take or what exactly will happen when that transition takes place... But I do know it has already begun. Those nubs you felt... Those are my horns growing in."
Of all the things Vil had anticipated you saying, it certainly was not that. He stayed in silence for a moment before he very gently reached out to brush your hair back with his hand. Sitting proudly on your forehead in your hairline were the twin horns that had begun to grow. They looked- at first- like intentional body augmentations. Gold struts that had been placed as a dermal piercing along the frontal region of your body. It was only when he looked closer that he could somewhat see the way those horns attached to your skull.
You were turning into a Dragon.
The idea alone sent some stress through Vil as he tried to parse out the best way to respond. He didn't know the first thing about pleasing a Draconic lover. How was he supposed to take care of you and make you feel comfortable if he didn't even know what you would want to hoard? There was a small and angry voice inside Vil that screamed he was inferior to Malleus now, simply because the Harpy didn't really understand what it meant to be a Dragon. No one but a Dragon could even begin to comprehend what you were going through.
Just because he wasn't a Dragon didn't mean he would stop trying to help you however he could.
"This is certainly unexpected... But it isn't a bad thing."
"It's not?"
"Not to me. You are undergoing a metamorphosis that I can't even begin to comprehend or understand, but you are still my glorious Peahen. I won't pretend to know how you feel about all of this, that isn't my place. I will, however, tell you I am here for you and be here for you. For now, we can cover up your horns if you don't feel comfortable flaunting them just yet."
A kind of warmth settled in your chest as you considered his words. For as full of himself as Vil could be, he was taking this news better than you were. Maybe it was because you seemed to uncertain about it. Maybe it was because it stroked his pride to know that he had effectively befriended- and is the potential mate of- a Dragon. Whatever his reasoning, it made you feel all the more endeared to the Harpy to hear him gently warble your praises and insist he would stay by your side.
... Would you receive the same understanding and welcome from the Humans of your world? Would they see the horns growing on your head and force you to remove them? Would you still be treated the same?
Of course, there would be individuals who are more attracted to you because of these horns. But... The thought of how much heckling you would receive just for something out of your control made your heart sink. Could you even tell anyone back home what you had been through, or would you be thrown in psychiatric care for mental degradation? If you got home, how could you even begin to explain everything you had gone through? Who could you turn to for help to readjust to a life without magic and without these odd creatures that obsessed over you?
Leaving this world to your home would be the same as a cult leader leaving behind their fervent followers to try and adjust to an office job where most feared or hated you. If you didn't leave early enough and more of your transformation took place, can you say with confidence you wouldn't be experimented on by your own species?
It was all too heavy and painful to think about for now. You couldn't let your fear of the unknown distract you from your ultimate goal of returning home. Everything could be dealt with once you were safe and home.
"I am certainly interested in how this may affect any future young we may have should you fully choose me, but I am not angry or disgusted with you. Even if you become an impossibly powerful and dangerous Dragon, you are- and always will be- my beloved Peahen. That won't change no matter how you may change."
The Harpy gently kissed your forehead, the slight brush of his skin against your horns forcing a rather embarrassing noise from your lips. It was some odd mix of a sigh and a moan that made heat rush to your face in embarrassment. Had you actually just moaned from Vil kissing your forehead?
The Harpy in question was frozen, his ears having heard your sweet little noise and his body warming in response. He certainly had not danced with you yet, but could he really blame himself for wanting to seek out your sweet little sounds? Giving plenty of time for you to pull away, Vil began slowly dragging his cheek across your horns, hearing you squeak and whimper from the stimulation.
Vil slightly pulled back, letting you have a moment to calm yourself. Deep within your very being, something stirred angrily at the lack of attention. The soft Harpy had felt so soothing when he rubbed against your horns, surely you could tolerate more affection? It was getting harder to think about why you should argue and refuse when it felt so nice.
When you didn't push him further away, Vil slowly moved to start kissing your horns. His lips felt so unbelievably soft it had you almost melting into him. The way your horns were far more sensitive than you would have ever expected made you realize just how much Malleus was letting you get away with. What surprised you more than even that was how you leaned into the feeling and felt almost hungry for more.
It wasn't until a loud call for attention broke through that you even realized you were intentionally pressing into Vil's lips.
"Mama!"
You quickly separated from the Harpy who had been lightly mouthing at your horns, doing all you could to calm yourself and seem unbothered as the Hellcat ran up. Whatever was making you more receptive to the affections of the males could be pushed aside with enough effort. Grim was certainly effective in keeping your sanity grounded.
Vil didn't pursue you, willingly letting you pull away from him to address the quickly approaching kit. He knew that Grim came first in your eyes. He had once disliked the feline that demanded your attention at all hours, but he had also begun to soften his view. Grim was a consistent attention thief, but he was your kit. Why wouldn't Vil want to prove himself as a reliable father using the child you clearly cared for? His own nesting instincts also screamed that this little feline was close enough to a chick for him to obsess over. Perhaps even having Grim by his side would curb his own rut in the spring.
If he could make himself believe that he already had a child to care for, why wouldn't he get a reprieve from his own rut? Sure, the Hellcat was not his son, nor was he your son by blood, but he was close enough. It could temporarily satisfy his need for young to father the Hellcat now before he had his own clutch of eggs with you.
"Mama, I broke something... Old bird didn't look mad, but I think he's mad at me..."
"What did you break?"
"There was this pretty white bird with a lot of feathers, and I wanted a feather! I didn't mean to break it... Honest!"
You glanced at Vil to try and gauge your response off of his reaction, but he didn't seem concerned. Regardless, you knew it was likely an incredibly expensive item that would be no small hassle to replace. Odds are, you would need to have a talk with Eric about what you can do to replace the item that Grim broke.
"Did you apologize?"
"Yes... But I don't think Old Bird thought I was being truthful about being sorry."
"Okay, how about you and I go apologize and we help to find a way to fix it?"
"Okay!"
Vil followed the two of you, still a little ruffled from being interrupted when he felt like he was finally getting somewhere with you. If he stayed as he was, offering you support and company, no doubt you would warm to him eventually. You already showed such affection and care for Rook after the Drider gave respect for your wishes. He knew how to win you over, so he just needed to show you that same respect.
Easy, right?
~•§•~
Idia lay in the bed you had occupied, his face nuzzled into the pillows while he basked in the feeling. He didn't even bother to hide is obvious pining, just reveling in the feeling of being so close to you. For as much as Idia adored talking to you and following you around, he preferred this over his admittedly awkward interactions with you. You never seemed to be outwardly displeased with him or tease him for his behavior like the others. Any strange thing he did was met with a gentle tone and soft encouragement.
Still, even with all of your affectionate behavior, he was a nervous and anxious creature. He would rather lay in your unkempt bed over being forced to go anywhere. Even while you were exploring the Isle of Woe- his literal homeland- he couldn't work up the courage to walk with you. Idia was a spectator from a long line of spectators, the simple idea of interacting in a social capacity with anyone, even his own family, unsettled him.
"Young Idia, I am uncertain if this behavior is healthy for you."
Idia cringed and curled up as small as he could when he heard his ancestor speak. Hades had always been very understanding of the curiosity and attention avoidant behaviors of Idia, but that didn't mean that Idia felt any better being caught literally sniffing and snuggling your sheets. If anything, he felt he had the right to be a little freaky when it came to being around you.
"She's gonna choose me in the end. Even if she chooses Malleus too, I'm still in the running. It isn't weird if she is already as good as mine."
Hades sighed gently, sitting at the edge of the bed as he looked down at his little descendant. Could he really burst Idia's bubble and betray your confidence? Hades knew you only added Idia to your roster because Idia could potentially be unstable if he was not chosen. He himself had suggested as much when you first asked him for his feedback.
If you left Twisted Wonderland, you would effectively be leaving Idia as well.
Hades knew the pain of losing Humanity, and he didn't think Idia would fare well losing you. If anything, Idia would likely die from his withdrawals or fall to blot. Though Shinigami were very resistant to blot, that didn't mean they were immune. Idia was especially sensitive to it given he still blamed himself for Ortho's injuries. He was not mentally sound enough to withstand losing you.
Could he even ask Idia about losing you without raising the intelligent Shinigami's suspicion? Then again, would he feel right with himself for intentionally withholding information from Idia?
"..."
~•§•~
"And I'm very sorry, Old Bird!"
"... Old Bird?"
You quickly tried to step in, hearing the almost hurt tone in Eric's voice at the nickname. Grim was rarely able to remember the names of those around you, but typically his nicknames weren't viewed as offensive. Still, you could see how Eric may take offense to the name 'Old Bird'.
"I apologize, Eric, Grim doesn't remember names very well, so he gives others names he can remember. If you don't like the name he gave you, I can-"
Eric quieted you with a dismissive wave of his hand as he shook his head. The visibly expensive peacock statue in question was left in a heap at the Harpy's feet, clearly smashed beyond repair. Lucky for you that you had so much money at your disposal thanks to the ever annoying representatives. You could at least pay for what Grim broke.
"Think nothing of it. I was simply... Unaware of his propensity to naming others. Don't worry about paying for the statue, there are others available. It is your first time in Maquillaville, you should spend the day exploring and seeing the sights. I am aware that you will need security for this, and I am happy to contact my own security team to ensure you are safe. Sgt. Tibbs and the Colonel are both quite trusted and have been thoroughly vetted by myself. I would happily place your safety in their capable hands."
Crowley ruffled at this, hopping forward with his feathers ruffled as he squawked angrily. Crowley took your wellbeing personally and insisted on being part of every decision made, even if you should ultimately have the final say. As Crowley began kicking up a fuss, you relaxed with little Grim in your arms and watched the show.
Vil leaned over to whisper in your ear, clearly avoiding the attention of the two Harpies that angrily snapped at one another. Clay was an ever watchful observer, seeing the way you warmed to Vil and murmured back to him. Perhaps he would have to tail the two of you if you both slipped away. He was only employed at NRC for the sole purpose of training and protecting you, after all.
While you, Grim, and Vil sauntered off, the Sasquatch fell into step.
