the rise of conservatism and gen z puritanism while still simultaneously trying to be hip and woke is so annoying because you have these people saying "match my freak" and then they get mad at ageplay and petplay and cnc and somno and anything raunchier than a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. you're not a "freak" if you think having a fetish is synonymous with being evil
Sometimes you see a post of someone saying dark fiction should be banned and then another person will respond to that saying "No, there's nothing wrong with dark fiction, as long as the bad things are portrayed as bad", and the thing is... I also don't agree with that.
I think what people don't realize when they say stuff like that is that those are literal Hay's Code guidelines. "Yes you can portray the bad thing, as long as it's explicitly said to be bad, and done by bad people, and all the bad people are punished for it".
Saying "dark themes can be portrayed, but only if they're portrayed as bad" is not advocating in favor of art, it's more advocating in favor of propaganda. The main purpose of art is not to be didactic, or to teach good morals or a guideline to tell people how to live their lives.
So yeah, characters can have shitty harmful opinions and never learn or be corrected in the narrative, villains might never be punished for their actions, the evil toxic romance might be portrayed as sexy, and no one will turn to the camera to tell you how the bad thing is bad and you shouldn't do it in real life.
Because just as we say that porn is fiction and not sex-ed, fiction in general shouldn't be taken as educational material and it should not need to be that, it's not its job. We are not gullible little kids, and I don't want to be treated like one. I'm old enough to know not to replicate something just because I saw it in a cartoon, let's tone down with the infantilization and paternalism please.
It’s unhinged to assume that someone’s taste in fiction equates to what they believe is moral or good, or is something they want to see or experience in real life.
That is a bonkers assumption to make.
I’m tired of humoring people with long arguments about it when the simple fact is it is a totally fucking absurd reach to accuse someone who enjoys something in fiction of being in favor of it in real life.
I’m tired of pretending like this is a legitimate position to hold– that they should be afraid of fiction’s dire influence on a reader’s moral decay or that it’s a sign of what the author secretly wants for realsies in real life.
Having a huge appetite for food was one thing, but since you and Beelzebub had began dating his love for eating had also came to include you. The number of times he would peer at you from the corner of his eye, mouth tilting up in a small grin before he tugged you to his lap. His hand trailing gently up your leg as he reached the juncture of your thighs, mouthing your neck with small bites before spreading you open for him. To make things complicated, it would be at the most random and inconvenient times like during study hall, at meal times or in the middle of the night.
The one time he had you pressed against the door in an empty classroom, his orange hair peeking from under your skirt as he ate you out. Lips sucking on your clit as his long fingers dipped in and out of your body, your own hands grasping for purchase on the door behind you. Your face flushing red when Lucifer stopped right outside the door and reprimanded his little brother for being late to their meeting, you were sure you could hear a grin in his voice but could do nothing as he increased his ministrations and played your body until your back arched, screams muffled behind your hand as you came.
At this moment, Beelzebub had you spread in his bed as he tongue fucked your hole, hands holding your thighs open as he groaned and grunted into your sensitive folds. You had already cum twice, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and breath in small gasps. Your pussy felt puffy and used, nipples erect from his hands coming up to pinch and massage them. Your own hands were tied to the bed, silk ropes securing them to the bedposts as he laid you out like a buffet. The cups of your bra pulled down, hair sticking to your forehead and back arched as he pulled another orgasm from you. Small sobs and hiccups as he moaned against your clit, licking and swallowing the wetness that gushed from you.
"Beel, I can't please... it's too much."
Iridescent eyes looked up at you, tongue lapping at the wetness around his mouth. His hair was disheveled from your hands before being tied up, a faint blush around his chest. His hand coming up to wipe his mouth as he grinned at you.
"But I'm not full yet, you wouldn't want me to be hungry would you, princess?"
ASMODEUS x afab!Reader
7.4k Words | NSFW | Smut with Feelings | Angst with a Happy Ending | First Time
Summary: You were bullied by another student at RAD. Asmodeus hasn't been the same since.
Content Warnings: Mentions of: anger, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive thoughts/behaviour, arguing and threats of violence, blood, brief bullying/harassment, bathing together, vaginal fingering, PIV sex. Reader uses gn!pronouns.
➤➤ Obey Me! Masterlist
The tub in Asmodeus’s private bathroom is more like a pool than any bathtub you ever used prior to coming to the Devildom. It’s as enchanting and mysterious as the demon himself. You’re not even sure how he fills it - it must have some magical charm that keeps it full. The fresh petals he adds to the water never seem to wilt or lose their scent.
You’re sitting with Asmo near the edge of the pool. You skim your fingers along the surface of the crystal-clear water and it ripples gently at your touch. Asmo sits behind you on the marble step and supports your weight while you lean against him. He hums gently into your ear while he runs his fingertips through the ends of your hair. His chest is warm against your back. He’s naked from the waist up, but he left his boxer briefs on - for your comfort more than his.
Normally you wouldn’t let Asmo see you like this - naked, vulnerable - in the bath or out of it. But earlier when he said he wanted to take care of you, his eyes burning with an intensity that left you speechless, he swept you away to his private bathroom. You were both still reeling from what happened earlier that afternoon, and you realized you wanted his comfort as badly as he wanted yours.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day at RAD: classes with the demon brothers, a student council meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos, perhaps breaking up a fight or two depending how well they got along today. You were sorting through paperwork near the front of the room while the demons bickered in their seats on the dais behind you.
What you didn’t expect was Solomon bursting through the doors, grinning when Thirteen followed him inside. He ducked behind you while he asked for her to be reasonable and you knew things were going to end badly. She screeched at him as she pulled some sort of black, metallic orb from her bag and tossed it with all her might.
The trap missed Solomon but it hit your arm instead before it dropped to the floor. It beeped menacingly at your feet and you felt the twinge of pain shoot through your arm when you raised your hands to cover your face. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever was about to happen.
Thirteen ran over and disarmed the orb before it did whatever else it was supposed to do. She apologized to you but glared venomously at Solomon who was still hovering behind you. He rolled his eyes and tsked, completely unbothered by her fury when she continued threatening him for trying to break into her cave again.
Asmo came to your side before any of his brothers could and shouted at Thirteen and Solomon for involving you with their squabble and putting you in harm’s way. Lucifer followed him and reprimanded Thirteen for her irresponsible behaviour, and he blamed both her and Solomon for disrupting the meeting.
While Thirteen was being lectured by a very grumpy-looking Lucifer, Solomon turned to you with a sheepish smile and apologized for involving you in their little disagreement. You shrugged your shoulders to brush off his apology - it could’ve been worse, after all - but his eyes narrowed when you winced in pain.
“Are you alright? Here, let me take a look—“ he offered as he reached for the lapels of your blazer.
Asmo nudged you back, pushing Solomon’s hand away and effectively shielding you from him. “I think you’ve done enough,” he gritted out angrily. His expression would’ve scared anyone that didn’t know him better - he looked terrifying, and even Solomon must’ve thought so because he raised his hands placatingly and stepped back.
“Come on, let’s go home,” you suggested quietly, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. Your arm throbbed and the room felt uncomfortably tense as tempers flared; you didn’t want to be there anymore.
He looked at you over his shoulder and the fire in his gaze softened. He put his hand over yours and squeezed, turning from Solomon without another word and guided you towards the exit. He paused outside in the hallway long enough to murmur a quick healing spell to lessen the pain in your arm.
The walk home was quiet and uneventful, a blur of typical Devildom nighttime noise but the demon at your side had a scowl on his face that had others on the street giving you a wide berth. It wasn’t typical for the Asmo you know. He draped an arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked into his side but you could feel the tension in his body when you walked together.
When you arrived home, you started to walk towards your room for a shower and a nap, but he held onto your hand and seemed reluctant to let you go. No matter what you said, you couldn’t convince him you were fine; maybe he knew you were lying to yourself.
Let me take care of you.
When you agree to use his private bath, you don't expect that it’s going to be both of you bathing together. You’re too tired to argue - and you’re genuinely worried about him too - so you finally relent and start to strip away the layers of your school uniform.
Asmo is visibly displeased when you ask him to dim the lights in a moment of self-consciousness. He reminds you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, but he does as you ask because he wants you to be comfortable.
While you undress, he gathers fluffy towels from a cabinet and sets them on the edge of the bathing pool. He grabs an empty basket and picks out bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He even picks up a small bottle of fragrant oil and adds a couple drops to the water, satisfied when the steam from the warm water starts to diffuse the light floral scent.
By the time you’re naked, he is standing in the tub, his underwear still on - you felt guilty that the silky material was probably being ruined by the water. He doesn’t seem to care about that or anything else except you. When you approach the pool hesitantly, a small smile graces his lips for the first time since the incident at school and he holds out his hand to you. When you place your hand in his, he keeps you steady while you step into the pool and wade through the water towards him.
