This is my first ever fic/work of writing! Feedback/constructive criticism is welcome, but please be nice! xx
inspired by; Die First - Nessa Barrett
The door to your dorm creaked open, the familiar sound haunting in the middle of the night. You immediately jolted up and headed towards the bleeding boy with his head hanging low. Megumi never went to Shoko whenever he came back from his missions, he always and only came to you.
Without any words being spoken, as none were needed, you sat him down on the couch dabbing disinfectant on his wounds and wrapping them with bandages. Megumi didn’t need to see your face to know that you were upset with him, didn't need to listen to your usual scoldings. He couldn’t bear to meet your gaze, just in case he saw your tears. You sat next to him for a while, before the silence became suffocating.
"Megs, we can't keep doing this"
Megumi doesn't respond, instead hanging his head lower and fidgeting with the torn ends of his uniform jacket.
"I can't keep patching you up just for you to and get hurt again"
"That’s our job, [name]" His voice comes out soft, and it stings you how calm he is.
"I know it is, but you don’t have to keep taking such dangerous missions. Especially by yourself-"
"Are you doubting me?" His voice comes out rough around the edges, as if he isn't sure he said the right thing or not. You turn to him in disbelief, disappointed that he still won't look at you
"Of course not! I'm.. I'm worried about you megs" You reach your hand to his cheek, turning his head gently so he finally looks at you. He frowns, leaning into your touch.
"I know, I'm sorry"
That’s all it took for you to forgive him. Until it happened again. And again. And again.
After a mission with a grade one curse, you had to rush Megumi back to Shoko, knowing your first aid skills and rct wasn't enough to help. He spent the next few days in bed, with you right beside him the whole time. When he did finally wake up, you were so relieved you almost cried, instead scolding him for being so reckless. He only laughed.
"You didn't need to stay here and wait for me to wake up [name]. I'm fine, seriously."
He probably didn't mean it to hurt you, but it most definitely did. So much so you finally snapped.
"You don't understand Megumi! Every time you come to my dorm late at night wounded and bleeding.. It breaks me. I have to be the one to see you barely breathing. I have to be the one to.."
You can't help it, tears are falling, obstructing your vision of the dangerously handsome but oblivious boy in front of you. Months of pent up feelings finally escape your lips, and you can't tell if you're glad or guilty you're finally telling him.
"Someone dies or someone gets hurt Megs.. But if one of us dies…I hope I die first-"
"Don’t say that"
"Its true"
"Shut up [name] Neither of us are dying."
For the next few weeks, you and Megumi rarely talked. You were hurt from how he dismissed your feelings, and he was confused about how he really felt.
Megumi was worried about you too. He felt the same whenever you came back from missions, and he'd be worried even if you got a little scratch. He'd never tell you that though.
He wish he did. He regretted everything now. Every argument, every injury, every time he ignored your pleas.
Sitting beside your broken, doll-like body, lifeless in Shoko's clinic after an encounter with a special grade. He can hear yelling outside the door, probably Gojo complaining that he was told it was just a grade 2 curse, or Yuji and Nobara wailing. He should be crying too, so why isn’t he?
"I hope I die first"
Megumi slams his fist onto the counter you lay on, your pretty voice echoing in his head. A comparison to your pale sleeping face.
"Dammit [name]…"
Megumi thinks back to all the times you looked at him, worrying it would be the last. He wishes he could turn back time. Be more careful. Be more sincere, and take better care of the one person he cared about. The one person he thinks he loved.
"I can't live without you"
a/n: hii! thanks for reading if you did get this far. This is my first ever fanfic/ x reader piece of writing +public piece lol so yes i know its not amazing! I've had this idea for a long time and wanted to give it a go bringing it to life! Thanks sm @lvrs4nxna for giving me inspo and motivation for me to actually do this haha
The Blade! Briar University’s Guide to Hockey (working title)
Pairing — John Logan (off campus) x former!gymnast!Reader
"Aye twenty-two, time for your close up!!"
Summary: Reader never expected for her life to be turned upside down the way it was. Since the age of five, gymnastics was all that mattered. And after the age of 13, it was the Olympics. All the callouses, the lack of social life, the incessant need to be the best, all wasted in one accident. One complete ACL tear.
With nothing to show for it besides a faint scar and a bum knee, she decides to reclaim her life and personality. Seven months of recovery and rehabilitation leaves plenty of room for thinking. Of past mistakes, the pressure, and the lingering feeling of wasted potential. She decides it's time for a complete 180.
Summary Cont.
After one late night of wallowing in bed, doom scrolling, and choking down as much of your favorite ice cream as you possibly can. You get a common app ad for starting a transfer application. Taking it as a sign from the universe, you rush to open your computer and research schools in the nearby area to transfer to. For hours you look into schools that never quite meet your criteria. Too small, not enough on campus activity, horrible Rate My Professor reviews, you decided to finally give up. Intent on going back to doom scrolling, you click on Instagram and go through stories mindlessly. Jealous of all the people living their lives in a way you never allowed yourself. Then as if another sign from the universe, you get to an old acquaintance’s story.
It’s in that story that you discover Briar University located not too far in the state of Massachusetts. You sleep on it before you decide to message said acquaintance about the school and explain that you’re interested in transferring. After what felt like hours of stressing over the message being too weird out of the blue. She responds and you both have a full conversation of why you should transfer to Briar. And after a basic guarantee of having at least ONE friend, you decide to submit the application.
Then after weeks of forcing yourself not to stress you get THE email. You’ve been accepted and now you have to choose your major. You knew the business administration degree would never stick. It was just a placeholder for school while you focused on gymnastics. Deciding you could never fully let go of sports and that you could still be a part of it (using your name to get out there and stay relevant), you switch to a double major in Journalism and Sports Broadcasting. This switch is how you found out about Briar’s up and coming sports newspaper.
Finally, you feel like your life is your own. And who knows what other surprises are waiting for you on campus???
A/N : This is an absolute work in progress guys pray for me while I figure out how I’m supposed to pull this out of my behind…Some things just to be clear about, this is intended for black readers and there will be some descriptors (like hair and skin tone) that’ll indicate the reader is black, but I won’t go into specifics and I won’t describe body types either. And other readers are gladly welcomed!!
To put it simply if you don’t like that just don’t read it. I’ve read plenty of fics where I had to look completely past physical descriptions that white writers put in their stories. And there’s already NO black female characters in Off campus (dean’s bathroom hookup barely counts). So I decided to take it in my hands.
This has been stuck in my head for weeks and I just had to get it out. I was debating back and forth of what sport I should use, but I ended up on gymnastics because I know the most about it. So…let’s hope for the best!!
synopsis : it's just your luck you ended up with him in the closet.
word count: 1k+
note: one of my first smut fanfic! And my first post lol, sorry in advance for any spelling mistakes or stuff like that english isn't my first language🤍
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
Parties weren't really his thing and all the boys knew it, but Yunho still decided to throw one.
It wasn't a big party, just him Hongjoong, Mingi, San ,Wooyoung, You and Seonghwa..well at least it was planned that Seonghwa was gonna be there but he couldn't come.
Unfortunately when Hongjoong heard that he was thinking of staying home because, well, Seonghwa was the only 'normal' person out of all the others..and well at least you were there right? You were the calm one of the group and he liked that because he wouldn't be alone with those weirdos.
The party was going 'great'..well that was something Yunho would say but the rest of the boys were already drunk. But Hongjoong wasn't and it was something normal, every time you went out with them, Hongjoong will never get drunk and will take care of the boys.
Couple of hours in, Wooyoung came with an idea..a bottle game, of course it's something stupid you thought but since everyone was already in a circle on the floor you should join too, right?
The first couple of rounds were normal , well not really but normal for your group at least, until the bottle landed on you.
Wooyoung's face lit up with excitement.
"I'll pass." You said while getting up to do anything else rather than to continue playing that game
"Play that game! In the closet for 7 minutes. You know..7 minutes in heaven. And play it with Joong!" All of them cheered , but Hongjoong look like he was gonna pass out right there.
"Guys she's clearly uncomfortable don't push it.." of course Hongjoong was the only reasonable one there but he's expression says otherwise, he looked almost flushed, blushing a bit.
"Oh come on it's just for the fun of it! Don't be like that." Yunho yelled out, and well maybe he was right it was just for the fun of it, but you probably be uncomfortable for the whole 7 minutes..
“…Fine,” you said finally, forcing a small laugh.
You hesitated, fingers curling into the hem of your sleeve as the room waited for your answer. Hongjoong still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t looked up.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he murmured as you stepped inside, so quiet you almost missed it.
Before you could even say something, Wooyoung was already dragging you toward the closet. As the door swung open, you caught Hongjoong’s eyes for just a second wide and uncertaint
“I know,” you whispered back. “But…they won't stop till I do it.”
The door closed behind you with a soft click, you could hear the others chuckling behind the closed doors but you were too focused on Hongjoong, the closed was dark you could barley see his face.
Trying to get yourself comfortable you bumped into his arm with a soft thud hearing a soft mumble from him.
“Sorry,” you both said at the same time.
Silence settled in again, but it wasn’t unbearable. You could hear his breathing, feel the warmth of him next to you. After a moment, he spoke, softer than before.
That only made it worse or better. Hongjoong cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is… uh. Smaller than I expected.”
He shifts, clearly uncomfortable-not because he wants space, but because he doesn’t trust himself with how little there is. His shoulder brushes yours again.
"You alright? They can be a pain sometimes.."
"Yeah I'm alright..". Trying to get a better look at him in the dark, adjusting your vision you could see that he was already staring at you.
“Yeah, well.” A soft, nervous laugh. “I keep doing things I should probably apologize for.”
“…Sorry,” he murmurs automatically.
“You keep saying that,” you whisper.
He swallows. “Barely, I don't want to make you uncomfortable.."
You turn slightly, enough to see his face better. His eyes flick to yours and then away, like he got caught staring because he did.
“I’m trying really hard to behave,” he admits, voice low and almost embarrassed.
“Are you?” you ask gently.
The sudden contact between his hand and your hip had a way of making your heart skip a beat. But you remained still, observing his every move with interest.
His hand lifts, hesitates..but puts it in your hip softly.
He seemed to be holding back, his fingers lightly tracing along the fabric of your clothes.He's testing the waters, gauging your reaction.
But instead of shying away, you press subtly closer towards him, silently encouraging him to continue.
"If you want..we still have about, let's say, 5 minutes?.." You were hoping he'd do anything but disagreeing
With a subtle shift, he lifted you up, guiding you to straddle his lap. The closet's cramped space suddenly felt even more intimate, your legs tangling with his, your bodies pressed against each other. Your body already responding instinctively to the situation, Hongjoong's hands guided you more firmly onto his lap. His fingers gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to move against you.