The pair of Harpies continued to screech, hiss, and fluff their feathers, not aware that their charges had already wandered off. Perhaps they would realize once they came to an agreement... Whenever that would be.
Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 103
Warnings; yandere, Yandere behavior, possessive yandere, temperamental yandere, platonic and romantic yandere, competing yandere, fem reader, monster AU, mention of adult situations, mention of adult scenarios, descriptive language, chains, Shinigami, Hellcats, Dragon, Harpies, Sasquatch
~~~~
You carried Grim through the buildings of this unusual city, mostly unguarded beyond the Sasquatch who quietly followed your every step. He gave you some space while you tried to keep yourself busy, waiting for Vil to text you back about whatever accommodations he was setting up for you. The Harpy insisted on having a few hours to prepare for your arrival, clearly sounding excited over the phone when you asked him if he would be willing to host you.
Now that left you with nothing to do other than explore and search for Hades. The elder Shinigami had been uncharacteristically quiet and you wanted to get to the heart of the matter. For as much as you wanted to rave at the sky and scream the unfairness of your endless plight, it would do nothing other than upset the emotionally fragile beasts that snapped at your heels. You had to be calm and collected, even when you felt like crying. The alternative may very well end in your death if you weren't careful.
Most of the buildings on the island were vacant, holding only memories of those that used to live there. Countless Humans passed through this land before you, and now their voices had been silenced. All that remained were the lonely echoed memories of a place that didn't want to be remembered.
Humanity had tried and failed to thrive in this world, ripped to pieces by beasts that couldn't help themselves. If you were forced to stay against your will, could you really consider it ethical to bring more Humans into such a world? A world that would destroy them the same way it had tried to destroy you.
As you quietly pondered to yourself, you began to notice a blue light among the dilapidated buildings. That same gentle blue the Shinigami had for hair.
Rounding the corner, you cane across a rather secluded little spot tucked away among the mostly abandoned city. A serene lake sat surrounded by various fruit bearing trees, embraced along the bank by various reeds and water flowers. Honestly, it was a beautiful little place.
Sitting alone on the far shore was the elder, his gaze on the water. His bright yellow irises were clouded over with a thousand-yard stare that almost made it seem as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. You knew he was an older male, but it never really occurred to you how old he may be or how much he has lost. He was known as the protector of Humanity and he had lost all of his Humans. Where Humans weren't pets and shouldn't be treated as such, he still lost countless of those he cared for and it almost killed him.
"Papa Hades?"
Your voice snapped the elder to attention, his gaze lifting from the water to you as you approached. There was a tired warmth in his eyes as he invited you to sit with him during his contemplative silence. Only the smallest of smiles pulled at his lips while you settled next to him.
Grim was quick to climb out of your lap and into the lap of the elder, stretching his paws out as he snuggled down. Hades took the intrusion from the little Feline in stride, petting his little forehead ever so gently. For such a large an imposing male, he seemed to have a rather gentle heart. Even when he could have forcibly taken you away from Night Raven College, he waited to let you choose what you wanted to do. He could have been an awful person to you if he wanted to be.
"Did you need something, Little One?"
"Actually... I wanted to talk to you about... About what happened."
"I'm not angry, if that is what you fear."
"No, I just... I..."
You were struggling to find the right words to speak with him, feeling like a naughty child under the gaze of the elder. For all the trouble you had experienced since falling into this world, Hades had rarely been a source of conflict for you. He cooked. He cleaned. He stood at your side against those who wished to hurt you. He did so much for your benefit and didn't ask for much of anything in return. He spoiled you.
"They asked me to not tell you about them. They have found peace in choosing where their spirits wander and didn't wish to be forced to do anything by anyone... I wanted to respect their wishes."
"I don't blame you for not being forthcoming with me, Little One. You know all beasts suffer an addiction to your kind, and I was not always forthcoming with you. Truly, I am not surprised you would trust the spirits of Humanity over me. Young Clay has remarked on it before, but you truly are a crafty little thing. You know when to grant or withhold affection to get the responses you want. You have navigated countless delicate feelings and instinctual behavior as if you have been doing so for years. There is so much you do that impresses me."
"... Papa Hades, I want to go home."
"We can send you back to Night Raven-"
"No. I want to go home. To my home. I want to see my friends. I want to see my family. I want to go home to my pets. I want to go home... But I can't."
A moment of silence passed as you looked down at your hands, feeling the lump forming in your throat while you spoke to the ancient man. You didn't often speak of your home, nor did you express your wishes to the males that obsessed over you beyond the few moments you voiced your true wishes. Not even Hades could deny the way your pained voice stabbed at his heart.
The elder knew you wanted to go to your true home. He knew you didn't see this world as your home and he certainly didn't blame you for wanting to leave. It broke his heart to keep you here when you were clearly so unhappy, but it hurt even more to think of never seeing you again. Truthfully, he had only survived this long after his Humans died because his family needed him. How could he survive losing Humanity for a second time?
"... I have already sworn to assist you if I can, but I cannot be false with you and say I want you to leave. Long have I contemplated what I would do should we find a passage back to your world. I wondered if I should go with you and spend my final days among your kind. I wondered if I could convince you to let me research your womb before you go to bring Humans back here. I wondered if I could ask the Humans where you live to return with me. I wondered if it was more ethical to just let myself die off without the comfort of Humanity. None of my options are easy ones. Still, I will help you return, if I can."
Part of you wanted to divulge everything you knew to the kind and gentle elder. A stronger side of you knew better than to reveal all you knew. No, what you had to do was pick and choose your response carefully and see how he took it.
"The spirits have been looking for a way to get me home ever since I first spoke to them. They think they have found a way- though they aren't certain- and it is close to Night Raven College."
"That is wonderful news, Little One. Where is it?"
"... In the den of the Human-turned-Bear Mor'du."
"..."
~•§•~
The chains faintly rattled while the great beast settled into his binds. Burning green eyes smoldered in the darkness of the room as shadowed scales shined in the low light. The fragmented shards of his mind tried to hold a singular image in place. It was the only comfort he could call upon in his time of isolation.
For all he had endured- every moment spent alone and longing for the company of others- there was no agony greater than the pain running in his soul at that moment. Every movement and touch only brought burning pain that stabbed into his flesh beneath his armored scales. Even the regal crown of horns atop his head felt like iron spikes driven into the sensitive and fragile brain held within. His very bones ached with a constant throb, pushing against the backs of his eyes as if they would pop out from the pressure alone.
Within his mind's eye, he kept his most beloved and cherished treasure held captive. That soft form and even softer smile soothing the burning ache in his very being. It was the only comfort the beast could find against the cruel weight of the chains that bound him.
Somewhere in the Dragon's mind, he knew that he was the one who requested such a cruelty be enacted upon himself. It was the only thing that could keep him respectful of his beloved's wishes. He knew his most precious treasure was struggling with the gradual change taking place within them, and soon his beloved would be a Dragon like him.
The simple thought of his precious jewel, his beloved treasure, as a Dragon shattered any sense of control the beast had over himself.
Outside of Blackscale Castle, anguished roars of agony shook the very foundation as lightning split the very sky in two. Each roar more agonized than the last. The very sky reflected the pain and anguish that the beloved Prince was enduring bring forced to stay away from his precious mate.
Not even the usual merriment of the Winter Celebration kicking off could break through the worry all Night Fae held in their hearts for their cherished Prince. To think they were enjoying the start of their most prolific season while their Prince had to be chained and kept away from his beloved. Just the thought of their Prince suffering had soured the mood considerably.
A long and wailing lament began from the Castle, the Dragon crying out his loneliness as he longed for the company of his mate. Low mournful calls accompanied by repeated lightning flashes became a constant background to the merry-making of the common Fae folk. Each sustained and keening vocalization echoing the lasting sorrow of the great and scaled beast.
Malleus could feel the tears before they fell, burning trails down his face as he tried again to distract himself with thoughts of you.
This time, it was a peaceful scene where he sat by your side looking over Briar Valley. Your skin looked almost ethereal in the moonlight and it felt so right to have you laying in his arms. Behind the two of you sat a large bassinet with a beautiful egg- maybe even eggs- eagerly soaking up all the love and magic you two had to offer. Your lovely horns shining in the moonlight an ever haunting gold color as he traced the flowing notes that decorated them. Not even the silvery moon could outshine that which stood so proudly on your skull.
Everything was perfect.
A sudden bolt of agony ripped through the beast, like a pressure in his hips that threatened to burst his stomach open and spill his organs onto the ground. It was enough to shatter that absent fantasy into millions of pieces, leaving the beast screaming out harshly enough that his throat burned. He pulled against the chains, slamming his large head into the stones beneath him just to try and distract himself from that pressure. Even the pain of the stones did little to let the beast ignore the suffering searing through the rest of his body.
There was nothing that could be done to soothe the Dragon. Nothing other than offering you over to him. You had personally made it clear you did not wish to satisfy any carnal cravings until you were comfortable and he had longed to respect that. Now, blinded by pain and desire, he could scantly remember that he had agreed to this and personally begged his ancestors to chain him themselves.
His roars uselessly echoing in the uncaring night all while the pain poisoned him from the inside out.
~•§•~
"Are you ready, Little One?"
"As ready as I can be."
You sighed, looking out over the mirror in front of you. Crowley had been keen to ensure you were prepared and safe to leave, even having Hades check you for the fifth time to make certain. Once cleared, he nervously hopped around you and continued his cawing. Though Clay was going with you, it didn't really sit right with Crowley. How could he call himself a good father if he blindly trusted those young men to keep their talons and claws off of you.
"Wait!"
"What's wrong?"
"I have decided I will also be going with you! I have been shirking my duties as your guardian and papa. I simply cannot allow it to continue!"
You really didn't know why the Crow was so distressed over the idea of you leaving without him, but it clearly brought him some level of comfort to be near you. Besides, Crowley was technically your third strongest guard. Hades followed by Malleus were your two strongest, but Crowley was a fair third somewhere with Lilia. Where you didn't know his full strength, you did know that he was strong enough to get the others to fall in line.
That had to count for something.
"If you want... But don't think that means you can order me around as desired."