You want to sink below the surface of the water or shield your body from him with your hands, both desperate attempts to hide as much bare skin from him as you can. He senses your nervousness because he pulls you into a gentle hug that feels warm and soothing.
When you finally start to relax, he pulls away and reaches for the basket of toiletries floating nearby. You dunk your head into the water to wet your hair while he grabs the bottle of shampoo. He rubs his hands together and massages the suds onto your scalp. He hums quietly and your body sways gently in the water. Your eyes slip closed at the pleasant sensation of his fingertips working through your hair, rubbing at the back of your neck and melting away the tension between your shoulders. He does the same with the conditioner next; he seems to enjoy the sensation of your soft hair between his fingers while he pampers you.
You recognize the scent of the hair products and realize he’s using his own. His taste in cosmetics is luxurious and expensive, more than what you would ever dream to spend on yourself. You feel spoiled, like you’re someone precious. You’re distracted by how relaxed you feel, and you realize too late that he’s pouring body wash into his palm and sudsing it up between his hands.
He reaches for your left arm first, lacing your fingers together with one hand while he smooths the fragrant bubbles over your skin with the other. He does the same with your right arm, pausing before he accidentally touches the purple bruise forming where Thirteen’s trap struck you. He stares at the mark, barely brushing his fingers across it like he’s afraid of hurting you even more.
You squeeze his fingers to pull him out of the worried trance he’s fallen into. “It looks worse than it feels,” you say quietly. You try to reassure him but he doesn’t look like he believes you. He bends his head and brushes his lips over the mark before he continues with his task.
He washes your back, kneading the skin gently with his hands as he moves them across your body. He doesn’t stray below your waist, and he only washes the delicate column of your throat and shoulders before turning around to give you privacy. He gathers his basket and sets it on the edge of the pool while you quickly wash your chest.
You rinse the soapy layer off your skin by the time he turns around and pulls you into another hug. The water was a bit tepid now and it’s covered with a thin layer of film from the bath products he used.
“We should probably get out soon,” you murmur, resting against his bare chest.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says and he holds you a bit tighter. “No one is going to bother you tonight.”
You run your fingertips across the water’s surface. “But the water’s getting cool and it’s soapy.” It’s one of the reasons why you normally don’t like taking baths and prefer to shower.
But Asmo holds his hand above the water and starts whispering an incantation you don’t recognize. His hand glows and the water around you ripples gently before it settles. You nearly gasp at the odd sensation of the water instantly warming up again. The bubbly residue from his bath products is gone too.
“Well, that’s a neat trick,” you say with a quiet laugh. He watches your delighted reaction with a smile.
Asmo walks back towards the edge of the pool and pulls you with him. He hops back onto the marble step and scoots backwards. He spreads his legs and pats the space between them where he makes room for you. After a moment of deliberation, you follow him and settle against his chest. His thighs are bracketing your hips and one of his arms is crossed over your front.
He smooths your hair back and brushes it out of the way, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh. He nuzzles your shoulder with his cheek. When you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you realize his eyes are closed.
“How do you feel?” you ask him in a near-whisper.
He turns his head towards you, humming in contemplation. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. “I should be asking you that,” he replies. He’s dodging your question.
You turn to face him properly - or as much as he allows with his arm still wrapped around you. “You were very upset with Solomon earlier,” you remind him. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”
Asmo’s eyes are open and they flash at the mention of the sorcerer’s name. “Did I frighten you?”
You shake your head because it wasn’t fear you felt in that moment. “No, I wasn’t scared of you. I was worried.”
Asmo rests his forehead against your shoulder and sighs. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is when–“ he starts to say, then he makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "I don't like it when someone else hurts you.”
Asmo is protective of you the way all the other demon brothers are, so his answer doesn’t surprise you. But you’ve known for a while now that something between you has changed, like there’s some gap neither of you are able to cross. Most of the time he seems like himself - carefree, happy, excited by all the wonderful things in the world that he loves. When he’s not himself, his eyes are cold and his tone is sharp.
Sometimes you forget that Asmo’s capable of rage or violence as much as his brothers are, even though he tries not to show you that side of him. The anger in his eyes earlier when he faced off against Solomon in your defense was very real. You’re surprised he didn’t shift into his demon form; perhaps he would have if you hadn’t gotten him out of there in time.
“Does this have to do with what happened a few months ago?” you ask hesitantly.
His body freezes for a split second but it’s enough for you to notice. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly.
“We never did talk about that, did we?” he sighs. He sounds nervous, uncertain - you know he’s trying to avoid having this conversation with you, but you don’t know why.
“No, but maybe we should. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’m worried about you - and not just today. You’ve been…” you gesture vaguely with your hand, “…different lately. After what happened.”
The water is still warm but it feels like you’ve both overstayed your welcome. Asmo relaxes his hold on you and leans over to grab a towel for himself. He stands and quickly dries himself off. The boxer briefs he wears leave little to the imagination when the water-soaked fabric sticks to his skin. Your cheeks burn when you turn away quickly to give him privacy, and you hear him chuckle under his breath.
He sets the towel over his shoulder and grabs a second one for you. He holds it open in front of him and you stand quickly, stepping out of the pool and letting him wrap you in the towel like a blanket.
He tips your face up with a finger under your chin and looks into your eyes. He leans closer and his eyes dart to your lips for the briefest moment. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he shakes his head and gestures for you to follow him to his room.
You dry yourself off quickly while he steps into the privacy of his walk-in closet. Your RAD uniform is in a crumpled pile somewhere and you wait for him to return, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself so you don’t get cold.
Asmo steps out of his closet wearing a bathrobe that’s tied loosely at his waist. You catch brief glimpses of his bare thighs when he walks towards you; it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. He hands you a spare bathrobe to put on as well, and he collects the discarded towels and tosses them in the laundry hamper while you shrug the robe onto your shoulders.
Asmo lays on his bed above the covers, sinking into the pile of ornamental pillows against his headboard. He raises his arm invitingly and you settle on the bed beside him, tucking yourself under his arm and letting your head rest against his shoulder. One of your hands is on his chest and he covers it with his own.
He peppers the top of your head with a few brief, barely-there kisses then sighs warily. He’s delayed this conversation long enough. “What would you like to ask first?”
You think back to nearly three months ago when a loud slam woke you up in the middle of the night. A yell echoed down the hall from your room and it prompted you to get out of bed quietly and tiptoe outside. What if someone was hurt? you worried at the time. The sound of hushed, frantic voices led you to the front hallway.
“Asmo?” you whisper, staring at the demon you barely recognized. Blood was splattered across his arms and face, his clothes stained and torn. He was speaking to Lucifer, but his eyes met yours for a moment before he looked away again. You took a hesitant step towards him, but Mammon appeared out of nowhere, blocking Asmo from view and gently pushing you back towards your room.
“You can talk to him tomorrow,” he said quietly, glancing at his brothers over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”
“What happened that night when I saw you in the foyer?” you ask.
“Diavolo finally agreed with Lucifer’s recommendation that the demon bothering you should be expelled from RAD.” Asmo hides his smirk in your hair. “Lucifer decided his punishment deserved a personal touch, so he sent me on behalf of the student council to make sure he went back to the corner of hell he came from. He might’ve been a little worse for wear, but in one piece.” Mostly one piece, anyway.
“Why did Lucifer ask you to do it?” you wonder, looking at him curiously. A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you push up so you can look at him properly. “Does that have to do with the fight you two had?” You weren’t sure what happened, but in the days leading up to that night, Lucifer and Asmo barely seemed to get along; they ignored each other at mealtimes and exchanged icy glares when they were forced to speak about official school business.
Asmo smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course it does,” he says. “You tried to hide it from us, but I knew that demon was harassing you. I was worried about you but Lucifer insisted on following protocol. I found his lack of urgency frustrating.”
“I think we need to reconsider allowing the new student to study at RAD,” Asmo said from his seat in Lucifer’s office, his voice quiet and serious.
Lucifer sighed warily. It wasn’t the first time Asmo spoke to him of his concerns regarding the new demon on campus but his accusations were vague and unsubstantiated. “I already told you that my hands are tied unless he does something actionable.” When Asmo opened his mouth to argue, Lucifer added quickly, “something actionable with proof.”
But something in Asmo’s tense expression made Lucifer hesitate. “What’s wrong?”
Asmo shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. That demon is dangerous.” He doesn’t say that he’s terrified something bad might happen, that he might not be there in time to save you if it does.
Lucifer leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. “I believe you, but Diavolo needs some sort of evidence to justify expulsion if we want to to avoid any political repercussions. Your intuition simply isn't enough.”
Asmo stood from the chair with a frown and strode away. “If you don’t do something about him now, it could be too late.” He pulled the door open and glared at Lucifer over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snarled before slamming the door closed behind him.