You gasped lightly at the sensation, the friction between your bodies made your head fall back, exposing your neck, making Hongjoong lean in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin there.
You could feel him everywhere, the heat of his body burning through the thin fabric of your clothes, his breath hot against your neck, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your skin that made you shiver with need.
"Fuck" he muttered under his breath, as he watched the way your body responded to him. His hands were relentless now, rolling and grinding you down against the hard line of arousal straining in his pants.
It didn't take long for the heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach to burn, making you arch your back ever so slightly against Hongjoong's body. His breath hot on your neck, and you couldn't keep your hands from clutching at the back of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric in your grasp. You whimpered, you came hard, trembling underneath him. Though Hongjoong seemed to be in the same position. His core tightened and shook against your own as he let a small whimper in your ear.
"I was so annoyed at the thought of playing some stupid childish game but..I'm not complaining anymore."
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
note.2: hope you liked it and thank you for reading🤍
𓆪 In which Aerion Brightflame, is the embodiment of "Actions speak louder than 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴."
Summary:: Aerion's actions are like long- lasting memories. Cherishable, and adorned with love. Not verbally, but just... There.
Warnings? :: Fluff, | bad grammar, | ENGLISH IS MY FIRST LANGUAGE... embarrassing 😭| Aerion being "ooc" I think, or he's just not what he actually is in the books | one shot | uhh choppy writing
✠𓆰𓆪
Aerion wasn’t the type to verbally express his love for you. It was too...much, for him. Too overwhelming, like a dagger straight through his carefully, articulated, malice. He was quiet–mysterious, even–with how he conveyed it. It's peculiar, yes, (deep down, maybe you do like the fact that he's only soft for you) in a sense of where it doesn’t even HAVE to be laced with love, that it could just be a curated demeanor for the royal image of the Targaryens. To at least–with a silver of effort– try to seem as though you both exchange “I love you’s” as duty. But no, you see, he DOES love you, he loves you in a way where his love goes deeper than the waters of Blackwater bay, in a way where he would say, “My love is ineffable, I’d rather act upon it than adorn you incessantly as a constant reminder. Know that I love you because I show it. Not speak of it.” So yes, he does express it in his odd, aerion-type way. Only to you, though. Always for you.
Seven hells, it may not seem as such in the folk’s eyes, or in the eyes of the other dragons lurking in Summerhall, but he does. Oh, how he does. So instead, what he does to truly unveil this love he has hidden from his family (his family, out of all people), hidden only for you, are through memories.
Reminiscing, intimate, private, and soft…memories.
In nature of how he could remember gestures you do habitually–whenever you got nervous–or how he could remember your favorite pastries–a piece of jewelry you had been interested in (only a want reserved for your acknowledgement) and the little motions you do, unknowingly, whenever you’re melancholy, ecstatic, pondering about something, and more. He acts through actions, as if he’s the embodiment of “actions speak louder than words.” He would ofttimes squeeze your hands to ground you whenever you felt overstimulated, would check on you no matter the hour (literally interrupting his royal duties whenever a maid rushes to inform him regarding some silly little thing you did to grab his attention) and most of all–he’s just there. Most of your experiences and memories with him that joy you, revolve around the fact that he’s just…there. He would circle around you whenever you'd brush your hair a ridiculous amount of times, he’d acknowledge your silly little requests and asks, and even carry out tasks a servant should do himself. Aerion would break your thinly veiled boundaries and just…exist with you. It’s crazy, because he would never utter such a word, but whenever the both of you are just… alone, when the night stills, the moon’s light prances around you both, illuminating his silver-golden hair–mingling with the cackling hearth, with you settled on him in the tangled sheets, your little inhales, exhales, and sighs just filling his ears... Then that's, when he would speak it into “existence” (as if it was never there in the first place).
Aerion would speak to you with that carried, soft, raspy voice, reserved only for you, gently caressing your hair, even nudging his head a little, to be closer than he already is to what he would always state, your “heavenly-scented hair.” He’d whisper gently, his voice carrying through the quietness of your shared chambers…and finally say, “I love you.”
They way he broke down his own obsidian wall, (literally broke it down only for you. BROKE. IT. DOWN.) make it cherishable, show that warm, vulnerable, "Was a glad child once," side, quickly pecking a kiss to your forehead after as well, leaning towards the little fractions of your giggles as he flustered, maybe even repeating his words again–practically as an ode now–whenever you’d reply with “I love you, too, my dragon.”
Was above all…is, above all, a memory you could reminisce about, with him.
·˚ ༘𓆰𓆪 Hey...hey...how y'all doing..
Nah I'm js playing BUT GUYS FIRST FRICKING FIC EVER!!! I know it's probably trash but AT LEAST it's proof that I didn't use ai...
Anyways, yes, english is my first language--not my second--so dayum my bad for the bad grammar 😟
I wanted to get into writing and express the silly little scenarios that I dream about and writing had pop up in my mind when I conceptualized how so here we are...
Also, I'm very, VERY, new to writing and trying to sound as poetic as... I don't know? So PLEASE, give a girl some tips 🫡🫡
Also some tips on how to make these fudge ahh dividers on tumblr 😭
But, yea! Hope you guys enjoy this little one shot fic, it's a choppy ik but I'll keep trying to progress and make improvements.
her relationship with her boss remains precarious.
john price/f!reader, skittish secretary x unwavering boss, 6.4k wc, rated m (cunnilingus;) ao3
They were on opposite sides of the room, the interstice between them thick and stifling.
The constant white noise of pen against paper, of the man on the other side of the room breathing in his cigar, the never-ending ticking clock, grating at her ears.
The vanilla-tobacco-scented smoke engulfing the room burned its way down to her lungs, making her eyes water, but she wouldn’t dare ask him to crack open a window.
It was dark. After hours, the higher-ups had sent her boss a deadline he couldn’t meet without her, so she’d done the noble thing and stayed. Stayed in that suffocating room with him. Captain John Price. Her superior, and the main subject of her thoughts ever since she was impelled into that airless room with him, subvocally kicking and screaming.
She was immured in his office. Given the lack of space and prestige of her job title, they were expected to cohabitate. He had no need for a secretary but took her on as a favor for Laswell, giving her a desk and a paycheck so she could help lighten a load that was no plight to him.
She hadn’t wanted a job in the first place. Nevertheless, by virtue of being Maria’s friend and, to an extent, her wife Kate’s, she had too many people overly invested in her life. They forced– persuaded her to get this job on the basis of ‘Breaking out of her shell,’ and to ‘Stop acting so fucking spooked around men.’
The everlasting consequence of being locked away in an all-girls school for the entirety of her adolescent years. The effects of it still batter her in waves, she still doesn’t know how to act around them. Men. Stupid, obscure beings. It made her feel less than, like an interloper amongst women, after seeing how effortlessly they communicated with the inverse sex, how they could have them wrapped around their finger with nothing but well-aimed hooded eyes and a sultry smile. Like everybody else had cracked the code but her.
This man, in particular, left her breathless; fumbling, she didn’t know what to do with herself around him. Her heart turns into a pit in her chest, constantly weighing her down whenever she parts from him, as if it can’t stand the interspace created between them, wanting to anchor her body to his.
But, as much as it wants, it aches. Aches from her untold desires. She craves his presence as much as his absence. Yearns for his touch while condemning it.
She spends her working hours after finishing her comically light workload wallowing in fatuous fantasies, dozes off, and indulges in idealistic versions of themselves; a princess and her sworn knight; a siren and the lone sailor she bewitches to sate her desire; the god watching her while she basks in the green fields, pomegranate seeds aching to be laid on her wanting tongue held in his palms; a woman unafraid to be unveiled for love and a man acquiescent to love her in whole. Her accustom to his company remains precarious, though.
A gruff “You alright over there?” called from across the room wrenched her away from her thoughts and brought her back to actuality. She could feel his gaze on her; it made her burn all over, but she refused to meet it. She cleared her throat and responded lowly: “Yeah– um, yes all good.” her cheeks heated from embarrassment at getting caught running her mind far away, so she turned her focus back to her work, swiftly finishing the file sitting open in front of her, she let out a silent sigh of relief the last one, thank god, and added it to the pile with the others, glad at all this being over, already excited by the idea of returning to her sparse little flat, sinking into her bed, and expelling all thoughts of John Price out of her mind.
She gathered the completed files and–with her gaze down–walked over to his desk to dispose of them with slight ceremony then hastily announced her departure and turned to gather her things, eager to leave, but was stopped by his request to “Check somethin’ real quick for him,” he beckoned her towards the file lying open in front of him. She hesitantly turned back to the front of his desk, but he lured her in further with a simple gesture from his pointer and middle fingers.
She mindlessly obeyed and–with his sharp eyes tracking her every move, as if a predator stalking its prey–rounded the desk to amble closer to him, penetrating the smoke-filled aura that seemed to surround him loyally, interlaced with his entire being.
It was intoxicating. It made its way under her skin and buzzed in her veins, filling her with the overwhelming urge to climb into his lap and burrow her face into his neck so she could inhale him in full.
She settled a few steps away from his imposing figure–always heedful not to get too close. He towered over her even when seated, and she felt unnerved under the shadow cast over her like it could swallow her whole in the blink of an eye and leave her swaddled in darkness for all her life. He had slowly–without taking his eyes off her–swiveled in his chair to meet her directly.
“What’d you need, Mr. Price?” she softly asked.
He took a beat before responding to raise his cigar and suck in a hearty amount of smoke, all while drinking her in with his battle-hardened eyes. Incessantly, she had noticed on the rare occasion she gained the courage to meet the heated gaze that prickled at her neck, was how he looked at her. As if he were attempting to decorticate the hard skin off her body to reveal her soft core. It makes her want to leap out of her body to take a good hard look at herself, just to see what’s so fucking interesting to him.
Taking care to exhale the smoke away from her, he circumvented the question with a reproachful tone, “Didn’t I tell you to call me John, sweetheart?”
She shut her eyes in perturbation, “Right, I’m sorry–”
“Don’t,” he cut her off sharply, but not unkindly, “Don’t start apologizing over nothing.”
Her eyes blink open, and she breathlessly exhales a vague oh sound– he levels her a pointed look as if to stress his point, like she’d committed a grave sin by simply apologizing. They let the unoppressive silence hang in the air. He’s so… she can’t find the precise word to describe how he is with her–forbearing, gallant, gentle, and unyielding, he’s almost ineffable.
It unsettles her for him to behave this way regarding her. Like his care is anything but artificial, she doesn’t know what she’d do with herself if it weren’t. If he thought of her as a person instead of merely the nervous secretary who was dumped on his lap.