"I understand. I will certain be making sure those misbehaved ruffians keep their hands in respectable places, however! I know my students, and I know they are all sneaky and underhanded."
Crowley was quick to join you as he sent a quick message on his phone and the mirror began to shimmer. Part of you had wanted to use public transportation instead of the magic of the mirror, but you understood how that was a bad idea. Most widely available ways to travel would mean you are exposed to more people, and more beasts are exposed to the addiction your very soul carries. It was for the greater good and your own good to limit your exposure to the masses.
Unlike the other times you have visited a separate country or Kingdom, you went first into the mirror. It was safe for you to do this because apparently the mirror was supposed to drop you off right inside Vil's very home. All the other times you had to make a public appearance before entering safety, this time you were immediately dropped of in a safe location right off the bat.
It was disorienting to go from the darkened halls only illuminated by the blue flames of the dead into the well-lit and lavish home of the famed Harpy actor. The home itself had many white and gold accents along the architecture, the furniture clearly plush and expensive. Everything you saw gave off an air of elegance that was hard to find an equal to. Perhaps the times you had seen inside Pomefiore could bring a similar impression, but even the lavish dorm was old-hat in comparison.
Standing before you- clearly having posed himself and eagerly awaiting your arrival- was Vil. He wore a beautiful and somewhat loose purple top with gold accents. His pants were black with a flared leg cut. He was not wearing shoes at that moment, instead allowing his bird-feet to be exposed. Those light blond- near white- tresses were loose around his head, but clearly freshly washed. His outfit had a casual air to it which juxtaposed the obvious effort he had put in to being presentable.
The Harpy himself stood leaning against one of those plush couches, almost leaning back as if to give the illusion of laying down casually. His hand was up to sweep his hair out of his eyes, but he was clearly dragging out the motion. Vil obviously was trying to catch your eye and entice you to his side with his casual efforts.
Standing with a bit more formality was Eric, Vil's father. Eric wore a lovely muted magenta suit, neatly groomed and clearly eagerly awaiting your arrival. He was quick to offer you his hand as you exited the mirror, allowing you to put some weight on him and steady yourself.
Unlike most trips through the mirror, you were walking on your own two legs and it was a surprisingly unsteady experience. The particulars of the magic and how it transported you such distances was lost on you, but it was still surreal. Your two "guards" entered after you, but their presence did very little to deter Vil who happily rose up to see you.
Grim was eagerly wiggling in your grasp, held up by one arm as he squeaked and let out small excited mews. For as hesitant as Vil could be wit Grim, the Hellcat did like Vil quite a bit. Eric was all too willing to take Grim from your arms into his own, letting the little feline rub against his neck feathers while you greeted Vil.
The Harpy in question was happy to wrap his arms and wings around you in greeting. His face found refuge in the crook of your neck. Every part of your scent was more than intoxicating to the Harpy who hummed and drank in that comforting ambrosia. Finally having you in his home was just one more step towards his bed as far as he was concerned, and he was eager to leave the option open to you.
While he was nuzzling your neck and cooing to you, he paused as his moisturized skin brushed against something firm at the top of your forehead near your hairline. As far as he was aware, there shouldn't be anything firm on you in that location. Naturally, he was quick to look at you for explanation to this oddity he encountered. You were typically forthcoming and rarely tried to lead him astray. Certainly you would know what this odd addition to your form was.
"Peahen?"
"It has to do with what transpired during the visit from the representatives. I'll tell you everything in detail later, though. For now, care to show me around your home?"
"Happily."
Vil was quick to offer you his arm, leading you deeper into the home. Where Crowley was eager to follow you, it was Clay who stopped the well-meaning Corvid from crashing this little tour. The Sasquatch felt he could trust Vil after the painful lesson that Overblot potion taught him, so he saw no point in hovering around the two of you. All four males- Eric, Crowley, Clay, and Grim- watched you walk out of sight with Vil, eager to discuss accommodations as this had been a rather impromptu visit.
While they discussed the logistics, you were safe in the protection of the ever proud Harpy. This distance would hopefully give you time to explain to Vil the change that was infesting you and changing you. Perhaps he would have some insight to what plagued you. Then again, perhaps the Harpy was just looking for the same attention you had blessed Rook with.
A faint warmth burned in your core at the memory- more insistent than any of your other idle thoughts had been- but you did you best to push it away. Perhaps it was those Dragon instincts of yours calling for attention or satisfaction. Regardless of which it was, all you could do was hope these beasts had some level of self control.
Following up on the “but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction” I feel like it’s important to add that I’d rather read something subpar than read some ai slop. I want to read something you wrote because you love it, because you enjoyed writing it, because it made you kick your feet. I don’t want to read some bullshit written by a learning model that you fed a prompt to. AI has no place in writing. Zero. None. And if you use it you’re a talentless scrub.
t141 are used to simon muttering about his missus. to be honest johnny and kyle thought he was insane, because there is no way in hell lieutenant simon 'ghost' riley has a wife. especially one that he describes to be so soft and sweet.
when they pry and ask about you, he happily tells details, but will never disclose your name or show them a photo. he just has to keep you alllll to himself. naturally kyle and johnny don't believe him.
then simon starts arriving on base with lunches. real good lunches. johnny watches in envy as simon will lift his mask over his mouth and open his little (big) box, juicy steak covered in a real nice sauce.
"y'must be an awful good cook sir" johnny mutters, entranced in the smell of good food.
"told ya my missus makes it for me" simon would grunt. he silently pockets the small notes you would leave him.
i miss u <3
or
im proud of u <3
or
want u to fuck me real good tonight ;)
he would pocket the latter to jerk off to in his office later.
one day simon forgets his lunch. and being the everso caring and worrying wife, you rush down to the base to bring it to him.
when a pretty thing such as yourself arrives on base, the recruits can't keep their eyes off you. especially johnny who approaches awful confident.
"you lost lass?" he can't help his eyes drifting to your pretty tits spilling over your top.
"no" you bat your pretty lashes at him, "my husband left his lunch at home, i thought i could give it to him!"
johnny nearly fell to his knees in agony when you said husband. sighing he said, "aye then, do you know his rank or platoon number?"
you hum trying to recall. "i think task 141, his name is simon riley." you quickly reconfirm, "oh wait everyone here calls him ghost"
johnny stops dead in his tracks.
"you're LT's wife?"
you look up at him with a pretty smile and nod proudly. johnny had to hold back a groan, god you were beautiful.
and you were real.
you follow behind johnny while he leads you to simon and when you reach his office, johnny knocks once.
"come in" is grunted out slightly harshly
any hostility is quickly wiped off simon's face when he sees his pretty little wife standing next to his sergeant.
"hi si! you forgot your lunch" and you almost gallop over to simon in excitement holding out his lunchbox for him.
fuck. when is it johnny's turn :(
"you're excused soap" simon grunts, "although i'll get you to escort her back off base so stick around."
thats how johnny ends up sitting outside simon's office getting having to listen to the clattering of items on simon's desk as well as your sweet moans and whimpers while simon thanks you for making his lunch.
he can't stop staring at you when you stumble out on shaking legs with messed up hair and smudged lipgloss.
he has got to tell kyle that not only are you real, but you're fucking ethereal.
"Aye then. am not one for poetry. But couldnae leave ye sorry bastards without a bit of me tae go 'round.."
There's a bit of wet laughter from the group. Even Ghost lets himself smile.
"Right." Soap's voice crackles through the speaker. Slurred, as far as Ghost can tell, already through part of whatever bottle he's using. "All got our drinks then? Good. Good."
Ghost's thumb slides over the rim of his glass. They've all got these messages recorded. Some shrink made them do it. At the time, Ghost thought they were some nounced attempt at getting them to accept the far from zero chance of their death.
At the time.
"First, a drink tae ye all! Cannae believe yer all here for this. Glad as ah am."
The lads raise their glasses with a cheer. Ghost pulls his balaclava up above his nose and takes a swig. He didn't think he'd come to this. He's not exactly sure how he got here. Somewhere between packing Johnny's room with Kyle and the other men finally coming back with the various drinks Soap had requested before they listened.
"Second. Tae the Captain." They all take a glance at Price, who manages a pursed but genuine smile. "How he got our stubborn, angry arses to work together is somethin only the good Lord knows."
They raise their glasses toward Price. Drink. This one burns going down Ghost's throat. He knows it's not Price's fault—would never out right blame him anyway—doesn't mean that little creature in his chest doesn't feel it.
"Third, tae home. Miss her dearly. Cannae imagine any place better than her, even the places after death."
This raise is quieter. Still, they drink.
Soap's voice pauses. The room is silent enough they can hear Soap set his glass down and take a long breath. The sound of air leaving his lungs, as real as it was months ago...
"Now that we're all far from right and proper." He says finally, drawing another chuckle from the group, "I don't have much—just..."
There's another pause, and the sound of paper being unfolded and smoothed.
"Thank ye all. Lang may yer lums reek, and may ye never want for warmth nor good company." He inhales slowly. "I love ye."
There's another pause. A soft huff of breath. Then the recorder clicks off.
Ghost stares at his glass.
I love ye. Said to the room. Said to all of them. He knows what a man's supposed to feel about that. About only getting it like this. Already gone before he ever had the chance to—
He doesn't feel it. The ugly thing. He waits and it doesn't come. Just the voice. Just that last breath before the click. Just Ghost, sitting here deciding that some part of it was his and not feeling a single way wrong about it.
It's his. And he'll tuck it away next to that little creature in his chest.
Like, imagine trying to move on with your life after your divorce and Simon just… won’t let you. Your car doesn’t start? That’s odd, even odder when he happens to be driving by as you’re standing stranded on the side of the road. That guy you went on a few dates with? Ghosts you. You find out later he moved faaaar away too, like he couldn’t get far enough away from you. If your kid has a game, Simon is right there on the sideline, a shadow at your back. Afterwards, he suggests getting ice cream, and you can’t bring yourself to deprive your son of this time with his dad. So you have to sit there, on a wooden bench, as your kid excitedly recaps the game and Simon dutifully nods along, commenting and offering praise here and there. It’s infuriating because where was this a year ago, when you were begging for more effort? Where was this time and attention when you were practically raising your son alone? Nowhere. He was always gone, and you were always left to pick up the pieces.