Asmo pulls you against him and rolls you both over. When you’re both laying on your sides, he wraps an arm around your waist. He smiles when you copy him.
“I thought it was something I could handle on my own,” you finally admit outloud. “I hoped things would get better with time. I didn’t want to involve anyone else if I didn’t have to.”
But since you didn’t tell Asmo about anything that was going on, you still have to wonder, ”How did you know what was going on if I didn't tell anyone?”
Asmo cuddles a bit closer to you and his eyes slip closed when he tightens his hold on you. “Call it a hunch.”
Mammon tried to explain it to you during your early days as an exchange student. You were curious about Asmo’s fixation on beautiful things - including himself. “It’s not just about beauty or sex with him - it’s about passion. Anger, hatred - he can sense those feelings too but that sorta passion’s ugly to him. That's why he focuses on the feelings that make him feel good. That’s why when he sets his mind to something, he puts in everything he’s got, every time. It’s all or nothin’ with that guy. He doesn’t do half measures.”
It was fortunate that you were still at RAD the day things spiraled out of control. The demon that was bullying you had you cornered in an otherwise empty classroom. He pushed your shoulders against the stone wall and hissed with explicit details how he planned to decorate the room with your insides. Despite all your power and education, you froze in the face of real danger. You were naive to think that there weren’t demons left in the Devildom that would still want to harm you.
Whatever the demon was about to do next was interrupted when the classroom door opened suddenly. The passerby yelled for help and within moments the demon was pulled off you. You slumped to the ground, overwhelmed by the adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins.
Afterwards, you would remember it was Asmo who picked you up and carried you to the infirmary, who sat at your side and held your hand while you were examined for injuries. It was Asmo who slept in your bed that night to help fend off bad dreams, who stayed home with you the next day while Diavolo and Lucifer finished their investigation.
You had all the pieces to explain what happened, the truth that you were too blind to see: it was Asmo that asked to carry out the demon's punishment because he threatened to kill you.
“What have you done?” Lucifer snapped angrily when he confronted Asmo in the front hallway. He expected his brother home hours ago.
“I did as you asked,” Asmo said in an eerily calm, detached voice. “He’s on his way back to the outer ring and we won’t have to see him ever again.”
Lucifer grabbed Asmo’s arm when he tried to walk away. “When I gave you permission to do this, I stated very clearly the limitations of what you could and could not do. We all feel the way you do, but–”
“I warned you this would happen!” Asmo cried, aura burning as his rage flared. He quieted himself, remembering the late time and not wanting to wake the others, or you. “He’s still alive. If I ever see him again, he won’t be so lucky.”
You knew Asmo was a powerful demon - he was a demon prince of the Devildom, after all - but you never realized his potential for anger or violence could match the intensity of his love and admiration for the things he held most dear. It overwhelmed you to think that he considered you something worth protecting.
But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you underestimated the depth of his feelings for you. He tried to tell you so many times in so many ways that you were important to him. He brought his manicure kit to your room so he could do his nails while you did your homework. When you finished, he would reward you by doing your nails too. He invited you on spontaneous trips to Majolish or your favourite cafe, refusing your offers to pay for the gifts he bought for you. He was always trying to take your photo, or he’d pull you to his side for selfies together. When you asked him why none of the photos ended up on Devilgram like most of his other pictures, he just winked and said he wanted to keep those pictures for himself.
He teased you playfully if other demons tried to ask you out, and he even encouraged you to accept sometimes - not that you ever had interest in any of those other demons, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from giving you his usual pep talk before all of the dances you were invited to attend at Diavolo’s castle or The Fall:
“If anyone tries anything with you that you don’t like, blast them with some of that magic of yours. Or better yet, summon me and I’ll take care of it. No matter where I am, I’ll come to you. I promise.”
The realization dawns upon you and you feel like you’re drowning, emotions choked by the truth you’ve always known about his feelings for you, and your feelings for him.
“How long have you felt this way about me?” you ask him, your whispered voice breaking.
When he opens his eyes, they begin to glow as he gazes at you with so much love - it’s hard to breathe. His cheeks flush just the slightest bit pink when his lips slowly tick up in a small smile. “Oh, my precious darling, when have I not?”
You bury your head against his chest to hide the tears spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing and shaking your head, whispering apologies over and over again while your fingers clench the silky material of his robe.
“It’s alright,” Asmo says quietly, his hand rubbing your back in an effort to calm you. “I’m here. Everything is going to be fine from now on, I promise.”
You look at him through blurry, red-rimmed eyes when he pushes you back gently so he can see your face. “But y-you did all that for me and I didn’t know. Or I-I-I think I knew but I pretended I didn’t. Things have felt so off between us and it’s my fault. If I wasn’t so weak, maybe I could’ve—“
Asmo frowns slightly and puts a finger to your lips to quiet you. “Nothing that happened was your fault. I did what I needed to do to keep you safe. I’ll save you as many times as I have to.” He cradles the back of your head and leans forward to brush his lips against your brow.
“I love you,” he says when he lowers his head and kisses your cheek.
“And I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he whispers when his nose brushes against yours and he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.
The kiss is soft enough that you can ignore it, giving you the chance to turn away, to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s giving you an out, you realize. But when you’re this close, all you can see is the faint glow of his clementine eyes.
The kiss you offer him in return is soft and sweet.
His eyes flutter closed as he moans quietly, and the way he tilts his head so he can slot his mouth against yours reminds you this isn’t a dream.
“Please,” he murmurs repeatedly against your lips. The quiet, needy pleas are muffled but you understand him perfectly.
When you nod, he doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning when his lips move against yours harder and with more urgency. When you part your lips, he licks into your mouth, moaning between swipes of his tongue like he’s devouring you, starved for everything you can give him. His hand slides down your body, squeezing your waist gently before he pulls you tighter against him like he’s trying to blur the lines where you end and he begins.
When you start to roll onto your back, Asmo follows without hesitation, sliding a knee between your thighs and pressing his chest against yours. His kisses become sloppy and the soft, wet sounds are punctuated by your breathy moans.
You’re able to touch him more easily in this position and you tentatively skim your hands along his arms and across his shoulders until your fingers find purchase in his hair. There’s a rumbling noise that vibrates in his chest, and when you tug on his hair with just a bit more force, he breaks the kiss with a groan that makes the dull throb between your legs ache with need.
His hands are everywhere when he drags his lips across your jaw and down your neck. He’s panting between fiery, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. When he latches into the junction between your neck and shoulder and sucks with just a hint of teeth, you gasp.
He hums when he pulls back slightly to admire the mark he’s left on your skin. He raises himself up on his hands so he can look at you properly. You take the opportunity to explore him too, hands sliding down his chest slowly until they settle at his waist. You feel him shudder at your touch.
“I should be doing this properly,” he says suddenly. When you tilt your head in confusion, he explains, “getting dolled up for you, taking you out for a romantic dinner, seducing you afterwards.” He grins when you flush with embarrassment, but his smile falters after a moment when his gaze pierces yours. “You deserve that. I can give you that if you want. We don’t have to go any further tonight if you’re not ready.”
You cup his cheek. “Do you want to stop?” you ask curiously.
He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “Fuck, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. His hair falls over his eyes, totally unkempt. He’s beautiful like this.
Earlier it was hard to ignore the weight of his cock hardening against your hip, the stilted movements when he kept himself from grinding against you while you kissed. It makes you feel less self-conscious of your own desire, the way his pleased sounds made you feel hot with need. The insides of your thighs are damp with slick and you’re desperate for some kind of friction against your clit. You’ve been clenching around nothing, secretly wanting him to fill you but not having the courage to ask for more.
“I want you too,” you whisper, staring into his eyes and it feels like you’re finally being honest, trying not to let fear ruin the promise of what his love can offer you. You’re emboldened by the way his eyes are smoldering when he looks at you, the way you’re both trembling with need and the way your voices shake with so much emotion. You don’t want him to have any doubts about how you feel about him or about how desperately you want him too.
He only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself to his knees. One of his knees is still wedged between your thighs, not quite close enough to give you the friction to grind yourself against him. He undoes the knot holding his robe closed and slides it off his shoulders. The sight of his naked chest leaves you breathless.
Your eyes roam across his smooth, unblemished skin. Your fingers grasp the blanket when you feel the itch to grab him and pull him back down. You’re close to begging for him to touch you, and something must flicker across your expression because his gaze darkens. The sweet, somewhat bashful tilt to his lips sharpens into something a little more hungry.
He leans down, one hand clenching the sheets for balance while he slips his other arm between your bodies. You feel his fingers pull at the thin fabric of your robe and pry it apart and the sudden chill causes goosebumps to spread across your exposed skin. You resist the urge to cover your breasts when you feel your nipples harden.