His voice snaps her out of her reverie, “Come look at this, love.” He picks up the folder and moves it to her line of sight, “This can’t be right, could it?”
She drew nearer to look at what he was referring to, unwittingly shifting closer to him. She couldn’t tell what he meant, though, it all looked accurate. She turned her head to ask him to clarify what he meant, but froze in a way reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights when she realized how close their faces were to one another.
She couldn’t help but be painfully aware of how close their lips were, she could sway forward and press hers against his. His cool and composed eyes bore into hers; wide and skittish, she seemed seconds away from fleeing the room, but his gaze cemented her body in place, turned her statuesque–as if she had been staring into Medusa’s eyes instead of her infallible boss’.
He breaks eye contact to cast his gaze down to her lips, eyes shining in captivation, and then he brings his eyes back to hers and tilts his head, seemingly in challenge.
The provocation interlaced with his demeanor awakens a dormant defiance in her and tempts her to sink her teeth in the bait; she feels drunk on the tension engulfing them. When she thinks back on this, she’ll thrash her head in dismay and cry Why, why did I cross the line with him? I’ve fed the insatiable beast, and now it can’t stop– won’t stop fiending for more scraps, it’ll scratch and bite at my hand til I grant it more but it won’t be satisfied til I split his chest open, pry open his ribs, and rest with his beating heart held in my greedy palms. But for now, she bites into the self-imposed forbidden apple and leans in, entranced and intent on capturing his lips. Pleas run in her mind, verging on prayer; Let me have what I want without acidic shame burning my skin. Let me be happy. Please.
Just as she was a hairbreadth away, a loud bang paired with a cat’s angry yowl dries out the heady air, causing the reality of the situation to come rushing back to her, and she takes a staggering step back, horror flooding her face.
She rushes to gather her belongings, “I– um, God fuck–” she stammers out, her voice growing faint til the last word comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I have to go. Goodbye, Mr. Price,” she can’t hide the tremor in her voice, already turned away from him to let her back take the brunt of his stare.
She quickly darts out of the room and inadvertently slams the door behind her, escaping into the corridor, barely hearing his pleas for her to “Wait–!”
She hurriedly flees the base and dashes through the parking lot to her car, her bag and coat crowded in her arms, the cold nips at her entire body but she can’t feel it over the molten spread throughout it–she almost slips and cracks her skull on the icy ground but she barely spares it a thought other than righting herself, her vision tunneled to a single objective.
Upon reaching her car, she quickly unlocks it–her shaking fingers only mildly fumbling the keys–and wrenches the door open, seeking refuge in its familiarity. She allows herself a second to catch her breath and thumps her head against the steering wheel, resisting the urge to scream.
After a few moments of contemplating driving her car through the nearest tree at full speed, she gathers herself and instead pulls out of the lot–at a completely safe and reasonable speed–to make her way home.
The drive and everything that came after was a blur, only a loud ping in her otherwise silent flat pulling her out of her static-filled mind. She turned over in bed to check the message, but nothing registered in her brain but sharp brightness burning her retinas. She put her phone back down, pulled the blanket over her head, and drifted into a restless sleep.
—
“See, I told you!”
Maria’s voice came clearly from the speakers of her phone, aimed at Kate, but all she could register was a faraway voice. She’d called her bright and early to confirm one fact or another, not wanting to waste any time proving herself right to her wife.
Sitting in front of her vanity, she met her own eyes in the mirror and attempted to mentally prepare herself for another emotionally arduous workday chained to John Price.
In all the months she’d started working for him he never relieved her of his presence for more than a few days at a time, apparently his infamous task force had finished a major and time-consuming mission sometime before she’d arrived so the higher-ups had offered them the grace of a respite and sent them out to shorter, less lethal missions for the time being.
Pity, she thought, I’d’ve loved to be rid of that horrid hat for a few months. Still, as soon as the thought strikes, her tender heart immediately clenches at the thought of him being in mortal danger on a battlefield instead of on his plush chair, chain-smoking and suffocating her while she steals glances at him to tuck away in her greedy mind.
She could still distinctly remember the first time she saw him, and he saw her in turn; he barged into his office, body still punitive and movements still stiff from combat, he was big and tall in a way that unnerved and excited her simultaneously.
Her gaze timorously swept over the length of his body; his thick, unkempt beard obscured his features, his fatigues brazenly displayed his body, showing off thick biceps she wanted to be enveloped in and a wide chest she wanted to burrow in. His alert eyes, shadowed by his Boonie hat, immediately zeroed in on her for a few breathless moments before passing his eyes over Kate and taking a perfunctory glance around his office, then settling on them again.
Kate had talked to him about her beforehand, and he’d already agreed to take her on, of course, so that first meeting was nothing more than a handoff. She’d felt like a wobbly preschooler being entrusted to a teacher while her mother implores them to take it easy on her, she’d felt his gaze straying from a talking Kate to her a few times but refused to meet it, still praying he’d change his mind and throw them out on their asses at some point, but he’d let her stay.
His scent had already formed a rigid impression in her brain by the time the meeting ended.
Heavy eyebags tormented her face, her dreams were plagued by memories of last night. She could still see it so vividly, her mind tacking on to the insignificant detail of a tiny mole residing under his blue eye, illuminated by the moonlight, she could still feel herself leaning in, she fabricated what comes after, though, indulging in a fantasy where she let herself want him and he wanted her in turn, let herself press her lips against his and climb onto his lap as he embraces her in his strong, safe arms before the scene fades to black and repeats over and over again.
She can hear Maria and Kate’s whispers to one another like a buzzing in her ears, conferring in a language fluent only to them. Kate was settled offscreen, and Maria’s face was angled towards her, but she didn’t need the full picture; she’d seen them lost in their own world before and could easily fill in the gaps. Seen the way their bodies mirrored one another and mindlessly fit together like puzzle pieces.
She yearns for an affinity like theirs, yearns for someone to lodge their hands in her chest and reach for all the love embedded in her soft flesh, to unstopper all the shame and guilt obstructing it from spilling out of her.
“–ey! Hey!”
Maria’s fretful voice violently pulled her out of her mind, she was mindlessly going through the motions of her routine. Normally, it’d comfort her, but now it’s another burden weighing her down.
Her light makeup felt glutinous and heavy–it made her want to scratch the skin off her face, her clothing felt restricting on her body, and the simple loose style she pulled her hair into felt like it was tearing at every hair follicle on her head.
She wanted to rip everything off her body and lie on her floor, motionless, in an infant position as if she could protect her vulnerable underbelly from the world just by curling in on herself.
But she made a promise to Maria to try. She’ll, unfortunately, do just that, keep going even when it gets too heavy. Damn, my manners.
“You good? You kinda went away for a second there.”
She plastered a too-bright smile on her face, “Yeah!” Her voice came out too high, “I’m good, everything’s terrific.” She couldn’t muster the energy to lie better.
“Okay,” Maria drawled the first vowel, deadpan, “You wanna tell the truth this time?”
She let the smile drop, “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,” she was reaching for her makeup remover, cotton pads already in hand, not caring to try today.
“She’s tired!” Her tone betrayed her disbelief, and her mouth was slowly lifting in a mischievous smile, “Tired from the oh-so-strenuous work John gives you? Please! He barely lets you lift a finger,” she took a moment to tack on a lilting tone, “Y’know,” her smile grew, “I think he’s sweet on you.” She brandished her frankly unnecessary opinion like it was a God-given prophecy.
Her face heated and she attempted to don a hardened look on her face, “Get your head out of your ass, Maria, you’re talking nonsense.”
“No,” she drawled the word, “I think I’m talking just right, don’t you think so, Kate?” She turned to face her wife, unfairly bringing in somebody else to gang up on her.
She could hear Kate humming in faux contemplation before replying, “You’re always right, love.” Maria turned back to face the camera, wearing a victorious look, “His eyes did seem…” Kate continued, before trailing off to find a suitable word, “Obsessive, I guess, in how he looked at you, last time I visited the base. The man could barely take them off you for longer than a few seconds. It was terrifying, honestly. should send him for a psych eval soon.”
Maria let out a loud sound of delight.
She couldn’t suppress her eye-roll, “You’re both delusional; when’s the last time you had a black mold inspection done?” She finished wiping her makeup off, sighing in relief, then threw the used cotton pads in the bin near her vanity.
Maria laughed, “All of our mold is fine, thank you! And you know I’m right!”
“I don’t know shit about that, and now, since some of us have jobs, particularly ones brutally forced on them, I have to go, so goodbye!” She pressed the end call button, effectively cutting off Maria’s cackle.
—
The cold bites at her skin as she exits her car, and gray, brooding clouds loom over her, promising to bring nothing but whipping winds and piercing, needle-like rain.
She makes her way to the compact building, the base offers nothing but temporary habitation for soldiers–she doesn’t know what’ll happen to her when they decide to move on. Will he march her out of their office and send her off with a Thanks for nothing, darlin’? Eager to be rid of her nesting on her shabby desk? Taking up space just to do fuck all?–It sits there in all its glory; cramped barracks, a tiny cafeteria, and outside, at the edge of the structure, a flat surface serves as a small helipad that can be accessed by the ever-open doors adjacent to it on the building.
She passes by it en route to her office and catches the dreaded object of her thoughts from afar, dressed in full gear, standing ways away from a chopper and debriefing his squad.
Soldiers buzzed around them like worker bees–each with a delegated task, ensuring to keep the cogs of the hive turning.
Then, she sees rather than hears John release his squad with a firm, sharp dismissal. They disperse from around him and bestow a clear, unobstructed view for her to get lost in his towering figure.
She knows that if he turned and allowed her to ogle at his muscled back and broad shoulder blades, she’d die, so she sends him a silent thank you for sparing her a mortifying death and facing resolutely to the side, overseeing the loading of the equipment.
Through the haze of John, she glimpses from her peripheral Soap attempting to climb a large yet-to-be-loaded container, boasting about his ability to do one thing or another to Gaz–who was not-so-subtly egging him on–but was yanked back in place by Ghost’s tight grip on the back of his tact vest, looking all but an enervated mother who’s mostly given up on keeping her unruly children in check.
It’s strange, she thinks, to see them filled with such spirit–as if their lives aren’t on the line more often than not. She wonders how they do it, how they can go on when a scythe hangs a hairbreadth away from their delicate throats, only a tiny push needed from a well-aimed bullet, or a well-placed knife for it to penetrate their flesh and claim their damned souls.
She stares at them, splitting her attention between John and his squad.
She can’t help but be envious of how even the dead men walking can find instances of bliss, but whenever she tries to grasp it, she pries open her fist, and only bitter ash slips through her fingers. She wondered if the promise of a bullet to the head could blow life into her.