He knows you’re frustrated too, though you’re not doing much to hide it. It’s boiling over as he buckles your son into his seat and leans down to your window, small smile tugging his mouth to the side.
“Alright?”
“No.” You snap. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission or something?” He shakes his head.
“I’ll be around,” he tells you casually, and your mouth drops open in shock. His hand darts into the car so fast you can’t track it, and then his thumb is pressing, hard, into your bottom lip. “Got a new mission now, closer to home.”
pls i’m begging PLEASSSEEEEEE more butcher simon x mother reader
Continuation to this little thing with Butcher!Simon and Single mom!Reader
Thinking about Butcher Simon slowly encroaching in your life, chipping away at the wall piece by piece, till he can fit his big head through the whole and take a good look around.
Simon likes how careful you are, how you don't let go of your boy no matter what, how even around someone as, now, familiar as Simon you are mindful to keep an eye on your lad.
Can't be too careful in a big city when you've got no one to look out for you, no one to soften the blow if it comes to knock the wind out of you.
You mention in passing that the father is not in the picture, only he gets a feeling that the dad was left in the other frame that you squeezed yourself out of the first chance you got, running.
Took your boy with you, took his things and his stuffed toy and his favourite book.
Took only a backpack of your own things.
Simon saw them, when he got into your apartment while you were out.
A couple sweaters, jeans, one good pair of boots and a coat.
He toys with the idea of rummaging through your underwear drawer, but it wouldn't be fair.
You don't have much right now, you are in no position to splurge for more than necessary even for your kid.
Not to mention new underwear.
(He’ll just have to buy you some on his own then. Something nice and comfortable, that he can later bury his nose in and take deep controlled breaths.)
You are a good mom, he thinks, stomach tightening hot and slow, when he lies on your bed for a couple minutes, nose in your pillow. Swallowing your scent, sleep-soft and a little salty with the hint of your sweat.
You must taste delicious, Simon noses at your pillow, hand snaking down to unbuckle his belt. He's been popping up here and there all over the narrow road of your life to offer some extra meat, a helping hand or a kind word. He knows the importance of making himself a safe unchanging fixture in your life.
You don't need no surprises, you need someone dependable. Someone you can rely on and someone who's not going to strain you any further.
Someone you can trust, Simon thinks, scarred palm wrapping around his cock when he presses his face into your pillow. It's hard to breath like that, air hot and cotton stuffing his mouth when he pants into it, stroking himself, calloused finger rubbing the underside of his head, till his hips twitch.
Till he's even hungrier, rocking his hips in the hand, cool air of your bedroom nipping at the hot sensitive skin of his. Your pillow smells like you and Ghost burrows his face in it, so he doesn't breath much, so his head goes light and empty - your careful glances up at his face imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.
You are so good, he murmurs, slurred and wet, drool filling his mouth, gums itching for him to sink his teeth in. Such a good mum, gonna be good to me too, yeah? Gonna let me take care of you in turn, luv?
Orgasm shudders through him, spills into the tight fist of his hand so it doesn't marr your duvet covers. He didn't bring you anything proper this time, can't go getting too greedy now.
Simon heaves into your pillow, wet spot of his drool forming and fucking hell, he'll need to do something about it before leaving.
You don't have to know that he was there, not yet. Not until he got an actual invitation in your home, marking another goalpost reached.
He tilts his head at you next time you walk into his shop, bundled up in your coat, eyes shiny with glee at the first snow and something in his chest warms up, like a faulty heater that finally got a proper kick to start working.
Maybe it was worth getting sent to early retirement and work right back where he started 15 years ago.
You smile at Simon for the first time since he met you, shoulders no longer as tight and the corners of his lips twitch. Pretty.
Wonder if you are gonna smile at him too when he's got his mouth on your-
"What can I get you today, luv?" He cuts his train of thought before it can reach the station, because the counter is high enough but there is no need to pop a boner out in the open. Can't afford to spook you before the teeth of the steel trap called 'Ghost' close above your head.
"The usual, please." You respond, no longer that scared exhausted thing from the first day in his shop, nowadays you have more and more smalltalk with your favourite butcher. "The weather's chilly today, but God, the snow's absolutely lovely."
He's got to be your favourite, Simon thinks, weighing the meat and like always throws in a little something in addition, no way you are going to any shop other than his.
Not like any other dimwit can feed you as good as he does.
"That it is." He just hums in response and glances at your son staring him up. "You take care of yer mum, lad?" Simon asks, eyes flickering to the way your smile widen's when your 3-year old nods immediately.
"He does." You respond instead of your son and the affection in your voice is so thick that Ghost in him tugs the air in, aching to stretch out in your direction and curl around like a big beast that he was. "Don't know what I'd do without him."
Your boy always sticks close to you, watching strangers with curious eyes, his hair disheveled when in the warmth of the shop you take his knitted hat off, tucking it under your arm so he doesn't sweat too much while you two wait.
"Think the feeling's mutual." Simon says, without planning too, but you giggle, short happy sound and something in his brain sparks to life.
So that's how you sound when you laugh.
"I sure hope so." You grin at him, eyes crinkling and Simon doesn't know what to do with the traitorous heat in his face when he passes you the meat, grazing your fingers as you take the bag.
How stupid is that?
Simon would like to hear you laugh at things he says for the rest of his empty life.
He watches you leave, eyes following you and your boy walking down the street - his hand in yours as he starts chatting your ear off about something immediately. A chatterbox when he's around his mum, huh?
You are warm in the best way possible, when you look at him and hold the elevator whenever you spot him in the entrance to your apartment building, eyes crinkling again. Like he's a friend.
Ghost in him itches to crack your locks and sink into the dark space behind your bedroom door so he can watch you sleep.
So he can stay there in close proximity to the light that you emanate, to the family that you have with that little boy, to the prospect of belonging someplace warm and soft.
Could maybe give you another baby, he thinks idly in the evenings, staring at the orange light of his oven, You’d look real good with another baby. There is beef inside, slowly baking until he knows it’s gonna be soft and tender enough for you to swallow without chewing.
Something else to sustain you, to fill out the hollowed out edges and bring some shine to your eyes.
Being mum is hard, Simon reasons, palms clasped together in his lap. His kitchen is small and dark, only light of his oven softening the shadows around him.
And you ain't taking any of his money, even if he offered, he knows that you won't.
But you'll take food.
Can't say no to a good bite and if there's something that Simon knows — it's meat.
He didn't cook much since he joined military, didn’t have the time nor the will, if he was being honest.
But nowadays he's gained a lot in free time and available space in his head that needs to get stuffed with something other than an occasional urge to sharped the knives again and get out in the dark to split someone's skin under his knuckles.
More of a habit, really, his bones aren't used to not getting strained and cracked every once in a while. It's been a minute since he's got an adrenaline crash and he'd like to say that he hates it.
He used to.
And then you walked in, nervous and tired, your boy on your hip - head tucked against your shoulder.
Being retired wasn't that bad after it, eh, mate? Ghost hums in the still quiet of his flat, deft fingers wrapping the cooked meal in tinfoil and packing it up for tomorrow.
Maybe he could talk you into eating with him if you go all shy on him all of a sudden, his mind continues the chain of thought, weaving a picture for him to press his face into. The almost of it stratching over his skin like saran wrap, tight around the misaligned bridge of his nose, pressing insistently over his cheekbones.
You probably ain't letting him handfeed you, but a bloke can dream, right?
For now he could settle for just watching you eat something he made. Cutting into bite-sized pieces for your boy if he'll be with you tomorrow.
Good thing Simon so used to being painfully patient, swallowing down every urge and every want, choking down the impulse to rush in and make a mess of a perfectly good timeline of this relationship.
Hell, was he even ten years younger, he would have probably already squeezed himself in your doors, inviting himself over to your dinner.
Would have taken all of the space and then some, would have molded his whole body against every corner of your life, smothering even the flicker of resistance.
Ghost would have moved in with you while you were sleeping, knowing that you aren't going to outright tell him to leave.
Ghost would have bitten off the entire hand if you gave him a single finger and then he would go for the throat, sinking his teeth in to rip at the carotid.
But Simon isn't Ghost anymore.
And Simon doesn't want to smother your flame. He'd like to warm himself up on it and for that you need to let him closer. For that, he'd need to be patient for you.
He sucks his teeth, inspecting the packed dish. Makes sure nothing's going to leak.
Gotta make a good first impression with this small offering, right? So when he comes back with more you wouldn't have the itch to pretend you've got to run.
He sighs heavily, eyeing the clock the next day, restless urge within him growing when you don't come at your usual 4 o'clock. Should've been here by now, he knows how long it takes you to get from your job to daycare to him and then home.
Simon walked the route a couple times, following you and your son, just to time it for himself. A little self assurance, can't be too prepared in matters of war and love.
When the bell above his entrance door sways, alerting him, Ghost in him is scratching slow and annoyed to go see what's wrong and what caused the deviation in usual routine when usually there isn't any.
"The usual, luv?" He calls out, walking out of the backroom, wipes his hands off on the towel before he turns to you (knows better than to come in with his hands bloody and shoulders tense). "You'r a bit later today." Simon points out, glancing at the spot you usually occupy by his cash register.
You aren't smiling at him, is the first thing that pops into his head before he assesses the situation and wordlessly opens the latch to herd you behind the counter.
Sits you down on a stool, murmuring 'come on, luv' so you'd let him help you out of the coat. Maybe the roast will come in handy after all.
Just not the way he hoped for.
You are quiet and glassy-eyed, your eyelids swollen and hands trembling when you let Simon tuck you behind the counter and silently accept the fork that he passes you.
"This is delicious, Simon." You say after another few minutes of chewing, fat tears welling in your eyes when you look at him and it's not his roast, Ghost thinks. He ain't that good at cooking to make you actually shed a tear because of it.
"Somethin' happened?" He just asks, looking you in the eyes and you look back down at the plastic tupperware he brought out for you. The meat is in fact good.
Really really good.