“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, I can barely stand it.” You tilt your head back when his nose grazes along your jaw and he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin below your ear. He pulls your earlobe between his teeth and tugs, licking the skin in a mock apology when you gasp and arch your back against his chest.
“I bet you say that to all your dates,” you whimper. His desire is intoxicating but you can feel the self-doubts bubbling over, your inhibitions threatening to spill from your lips and ruin everything. Before you can say anything else, Asmo sighs his head and tilts your head so you’re forced to look him in the eye.
“None of that matters anymore, not when I finally have you,” he says quietly, like it’s some sort of oath. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He gives you a hard, quick kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”
He shuffles closer and his cock hangs heavy against you. The tip is dribbling precum and it feels warm and sticky on your thigh. His head tilts back with a moan and he slowly rubs against you, painting your skin with his desire and leaving no room for doubt that he wants you.
You can’t stop yourself from reaching for him and you pull him closer as you spread your legs invitingly. “Asmo, please–”
He growls quietly and in an instant his lips are around one of your nipples while his hand snakes back down between your bodies. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud, and he sucks it into his mouth at the same time his long fingers dip between your folds. Your hips jolt when he brushes against your clit, puffy and wet with your desire and it’s all for him.
Asmo moans around your nipple when he feels the wetness between your legs. He kisses across your breasts as he starts grinding against you a bit harder than before.
“You’re almost ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, amazed by how utterly perfect you are, bare and needy under him. He licks his lips and you can see a hint of his fangs when he grins.
The way he looks at you makes you squirm underneath him. You move your hips and try to chase his fingers as he explores the soft skin of your folds. The delicious pressure of his fingertips rubbing against your clit is enough to make your thighs quake. You feel the beginnings of your release, but you whine when he suddenly moves his fingers away. Before you can ask him to touch you again, he slips a finger inside you and the sudden fullness makes you groan.
He’s hypnotized by the way your body moves in tandem with his, arching your back and undulating your hips as he pumps his finger inside. He’s being slow and deliberate, studying your face for every reaction, and when he adds another finger he thrusts them both in deep. You take the intrusion so well, like your body was made to be his, and he knows you're close when your moans pitch higher and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.
“You feel so perfect around my fingers,” he murmurs, watching with half-lidded eyes as his fingers move faster in and out of you. He bites his lip when he feels you clench around him, and he’s nearly mad with the desire to have you finally wrapped around his cock. “You’re so responsive.” He strokes your clit with his thumb as his fingers stretch and tease your gummy walls, crooking his fingers inside you like he’s inviting you to sin.
The sensations drive you to the edge and you’re chasing your release, eyes closed and swallowing thickly after you choke on a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. “I want you so badly,” you beg, and your voice sounds breathy and pathetic to your ears but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you when your body tightens around him. He keeps brushing over that spot inside that feels so good and you don’t want the feeling to stop, you want more. “I want you to come inside me, I want–”
You cry out as the orgasm crashes through you out of nowhere, wave after unrelenting wave of pleasure setting your body ablaze as his greedy fingers coax every last breathy moan from your lips. He savors the way your body flutters around him, like you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers still pumping inside you but your pretty little hole’s too greedy to let him go.
Asmo finally pulls his hand away when you try to clench your thighs closed to stop him from teasing your oversensitive nerves. He sits back on his heels and waits patiently while you catch your breath. Your skin glistens lightly with sweat and he can’t stop staring at you.
When you finally open your eyes, he brings his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth, licking your essence from his fingertips before sucking them both into his mouth greedily. Once they’re clean, he releases them with a quiet pop.
“You taste delicious,” he coos appreciatively. He’s so tempted to dive between your legs, to lap up every last drop of slick that clings to your folds. He wants to breathe in your intoxicating scent until it’s seared into his memory forever, to plunder your hole with his tongue until you can’t possibly give him more.
But as much as Asmo wants to make himself a new home between your legs buried tongue-deep inside you, or to pull you on top of him so you can grind against his face so he’s drenched in your slick, he knows that will have to wait until next time.
He’s been with hardly anyone else since what happened a few months ago. He was overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings for you - the fear of losing you, the need to claim you properly - and it sent him into a tailspin. He tried to pretend there was nothing wrong and he went to his usual haunts, but he didn’t want any of those other demons: none of them were you.
Now that he has you, he’s not sure anything can possibly be better than this: the way you looked swept away by pleasure; your loud, high-pitched sounds like music to his ears; and the way you fucked yourself on his fingers and begged for his cock inside you - it’s too much temptation for even the Avatar of Lust to bear.
When the sensitivity has ebbed and you’ve caught your breath, you let your thighs fall open again and Asmo doesn’t hesitate to shuffle between them properly. His cock bumps against you and when he lowers himself to his forearms above you, he teases you with the glide of his cock along your folds. He rolls his hips slightly so that the tip of his cock grazes your clit and then he pushes even lower, letting the head of his cock tease at your hole. He adds just enough pressure at your entrance that promises more, and that has you moaning in anticipation and spreading your legs even wider for him.
You lift your thighs so they rest against his hips to keep him in place, to encourage him to come even closer, to fill you so you never feel empty again.
His head tips back and soft sighs fall from his lips when he finally pushes inside. Neither of you seem to care about the way your body squelches obscenely with the slow drag of his cock along your walls. It’s a smooth glide until he finally bottoms out and he moans, but he blinks his eyes open rapidly, surprised at the sudden wetness clinging to his eyelashes. One of your hands is clutched to his back, the sharp grip of your fingernails a delightful mixture of pleasure and pain.
You cup his face with your other hand and wipe away the rogue tears that roll down his cheek. “I love you so much,” you say in a quiet, shaky voice, because there’s nothing more perfect you can say in this moment, not when his body cages yours and you feel so utterly wanted. When his cock twitches eagerly inside you, you wonder why it took so long to do this together; it feels like you were both fighting inevitability.
He nuzzles against your hand and kisses your palm before he rolls his hips with a few shallow, exploratory strokes. You both moan, and your other hand leaves his cheek so you can grasp onto his shoulder to brace yourself.
Asmo bites his lip when he rocks into you again. “You feel—“ he breaks off with a groan, wincing when your walls squeeze around him. “You feel so fucking good, I don’t think I’m going to last.”
Despite the pleasure gripping his senses, he feels the faintest ripple of embarrassment too. He’s worried about disappointing you after finally getting to have you after all this time. The longing for you festered so deep within him that even touching someone that wasn’t you didn’t really satisfy him anymore. He’s overcome by his desire for you even though he tried to ignore it, because he didn’t know if you wanted him, if you were ready for what he wanted to give you so badly—
But you breathe out his name and the unabashed lust in your eyes is unmistakable. You’re panting lightly, wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and he tracks the movement greedily. “I just want you,” you say when you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him even deeper.
That’s all the invitation Asmo needs. He braces himself on his hands and starts to move inside you with slow, controlled thrusts. The heat of your walls wrapped around his cock and your soft, needy moans and whimpers overwhelm his senses, and it’s hard to maintain the gentle rocking of his hips against yours when he feels the tethers of his self-control start to snap.
He puts more power into his movements, answering your whimpered pleas for him to fuck you, to give it to you harder and faster. You’re not commanding him, but you don’t have to; he obeys willingly with the rough snap of his hips as he fucks you into his mattress. He growls approvingly when you toss your head back in submission and pleasure, whining and choking on the moans he drags out of you with every push and pull of his cock claiming you from the inside-out.
The bed frame creaks from the force of his thrusts and the headboard bangs against the wall, but Asmo doesn't care, not when it feels like you’re both teetering on the edge of an abyss and he’s so close to falling. He’s determined to drag you down with him.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers in a rough voice when he feels his orgasm approaching. “I want you to come with me.” He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so desperate, but you reach between your bodies and start stroking your clit in time with his powerful thrusts. Your body clenches around him almost immediately and your back arches, and his cock is suddenly enveloped with even more slickness when you come for him a second time, his name falling from your lips in a broken cry.
He can’t possibly last after that and he doesn’t want to, and your pleasure rips the orgasm from him and he cries out when he spills inside you, marking you as his in a way no one else possibly can. His hips stutter as his thrusts become sloppy and shallow, and the desperate haze clears from his mind when satisfied exhaustion takes its place.
You both groan when his softening cock finally slips from your body. He collapses at your side to avoid crushing you with his weight, and he pulls you against him. You’re both hot and sticky and the air smells like musk from sweat and sex. Asmo knows there’s a wet spot drying on his sheets where your slick and his come pooled between your thighs.
He knows you’re both exhausted, but he hasn’t felt this content in weeks.
You nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. You’re still trembling slightly, but you melt into his embrace and it makes his throat thicken with emotion.
“I think we need another bath,” you murmur sleepily. Your lips tickle where they graze his skin and he smiles.
“Later,” he promises and he wraps his arms around you. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispers.