She wants to dissect their minds. Pin their bodies down, steady their heads, and take a bone saw to their skulls, then scrutinize the inner workings of their bruised brains to try and imitate their happiness. She prophesied these stolen moments are what drag their half-dead bodies–inured to the scent of death and gunpowder–back to a civilization that condemns them.
She feels the weight of his familiar gaze on her and immediately meets it, drawn to him with no choice in the matter.
A beat passes while the rest of the world becomes an ambiguous blur for her, and the only lucid being to her is John. John.
She wants to scream his name, whisper it, moan it, caress it, and violently trap it between her gnashing teeth.
John, John, John.
She’d never allowed herself to say it aloud, no matter how the urge clogs her throat when he reminds her of his blessing. It’s dangerously intimate to her–her heart sharply skips a beat whenever he calls her name, and she wants to sew his mouth shut every time he does, teetering on the edge of wanting him never to speak it again or having it be all that he utters.
She catalogs the minute facial expressions that flit across his face and tucks them in a neat box reserved for John in the back of her mind. Even with her back-breaking systematizing of his every look, word, and burning touch, he remains enigmatic to her, she can’t quite seem to grasp the meaning behind his every action. Still, God, the overwhelming want to understand, boils her body from the inside out.
After what seemed like an eternity, she breaks their distant contact and hastily makes her way to the office.
—
Looking out from the window to the cold torrent of rain, its frigidity seeps through the walls and cools her skin, and its persisting pounding on the roof mixed with frequent rumbles of thunder makes her shudder.
She nervously picked at her nails, bemoaning the moment of weakness she submitted to the fatigue weighing down her weary bones, and took a nap.
It was supposed to be a short one, honest to God, thirty minutes tops. She cuddled into the rickety couch sitting in the corner of the office, soothed into a deep sleep by the then light pitter-patter of rain.
She was roused from her sleep, Lord knows how many hours later, by the sound of booming thunder, completely ignorant of the alarm she had set earlier.
She was too scared to drive under these conditions, envisioning losing control of the wheel and hydroplaning off a bridge or lightning striking the car, frying her on the spot.
I’ll just wait it out, how long could a storm possibly last, she took a deep breath, in and out, I’ll be home soon, I’ll finally catch up on my show, maybe even take a hot bath, do some pre-sleep yoga, get a routine started, it only takes twenty days to form a habit, right? Maybe it’ll stick this time, and everything will be just fi–
The door opening behind her made her jump before whirling to see who the culprit was.
She found John with his hand still on the doorknob, his body tensed for a split second at the sight of her before relaxing.
Her body freezes at seeing him, and her nerves get even more frazzled.
Fucking perfect. I pray for a months-long mission only to be granted one that didn’t even last five minutes, spec-fucking-tacular.
He didn’t seem to be cursing her existence like she was doing his, seemingly content to idle under the door’s archway. Hm, mission must’ve gone well.
The rest of the 141 are probably scattered around base and going about their post-mission rituals. She doesn’t know John’s; they always arrive in the dead of night, so this is a first for her.
A beat passes without a word from either of them.
Then he calls her name, and she lifts her head to face him, his body hangs still, head tilted to the side, and eyes intent on her–like a hound that’s spotted a rabbit.
“What’re you doing here so late?” His gravelly voice felt like it was caressing her, and she shivered.
She weakly gestured to her desk, “I got caught up with work,” their heads turned in sync to her glaringly empty desk.
It was a flimsy lie, and the motion of his lips, lightly quirking beneath his beard, shows that he knows it.
Closing the door, he abandoned his post from the archway, then noiselessly approached his desk.
He’s light on his feet for a big man, giving her many almost heart attacks from how he sneaks up behind her.
Opening his desk drawer, he grabs an ashtray, a lighter, and a cigar.
Then he went to sit on the couch that still held her sleepy warmth. He placed the ashtray on the armrest, lit his cigar, then raised it to take a drag.
She found herself entranced through it all–the flame illuminating his handsome face, the evident exhaustion draining from his body with one smoke-filled exhale, eyes shut in bliss, and his head tilting to rest on the back of the couch, exposing his throat, all while spreading his thighs wide.
She wanted to sit on his inviting lap, bite his vulnerable throat, and leave her mark on him.
It’s like he’s begging me to jump him–what a sick, sick man.
She was rooted to her spot, at a loss for what to do and flooded by images of what had happened the last time she was trapped in this very room with him, late at night.
“Why don’t you sit?” He unseeingly calls out to her, “Get a leg off.”
She stared at him in disbelief, appalled at the simple request, and racked her brain for an escape route, but came out dry. She’s not comfortable enough around the base to wander off in the dark for solitude.
Reluctantly, she gives in and slowly inches to the couch, way more cautiously than the situation warranted. Her eyes shifted towards him, then quickly away, but he remained apathetic.
Sitting as far away as the couch allowed, she crowded herself on the edge opposite him.
Her body was taut, every part of her rigid and distinctly uncomfortable, a stark difference to his deliquesced figure.
A chuckle came from him, breaking the silence. It grated on her; she wanted to turn and ask him what was so funny, but her resolve to be as discomfited as possible–to wordlessly communicate how much she didn’t want to be here with him–won over.
She didn’t need to ask; he told her anyway, “Scared the shit outta me, seeing you standing there in the dark. Had my heart dropping to my ass, ‘specially after an op.”
“Oh…” She didn’t know how to respond or why he was telling her this. “My bad.”
He hummed noncommittally in response. “Came straight here to work on the reports, can’t get proper shut-eye with it hanging over my head.”
Normally, she’d offer to help, but she didn’t want to stay in his overwhelming presence any longer than needed, so she said nothing.
He makes idle conversation she can only respond to in choked monosyllables; it doesn’t seem to bother him, though, merely using this moment to unwind after an exacting day. With her.
It isn’t like he had any other choice with how she greedily takes space, no matter how small she tries to shrink her presence.
From her peripheral vision, she saw him half-lidded and staring into nothingness, then taking a long drag from his cigar and blowing tendrils of smoke into the stiff air. Heat pooled in her lower abdomen as if it were hitting her directly instead.
The ticking clock taunted her. She further averted her gaze. If I stay here any longer, I’m gonna explode.
“I think the storm’s letting up.” She was lying through her teeth, but she needed to get out. “So, I’m gonna get going.”
Just as she went to get up, his piercing tone cut her off, “Don’t be daft, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere with how it’s pissin’ outside. Car’ll probably fly off the road five minutes out. ”
“It’s not that bad.”
A sharp look from him shut her up and had her burrowing into her end of the couch, back bowed in defeat.
Then a sudden heat encompassed her knee, his paw of a hand enfolded her in apparent comfort.
She could no longer feel herself breathe, every nerve going into overdrive from his touch, sending blaring warnings of pleasure to her brain neurons.
“It’ll be alright, love.” She couldn’t face him, her eyes were locked on his warm touch, a painful polarity to her icy skin. “I’m sure you’ll be home soon.”
She gave a shaky mhm in response. His thumb was steadily caressing the side of her knee in a careful rhythm, halting her temporal lobe from processing his words. Every nerve was focused solely on his touch.
“What’s got you scrambling, anyway? Got somebody waitin’ on you at home?” No amount of injected lightness could hide the trepidation in his tone.
“Uh…” She blinks her eyes to shake off the John-induced haze, but his touch leaves her stupefied. It wasn’t a common occurrence for her to be felt like this.
He called her name, and she turned to him of her own accord.
“Do you?”
Without taking her eyes off his, she lightly shook her head and murmured a barely audible No.
He hummed in satisfaction. “Good.”
The air felt still, and everything else but John was blurred to her. They stayed like that, captivated by one another’s gaze, and John’s hand inches higher bit by bit.
The space between them seemed to grow smaller by the second–fortuitously drawn to each other like puppets on a string, til they were breathing the same air and their faces were a hair's breadth away from one another.
She didn’t know what it was about him that could have her drowned in a daze and miles away from a comprehensible thought.
Further leaning in, he lingered near her lips, while his hand flexed in restraint. She wanted to close the distance but found herself hesitant–her final rational action. A soft, distant voice in her mind implores her to stop and think about what she’s doing, but she finds her every crevice exhausted at being cautious, so she throws it to the wind and kisses him.
It’s clumsy and frantic at first, weeks of need finally reaching a boiling point and spilling over. Then his free hand reaches up to cup her cheek and gently angles her face to his liking, she reaches up and grabs his wrist to anchor herself in the overwhelming sea of spilled emotions.
She lets out a low moan, then feels his hand tighten around her knee before trailing up to grip her waist.
His kiss deepens, and his body crowds hers before he pulls back enough to pull her over his lap–manhandling her like his pliant doll.
He kisses her hard, like he’s trying to infuse mountains of past frustration into it, tongues at her lips before she parts them to let him in. His hand goes to her nape while the other encircles her waist. He holds her in place to devour her to his heart’s desire while she tries to keep up with the heady taste of him.
She feels lost in his encompassing warmth, her hands are squished between her chest and his, and she can’t help but feel like an old-fashioned movie heroine locked in the tight embrace of the kind, chivalrous romantic interest, but she knows he’s anything but. Something coils beneath his skin, rears its head and waits for the perfect opportunity to strike.
She unconsciously grinds on the growing bulge she can feel under her, her cunt throbes and she lets out a soft whine at the staggering pleasure that pulses through her and she hungers for more.
He pulls away from her with a low growl and stops her movements with one hand to her thigh, then tucks his face into the junction between her neck and shoulder, his heavy breaths make her shiver.
He lightly nips her skin before resurfacing, staring at her with voracity in his eyes, and the flush in his cheeks to the tips of his ears makes her keenly aware of hers; his lips are red and swollen and glistening, and she knows she looks just as wrecked as he does.
Both his hands come up to cradle her face and she feels small beneath them. He lightly tilts her head to the side before leaning in to kiss the corner of her lips, then her cheeks, then down her neck to her collar bones, while whispering a soft “please, please, please,” in between.
“Let me take care of you,” she hears whispered in the hollow of her neck.
She yields in turn.
He guides her back onto the couch, then goes to kneel before her. He sets his palms on her pressed thighs and caresses them, trying to coax her into relaxation.
He strokes her from her thighs to her knees, up and down again and again while softly kneading her. Then his hands settle on her knees before gently prying them apart, he stares up at her momentarily before refocusing on her parted legs.
Hands on the back of her knees pull her towards him before traveling up to slowly ruck up her skirt.
She feels exposed already, his eyes are intent on her clothed core, and she can feel them focused on the wet staining the cotton. His hand reaches up to thumb it, and her thighs would’ve shut if it weren’t for his broad shoulders straining them open.