Your first meal of the day, you remember distantly and sniffle, taking another bite.
It isn't right to burden Simon with your problems, not when he has already been good to you since you walked into his shop. But you just...you just want to tell someone before you might have to run again.
You don't look at him when you do, words spilling about the man you have left behind, about the way money was never enough, about the yelling and the smashed dishes.
About him throwing the dish at you.
You've dodged it, you joke, fingers tight around the fork and Simon sits there, quiet, his eyes a physical weight on your nose.
But your boy was crying and then you noticed that he's got glass in his hair, you share after a moment, throat tight. You had to spend an evening just picking out all the shards to make sure he's not going to cut himself on it.
"Had to go after that." You murmur, swallowing another wave of tear and Simon nods. "We left before he came back and I just...small country, I suppose. He wants to meet up and says that its his son too, that I can't keep him from his child and-" You suck the breath in, lightheaded and ice cold with terror, voice cracking in half.
Simon makes a quiet affirming sound, his wide palm landing on your back and you blink through the tears, trying not to sob again when he slowly pulls you a little closer, giving you a hug.
It will be embarassing later how you just sob into his sweater, chest gurgling with tears and panic, arms wrapped around the big butcher who has been so nice to you and it's not fair, it's so unfair that you have to leave everything again.
"D'you want to see the bloke again?" Simon asks, tone calm as he hunches his shoulders to let you cry into him as much as you need to. "And do you want your boy to see 'im again, luv?" He adds, palm stroking your shivering back.
When you shake your head, hiccuping, Ghost nods and presses a small kiss to your hair, not tightening his hold on you because this is not what you need right now.
What you need is for the problem to go away.
"Where'd you leave the lad, luv?" Ghost murmurs, voice coarse and low when you finally look up at him and explain that you left your son with a friend from work because she lives nearby. That you didn't want to take any chances if you run into your ex outside.
If he maybe waits for you back at your flat.
"I feel so fuckin' daft." You mumble, suddenly angry at yourself and Ghost huffs out air, kisses your cheek then, eyes calm and dark.
"You'r not daft, luv. Go to your friend, okay? I finish in 'bout an hour. I'll walk you two home. Check for any...surprises." He doesn't offer, but state, wrapping up the rest of the roast for you.
Ghost kisses your other cheek as goodbye, knowing that you are too out of it to process everything right now. And that's okay.
You've got Simon, don't you?
And Simon's got a couple mates that still go all dark behind the eyes at the offer of doing some work in their spare time. Something a bit off the books for their lieutenant.
The phone gets picked up on the second ring, cheery voice on the other end familiar like his own right hand.
"Didn't pack yer bags yet, did you, Johnny?" Ghost in him humms, phone pressed between the shoulder and his ear. "Got a bit of a rush job for you 'nd Garrick."
Soap on the other end laughs like the mean bastard he is, promising to wake up Kyle and be there in ten, all too happy that their trip to Manchester isn't going to be boring after all.
"We goin' for a ride, l.t.?" Johnny asks like he knows the answer and Simon thinks for a moment.
"No rides." Ghost says, dragging his apron off. "Got an hour to get it done. I've got dinner plans."
Simon doesn't know much about how good families work, doesn't always know what's the right thing to say, but Ghost in knows what to do when there is someone breathing his sweetheart's air and dimming her shine.
"Tell Garrick he's on clean up tonight." He says and sergeant grumbles in the back of the phone call, audibly sleepy.
After all, Kyle did tell him a couple years back that he always wanted to see if anyone other than Ghost could get out after getting buried alive.
Hear me out on single mother Reader x obsessed+in love at first sight butcher Simon
You don't know him, you think, not really.
You've seen him a couple times behind the counter - large man in an apron, blond hair buzzed too short to his skull, surgical mask on his face and in the cool air of the butchery, it almost feels like you are the meat on his counter.
Stupid thought, really, probably because you haven't been resting much lately and maybe, because running from your child's father across the country is draining you of energy, money and hours of sleep.
'What can I get you?' He asks, voice vibrating through the space between the two of you invisible strings getting stroked because you have to crane your neck to look up at him, because his eyes don't blink at you as he stares, because you don't know how to ask for what you want and what do you even need-
You shake your head, stepping to the side, pretending you are still looking at the display, letting the impatient man behind you step forward so that the line can finally get moving and butcher's head tilts to the side.
Not even surprised, for some reason.
Your pride and joy sleeps on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your neck - little boy with your eyes and your nose, his hair tickling your nose when you turn your head to breathe him in, trying to calm down.
His gp has already told you that he needs to eat more meat, but apple never falls far away from the tree - a picky eater has another picky eater, because your chid positively despises red meat, refuses any duck or lamb, spits out ground meat, whining about texture and doesn't take to fish kindly either.
And money's tight this month, you chew on your lower lip, fingers wooden with anxiety coarsing through your body like electrical current.
Buzzes in your arms, already aching because your 3-year old is a growing boy, and maybe you aren't getting stronger to hold him up for hours like before when he was an infant and you could pretend you can still carry him under your heart. Keeping him safe.
"What can I get you, luv?" The low voice slithers through your stupor, so you'd look up from the display and see that the large man from before is bracing his arms on the counter, leaning forward. "Been starin' for a while. What's the plan for dinner?" He asks, and you don't know how to push down the animal's urge to back off from him immediately.
The butcher's eyes are dark and round, almost soft when his gazse is anything but.
'Cow's eyes', you think, swallowing a smile because you don't need no trouble and don't want to smile at another man to give him some bloody reason to get closer. 'If cow was a butcher, that is.'
"I'm not...sure." You say quietly, keeping your voice low and he hums, apparently not planning to pull back. "He uh...doesn't like meat much. But I need him to eat a little of it, something...just- just don't know what to try." Your lower lip wobbles and fuck, this is humiliating. But the month have been so rough and so long and you are so so tired.
"Okay." The man nods slowly, tilting his head to the right shoulder, eyes the bottomless well that you cannot get out of, thick stone of it muffling any screams. "Lad eat anythin' from meat or nothin' at all?" He clarifies, keeping his voice quiet and gratitude blooms in your chest for this small consideration.
"Uh, yeah, he..." you nod quickly, wiping tears on your shoulder hastily. "Likes chicken nuggets sometimes. In the shape of dinosaurs." You explain and the man makes a sound only adjacent to chuckle.
"Got decent chicken fillet this mornin'. Fresh." He proposes, nodding at the neatly arranged pale pink of chicken on your left. "Can coat breadcrumbs and bake 'em in the oven till golden. Should taste like nuggets."
It is so simple, so bloody easy but you have no energy to feel embarassed that you did not think of it yourself.
"I'll take two." You swallow the small shudder, because you cannot allow it while your boy's asleep. Can't risk waking him up.
"Four quid." The man nods, starting to move immediately, picking out the meat to wrap up for you and you fumble for your wallet, trying to get it out of the pocket without needing to set your child down.
The butcher huffs out air, but when you glance up at him, he is looking down on the meat he is packing for you. The only give away of his mood - eyes crinkled in the corners.
Is he smiling?
"Here you go, luv." He takes the money from you and passes you the wrapped up meat. "Let me know how it goes with the chicken." The butcher adds, not requesting but telling and you nod automatically, too glad to get it over with.
He is weird, you think. Weird, but he was nice and that's much more than you were getting in the last couple months.
Only back at your apartment when you get dinner ready, you realise something. The butcher didn't pack you two fillets. He packed four.
When you step into his shop few days later, your toddler, holding onto the bag of groceries you have in hand. "Helpin', mum" as he said to you, determined to do just that.
The bell dings above your head and the butcher emerges out of the backroom, his whole massive frame moving too quietly for someone of his size.
When he sees you and your boy, something changes in his eyes, almost eager. Anticipatory of something, when he gives you a short nod and circles the counter, leaning on it again, this time by the register, so he can see you proper.
So there is no glass between you two.
You open your mouth to greet him, only to pause realising that you don't know his name. Bloody hell, you didn't even ask it last time.
"Simon." He chimes in helpfully, eyes crinkling when you quickly nod. He is definitely smiling.
"Thank you for the last time, Simon." You smile, wide and relieved, reaching for your wallet. "But you've given us more accidentally. How much do I owe you for the extra two fillets we got last time?"
He makes a low humming sound, something satisfied passing through his eyes when he turns his head from side to side, slowly shaking it.
"Not accidental. On the house, luv." He says, glancing down at your toddler, tilting his head to the other shoulder when your son just stares up at him back. "Y'like the chicken?" Simon asks, casual and curious, not moving any closer but your baby quickly nods. Stands on his tippy toes to reach for the counter.
Breathes out 'thank u', a little shy in the face of a new person met and when you glance at Simon, his heavy shoulders sag down, dark eyes warm in a way you didn't expect.
"No problem." He says back to your son and glances back at you. "Same today, luv?"
"Uh...yeah, yeah, please." You snap out of your daze quickly and he nods, pushing himself up, suddenly towering over you. "Seems like we hit out jackpot with oven-baked chicken."
Fuck, you did not realise he will be even bigger up close.
"Breast's better today." Simon announces casually, not even looking up at you as he packs it for you just as quickly as the last time. "Same price as last time."
You are pretty sure that it should not be the same, but the big butcher sends you one glance and you promtly shut your jaws closed.
You will still be paying for the meat, so maybe it's okay if he wants to be kind to someone.
"Thank you, Simon." You tilt your head, mirroring his usual gesture without even realising when you take chicken from him. "Love, tell Simon 'bye-bye', we are leaving." You glance down at your child, currently watching Simon with rapt attention, clearly not planning to leave.
Simon huffs out 'g'bye', very obviously amused and says that he will see you later.
You don't question it. Not until you run into him in the grocery store. Then at the bakery.
Simon tilts his big head to the shoulder every time, large and tall, thick thighs wrapped in jeans that should be bursting at the seams by the looks of it.
Simon huffs 'hey, lad' at your son and breathes out 'mornin', love.", purrs 'evenin', luv' and practically savours the surprise on your face when you run into him in your apartment building when he tilts his head at you in the elevator and hold it so you can get in.