Stay with me forever, he thinks and doesn’t say out loud. But when you nod and cuddle even closer to him before sleep claims you, Asmo believes he didn’t have to.
USERS FOUND: welt yang x bunny hybrid!fem!afab!reader
WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED! DO NOT OPEN! forced heat, drugging (f!receiving), bunny hybrid, heat cycle, age gap (implied), welt yang is a creep, use of “pet,” “bunny,” etc., ask to tag
NOTES ABOUT THE VIRUS: welt yang thought himself to be a reserved man. well, he had, at least, until you stepped onto the express with that quivering little puffball tail.
INTERNAL MESSAGE: i did it folks i survived kinktober. visit the masterlist here!
NEW NOTIFICATIONS! @kaedescara @yaekiss @pvbbyb0y @voidshoutsback @4izawas (want to be added? send me an ask off anon!)
tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.
his foot tapped anxiously on the floor of his room, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled under his nose. he was nervous, for the first time in a long time, watching the numbers on his clock flicker onto the next minute.
welt yang was not a nervous man. he was a good man, a man who always chose the ethical option, a man who consistently tried to guide and protect the others on the express.
at least, he liked to think of himself in that way, before you joined the crew. you, who made his knees weak and his head swim with a lust he hadn’t felt in many long years.
it was all your fault. you were corrupting his mind with your pouty cheeks, your thick thighs that always rubbed together whenever he was in the same room as you, your sweet lop ears and your twitchy puffball tail.
a hybrid, march had exclaimed when she introduced you to him on that first day, cool, right?! she’s so awesome! so cute too, right, mr. yang?
welt had swallowed the saliva that had pooled on his tongue before responding with a curt introduction, watching the way your nose seemed to scrunch and twitch with interest at him.
he had felt the beginnings of your corruption from that first day.
he had seen from the get go how you followed him around as if he was everything. you, a young, pretty pet, wandering the express carts in shorts that allowed for your tail to wiggle freely, your sweet eyes trailing him wherever he went. he saw how you had to shift and adjust to be comfortable around him, as if you were playing a game with him, trying to get his attention and encourage him to approach.
you always smiled with those glossy lips whenever he spoke to you, or told you how to do something. you seemed to like to ask him arbitrary questions every single day, ears twitching against your shoulders where they draped as you listened with rapt attention to how his voice melted down your spine.
welt was a good man. he was just trying to help you, honest. he had caught you with medicine from another planet, something having to do with suppressing an urge you had, according to the files he had secretly borrowed from dan heng’s room. it was only right that you felt comfortable enough to go through the motions your people went through back home, right? those pills were probably bad for you anyways.
it was only a matter of time. a carefully misplaced bottle of pills, followed by a carefully spiked bottle of your favorite soda. a perfect storm, a perfect conversation starter.
another minute passed, and he finally heard stirring from your room across the hall. thumping of feet on the floor, a distressed groan. the hair on the back of his neck stood as he sat up straight in his chair, grabbing a book off of his desk to try and feign ignorance to your situation.
your door slid open with a hiss, and two short steps was all it took for you to be in front of welt’s door. you knocked thrice in rapid succession, and then your saccharine voice floated through the heavy metal. “m-mr. yang? please open up, i don’t feel well, something’s wrong…”
“come in,” he called right back, eyes still trained on his book. he was a good man. he wouldn’t take advantage if you were scared.
the door slid open, and in you stepped. your hair was tousled, your clothing crumpled and messy. you were completely out of sorts, looking as though you were feverish and ill. welt put his book down, brows furrowing as you hurried to close the door and lock it behind yourself. your tail was rigid and twitching, flicking upwards, and as he caught a glimpse of your ass in your tiny shorts, he saw it.
a wet spot, nestled between your thighs. your sweet, supple thighs were glistening with a foreign substance that caught the light and made welt’s head spin.
you turned back to face him, and he easily put the mask of concern and worry. “what’s wrong? you look as though you’re running a fever.”
“mr. yang,” you breathed, your glossy bottom lip trembling before you caught it between your teeth as you walked up to him with quick strides. “i don’t feel well, something’s wrong with me, i couldn’t find my medicine, i- i’m… please…” you looked so desperate, so innocent, reaching for him in the way you always did, seeking his affection, always looking for a hug.
he allowed it, his hands brushing over your shoulders before wrapping around your middle as you practically fell into him. your skin was hot, almost burning to the touch, and you allowed yourself to crawl directly into his lap with a soft sniffle of discomfort. you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, legs straddling his waist, and hid your face in his neck. “help me, please, i’m- i think i- i need your help…”
“help with what? what’s the matter?” he pretended not to know, pretended not to feel the way your cunt throbbed as he spoke against the fur of your sensitive ear, pretended as if he wasn’t straining in his slacks.
he felt you take a deep, shuddering breath in against his neck, your nose sliding against the column of his throat as you rocked your hips with a sudden fervor. “mr. yang, please, i need you inside, i need you inside me, it’ll make it go away…”
your voice was dripping with need as welt slid his hands to your sides to push you from your embrace. he was holding back, he wanted you to want it truthfully. “what are you saying? i don’t understand.”
you whimpered as you were pushed away from him. your pupils were blown wide, the color of your scleras barely visible in the wide inky pools of lustful darkness that had overtaken you. you were sinking into him, into the heat you had never had before in your life. the sudden loss of suppressants made the symptoms grow tenfold.
you whined before grabbing one of welt’s wrists and pushing his hand under your waistband, making his fingers dance along your clit with a sudden moan dripping from your lips. “here, mr. yang, i need you here, i need you inside me. please, please, help me, fill me up, you’re the only one i want…”
your begging was making his head spin. finally, you were asking him to help you, to take care of you, to fuck you.
who was he to deny you of anything you asked? he never has, and he never will.
“oh, darling,” he murmured, making quick work of sliding two fingers into your slicked up cunt, the squelch from your juices making him grit his teeth to bite back a moan. he flexed and curled his middle two fingers inside your sloppy hole, making you cry out with oversensitive pleasure as all of your synapses fired at rapid speeds. your own fingers never felt this good, nothing had ever felt as good as welt’s fingers inside of you.
you started to practically ride his fingers, bouncing on his lap, your slick dripping into his hand and all over his lap. you whimpered and whined, your ears falling over your shoulders and draping behind your back as your eyes rolled into your skull. you already felt stupid just from his fingers.
“is this better? is this helping you, bunny?” he hummed at you, at the way your tits bounced with your movements. his free hand shoved your shirt up towards your throat, and he groaned as your tits were freed from their confines for him. he was quick to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh and almost smiling from the way you practically screamed and shuddered.
your nails were sunk deep in welt’s shoulders as you rocked your hips into his hand, your head reeling as you were suddenly brought to your peak. you gushed into his hand and shook hard in his grip, his hand moving from your shirt to the small of your back to keep you steady in his lap. his fingers slowed in your hole but didn’t stop completely; your skin felt like you had been doused in cold water, but only for mere seconds before you started to feel that heat pool in your stomach again.
“no, i’m…” you whimpered, tears welling in your lashes, and welt lifted his mouth from your nipple to coo at you.
“poor bunny, still need my help?”
“please, need more, need your cock…” your breath became shallow as you shoved at his wrist, forcing his fingers from your hole. you got onto shaky legs, and welt was the one to shift forward in his char to peel your soaked shorts down your legs.
“what a pretty bunny. poor thing, have you ever been in heat before?”
“need your cock,” you responded, earning a chuckle from him as he stood. he loomed over you, smelling of smoke and dark liquor. you felt like you were going to lose your mind if he made you wait any longer, and he could read that on your face. he made quick work of his belt and his zipper before grabbing one of your wrists and pulling you to his bed on the other side of the room.
he pushed you down, and you went without hesitation, feeling your tears start to spill from your lashes as you throbbed and started to produce more slick that gathered around your hole and dripped down your ass.
welt stood at the edge of the bed, undressing quickly, his shirt first followed by his pants and boxers. his cock, drooly and red and heavy, caught your gaze immediately, and you whined and hooked your hands under your own knees to present your hole to him.