A broken whine escapes her when he presses on her clit, he placidly rolls her thumb over it and she can’t help but push into his touch, seeking more.
Suddenly pulling away, she jolts at the deprivation. He reaches to take her underwear off, slowly revealing her to him. His mouth goes dry at the strands of wetness clinging to the cotton.
The sight of her bare cunt only has him growing harder, his bulge strains in his pants and he palms himself to offer meager relief.
She’d turned away from him, unable to stand the sight of him removing the final barrier between them. A harsh “Fuck.” reaches her ears and it pulls her gaze to him.
The sight of him leaves her breathless. He’s enrapt by her–the darks of his pupils have taken over the blues of his eyes, and his rough breathing fills her ears. He looks ravenous, and her skin buzzes half in anticipation and half in fear over what he might do to her.
He hooks his hands beneath her knees, lifting and placing her legs over his shoulders before sinking lower into the chasm of her thighs.
His lips graze her inner thigh, placing a singular, tender kiss. His beard scratches the sensitive skin.
Hearing a deep inhale, her cheeks heat over the thought of him taking in her scent. The feeling of his breath, every hard inhale and exhale, on her heated core makes her writhe and fist the cushion beneath her in impatience.
He uses his thumbs to spread her folds apart to admire. Her back arches off the couch, and he sits still, torturing her with his need to look. Her hips tilt upwards towards him, and she feels like she’s going to burst if he doesn’t do something about the pulsating ache between her thighs.
Unhurriedly, his head travels lower, and he finally gets his mouth on her. She trembles with the first lick and moans.
One arm drapes itself across her lower stomach, and the other settles itself upon her upper thigh, inching towards her mons.
With every drag of his tongue her head gets emptier and emptier, then it fills with sudden, devestating static when his thumb grinds against her clit. She cries out, and vibrations from his moans turn her pleasure all the more potent.
Her body contorts to the rhythm of the storm, and his unrelenting in devouring her pulls her every nerve taut, and she’s so unbearingly close it makes her teeth gnash.
The cadenced pleasure flowing through her body feels like the incessant pressing of a bruise. She grinds her cunt against his mouth and locks her thighs against his head–uncaring if he suffocates in her desperate chase of her peak.
Her body goes tight, then unwinds in white hot pleasure. A cried “John!” is ripped from her throat, and her hand knots in his hair to hold him still; he allows her to ride her climax out. Her chest heaves, and she’s molten in his hold.
Gradually, she comes to and the static in her mind melts away to the twin sounds of their lurching breaths.
She meets his gaze from where he lies on her thigh. He looks ruined, and she can’t imagine she looks any better.
The lower half of his face is flushed and soaked, and she can practically see the tension running through his body.
He stares up at her with flames licking at his gaze, but she looks away, out towards the window and the waning storm.
Warnings: none really? Narumi might be a bit ooc lol. Not proof read.
Tags: established relationship between reader and narumi.
Author's note: this is my first ever fic so uhh yeah, might be a bit choppy and cringe. English is my second language so beware. It's kinda short. while editing this I accidentally deleted a few paragraphs... Had to redo them at 12 am <\3
Synopsis: it had been a long week. You just wanted rest. Lucky for you, narumi is here to comfort you.
It had been a long week. Kaiju after kaiju appearing. And since it was in your division's part of Tokyo, your division was the first one to respond, meaning you were usually the one taking out the kaiju.
So, when you went home, you just wanted to lay down.
You don't find it surprising that when you get home, narumi is playing games in the living room. You just quietly walk past him and into the bedroom.
Narumi is instantly drawn away from his game, and looks at you as you walk past him. This was weird. You're not usually this quiet. You greet him when you get home usually. But you didn't today.
He pauses his game. But he hesitates. He doesn't know how to comfort someone. But for you, he's willing to try.
He gets up, and follows you to the bedroom. He knocks lightly. But upon getting no reply, he walks in.
He leans against the doorframe, he hesitates before speaking."Long day?" A pause. "You didn't roast me for gaming like you usually do."
You shrug. Then lay down.
He sits down beside you, before laying down next to you and pulling the covers over you. He doesn't hesitate to cuddle you, because he thinks it would comfort you (it does). Then, he wordlessly starts tracing circles on your back.
"You know," he finally speaks again "you did great out there." He pauses. "But you don't have to be strong in here."
"Rest. I've got you."
You murmur something intangible. It's not like he was expecting any reply from you in your current state anyways.
After a few moments, he realises that you've fallen asleep. He stays, even though he knows his game is still on in the living room.
The next morning, when you wake up, he's right beside you, sleeping Peacefully. He never left to go back to his game. You can hear the faint sound of the game music coming from the living room.
Valentine and Mammon are having a movie night when things get hot and heavy, but will Val be able to handle it when past traumas start bleeding into her love life?
AO3 link
Word count: 6681
CW: NSFW, hurt/comfort, vanilla sex, mentions of previous bad relationships
AN: this is my first fic ever, so please have mercy on me T-T
Screams ring out in the dark hallway, a girl is running from something terrifying. The creature is hot on her heels, so close that its noxious breath moves the hairs on the back of her neck. Suddenly, a turn in the hallway appears, but the girl isn’t quick enough. She crashes into the wall with a yelp, scrambling to her knees before taking a look behind her. There’s a dim, flickering light above her, illuminating only her shivering form. The creature is nowhere to be found, and she sighs in relief. But, just as she gets to her feet, a growl fills the room. Wide eyed, she turns back towards the darkness where yellow eyes stare back. Before she even has the chance to scream, the creature leaps at her with a roar.
The guttural noise echoes through Mammon’s speakers, invoking a dramatic flinch from him and a loud laugh from his girlfriend. Valentine knew she had picked right when she chose a movie date, each schlocky horror flick selected by her personally. So what if he’s a chicken? Each jump and choked squeal from him delighted her, especially when he “discreetly” hid his head in her neck. Mammon had started glaring petulantly at her, only encouraging her to laugh harder.
“Awww, did the monster scare you? At least you didn’t scream this time!”
Mammon huffs with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest.
“That thing is fuckin’ creepy, how are you not freaked out?”
He whines, making Valentine giggle and raise an eyebrow.
“This is a shitty b-movie, the monster looks like a muppet. Do Muppets scare the great Mammon?”
She turns her body to face him, crossing her legs as she brings them up on the couch. He was beginning to blush, turning his head a little bit so presumably she wouldn't notice. Cute.
“Hmph. I don't know how ya watch this stuff without getting nightmares” he grumbles, conveniently sidestepping her question.
Valentine rolls her eyes at him with a playful sigh, rising up onto her knees. She delights in the confused look on his face and the color in his cheeks as he turns to face her. The color grows deeper when she leans in close, letting a teasing purrleave her lips.
“Do you need a distraction from the Muppet monster?”
Mammon grumbles softly, something about not being scared. Valentine snickers, kissing his warm cheek. She takes in his flustered expression before planting her lips on his other cheek. Then his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally the corner of his lips. Mammon's blush has spread to his ears now, and his pretty blue eyes have gone as wide as saucers. Valentine shoots him a deceptively innocent grin.
“You're cute when you're flustered, sweetie” she muses.
Mammon stammers indignantly for a second, then groans.
“Ya little-”
His hands came to cradle her face, which had taken on a rather smug grin, before returning the favor. He peppers little kisses across her face, making her giggle in delight. He ends his assault with a peck to her lips, taking in the blush blooming across her cheeks with a self satisfied smile.
Valentine laughs softly, letting her smug expression melt into something more lovestruck before leaning in once more. She places another kiss on his lips, lingering just a little longer than he did. Before she pulls away fully, Mammon leans in for more. This one is deeper than before, requiring Valentine to place her hands on either side of his hips for balance. Mammon's thumbs stroke gently over her cheeks, encouraging her to melt into him. She sighs shakily, taking in the scent and taste of him as their bodies begin to intertwine.
They pull away from each other to breathe for a moment, smiling dreamily at one another. Valentine breaks the silence first.
“See? A good distraction was all you needed.”
Mammon groans and rolls his eyes at her, and she laughs heartily before scooting closer. Her knees replace her hands beside his hips, and her hands move to run through his soft hair. He glares up at her, but his eyes hold no heat.
“Way to fuck up the mood, V.”
Valentine snickers as she settles on his lap, cooing at him while running her sharp nails over his scalp.
“Aw, come on! I'm sorry, will you ever forgive me?”
Mammon huffs and turns his cheek to her, causing a whine to leave her lips. She presses a loud obnoxious kiss to his cheek, catching the way he smiles.
“Mammon, you can't ignore me forever.” She chirps, batting her eyes at him. He huffs again, suppressing his smile as he crosses his arms. Valentine pouts, pausing the movie before leaning in closer.
“Please, sweetie?” She murmurs in his ear, frowning when she gets no response.
If he wants to play dirty, she'll show him dirty.
She starts at his jaw, leaving featherlight pecks. When this rouses no response from her boyfriend, Valentine ups the ante. His neck is next, and her hands come to rest softly on his chest. This earns a barely noticeable shudder. She smirks against the tan skin of his neck, bringing her lips to where his neck and shoulder meet. He tenses underneath her, and she knows she has him.
Valentine bares her teeth for a moment, taking in his sharp inhale before sinking her teeth into his warm skin. A moan leaves Mammon's lips, and he quickly guides her face away from his neck. His cheeks are flushed, and his blue eyes have darkened. He wastes no time in crashing their lips together, ripping a moan from her throat. Mammon wraps his arms around her waist, pressing their bodies flush as his tongue meets hers.
Falling into the familiar embrace, Valentine follows his lead. She threads her fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck, settling firmly onto his lap. Mammon groans at the pressure, and she giggles. The hardness now nestled between her thighs is extremely satisfying, especially when the owner whines at every twitch of her hips.
“You're killing me, Val…”
Another giggle fills the room. Valentine nips at Mammon's bottom lip and gently rocks her hips, gasping when he pulls her into another heated kiss. Despite the revealing nature of her pajamas, a tank top and shorts with no inseam, she was beginning to feel rather hot. Large hands begin to stroke over her body, grabbing at her waist greedily before moving down to her hips. Mammon stills for a moment, resting his hands on her without truly taking hold. For a moment, it seemed like he would pull away.
Valentine knew what he wanted to ask, and was unwilling to part from him when action would be just as good of an answer. With one hand still on him, cradling his face, she takes the other and lays it over one of Mammon's. Smiling into him, she squeezes, hoping he'll get the message. He does, groaning shakily into her mouth as he gropes the meat of her ass. A whine is ripped from her throat as he guides her to grind against him, rubbing her just right.