Smiles behind his surgical mask when you glance up at him and your throat bobs.
Not good for you and your kid to be all on your own. He could fix it for you, you know.
Simon nods goodbyes to you, says 'see you soon' instead of simple 'bye' and has the pleasure to watch the jump of your pulse at the base of your neck, breathing hitching.
Yeah, perhaps he should. Simon checked, there is no one with you and the laddie you haul on your hip everywhere.
You could use a hand and won't you look at that, Simon had two.
Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt like a normal person, instead asks “How much d’you weigh?”
Shadow falling over you, broad enough to swallow the reflection in the mirror behind the machine you were just using at the gym. You look up and find Ghost standing there in a black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest, mask in place even here, eyes flat and unreadable above the fabric. One gloved hand resting on the frame of your machine.
The question lands blunt, no lead up, no softening. Like he’s asking for the time or the weather. Your mouth goes dry. He’s too close, too big, the sheer width of him making the space between you feel airless.
You could tell him to fuck off. Should. But the words stick somewhere behind your teeth, and what comes out instead is a mumbled number, barely loud enough to carry, your eyes dropping to the seam where the mat meets the floor.
He doesn’t react at first. Just tilts his head a fraction, that slow, assessing cock of it Then, low and rough through the mask: “Lighter than I’m used to.”
Confusion flickers across your face but he’s already moving, already loading the bar next to you with plates that match the number you gave him exactly, no hesitation, no adjustment. The barbell settles across the padded support with a dull clank.
You should look away. You don’t.
He lies back on the bench, plants his feet wide, and rolls the bar into place across the jut of his hips. One smooth motion and he drives up, hips snapping high, the loaded bar rising clean with the power of it, his body locking into a straight line from shoulders to knees. The muscles in his thighs flex hard under the fabric of his shorts. Up, hold, lower. Up again. The bar doesn’t even tremble under the weight.
It takes a beat for the meaning to sink in. Heat crawls up your neck, tightens in your chest, but it doesn’t stop there. It drops lower, coils hot and insistent right behind your navel and settles between your legs with a heavy, liquid pulse, cunt clenching around nothing. The reaction is immediate and traitorous, slick gathering hot and fast, soaking into the seam of your leggings, clit throbbing in time with every snap of his hips.
Oh.
(Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt but somehow it works every time.)
pairing: older!monster trio x younger!afab!reader
content: what was meant to be a relaxing surprise day trip for the monster trio turned into some interesting thoughts
cw: smut, breeding kink activated, multiple orgasms, marathon sex, huge dick luffy (he does it on purpose), dirty talk,
wc: 4.2k
in the same verse:
╰┈➤40s!older!straw hat crew x younger!afab!reader drabbles • older!sanji • older!zoro • older!luffy • older!law coming soon
18+ MDNI | 18+ MDNI | 18+ MDNI | 18+ MDNI | 18+ MDNI | 18+ MDNI
The island hadn’t changed much since they’d last visited. The salty breeze still rolled in from the cliffs, the fields were still dotted with wildflowers. Children’s laughter still carried farther than the waves ever could.
From the top of the hill, the three pirates paused. Below them, in the middle of an open field, you were entirely oblivious to their arrival.
A little boy was hanging upside down from your shoulders as though you were a tree branch. Two girls had woven flower crowns and were arguing over whose looked prettier on your head, while another child tugged relentlessly on your sleeve, desperate for your attention.
You gave every single one of them your attention, giving them words or touch of comfort until you can pay attention to them.
You crouched to tie one child’s untied shoe without being asked, wiping a young girls face free of tears when she tripped. When the youngest struggled to keep up with the older children, you scooped him into your arms without breaking your conversation.
It looked… natural.
Luffy smiled first. “She’s gotten popular.”
Sanji’s lips curled upward before he could stop them. “They adore her.”
“They always do,” Zoro answered quietly.
None of them moved, not seeing any reason to interrupt, watching you laugh felt strangely peaceful.
An older woman carrying a woven basket wandered up the hill, pausing when she noticed the three unfamiliar men standing so still. She followed their line of sight.
“Oh,” she chuckled knowingly. “It’s nice to see you guys again.”
Sanji straightened politely. “Hello Granny, how are you?”
“You know these old bones ache, but feeling better seeing your handsome faces!” The woman smiled fondly. “I know a few other people that’ll be happy to see you.”
She gestured toward the field below. “Whenever she’s free, she’s here.”
As if to prove her point, another child darted across the grass and collided into your side. You laughed, steadying them before immediately joining whatever game they’d invented.
The older woman’s expression softened. “She’ll make a wonderful mother someday, wouldn’t she?”
The words settled over the three men like sunlight, none of them replying.
Not because they disagreed. But because, without warning, their minds betrayed them.
Sanji saw it first. It wasn’t the field anymore, instead a warm kitchen washed in early morning light.
The windows were open, letting in the scent of the sea while breakfast simmered on the stove.
You stood at the counter, still in one of his oversized shirts, quietly laughing as tiny hands reached insistently for the bowl of strawberries you’d just finished cutting.
“No, sweetheart,” you teased gently. “Those are for everyone.”
“But Mama…” The tiny voice was impossibly familiar, a little girl.
Blond curls that refused to stay brushed no matter how carefully he fixed them. Your smile, his eyes and eyebrows.
She’s pouting at you with all the dramatic devastation she’d undoubtedly inherited from him before immediately climbing into your lap instead.
Sanji can imagine himself crossing the kitchen with two cups of coffee, one prepped just the way you like. One little hand immediately reached for him instead.
“Daddy!” She practically launched herself into his arms.
He laughed, and not the practiced laugh he gave customers. Something softer, something quieter.
He kissed the top of her head before looking over at you, smiling at him in that way you always did, warm and content, as if this was simply home.
“…Sanji?”
Luffy’s voice snapped him back, making him blink as the field returned, the sight of you chasing children through the grass reminding him that this is the present, regardless of how badly he feels now.
His cigarette had burned almost to the filter, so he quietly extinguished it. He turns to the right and sees Zoro, also lost in his own thoughts.
Zoro hated how easily the image came. He wasn’t someone who daydreamed; rather, he just slept, yet somehow there you were, sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, reading aloud from a weathered book.
A little boy rested against your side, already half asleep despite insisting he wasn’t tired. Green hair paired with your nose, his tiny wooden practice sword lay forgotten beside him.
“Again,” the little boy mumbled sleepily.
You laugh, running a comforting hand through his hair. “You’ve heard this story three times today.”
“One more.”
You looked over at Zoro with that familiar smile. “He gets that from someone.”
The swordsman chuckles as he approaches the two of you. “I wonder who.”
He pretended not to hear you, causing you to laugh. A breeze stirred through the trees as the boy yawned before absentmindedly reaching toward him.
“Dad.” Such a simple word, and he says it like it's no big deal. The child didn’t even open his eyes when Zoro lifted him into his arms.
Complete trust and certainty that he’d never let him fall. Zoro adjusted the sleeping weight against his shoulder, then looked at you.
You reached over to brush a stray lock of hair away from the little boy’s forehead before your fingers lingered against Zoro’s arm.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward; it never needed words. It simply was.
“Oi.” Luffy’s elbow nudged him, making Zoro blink hard as the sleeping child disappeared, and only the field remained.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” His answer came a little too quickly.
Luffy didn’t realize he’d stopped smiling. The image shifted almost effortlessly into a sunny afternoon aboard the Thousand Sunny, the sound of tiny footsteps racing across the deck.
“Mama! Mama! Look!”
A little boy with messy black hair sprinted toward you carrying a beetle nearly the size of his face.
You gasped dramatically, dropping to your knees to make yourself the same height as him, “No way! That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!”
“I found it! Are you proud of me?"
“Of course I am! You did so well! It landed on my face, but I still caught it fast!” The little boy puffed out his chest proudly, his smile beaming and familiar.
Luffy laughed at the image you two had created, making you snap your head up to look at him. Your lips pull into a mischievous smile before you whisper towards your son. “You should show your dad, you know, he's kind of an expert on these things.”
The child spun around, eyes squinting shut as he saw the figure there. “Dad!!”
Small feet pounded across the deck before crashing straight into Luffy’s legs. He caught the little boy automatically, lifting him high into the air.
The laughter sounded like yours. Like his, like both of you at once in this beautiful little package, shoving a beetle in his face. You wandered over, slipping effortlessly beneath Luffy's free arm, chuckling slightly when he sees the smile still on your face.
“You encouraged this.” He whispers into your ear, laughing broadly when you give him an unrepentant grin.
“I definitely did.”
“You know we’re going to have bugs in our room.” He teases you, eyes softening as they take you in, looking beautiful and relaxed by his side.
“We already do.” You rolled your eyes, “I married a menace. Then gave birth to another."
“You love me, love us.”
“I do.” The words came so easily, so naturally, like they’d always belonged there.
Luffy’s chest tightened as he was brought out of the moment when he heard your shriek of joy when you lie down in the field, the children swarming around you, and the beautiful melody of laughter the group of you makes.
Luffy's chest tightened, not knowing when he wanted that, when that changed.
"Zoro, Sanji?" he asks, never taking his eyes off of you. He adjusts his hat just so he can get a better view of you. "Have you guys ever thought about having kids?"
Neither answered immediately, because they had just now and in almost painful detail.
"Yeah," Sanji admitted first.
Zoro rubbed the back of his neck. "More than I expected, if I'm honest."
Luffy laughed softly, "Yeah, I think she'd be really good at it."
The trio looked toward you again. You had gathered all the children into a circle now, animatedly telling some ridiculous story that had every single one of them hanging on your every word.
"Yeah, she would," Sanji murmured.
No one noticed the small smile tugging at Zoro's mouth. "Yeah."
Before the silence could stretch any further—
"Luffy!" A little boy had spotted them, then another, and another. Within seconds, the peaceful field erupted into delighted shrieks.
"They're here!"
"The pirates are back!"
Children flooded toward the hill like an unstoppable wave. Luffy barely had time to laugh before three of them slammed into him at once.
Sanji was immediately surrounded by questions about sweets and recipes, while Zoro sighed as two boys wrapped themselves around his legs, and a tiny girl proudly held up a daisy crown she'd apparently made specifically for him.