“please,” you whined loudly as he started to crawl over you, “put it in, put it in, put it in- oh-”
your voice was like honey as you moaned, your back arching and legs resting on welt’s shoulders as he wasted no time in sinking the fat head of his cock past your tight rim. you were so wet, clamping down on his cock and opening up perfectly for him to slide deeper, deeper, deeper until he was fully inside your warmth.
a look of bliss washed over you as you finally were filled with cock, your internal desires being gifted to you by a strong, perfect man.
welt groaned as your walls fluttered around him. “good girl, good pet, what a good fuckin” girl. you want me to fuck you? yeah?” your whimpers and nods encouraged him, egged him on, allowed his nice facade to falter. “good, let me breed this fuckin’ pussy that you flaunt around here. let me help you.”
you cried out in the affirmative when he pulled his hips back to start fucking into you at a ruthless pace. his lips slammed into yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, and you allowed him into your mouth, pliant and perfect, reduced to nothing but wet moans and cries of babbling nonsense that made welt feel insane.
he fucked you mercilessly, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he kissed you harshly. your ears twitched against the bed, your tail flicking wildly against the sheets. your legs shook on his shoulders, and he felt as though he was the one on aphrodisiacs, not you.
you felt like you were floating, your body melting into the bed as you felt your high start to approach again. you babbled at him, but his tongue was in the way, but that didn’t stop you from trying. you felt pure euphoria under him. welt, the man who knew exactly how to work your body and make you feel so much better.
your high came crashing over you, washing over your body like a tidal wave as you squirted all over his pelvis, your eyes rolling back into your skull and your jaw dropping open into a silent scream that was preceded by cries of his name.
welt didn’t last much longer when he felt the way your walls were sucking him in, demanding his seed. he would never say no to you, to your body; he came with a low shout, his cock twitching in your gummy walls and filling you up with his cum.
you felt like you had just been dunked in cool water once again, relaxing and rolling your hips to meet welt’s shallow thrusts. you couldn’t catch your breath, your head still pounding with the feeling of adoration and need from him.
welt was a good man. he thought himself to be a good man even as he pulled out and used his fingers to push his spend back into your hole. even as your eyes fluttered and you whimpered as the heat started to crawl back under your skin.
he would always help his pretty bunny. you just needed a little encouragement.
This usually works but for some reason a lot of posts get indexed on google from a person’s URL based on the posts that were recently reblogged on page 1, meaning that this is only a tiny bit more reliable.
I HAVE a solution to this, you have to write down site:tumblr.com/post “ “
and then write a direct quote (could be a fraction of a sentence) into the quotations, I’ve been doing this for years, and it’s so useful, it works like 99% of the time
(the more popular a post is the more likely you’ll find it)
Wolf hybrid who is sooooo excited to experience his bunny hybrid partners first heat. So excited that he vastly underestimates just how horny bunnies are in heat.
He's expecting his cute little bunny partner (you) to cry and beg for his knot. Which you do and he knots and cums inside you twice but then right after his knot deflates you look up at him and go "Again?"
He's a little tired but he can't say no to you...
Until it's the sixth fucking round and you're still bouncing on his very overstimulated cock. He knows it's very bad to interrupt a bunny while they're so deep in heat but he might just pass out and you're so lost in the sauce you might just keep going if he does.
He needs to think of a way to satisfy you that won't literally kill him. He gets an idea and reaches for his phone. It's really embarrassing but the best thing he can think of at that moment is to open the group chat, aptly named "The Boys", and hastily text:
Ghoap saving their cute little neighbour from her big bad boyfriend, but when she looks up at them with her pursed brows and big wet eyes and puckered lips wrapping around “thank you, thank you,” Ghoap get their wires crossed and spring an aching boner and decide they should keep her. just for a little longer. they’re entitled to her, anyway. she’s indebted to them, and the space between them at night has gotten a little cold.
there's a retired/old DS i watch on YT and he uses the phrase "If the military wanted you to have a wife, they would've assigned you one."
what if they do?
it's some new program implemented for whatever reason and you think it's one of the worst fucking ideas until your friend tells you that one gets paid a massive sum once the marriage is finalized, and you can divorce within the year no strings attached.
you'd expected a regular man with like 2 years left in his contract, not some spec ops mask wearing freak who calls you his wife within seconds of meeting you for the first time ever and mumbles something about his kids needing to be raised in england and--
Cloud Strife x female reader, primarily fluff, mentions of blood, cat-calling behaviour, unwanted attention
(No Rebirth spoilers!)
You hated Thursdays – extended opening hours as well as a two-for-one special at the sleazy bar where you worked in Wall Market.
It was always a busy, rushed off your feet shift – Shinra middle managers coming down from the plate to take advantage of the deal and, of course, your boss offset the cost by scheduling only two of you on the bar. The more the drinks flowed, the ruder and more demanding the patrons would become, and you always ended the night damp with sweat and beer. Every Thursday, when you trudged back to Sector 7 in the early hours in the morning, was a reminder of how you needed to get a different job, but that’s easier said than done.
Your colleague heads off at 11 with a sympathetic wave – there’s an hour until , but of course everyone gets another round of drinks in before then, so you’re scheduled till just after midnight, slowly but surely clearing the decks and pointing any patrons not ready to give up on their night out towards the Honey Bee Inn.
After completing the reset of the bar a little later than you’d hoped, you finally lock the doors and begin the walk back to Sector 7 at a brisk pace. It’s not a bad walk, really, all things considered – there’s a direct enough route to the main gate – but it doesn’t mean you in any way look forward to it.
There’s a shrill wolf-whistle from behind you and your shoulders tense.
“Hey, good-looking.”
You tuck your chin down and keep on walking. Working in Wall Market, whatever time of day, meant there were catcalls more often that not. You’d learnt that if you don’t reward them with attention, they’ll get bored and leave you alone soon enough – there’s always someone else.
“Oh, too good for me, are you?” This one seems a little more persistent – probably aided by the alcohol running around his veins by the slur in his words.
He jogs around to in front of you and begins walking backwards with a chuckle. You glance up briefly to find he looks absolutely idiotic - sunglasses in the middle of the night, an open denim vest, mohawk, cocky smirk and low leather pants.
Your stomach sinks as you recognize him - one of Corneo’s men.
You tuck you chin back down. He’ll find someone else to bother, maybe he’ll even find someone else who’s into his advances? Just don’t engage.
Mohawk doesn’t take kindly to you ignoring him and he moves to your side, matching your pace and absolutely reeking of alcohol. You’re surprised he can even see straight, a little bit impressed he pulled off the walking backwards stunt earlier, or maybe it was just dumb luck.
“Why are you in such a hurry, sweetheart?” Mohawk doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing you with one arm, pulling you close into his chest and wrapping his arm around your neck in a loose headlock.
“There we go.” His breath tickles your ear. “Walk with me, baby. We can get to know one another a little better.”
You think of screaming, maybe if you drew attention he’d decide you’re not worth the effort… but if you’ve recognized him as one of Corneo’s men, others would’ve too and would be unlikely to step in. Don Corneo knows everyone’s secrets around here, too powerful a man to make an enemy of.
“Sorry, I…” You try and duck out of his hold, but he squeezes you tight around the shoulders. “I really need to get home.”
“Oh, got someone waiting?” He forces you left, out of the main thoroughfare towards the gate and home, sending you down a side alley. You know Wall Market well enough that this will loop you back down towards Corneo’s mansion if you kept on the same route.
You also know people who tend to go into Corneo’s mansion don’t come out.
“I’m… I’m really sorry, I’m tired.” The panic is unmistakable in your voice and he laughs, continuing to force you along. “How about some other time? Another night? I need to get some sleep – it was a really long shift.”
“Yeah, I saw you at work earlier, sweetheart.” He grins. “I liked your friend, but when I came back she was already gone. You’re pretty too, though. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”
You stomp on his foot then in a moment of pure adrenaline, digging all your weight through your heel and onto his toes. He yells, arm dropping around from your shoulders and you waste no time in sprinting back the alleyway. If you ducked under some of the air vents, maybe you could make it across the way to the Honey Bee Inn - you’re on first name terms with some of the girls, maybe there’s enough Gil in your pocket to buy a drink and find a quiet booth…
A hand grabs your hair and yanks you back you’re surprised a clump isn’t pulled out, your arm is twisted behind before you are swung face first into the wall, spots of black dancing in your vision and a pain exploding in your head at the contact. Tangy blood dribbles down into your mouth and all you can do is whimper as he twists your arm again.
“Oh, you like pain, huh?” He smirks as he yanks your head back further, forcing you to look up at him. You swear you can feel the bones creak in your arm as he continues twisting. “I’ll show you pain, sweetheart. We’ve got all night to spend together after all.”
“No, you don’t.”
There’s a loud metallic clang against the wall further up and Mohawk turns to look, one hand still fisted in your hair. A blonde spikey haired man, dressed in black stands a few metres behind. His eyes are telltale Mako blue, holding an oversized sword with ease aloft, his muscular forearms not even tensing with the weight as he glares at the assailant over your head.
“Piss off, blondie. I saw her first.” He twists your arm again, making you yelp.
The blonde swings the sword around his head a few times, effortlessly, before holding in front of him in a battle-ready stance.
“You lay a hand on her again and I’ll take it clean off of you.”
Mohawk laughs, cockily. “Sure, you w-”
The blonde lunges forward and swipes it cleanly over your captor’s head, slicing off a good chunk of his hair with millimeter precision. Mohawk’s grip on your hair and arm immediately falter and he steps back, now holding his hands aloft as your legs completely give out beneath you, collapsing down on the ground, breathless and heart pounding.