While this situation feels familiar to Valentine, the presence of Mammon as the other party has anxiety beginning to brew in her gut. She tries to drown her sudden bad feelings in him, whimpering into his mouth as her clothed clit is dragged across his erection. The distraction works for a little bit, and she loses herself in the way he moans.
The anxiety is brought back with a vengeance once she feels the tips of his fingers travelling under her top, and she tenses instinctively. Mammon pulls away from her a little, and she cringes at the furrow in his brow.
“Hey, is this okay? Are you okay?”
He murmurs sweetly, too sweetly for someone like her. Shit, no. She was just enjoying herself a second ago, why did she have to ruin it?
“Um…”
Um? Who fucking answers with ‘um’, Valentine thinks to herself. She can see him getting more worried, and his thumbs have started rubbing soothingly over her ribs. He was too good for her. Fuck, what was with the sudden negativity? Her brain feels like mush, and not in the good way anymore-
Warm hands cradle her face, bringing her mind back from the unsexy gutter.
“Val, you okay? We can stop if ya want, I know ya don't wanna rush things.”
Fuck, okay, time to respond like a human person. She counts down in her head, forcing noise from her lips when she gets to zero.
“I… I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, I just-”
She can feel her eyes begin to tingle and her vision begins to blur. The pair panics in tandem, Valentine quickly looking up and wiping roughly at her face while Mammon begins to fuss.
“Hey, hey, what's wrong? Why are ya cryin’? Did I go too far, or-”
She groans wetly and presses a damp hand over his mouth, unable to look at him. A sniffle leaves her before she can stop it, and the hem of her tank top is promptly dragged over her damp cheeks. She doesn't even register the way his eyes flit to her midriff for a moment before returning to her face.
After what feels like forever, Valentine murmurs out, still unable to look at him.
“You didn't do anything, I… it's just me.”
Her hand leaves Mammon's mouth, coming to meet the other as she begins to pick at the skin around her nails. He shifts a little where he sits, hovering his hands over hers before setting them at his sides.
“Whaddya mean?”
She grimaces, staying silent as her face grows uncomfortably warm.
His fingers move to ghost over her white knuckles, leaning slightly to get a better look at her face.
“Valentine, talk to me, please.” He whispers.
Her eyes squeeze shut and after a moment, her hands cling to Mammon's in a crushing grip. A shaky exhale leaves her lips, followed by barely audible murmurs.
“I'm… I'm scared. I want this, but I'm scared that if we do anything, you…”
She swallows thickly.
“I'm scared you won't love me anymore, that you'll see… this is all I'm good for.”
The grip on his hands increases in pressure, and her hands begin to shake a little. Visions of what he may say swirl about in Valentine's mind, each becoming worse than the last before her face is cradled once more. She didn't even notice him prying himself free. Mammon's soft lips ghost over her forehead before he pulls her in for a hug, humming softly when she buries her face in the crook of his neck.
“That's a pretty dumb thought” he muses.
She raises her head with a quickness, giving him an incredulous glare.
“Excuse me?”
Mammon gives her a teasing smile, chuckling softly when her frown deepens.
“Ya heard me. That's a dumb thought to have.”
Valentine gawps like a fish for a moment, about to protest before he continues.
“If ya think I was gonna wait forever to even date you -- let alone have sex with you -- then dump you right after…”
He presses a featherlight kiss to the tip of her now very red nose, smirking.
“Then I'd say yer pretty dumb.”
She pouts at him, huffing when his expression grows smug. A sigh leaves her lips as she rests her cheek on his shoulder, mumbling softly while tracing patterns on his clothed chest.
“I mean, it's happened before. I think I have a right to be scared…”
Mammon scoffs at that, resting his own cheek on her temple as he grumbles.
“Yeah, well that fucker doesn't know how bad he's missin’ out. He and your other exes don't know that you snort when ya laugh. They don't know how much of a geek you can be, or how long you can rant about a shitty copper merchant from ancient mesopotamia.”
Valentine giggles a little, and Mammon smiles in return.
“And ya know how I know that? Because if all they were focusin’ on was how good you look or how you were in bed, they clearly missed out on everythin’ else.”
She rises back up on her knees, looking at him with an uncharacteristically demure expression.
“You really mean that?” She says softly.
Mammon gives her a big grin, pinching her pink cheek.
“You betcha. I meant it when I said I love you and want ya all for myself, and I'm a man of my word.”
She raises an eyebrow at him.
“...for you only?”
Valentine rolls her eyes with a scoff and a smile, draping her arms around his neck.
“You're insufferable. Now give me a kiss, dummy.”
He huffs out a laugh before leaning in to meet her lips. This kiss is softer than before, and slightly soggier due to the remaining tear tracks on her cheeks. She pulls away and just looks at him for a moment, taking in his lovestruck expression. Mammon must actually love her to look at her like that. Valentine's smile changes to something more sheepish, and her pale cheeks start to flush again.
“Ugh, I really fucked up the mood this time, huh? I don't see you as the type to enjoy being cried on before sex.” She squeaks out through her grimace, looking away from him again.
He chuckles softly before pecking her cheek, then wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Maybe just a little bit. But ya might be forgettin’ somethin’…”
Mammon leans up to whisper in her ear.
“You've basically been grindin’ against my dick this whole time, y'know? Been givin’ me conflicted feelin’s.”
Those sultry words, said in a sugary sweet tone, send fire to Valentine's lower belly. She's suddenly reminded of the hardness cradled by her clothed loins, and now has the wherewithal to notice how badly it's throbbing.
“Oh.”
The word leaves her mouth in a monotone fashion, but her face gives her away. Already pink cheeks grow pinker, clawed hands move to grasp his shoulders, and her hips move just slightly. The motion is just enough to provide her some now much needed friction, and this wrings a little whimper from her lips.
Mammon groans in an almost pained way, and Valentine takes in his expression with hooded eyes. His furrowed brows, his blown out pupils, the softness of his slightly parted lips, this brings to mind fine art. His expression belongs on a canvas, she thinks.
“Val, you're killin’ me here…”
His whine snaps her out of her musings, and she chuckles.
“What? What am I doing?” She teases.
He groans again, tightening his grip on her waist. She can feel how his hands shake, and it brings a deceptively sweet smile to her face.
“Val, please…”
She giggles and kisses his cheek, then brings her lips to ghost over his ear.
“Is it this?”
She coos sweetly before grinding into his erection once more. His moan permeates the room, and she grins at the way his hands shoot to her hips. He gazes at her desperately, panting slightly and blushing.
“Fuck, you're evil.” He whines.
She smiles wordlessly, wiggling just enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. The grip on her hips tighten, and his voice becomes rather serious.
“Val, wait. Are ya sure you want this? I know I do, but do you still wanna hold off?” He grits out.
Valentine stops for a moment, retreating to her thoughts. Does she want this? Yes. God, yes. Then why isn't she saying anything? Anxiety. That irritating emotion has reared its ugly head again, and she squashes it with a quickness. There's nothing to be anxious about, this is Mammon we're talking about. The same Mammon who’s waited months to even get to dry humping, who's always been mindful of her boundaries, who's always quick to apologize -- really apologize -- when he gets something wrong. That was more than she ever received in seven relationships combined, as sad as that sounds.
She makes her decision, smiling softly at Mammon after what feels like an eternity. God, his sweet face really does belong on a canvas.
“I'm ready, sweetie.”
Mammon's expression changes to something half concerned, half hopeful.
“Are- are ya sure? I don't wanna-”
Valentine interrupts him with a soft kiss, and his words melt on her tongue. She pulls away, still smiling.
“I'm sure. I want this, I want you.”
He gazes into her eyes for a moment longer, as if to confirm, then pulls her into a deep kiss. They both sigh shakily and melt into each other, her fingers thread through his hair while his hands begin to guide her hips once again. He swallows her moans with a throaty growl, muttering against her lips.
“Fuck, you have no idea how long I've wanted to have ya like this”
She whines and yanks him back into her. A shiver runs down her spine as the tips of his fingers travel under her top again, and she doesn't freeze up this time. In fact, she beats him to the punch. Valentine regretfully pulls away from their embrace for a moment to yank off her tank top, tossing it into some corner of his room. Mammon's eyes land on her ample chest, now available to him. His gaze is hungry, almost reverent in a way. She giggles and cocks her head.
“See something you like?”
Mammon nods dumbly, and his hands travel to sit on her ribs, right underneath the softness of her breasts. His eyes flick up to hers seeking permission, she nods with a smile. He breathes in shakily, leaning down to press sloppy kisses to her collarbone while his hands gently take hold of her. Soft moans begin to fill the room as he works, and her hands shoot to his hair when he rolls her nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. She grinds down on him while burying her face in his soft hair, enjoying the noises that flee from him as his mouth works down her chest.
A whine leaves Valentine's mouth when his wraps around her other nipple, and she has to prevent her long nails from puncturing his skin as his tongue glides quickly over the little bud. He hums happily around her as her mind begins to melt, and her hips begin to jerk back and forth rather than calmly rock. He growls against her at the increased friction, moving back to her neck to begin leaving marks. She whimpers at the sensation of his teeth grazing her skin, leaning slightly to give him more room. Mammon nips at her earlobe, whispering huskily in her ear.
“Keep makin’ those pretty noises for me, V. I wanna hear ‘em all.”
Valentine hums shakily, pressing a hard kiss into his temple. She opens her mouth to retort when she is interrupted by the sensation of him cupping her through her shorts. A high pitched whine is pulled from her throat when his finger begins pressing her clit, sending fire through her nervous system. She can't even bring herself to pout when he chuckles at her, too focused on the tantalizingly slow rub of his manicured finger.
“Have I got ya speechless? You've been teasin’ me all night, thought ya woulda kept it up.”
Mammon's voice is teasing, almost certainly enjoying the way she's writhing in his grip. His hand pulls away from her clit, and even though the pleasure of him messing with her breast is still there, Valentine has enough wherewithal to try and speak.
“Sh- shut up-”
A moan is ripped from her, interrupting her sentence. He had wormed his hand inside her shorts and began rubbing her clit uninhibited by her clothing. He chuckles again as she loses balance, leaning heavily against his chest.
“What was that? I didn't hear ya, speak up.”
He teases, starting to nip at her neck again as she moans shakily into his shoulder. Whining frustratedly, she begins toying with the hem of his shirt. She wants it off, now. She needs to feel the heat of his skin against hers. He gets the message, removing his now soaked hand from her shorts to yank off his shirt. Taking the opportunity, she scoots off his lap to stand and push her thumbs under the waistline of her shorts. By the time she's yanking them off and tossing them across the room, Mammon is already watching her hungrily, as if resisting the urge to jump her bones right there.