From where you stood, you couldn't help smiling. Watching these big tough men disappear beneath a mountain of children, watching how naturally they laughed with them.
How gentle they became and how easily they lowered themselves to tiny eye level.
The older woman who had spoken to them earlier wandered over beside you, folding her arms with quiet satisfaction. "They're good men."
You smiled, "They are."
She glanced between you and the three pirates before giving you an amused little nudge with her elbow.
"They'll make wonderful fathers someday."Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops as you turn to look at her in shock before looking back at them.
You looked back toward them: Luffy had a child balanced on each shoulder while Sanji was carefully bandaging a scraped knee as though it were the most important task in the world.
Zoro was pretending to be annoyed while allowing three little girls to braid flowers into his hair, and your smile softened.
"Yeah."
You hadn't realized all three of them heard you, still trying to get used to the enhanced skills that they've had finely tuned from all their days younger, filled with adventure. And none of them could stop imagining what that future might look like—with you standing at the center of it.
So was it really any surprise that later that day found you receiving the best fucking of your life. At least, so far.
“Fuck—you’re mine,” he growls, voice scraped raw, each word punctuated by a deep, deliberate thrust that steals your breath. His hips roll against yours, slow and possessive, like he’s memorizing the way you take him, the way your body clenches around him like it never wants to let go.
Your thighs tremble, locking around his waist, pulling him deeper, and when you tighten around him, his breath hitches, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “So goddamn perfect—look at you, taking every inch like you were made for me.”
His pace slows, but the intensity doesn’t. Each thrust is a promise, a slow drag that makes your back arch, your nails raking down his spine. His fingers twist in your hair, tilting your head back so he can watch your face as he fills you.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with need but laced with something softer—worship. “Just like that. Let me feel you.” His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb pressing against your clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and you whimper, your body coiling tight around him.
“Sanji,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “Please—please—I want it. I want you.” Your nails dig into his shoulders, your hips lifting to meet his, desperate for more.
He groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You want me to fill you up, sweetheart? Want me to give you everything?”
“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling. “Give me a baby. Give me ours.”
His thrusts stutter, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep, his body shuddering against yours. He stills, his cock pulsing inside you, and you can feel every throb, every hot spill of him. His breath is ragged, his lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your jaw, like he can’t decide where to kiss you first. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for trusting me with this. With you.”
Your hands cradle his face, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. “You’re going to be the best dad,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “The kind who stays up all night with a sick kid, who builds forts out of blankets, who kisses scraped knees and tells the best bedtime stories.”
His eyes glisten, and you lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss, tasting the salt of his sweat, the warmth of his breath. His hands slide down to your hips, holding you close, like he never wants to let go.
“Alright, it’s my turn.” The words rumble from Zoro’s chest, rough and deliberate, pulling your gaze past Sanji’s shoulder. There he stands, muscles coiled tight beneath inked skin, the faint sheen of sweat catching the dim light as his calloused fingers wrap around his cock, already flushed dark with need. His green eye burn into you, half-lidded but sharp, like a predator savoring the moment before the strike.
Sanji exhales against your lips, a sound caught between a sigh and a growl, before pressing one last slow kiss to your mouth. His hands slide beneath you, lifting your hips just enough that the warm spill of him doesn’t escape as he withdraws, his cock glistening in the air between you. He shifts to the side with the easy grace of a man who knows his body, and yours, too well, making room for the swordsman to step into the space he’s left.
Zoro doesn’t waste time, dragging his tip through the mess Sanji’s left behind, gathering slickness with a wet sound that makes your thighs tremble. He groans, low and guttural, as he presses forward, his grip on your waist unyielding, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above your hipbones. The stretch is different from Sanji’s—thicker, harder, the angle sharper as he sinks deeper, his breath hitching when he bottoms out.
The mattress dips beside you, and then Sanji is there, propped on one elbow, his free hand tracing idle patterns along your collarbone, your ribs, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight, a counterpoint to the relentless rhythm Zoro’s already setting, his hips snapping forward with the precision of a man who knows exactly how to unravel you.
“There we go,” Zoro purrs, voice rough with satisfaction. “Taking me just like that.”
A flush creeps up your neck, embarrassment and pleasure tangling as you bite your lip. Both men chuckle, the sound dark and knowing, and Sanji’s fingers hook under your wrists, gently prying your hands away from your face.
“Don’t hide,” Zoro murmurs, leaning down until his breath ghosts over your lips. His forearms bracket your head, careful enough to allow both you and Sanji a look at the other.
The weight of Zoro pressing you into the mattress, the heat of his skin searing through you. “I wanna see those pretty eyes roll back when I give you my brat.”
The words send a jolt through you, your cunt clenching around him without permission. Zoro’s smirk is all teeth as he feels it, his hips stuttering for just a second before he regains control. “Oh, you like that?” His voice drops to a growl, his next thrust deeper, harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed. “Like hearing how I’m gonna fuck my kids into you? A little piece of me to keep when I’m gone?”
His pace quickens, each snap of his hips driving the air from your lungs. He shifts, angling himself so every thrust grinds against your clit, and you can’t help the broken sounds spilling from your lips. Over his shoulder, his gaze flicks to Sanji, whose breath hitches at his next words, his cock twitching against his thigh.
“Or maybe,” Zoro continues, voice rough with exertion, “a little blonde girl with your smile and my stubborn streak. Swirly eyebrows like his.” He jerks his chin toward Sanji, whose face flushes a deep red, his hips rocking forward involuntarily at the image. Zoro’s grin turns feral. “Yeah, you like that idea, don’t you?”
Your body betrays you, clamping down around him as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Zoro’s groan is a raw, animal sound as he fucks you through it, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Fuck—just like that—milk me dry, sweetheart.” His hips stutter, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt, warmth flooding you as he comes with a shuddering groan, his forehead pressing against yours.
The air hung thick with the mingled scents of sweat, musk, and something sweet, clinging to the sheets like a memory. The quiet between the three of you had been a living thing, warm and heavy, until Luffy’s voice shattered it like glass. His words were rough but tender, cutting through the haze of exhaustion with the ease of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
“Time for you guys to take a break. We have all weekend to get our family started. Let me have some alone time with our girl, okay?”
You lifted your head, your body still humming from the attention of the other two, and there he stood in the doorway; Luffy, broad and golden, his shirt discarded somewhere along the way. His pants rode low on his hips, the waistband barely clinging to the sharp V of muscle that pointed downward like an arrow. The late afternoon light spilled through the window, painting his skin in strokes of amber and shadow, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat that made him glow.
Zoro and Sanji didn’t protest. They never did when Luffy made his desires known. Instead, they pressed their final kisses into your skin—Zoro’s lips lingering on your collarbone, Sanji’s fingers tracing lazy patterns along your thigh—before they slipped out, leaving the door ajar just enough to let in a sliver of the hallway’s dim light. The room settled into a new kind of quiet, one that buzzed with anticipation.
Then Luffy was moving toward you, his steps unhurried, his gaze dark and hungry. He didn’t bother with words as he undid the last buttons of his pants, letting them slide down his legs with a whisper of fabric. His cock sprang free, already hard and glistening, a bead of precum trembling at the tip like a promise. The sight of him sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.
He climbed onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress as he leaned over you. Your legs parted without thought, your arms reaching for him, pulling him closer until his weight pressed you into the sheets. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and the rough callouses on his hands sent sparks skittering up your spine as he traced the curve of your hip.
“Have you been having a good time?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “They’ve been treating you well?”
You smiled, your fingers tangling in his hair, the strands coarse and wild between your fingers. “You know they have,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “They’d never hurt me. You’re all incredible.” A pause, then a teasing lilt crept into your tone. “But do you know what I could use?”
Luffy’s grin was slow, lazy, like a cat who’d just spotted a particularly fat mouse. “Oh, yeah?” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips; light, almost chaste, but the heat behind it was anything but. “What’s that?”
You hummed against his mouth, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes locked, the air between you charged with something electric. “Could use you,” you whispered. “You haven’t been here. Don’t you wanna gimme a kid? Start our family?”
The spark in his eyes was immediate, bright as a struck match. His grin turned feral. “Oh, is that it?” He chuckled, low and dark, before grabbing your right foot and yanking you toward him with a strength that made you gasp. The laugh that bubbled out of you was breathless, delighted, as he settled between your thighs like he belonged there.
Luffy didn’t tease or draw it out. He lined himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you, slick and insistent. Then he pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he stretched you open. The groan that tore from his throat was raw, guttural, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years.
“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice thick with something like amusement. “Seems like I’ve been gone for too long. You’ve forgotten me.” His eyes were wide, almost innocent, as he watched himself disappear inside you. “Even after all the fun Zoro and Sanji had with you before I came in.”
You arched into him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Shouldn’t’ve left me for so long,” you managed, your voice breathy. “That’s what I’m hearing.”
Luffy’s pout was almost comical, but the heat in his gaze was anything but. “It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “Once you’re pregnant, we’ll never leave you alone. Promise.” He bottomed out inside you, grinding deep, giving you a moment to adjust before pulling back just enough to thrust again. The rhythm was slow at first, deliberate, like he was savoring the way your body clung to him.
Your lips found his, the kiss messy and desperate, tongues tangling as if you could devour each other whole. The world outside the room ceased to exist. There was only this, only him, only the way he filled you so completely it bordered on pain.
Then the door creaked, two shadows hovering just outside the doorframe, intensely watching.
Neither of you noticed. Not when Luffy’s hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that made your breath hitch. Not when his voice dropped to a growl, his words hot against your ear. “Ready to start our family?”
“Fuck,” you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, grounding yourself as he picked up speed. The bed groaned beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat.
Luffy’s hands slid under your thighs, hiking your legs up around his arms as he repositioned you, angling himself so that every thrust sent his cock slamming against your cervix. The stretch was exquisite, the kind of pain that blurred into pleasure until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
“Gonna take you away from this island,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “Take you to the sea with me. So you and the kids get to see how incredible and large the world is. And I get to show the world the greatest treasure only me and my crew could retrieve.”