“Okay, o-okay, man! No n-need for v-violence! S-s-she’s all yours.” Mohawk turns on his heel and sprints off in a panic, quickly swallowed up by the darkness of the alley ahead.
“Are you okay?” The stranger sheathes the sword onto his back and steps forward, his face unreadable. You can’t help but flinch as he approaches, unconsciously scooting backwards until your back hits the wall.
“Please – I just…” Your heart is pounding in your ears. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”
The mako-infused eyes widen and he steps back, holding his hands up in an attempt at a friendly gesture. “Easy – I’m not going to hurt you.”
He fiddles with the cuff of his glove for a moment, removing a small green orb, before crouching down in front of you.
“That was a real nasty blow you took. Let me just…” He holds his palm out - a healing materia, allowing him to perform cure, sits in the centre – and he closes his eyes in concentration for a moment before green whisps of light emit and sink into your skin, soothing the throbbing pain in your nose and skull till no ache remains at all. You rub your nose on your arm, tentatively, trying to remove some of the blood but you know it’ll be a job for the bathroom mirror later on.
“Thank you. I, erm…” You hesitate before dipping a hand in your jacket pocket at the same time he replaces the materia in his glove. “I-I don’t have a lot of money on me, but-”
“You think I only did that to earn Gil?” He seems offended.
You flinch at his tone. “N-no. Sorry, just it’s Wall Market, people don’t help each other for nothing. Everyone has an agenda.”
“What do you think mine is?”
You swallow. “A SOLDIER…”
“Ex-SOLDIER.” He corrects. “Have Shinra troops taken your money before?”
“There… was some rowdy drunks once. Started smashing things in the bar. Some off-duty troopers said they’d remove them, but I had to give them my night’s wages.”
“Shitheads.” He mutters, getting to his feet. “I don’t want your money. I just don’t like entitled assholes.”
“Thank you.” You get up to your feet, a palm on the wall to steady you, before offering your hand and name.
He takes it in a firm grip, shaking it lightly. “Cloud Strife.”
“I’d say pleasure to meet you, but maybe not in these circumstances.” You force a laugh, but it’s too breathy, but you don’t want to cry. You know he felt your hand trembling when he’d accepted the handshake, adrenaline still coursing its way through your veins - that was the worst encounter you’d ever had in Wall Market. “Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.” Cloud pauses for a moment, considering his next sentence. “You were on your way home?”
“I was trying, yeah.”
“Do you live far?”
“Sector 7 slums.”
“I’m heading that way too - live in Stargazer Heights.” He grabs one arm with the other, looking a little awkward. “Marle’s the landlady.” You know Marle – she’s often sat on her porch outside the apartment block in the day, saying hello to all that pass. “We could walk together.”
“That…” You stick your trembling hands in your jacket pockets, hoping that might get them to stop. “That would be nice, actually. If you don’t mind.”
“Nah.” He shrugs. “Lead the way,”
You nod, taking a cautious step forward, then another. Cloud keeps a respectable distance as you walk out of the alley in silence. The street is completely dead now as you head towards the main gate, but you’re grateful to have the mercenary to your side.
“What brought you to Wall Market tonight, then?” He doesn’t seem drunk, which is the usual draw.
“Colosseum - making some Gil on the fights. You were working?”
“Mm. Thursdays are tough.”
“Money too good to quit?”
“Probably don’t need to tell you how difficult it is to get a job at the moment, so it’s hard to let it go. It’s work there or risk being evicted.” You pause, pre-empting what he might say. “I know I should quit, then I wouldn’t have to deal with creeps like that guy…”
“That creep should’ve taken no for an answer.” Cloud replies, deadpan.
“In an ideal world, sure.” Your stupid hands are still shaking, but it’s travelled up your arms now, making your shoulders shudder.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” He takes a step ahead of you to get a better look, still mindful to keep a respectful distance.
“Yeah.” You don’t even sound convincing to your own ears.
“You don’t have to pretend - probably still processing what happened. Why don’t you sit for a moment?” You haven’t even made it that far outside of Wall Market – just outside Sam’s Delivery Service – the proprietor is nowhere to be seen but a chocobo kwehs softly in its paddock and there’s a few benches dotted around outside, intended to be used by patrons.
“Erm… Okay. Just for a minute.” The tremble has made it to your legs, almost like pins and needles. You sit down heavily on the bench and exhale, slowly, digging your nails into your palms. Cloud remains standing to the side, awkwardly. “You can sit too.”
“You sure?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Please.” It would feel better if he sat down rather than hovering over you. He slides the sword off his back and leans it against the side of the bench, before taking a seat. His legs brushes against yours ever so slightly as he sits and you flinch back at the same time as he does.
“Sorry.” The two of you chorus.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“Neither do you.”
“True.” He murmurs.
You sit in silence for five minutes, your legs gradually getting more and more jittery, your heels starting to bounce against the dirt under your feet and an unwanted burning sensation at your eyes as you reflect upon the evening’s events, what would’ve happened if Cloud hadn’t have…
You swallow around the lump that has developed in your throat. For Shiva’s sake, you admonish yourself, don’t cry now in front of this random man. You’re safe, you’re fine, you’re not even injured anym-
“Hey, do you think my hair looks like a chocobo?” The question comes so far out of left-field your mind stops at once from its spiral.
“What?” You look over at him, convinced you haven’t heard him right.
“My hair – does it remind you of a chocobo? Whenever this guy wants to annoy me, he calls me chocobo head.” He’s patting his locks, the blonde spikes flattening under his touch. The way he’s sitting, you can see the real-life chocobo just over his shoulder and seeing them side-by-side makes you smile, poorly concealing a laugh as the two tilt their heads perfectly in sync.
“You agree?”
“No…” You bite your lip.
“You’re not a great liar.”
“I’m sorry, just…” You point to over his shoulder and the merc turns his head. “I would’ve said no and meant it, but I can see a little bit of a comparison when you’re next to one another.”
“Huh.” He turns back, crossing his arms. “Suppose there’s worst things to be compared too.”
“Mm,” you nod. “Like, a cactaur, for example.”
“You haven’t seen me dance.”
You laugh then – a proper belly laugh at the idea of this stoic ex-SOLDIER pulling out the same moves as a cactaur. Your emotions have been on a rollercoaster for the last hour or so and it’s not surprising when a few tears fall.
Cloud looks awkward, reaching out for you with a hand before retreating it just as fast. “Sorry, I-”
“No, no, it’s okay.” You sniff, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks. “Happy tears – the image is great. Thank you – I needed that.”
He smiles for fleeting moment before it drops with a shrug of the shoulders. “Don’t mention it.”
You dry your hands off on your thighs before getting up to your feet – conscious of the time. “I think I’m good to go now.”
“Cool.” Cloud stands up, placing his hands on his hips. “Let’s mosey.”
You laugh again and a hint of a smile graces the blonde’s face once more.
The walk back is non-eventful, thankfully, accomplished in both bouts of companionable silence as well as idle chitchat. Cloud had offered you the choice to part ways at the gate of the slums, but you’d shyly asked if he could walk you all the way to your door.
"Thank you for everything,” you say, mindful of your volume given the late hour, “I’m really glad you were at the colosseum tonight.”
“Speaking of…” Cloud raises his arm to rub the back of his head, focusing his gaze on the gutter running above your door like it's the most interesting thing on the planet. “I, er, might do some more fights at the colosseum on other nights, you know? I could walk you back after. If you want.”
Your stomach flips at the offer. “That’s really sweet of you, but I only work the closing shift on a Thursday. I do afternoon shifts the rest of the week – gets me out of Wall Market before it gets too rowdy.”
“Oh.” His eyes meet yours for a brief moment before they return to the gutter. “Well, Thursdays I always do - pay-out's higher.”
“If you're sure. I mean, I don't want you going out of your way or anything.”
“I wouldn’t be,” Cloud lies. “I’d be walking that way anyhow, so we might as well walk together.”
“Okay. How about if you do find yourself nearby next Thursday around midnight, you’ll know where I’ll be and we’ll take it from there?”
“Deal.” He steps back and lifts his arm to give an awkward wave. “Night.”
You smile and give a small wave back. “Goodnight, Cloud.”
--
Thursday rolls around both slowly in the hope of seeing Cloud again – and you’d be a lying if you denied not having walked past Stargazer Heights throughout the past week in the hopes of bumping into him - but too fast in the way of having to deal with another night of rowdy patrons.
You’ve just locked the doors and turned to head home when you see the blonde merc the other side of the street, arms crossed, leaning up against a wall. When your eyes meet, he gives the same awkward wave he’d bid you goodbye with a week ago and walks over.
“You came.” You sound a bit more surprised than you intended.