“You… you're insufferable, you know that?”
She pants, legs a little shaky from the prior events. He grins wolfishly, standing slowly to loom over her. He leans down to deliver a sultry whisper.
“You won't be saying that later tonight, or anythin’ at all.”
Before she can retort, he's looped his hands underneath her thighs and scooped her up, earning a squeak from her. She smiles and giggles, pressing little kisses to his face as he carries her to his bed. With a grin he lays her down on the mattress, settling between her legs. Before he can lean down to her, she places her knee against his chest. At his confused look she smirks.
“As good as those sweatpants look on you, I'm sure they'll look better on the floor. Take ‘em off, loverboy.”
Mammon's wolfish grin returns, backing off the bed to stand. His toned physique is enhanced by the low lighting of the room, as is the impressive tent in those sweatpants. His thumbs wedge underneath the waistband, grazing over his defined v-line. As impossible as it may seem, he somehow makes the action of taking off sweatpants look sexy.
Maybe it's the way the fabric moves tantalizingly down to reveal the tan skin of his thighs, or maybe it's just Mammon himself, but Valentine can feel herself growing hotter by the second. He kicks the garment to the side haphazardly, standing in front of her with a cocky grin. He earned it, she thinks. His physique is nothing to sniff at, but she knew that already. What really draws her attention is the weapon between his legs, the sight earning hitched breath and a gnawed lip.
Mammon is basking under her attention with a grin, subtly posing so the low lighting catches him just right. Cheeky fucker.
“See somethin’ ya like?”
Valentine pouts as her own words are used against her, but quickly gets over it in favor of getting him skin-to-skin with her.
“No shit I do, you're literally a model. Get that pretty ass back on top of me.”
She breathed out, not sounding as snarky as she would have liked. That didn't matter to him, as he just chuckled and did what she asked. Their lips meet once again, and she drapes her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He hums into her mouth, shifting to balance on one forearm while the other trails lower. The pads of his fingers meet her clit again, rubbing gently as little whimpers begin pouring from her lips once more. He grins, ghosting his lips over her ear.
“That smartass mouth goes away real fast, huh?”
She moans frustratedly, pressing her face to the crook of his neck. He chuckles, then yelps softly when she bites him. His hand stalls for a moment, earning a breathy laugh from her. He huffs, pulling back slightly to see her smug expression. His was dangerous.
“Oh, so it's gonna be like that?”
Valentine feels like the cat that got the canary, and her expression certainly reflects it. Mammon narrows his eyes, staring daggers at her. Then he shifts to a menacing smile. Confused, she almost asks what he's thinking, but quickly gets her answer.
One of his manicured fingers slips easily inside her, pulling a loud whine from her as he assaults her sweet spot. A teasing laugh rings out from him as he adjusts his position, sitting up on his heels to get a better look at her. He pins down one of her legs with his free hand to keep her spread out, purring softly to her as he slips another finger in.
“You're so wet for me. I bet you were waitin’ all night for this, huh?”
A high pitched whimper is her only response. He chuckles.
“C'mon, you can do better. Use your words, or I'll stop.”
Gritting her teeth, Valentine attempts to force coherent speech from her lips, failing with a whine when Mammon's free hand moves to rub at her clit.
“Better get to talkin’, Val.”
She groans loudly, trying to ignore the growing pressure between her legs as she speaks.
“Yes! Yes, you-”
The tempo of his fingers increases, turning any other words to liquid on her tongue. She moans loudly and reaches up, grabbing harshly at his shoulders. He leans down to kiss her with a grin, swallowing her moans with one of his own. Clawed hands move to tangle in his hair, shaking as Valentine gets closer to her peak. Her hips buck harshly into his hands, driving the digits inside her even deeper as she mewls.
“I can feel ya pulsin’ around my fingers, ya gettin’ close V?”
He parts from her to purr in her ear, no doubt to tease her into begging. Fortunately for Valentine, the rumble of his voice coupled with the magic of his hands bring her to the edge with a quickness. She cries out, writhing underneath and yanking Mammon flush to her with sudden strength. He squeaks softly in surprise, but continues his motions to help her ride it out until she's shoving his hands away. She shakes a little underneath him, limbs suddenly having the constitution of jello as she comes down. He laughs softly in surprise, earning a weak headbutt to the cheek as he leans up a little.
“Jeez. I thought ya could take more than that, but I guess not…”
Valentine's brows furrow a little as she gives Mammon a weak glare, and she raises a shaky hand to flip him off. He laughs heartily, earning a loud groan from her. Leaning down to pepper kisses across her cheeks, he purrs teasingly.
“Oh c'mon, you know ya love me!”
A loud, obnoxious smooch is pressed to her pink cheek, and he grins heatedly down at her.
“And besides, I'm not done with ya yet.”
She whimpers a little at his husky tone, shuddering a little at the thought of continuing. She was really in for it now.
He leans down to suck more red marks into the soft skin of her neck, earning soft whines as her hands land on his waist. She gently presses her own lips to his temple, forcing her limp legs to try and cage in his hips. He moans softly against her neck, recognizing what she's trying to do. Assisting her, he brings one of his hands underneath her knee, propping her leg on his hip. She squirms a little underneath him, whining softly into his hair.
“Mammon… please.”
Snickering softly, he brings a hand to her breast once more and softly massages. He runs his thumb teasingly over her sensitive nipple, smirking at her whine.
“Please what, Val?”
She groans loudly at his jibe, cupping his face and guiding him to face her properly. A petulant pout is present on her soft features, drawing another snicker from him.
“Stop teasing me!” She whines, drawing out the last syllable.
He just laughs again and sits back on his heels, earning yet another whine from Valentine. The pads of his fingers land on her spread thighs, tracing softly on the sensitive skin. He wears a self satisfied smirk when his fingers near her wet heat only to go back up her thigh, making her squirm. She glares at him, quickly switching to a more frustrated expression when she sees just how close the head of his cock is to grazing her.
“I hate you so much, you're evil!” She whimpers, pressing her hands to her eyes in frustration.
Mammon's hands move to her wrists, gently taking hold before pinning them down to the mattress. He takes in the desperate look in her black eyes, ghosting his lips across her cheek before whispering in her ear.
“What's the magic word?” He purrs before leaning back a little.
Her face is flaming at this point, and her glare has an embarrassing lack of heat. Her eyes narrow a little as she grits out her next words.
“Mammon. If you don't put your dick in me right now, I think I'm gonna explode.”
A small part of Valentine takes pleasure in his stunned expression and the flustered blush coloring his cheeks. Another, much larger part, yearned to feel the undoubtedly good stretch his length would provide, if only to ease the throbbing pleasure-pain.
He stammers for a moment, sparking amusement within her.
“Wha- who just-”
He shakes his head, letting out a shocked laugh before pecking her pouty lips.
“Well, that was one way to say that, I guess?”
She's about to retort for a second, but then he removes his grip from her wrists and leans back on his heels. Not even bothering to move her hands, she watches as he takes hold of his cock and begins gliding through her wet folds. A loud whine escapes her as she writhes, both enjoying the way the head catches her clit and abhorring the way he skirts actually fucking her-
His snicker breaks her out of her frustrated thoughts, causing her to pout at him. He rolls his eyes at her, smiling fondly as he speaks.
“Give me a damn second, I'm lubin’ up so I don't hurt ya. No need to complain at me.”
She huffs and looks away embarrassed, but her breath hitches when she feels him graze her clit again.
“Y'know, it's a good thing you're soaked. Means I won't have to listen to you whine while I grab my lube.” He muses teasingly.
Valentine blushes harder at that, mewling gently when he positions himself at her entrance. He smiles and leans down to kiss her cheek, then guides her to look at him with his free hand.
“Lemme see that pretty face, V.” he murmurs, making her smile bashfully.
Mammon gazes at her for a moment, sighing softly in wonder.
“What'd I ever do to deserve ya?”
Her brows furrow softly at that, but before she can say anything she's pulled into a soft kiss. Deciding she can address that at a later date, she sighs and melts into his embrace. As her hands loop under his arms and settle on his back, she feels him beginning to push inside her. She moans into his mouth and arches into him, adjusting to the intrusion. The hot pulsing of his cock ignites her every nerve ending as it pushes further, causing Valentine to dig her nails into Mammon's back with a shuddering mewl. He pulls away from her lips with a whimper as he bottoms out, pressing his face into her neck and panting heavily.
The stretch of his cock inside her is manageable as well as extremely pleasurable, and she can't help but buck into him a little when he doesn't start moving. He whines a little, snapping a hand down to grab her hip as he breathes out.
“Wait, wait, just… fuck, ya feel so good…”
He moans softly into her neck again before continuing.
“I- I think I'll cum too fast if I move, so…”
Valentine laughs breathily at this, especially when he whines into her skin. She kisses his hair and strokes his back soothingly, unable to form any comforting words. Nuzzling into him, she hopes he understands the sentiment. When he huffs and raises up with a dorky smile, she knew he did.
Mammon leans up a little, taking a moment to just look at her. Her pink cheeks, the fresh hickies that would definitely show tomorrow, the way her chest heaved with the effort of staying still, his hooded eyes ran over it all. This makes Valentine grow rather bashful, daintily bringing her hand to her face as she mutters.
“What're you looking at?”
Her eyes are diverted from him, therefore missing the lovestruck smile he wears.
“Oh, nothin’ much. Just the woman I love.”
Black eyes quickly snap to royal blue ones, wide as saucers. No matter how many times he said it, it was still a shock to her system. Mainly because she knew he meant it. This time felt especially intimate though, seeing as they were as close as physically possible. Who cares if it isn't either of their first times doing this? Doesn't make the act any less intimate when done right, especially when the ‘L-word’ is involved.
Valentine can't help but giggle shyly, yanking him back down to her so she can hide in his neck.
“Say it again?” She whispers.
Mammon hums softly, kissing her temple before whispering in her ear.
“I love ya, Valentine.”
As the last syllable reaches her eardrums, he begins to move. He takes it slow, delivering languid yet calculated thrusts. Despite the slow tempo, she quickly finds herself whimpering and mewling into his neck. With each thrust he's consistently hitting every sweet spot inside her, stoking the flames in her nerve endings. The pair moans in tandem, taking quick hold of each other for purchase. Valentine's hands grasp at his back while making sure to be gentle with her nails, and Mammon takes hold of the thigh propped against his hip.
The heat of his skin against hers has Valentine melting into him, and the clear reverence in his every movement ignites a strange joy in her. As his lips trailed along the slope of her neck, she realized something. Maybe it's baseline, maybe it's kind of a sad realization, but… this is the first time she felt like a person during sex. Mammon's obvious care for her well-being and his teasing jibes are new for her, and very comforting. Valentine squeezes him tighter, whimpering into his temple as he begins to move faster.