You could only whimper in response, your body trembling as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. Luffy’s words were filthy, desperate, his voice taking on a husky edge as his pace became frantic.
“And you’re gonna help my crew grow, aren’t ya? Gonna give us old people a bunch of fucking kids. Make us a big, large, happy family. Give my son a bunch of brothers and sisters, right?”
“Fuck, Lu—yes,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Wanna give you a family. Grow our family. Fill me up and lemme give you a kid. Wanna see little Luffys and Sanjis and Zoros and—” Your words dissolved into a moan as he slammed into you harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
Luffy growled, his grip on your thighs tightening as he hiked your legs higher, changing the angle so that every thrust sent him deeper, harder. His breath was ragged against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as he fought for control.
“Fuck, thank you so much,” he groaned. “Gonna cum in deep. Keep it all in, promise?” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his left hand coming up to brush away the stray tears that had escaped down your temples. His grin was soft, almost tender, when your gaze locked onto his.
“Don’t worry. Worked myself up good while you were busy with them. Kept denying my orgasm so you have a big load just for you.”
With that, he snapped his hips forward, his rhythm turning erratic as he chased his release. His cock swelled inside you, stretching you even further, and then he was coming with a guttural groan, his hips jerking forward with each pulse of his orgasm. The heat of him filled you, thick and endless, like he was determined to leave no part of you untouched.
As the aftershocks rippled through you both, Luffy collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips finding the sensitive skin there as he peppered you with soft, lazy kisses. Your fingers traced idle patterns along his back, the two of you lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
Then came the knock.
Sanji’s voice cut through the haze, amused and warm. “Guys, we have some last-minute guests here.”
The door creaked open, just enough to reveal Sanji’s silhouette, his blue eyes dark with satisfaction as they raked over the two of you. Your flushed skin, the way Luffy’s cum was already dripping down your thighs, the tangled sheets beneath you. A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips, paired with the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. “Seems like some of the crew didn’t wanna miss this.”
a/n: teehee, meant to post this last weekend, but better late than never!
i received a request for older!law, and immediately jumped on that so be expecting that soon! as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i love you very much, here’s a kiss from me to you 😘
buy me a coffee | dc masterlist | anime masterlist
WARNINGS dark/ yandere kirishima, smut, noncon, oral (m+f), fingering, praise, kidnapping, manhandling. reader is called girl, but no pronouns are used.
MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.
unedited brain hairball about the exquisite horror that is telepathy
being a mindreader in the apartment next to an s.a.s. soldier is absolutely horrifying.
it's peaceful when he's deployed, you can just keep yourself to the west side of your place to avoid all the stressed out thoughts of the single mum in the other neighboring flat. when he's gone you can sleep peacefully, with the only thoughts in your mind being your own.
but when he's home? god fucking help you, even sleeping on the couch at the far east side of your flat doesn't save you from his big, loud, violent memories. you can't sleep when he's home, can't concentrate, can't do anything but go for long walks or drives, hoping to get some space between you and the ever-present montage of death and violence that keeps pushing it's way into your mind.
you've never seen the man whose thoughts and memories invade your mind, just his hands and arms as he loads weapons and sharpens knives in his memory. you might've passed him a dozen times in the halls and not known it was him, too engrossed in the reels of violence and brutality playing in your mind. at a certain point, you decide you need to see him, to put a face to these thoughts, if only so you can arrange to go for a very long walk or take a vacation when you see him.
it's mid-morning when you're awoken from a deep sleep by the stolen images of death playing like an unwanted movie in your mind. you watch as a man with a bomb strapped to his chest begs for his life, begs to see his daughters again, tries to bargain his way out of death- only for a different man to shove him over some railing, sending him careening to his violent demise. it sends you into a near panic attack, breathing shallow, heart racing, palms sweating.
seems like your neighbor is home again. time to put your plan into action and put a face to these thoughts that keep bullying their way into your brain.
so you start making pancakes, whisking everything together until it's time to go next door. in slippered feet, with a robe tied tight around your waist and your hair still in a bonnet, you trudge next door and knock. surely he'll just be a normal guy with a lot of terrible lived experiences, surely he's nice enough and just has a traumatic job- you're pretty sure he's a soldier, considering the content of his thoughts and ruminations and the number of times strange faces in them have addressed him as 'sergeant'.
the memories of collapsing buildings skids to a halt as your knuckles rap on the door, replaced by a curiosity as you hear footsteps approaching. the door cracks open, chain still engaged, as an undeniably pretty man looks out at you with big brown eyes.
in your experience, it's always the pretty ones with the worst minds, and your neighbor is certainly no exception to that.
"hi, uh, i'm sorry to bother you. i'm your neighbor, uh, number 304, and i was wondering if i could borrow an egg? i was in the middle of making pancakes and didn't realize i was out." you ask nervously, watching the confusion on his handsome face smooth out into curiosity.
his thoughts shift gears, and instead of playing memories it switches over to imagination- and you find yourself instantly regretting your choice.
images of you, naked and tied to his bed leave you breathless and wide-eyed in shock as your neighbor slightly closes the door, unlatching the chain to let you in. he introduces himself- kyle garrick, but his friends call him gaz- but you can barely hear it over the sound of your own pulse in your ears as he imagines himself fucking you roughly with a hand wrapped around your throat, kissing the tears on your cheek as you cry on his cock.
it's hard to keep your hands from shaking as he ushers you inside, and it takes all of your strength to keep your smile plastered on your face and engage in small talk as he starts a mental pro/con list regarding whether it's better to seduce or outright abduct you and take you to his mate's secluded property way out in scotland. you manage to get your egg, maintain a polite back and forth, and make a plan to move far, far away as you 'listen' in on him mentally debating whether or not to let you leave his flat.
[he doesn't keep you this time, but it's a near fucking thing according to the silent self-chastisement coming through your wall, interspersed with snippets of a violent imaginary porno, featuring the two of you. fortunately, you have a girlfriend who mentioned vacancies in her building, and you're able to cut your lease and move over the span of just a few days while kyle's back out on deployment. for a few months you think you're safe, think you're in the clear- but your stomach lurches and heart sinks when all-too-familiar fantasies of you bound and gagged and under kyle's hands resurface as a van with tinted windows drives slowly down the street past your building...]
unedited brain hairball about the exquisite horror that is telepathy
being a mindreader in the apartment next to an s.a.s. soldier is absolutely horrifying.
it's peaceful when he's deployed, you can just keep yourself to the west side of your place to avoid all the stressed out thoughts of the single mum in the other neighboring flat. when he's gone you can sleep peacefully, with the only thoughts in your mind being your own.
but when he's home? god fucking help you, even sleeping on the couch at the far east side of your flat doesn't save you from his big, loud, violent memories. you can't sleep when he's home, can't concentrate, can't do anything but go for long walks or drives, hoping to get some space between you and the ever-present montage of death and violence that keeps pushing it's way into your mind.
you've never seen the man whose thoughts and memories invade your mind, just his hands and arms as he loads weapons and sharpens knives in his memory. you might've passed him a dozen times in the halls and not known it was him, too engrossed in the reels of violence and brutality playing in your mind. at a certain point, you decide you need to see him, to put a face to these thoughts, if only so you can arrange to go for a very long walk or take a vacation when you see him.
it's mid-morning when you're awoken from a deep sleep by the stolen images of death playing like an unwanted movie in your mind. you watch as a man with a bomb strapped to his chest begs for his life, begs to see his daughters again, tries to bargain his way out of death- only for a different man to shove him over some railing, sending him careening to his violent demise. it sends you into a near panic attack, breathing shallow, heart racing, palms sweating.
seems like your neighbor is home again. time to put your plan into action and put a face to these thoughts that keep bullying their way into your brain.
so you start making pancakes, whisking everything together until it's time to go next door. in slippered feet, with a robe tied tight around your waist and your hair still in a bonnet, you trudge next door and knock. surely he'll just be a normal guy with a lot of terrible lived experiences, surely he's nice enough and just has a traumatic job- you're pretty sure he's a soldier, considering the content of his thoughts and ruminations and the number of times strange faces in them have addressed him as 'sergeant'.
the memories of collapsing buildings skids to a halt as your knuckles rap on the door, replaced by a curiosity as you hear footsteps approaching. the door cracks open, chain still engaged, as an undeniably pretty man looks out at you with big brown eyes.
in your experience, it's always the pretty ones with the worst minds, and your neighbor is certainly no exception to that.
"hi, uh, i'm sorry to bother you. i'm your neighbor, uh, number 304, and i was wondering if i could borrow an egg? i was in the middle of making pancakes and didn't realize i was out." you ask nervously, watching the confusion on his handsome face smooth out into curiosity.
his thoughts shift gears, and instead of playing memories it switches over to imagination- and you find yourself instantly regretting your choice.
images of you, naked and tied to his bed leave you breathless and wide-eyed in shock as your neighbor slightly closes the door, unlatching the chain to let you in. he introduces himself- kyle garrick, but his friends call him gaz- but you can barely hear it over the sound of your own pulse in your ears as he imagines himself fucking you roughly with a hand wrapped around your throat, kissing the tears on your cheek as you cry on his cock.
it's hard to keep your hands from shaking as he ushers you inside, and it takes all of your strength to keep your smile plastered on your face and engage in small talk as he starts a mental pro/con list regarding whether it's better to seduce or outright abduct you and take you to his mate's secluded property way out in scotland. you manage to get your egg, maintain a polite back and forth, and make a plan to move far, far away as you 'listen' in on him mentally debating whether or not to let you leave his flat.
[he doesn't keep you this time, but it's a near fucking thing according to the silent self-chastisement coming through your wall, interspersed with snippets of a violent imaginary porno, featuring the two of you. fortunately, you have a girlfriend who mentioned vacancies in her building, and you're able to cut your lease and move over the span of just a few days while kyle's back out on deployment. for a few months you think you're safe, think you're in the clear- but your stomach lurches and heart sinks when all-too-familiar fantasies of you bound and gagged and under kyle's hands resurface as a van with tinted windows drives slowly down the street past your building...]
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