He shrugs before he crosses his arms. “Well, I was in the area, so…”
“Lucky me. How’d the fights go?”
“Fights?” He raises his eyebrow and you bite back a smile at his slip-up. Gotcha.
“You know, at the colosseum...?”
“Oh. Yeah. Fine.” You swear you see a hint of pink across Cloud’s cheeks as he mumbles his response. “Won ‘em all.”
“Congratulations. Never had any doubt.” You turn away from him briefly to kick on the bottom of the door and push the handle down for good measure. “Okay. I’m ready to go, if you are.”
“Er, what was that?”
“It’s just a little thing to help me remember that I’ve locked the door. Nothing like getting halfway home and turning back in a panic…”
“Don’t tell me you’ve really done that.”
“I told you, I really need this job – won’t have it if I leave the bar unlocked.”
“You…” He shakes off a retort. “Forget it. Shall we?” He jerks his chin in the direction of the gate and you nod, the two of you setting off at an easy pace. “How was your night anyway? Any dickheads?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good.”
You turn out of Wall Market and walk again in silence as you pass Sam’s Delivery’s Service, one of the ranch-hands settling down a chocobo in their paddock.
“You know,” you start, scuffing your foot on the ground, “I thought I might bump into you earlier this week. The slums aren’t that big.”
“Oh. Been busy – picking up odd jobs.” He keeps his gaze ahead as he walks, scanning the path ahead for any signs of danger. “Takes me all over Midgar, really.”
“Do you like it?”
He shrugs. “Earns me gil.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Depends on the job, I guess. Some more than others.”
“Okay, well, what would you do if you could do anything you wanted?”
“Dunno.”
“Come on,” you hurry a few steps in front of him to catch his eye, walking backwards, “that’s no fun. You said you left Shinra, so that must’ve been for a reason.”
He quickens his pace to walk alongside you, taking your arm and gently coaxing you back around. “Stop it - you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Don’t use my safety as an excuse to ignore my question.” You chide, but take advantage by slipping your arm through the crook of his elbow.
“Just didn’t want to be under their thumb any longer. What do you want to do?”
“Get out from under the plate, see the world.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Costs too much gil. Have you seen the prices they’re advertising for a bus ride to Kalm when the expressway is finished?”
“Not just walk?”
You shake your head. “I can’t even walk home on my own without getting in trouble anymore, how am I going to walk to Kalm with all those fiends about? Plus, even if I got there in one piece, there’s all the other logistics – like where would I stay, how would I make a living?”
“Hm.”
“I don’t know – perhaps the world might just be too big for a slum-dweller like me.”
He frowns. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re much more than that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
There’s the shrug he’s so fond of. “Call it a SOLDIER’s intuition.”
You keep your arm linked in his the whole way home until he’s escorted you back to your door once again and you reluctantly part.
“So, fighting again on Thursday?”
“I plan to. Working?”
“I plan to.” You tease back. “Thank you again, Cloud.”
You step forward and press a kiss on his cheek, then hurry inside before he can reply or even react. As you peek through a gap in the curtains, you see the merc stood still – a gloved hand hovering over the spot where you kissed.
--
“Ma’am?” You tense at the unfamiliar voice as you twist the key in the lock, preparing yourself to dash back into the bar and barricade the door behind you until morning, but it’s only one of the Sam’s ranch-hands – you’d seen him a few times when you passed - and your shoulders relax. Sam’s proud and ferociously protective of his business - he doesn’t want any trouble at his door so he’s scrupulous with those he hires.
“Hi.”
“Howdy,” the ranch-hand tips his hat, full of country charm. “I’ve been tasked with the delivery of a note for you.”
He holds it out – folded over – and you take it, murmuring a thank you.
I’m sorry that I can’t walk you home tonight – something came up. A real chocobo should make quite a suitable replacement for me. Cloud.
“Chocobo?” You look up at the ranch-hand for confirmation.
“Ride’s already paid for, ma’am. Ready to go when you are.”
“Oh, no, I… I couldn’t accept this.”
“Mr Strife thought that might be the case. He stressed that I tell you that we offer no refunds, and he’s already tipped us to come pick you up from here and escort you back to the chocobo stop. He’d be mighty obliged if you’d accept.” You don’t picture Cloud saying that last part exactly, so it must be the ranch-hand adding in his own flavour.
“No refunds, huh?”
“No refunds.” He nods in confirmation.
“I guess I can’t argue with that.” You turn back to the bar door, twist the keys in the lock, kick the bottom of the door and tug on the handle. “Let’s go.”
--
“Afternoon, Marle.” You smile brightly at the landlady of Stargazer Heights the next day, bouncing up and down on your heels in an attempt to conceal your nerves. You’d never been home as early as you had last night, the chocobo ride almost over before you knew it at the speed the carriage had gone down the path. The ranch-hand had accompanied you to your door, again at Mr Strife’s instructions. You’d wondered if the giant sword Cloud had strapped to his back might’ve contributed to how determined he was to follow them to the letter.
“Afternoon. Do you come bearing gifts?”
“Mm, depends,” you move the wicker basket from one hand to another, the contents hidden by a scrap of cloth. “I was wondering, do you have a Cloud Strife in the building?”
“Oh…” She smiles, knowingly, leaning forward over the banister. “Are you the one that keeps him out all hours?”
Your cheeks burn at her comment. “N-no! I mean, he walks me home on a Thursday, but that’s it.”
“That’s what I mean. I saw him hurrying off last Thursday shy of 11. Yesterday he was in a right flap, wouldn’t stop to talk – said he had to get to Wall Market and back before going out again.”
Your scalp tingles and you can’t help the dopey smile at the thought of him rushing to book the chocobo ride for you the day before. “So, he does live here?”
“Mm.” She nods. “Room 2. And he’s in.”
You head up the flight of stairs to the side of the building and walk along to the room in question, pausing a moment before mustering up the courage to knock on the door, your heart now beginning to pound. This had seemed a good idea last night but now it’s come to the execution…
The door opens, revealing a yawning Cloud, hair more mussed up than usual but dressed in his usual attire, sans his gloves and the sword on his back. The mako-blue eyes widen at the sight of you, an unconscious hand coming up to pat down his locks.
“Hi.”
“Hi. I’m so sorry to wake you-”
“No, I was just about to get up anyway - late night. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you smile at his concern. “The chocobo ride was really sweet, but you really didn’t need to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
“I can’t afford to pay you back-”
“I don’t want you to.” He cuts across. “It was… selfish, really, I just wanted to know you’d get home okay. Did they take you the whole way back?”
“He did – properly earned however much you paid extra.”
“Good.” He nods. “A… job came up, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that,” you fib. “But it was still very sweet, so I wanted to repay you somehow, and I came up with two things.”
“I told you, you don’t have to-”
You stand up on your tip-toes and kiss him square on the lips, short and sweet, before stepping back, grinning at the dumbstruck look on the blonde’s face.
“That was the first.” You hold the basket aloft, “Take a look under the cloth for the second.”
Cloud’s cheeks are flushed, his mind trying to catch up with what had just happened, but he lifts the cloth as instructed to reveal a solitary gysahl green.
“Thought my favourite chocobo deserved their favourite snack too.” You can’t help the tease and Cloud shakes his head with a lovesick grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward against him, the basket dropping from your grip in surprise. He cups your cheek with a hand before he crashes his lips into yours again with enthusiasm, only pulling back when he was sure he’d stolen enough of your breath.
just waking up delirious from a nap but cant get rid of the idea of price being interrogated by your friends.
night after your housewarming party, he steps out of your room bare chested and sweatpants low on his hips and finds your friends waiting for him.
they’ve never seen or heard of this man before. you only introduced him last night as john. the only indication of anything between the two of you was a constant point of contact between you two all night.
the questions start right away. name, age, occupation, how you met, what his intentions are. it’s all very entertaining to him, being on the other side of an incredibly juvenile interrogation attempt.
he takes it in stride though, not faltering for a moment as he starts to make himself a cup of coffee. price. ignores the age question, honestly kids these days lack decency and decorum. government worker. met at a bar. just trying to be a good man.
they don’t miss the way he doesn’t fumble through your kitchen. instead, moving through it with precision, knowing where every single item is.
and then finally, “what are you to them?” asked by the one in the back with curls, broad shoulders, and anger in his eyes that warms price all throughout. he doesn’t know he’s already lost.
he takes a sip of his coffee, mulling over the question and the last few months. shared drinks in the dark corner of an already shady pub. carrying your groceries in after you nearly tripped over yourself walking out of the store. books traded back and forth on park benches adorning a pond. stories repeated over a hot plate of dinner, the warmth softening john just a little more. your nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around him, his mouth peppering kisses against your neck and mouthing words he can’t say out loud just yet.
he smiles against the rim of the cup, taking another swig.
“i’m, their caretaker.”
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