Perhaps sensing her heightened emotional state, Mammon pulls her in for a deep kiss. She mewls into his mouth and claws at his back, beginning to reach her end. Mammon groans at the sensation of her inner walls pulsing, grasping greedily at her in return. The pair parts to breathe, each taking in the blissed out expression of the other. Valentine moves to cradle his face, stroking his cheeks affectionately as she forces a whisper from her lips.
“Tell me you love me.”
Mammon gives her the sweetest smile she's ever had directed to her, and murmurs out huskily.
“I love ya.”
Valentine begins to feel herself tear up, yanking him down for a kiss before soggily whispering against his lips.
“I love you too.”
The pair clings to each other as their pleasure ramps up, each nestled on the crook of the other's neck. She goes first, cumming with a cry. The way she clings to him as she rides it out, mewling into his ear as she edges into overstimulation sets him off as well. He whines as he firmly bottoms out, tensing up as he spills inside her. She whimpers softly at the feeling, welcoming him with a gentle embrace when he collapses on her
It's quiet for a while in the room. The only noises present are the little pants coming from Mammon and Valentine as they recover. She's the first to make a move after a while, nuzzling into him with a contented hum. He huffs out a laugh, raising up a bit to kiss her forehead. Wiping her damp cheeks, he murmurs softly in concern.
“You okay?”
Pressing her face further into his warm hand, she hums in affirmation. He narrows his eyes at her, searching for any sign of a lie. Finding none, he smiles and strokes her cheek again before pulling away. They both whimper a little as he pulls out even though he's gentle, and Valentine finds herself missing the stretch.
“I'll be right back, yeah? Gonna find somethin’ to clean us up.”
She gives a weak hum and a noodle-armed thumbs up, going limp when he walks away. This is so peaceful, she thinks. Mammon's bed is so soft, residual pleasure is still coursing through her veins, and comfortable exhaustion slowly takes hold.
By the time he comes back, Mammon finds that Valentine has fallen asleep. He rolls his eyes at her before gingerly climbing on the bed, using a damp towel to clean the mess between her legs. She grumbles in her sleep, causing him to snicker. He tosses the towel in the vague direction of his laundry hamper before climbing into bed beside her. Slowly as not to wake her, he tucks them both underneath the covers, and gently pulls her into his arms. Sighing contentedly, she unconsciously wedges her head underneath his chin. Mammon hugs her a little bit tighter, whispering a soft ‘I love you’ before he drifts off as well
-
Valentine stirs softly in the dark room, groaning a little bit as she stretches. The covers provide a pleasant warmth, but she shivers softly. What, or rather who she wants is much warmer than a comforter. Not bothering to open her eyes, she feels around the bed for her boyfriend. When she finds the opposite side cold, an awful feeling begins to fester in her chest. Valentine opens her eyes and gives the room a once over, the dim lighting revealing no sign of Mammon. That awful feeling twists and spreads through her, making her start to shake. This couldn’t be happening, not again, not with him.
Just as she feels the tears fill up her eyes, the door opens and lets in a sliver of light. She silently wipes her tears on his sheets, squinting to see what was going on. A figure creeps into the room, slightly obscured by the backlighting provided by the hall light. The door accidentally slams, causing the figure to quietly curse. Valentine raises an eyebrow as the figure she assumed was her boyfriend stubs his toe on the pool table, cursing again. She clears her throat, and his blue eyes meet her sheepishly.
“Shit, did I wake ya?”
Shaking her head, Valentine smiles fondly.
“No, I woke up just before you came back. Now get back in bed, I’m cold.”
Mammon smiles and does as she asks, setting something in her lap before fully settling next to her. She picks it up and squints, deducing that it was the devildom brand of gatorade. He leans against her, pulling her into his side with one arm as he murmurs.
“Figured you’d need it. Humans are weak, I don't want ya exhaustin’ yourself and dyin’ or whatever.”
Valentine reaches up to cup his cheek with one hand, feeling the blush radiate from his soft skin.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
She feels him smile into her palm before she opens the drink, taking a swig before closing it and setting it on the nightstand. Laying on her side, she gives him a grin and makes grabby hands. He rolls his eyes and obliges, mirroring her before wrapping his arms around her. She sighs happily, wedging her head underneath his chin. Valentine’s hand goes to run along his back, gently raking his nails across his skin before whispering.
“I’m so lucky to have you, Mammon.”
Predicting his retort, her other hand goes to cover his mouth. She leans back to look at him, smiling at his flustered expression.
“No ifs, ands, or buts. I’m lucky to have you and I love you, end of story.” she insisted, giving him a pointed look.
He sighs once her palm is removed, pressing his nose into her messy hair.
“I love you too, you annoying human.”
Valentine giggles softly and closes her eyes, just wallowing in his warmth and love. She knows he’s doing the same.
Ambivalence - Yandere!Feitan x AFAB!Reader - Chapter 1
Warnings for Chapter 1: Stalking, mention of death and crimes, Feitan (he is kinda his own warning) purposefully scaring reader, no beta, and MDNI. MDNI is being put as while this chapter is not explicit, the series will get darker/sexual and not suitable for younger audiences. Plus, as a whole, my blog is 18+.
Series Synopsis: After a chance encounter with Feitan, your life slowly starts to spiral out of control. But here is the catch, you like it. Despite Feitan’s gruesome and ever-growing obsession with you, you still want to see him.
Word Count: 3.2K
Links: AO3 and Master List and Dividers
Author Notes: I am a new fanfic writer. After years of reading and enjoying fanfics, I decided to start a new writing focused blog (and AO3 as I will be cross posting) to add to the community! I would love genuine discussion, but please don't be rude and hateful. We all start somewhere. At the time of posting this, I am currently working on chapter 3. I am very passionate about starting this series, though I don't know how long it will be currently. I have a chapter outline that is sitting at 6, but that could change. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy and please excuse my awkwardness / naivety as I work on this blog and my writing.
Do not steal my work. Please don’t copy, claim my works as your own, or repost . I reserve all rights to my work. Additionally, this work was made without the use of any kind of AI.
Chapter 1 - A Chance Encounter
The sound of car sirens blasts through the air. Another Monday night in Yorknew City. The glass walls of the convenience store shake as the sight of blurred police cars racing down the street quickly enters and equally as fast leaves your corner vision. Dread fills your chest. You take that way home… which you would be doing in a few minutes.
“Damn, looks like some high-end place just got robbed.” Your co-worker, Leon, says as he appears from the break room, staring at his phone as he walks toward the checkout counter. Leon is in his mid-twenties with shaggy, sandy blonde hair and milk chocolate eyes. You liked working with Leon, he is laidback and never phased by belligerent customers.
“Which store?” You ask. You don’t live in that nice of an area so the police cars must be cutting through your dinky little neighborhood hopefully.
“An art gallery off of first avenue and main.” He replies with a shrug. “You count the register?”
You nod. Great, that is totally not in your area. The blip of panic in your chest dissipates. “Do you need anything before I clock out?”
“Nah, I’m good. I work the same shift tomorrow. Saw you on schedule tomorrow, you gonna show up?”
“Rain or shine, you know I am here if I am scheduled.” You smile, grabbing your bag and sticker covered water bottle from the back counter of the checkout area. Leon laughs in agreement and waves you bye while you walk out the door. Unlocking your phone, you confirm what your coworker said. The break in happened multiple neighborhoods away from you.
The echoing sounds of more sirens enter the distance behind you. Glancing behind you, a line of flashing lights gets brighter. A dozen or so more cars blazing through the ever-busy Yorknew streets passing you and the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. The cars were a mix of EMS vehicles and fire trucks led by a pair of police cars. You hear a few of the people passing alongside you mutter under their breath in confusion. You clench your bag strap tighter in your hand. What happened? What is happening?
Luckily, you can see your apartment building in the distance. While you don’t love working at the convenience store, the pay is just enough to keep you in your own place, which is barely a 10-minute walk away, so you can avoid taking public transit. Your apartment is not great, but it is yours despite how small and decrepit it is.
Rounding the final corner, you see a pair of men walking in your direction. One is a tall, blonde man in a green track suit. The other…. You couldn’t help but feel warmth spread across your cheeks. You don’t remember ever feeling so flustered over a man before. He is short with jet black hair and a long, black outfit with a loose, high-collared neck gaiter with a skull pattern. He has sharp gray-black eyes and porcelain looking skin. His eyes flick over to yours and you see a scowl spread across his face. The heat on your face burns hotter caught in your staring. Your eyes scan around you to look anywhere else – an advertisement sign, the closed food stand, the blond man who oh no he is looking at you too now, the neon red closed sign in the passing window. Despite your best efforts, your eyes force themselves back on the ever-closer black-haired man.
“The fuck you looking at?” The blonde man snarls in your direction. You flinch, pausing a step, at the roughness and aggravation in his voice.
“Nothing!” You squeak, angling yourself closer to the right along the building sides further away from their position closer to the street.
The pair of men stop a step or two away from you. “Then why the fuck you still staring?” The blonde continues as he repositions a large, heavy looking duffel bag on his left shoulder.
You lock eyes with the silent, sharp-eyed man. “I wasn’t! I mean I was, but I didn’t mean too!” You ramble, inching closer to the wall. The black-haired man lifts an eyebrow as if to say “and?”.
You quickly ponder if you are having a heart attack, maybe a stroke from how hot your body feels at this point. Even with how dry your mouth feels, your brain decides you need to talk more. “There isn’t anyone else on the street, I was just looking ahead and just happened to look at you. It’s hard not to notice your face!” You wince internally at how rude that sounds. “Not that you are ugly, I meant because you are so beautiful. Hot. Um... I mean handsome? Wait, um no. I mean yes, I meant it, but I didn’t mean to sa – “
You are cut off by a barking laugh from the blonde. Please, kill me now. Embarrassment ripples through your body. The blonde is laughing so hard, he clenches his stomach with his free hand. “Feitan, bro, we ran into the one chick in the world who seems to like your ugly ass mug.”
The black-haired man, Feitan, glares up at his friend with contempt. “I kill you.” His voice sounds like gravel, as if rarely used, and heavily accented in a way you could not place. You swear you see a pink tint spread across his cheeks as he drags his eyes up and down your body before landing back onto your eyes.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Well – I did. I am not saying you aren’t – I mean that I shouldn’t hav - “ Your throat tightens as you see another person walk out of a local shop a few feet away in your peripheral vision. “Um, well it was nice to meet you, I live right there, and I need to go home.” You point toward the front entrance of your old apartment building. “Bye, now!” You rush past the two, clutching your bag strap in a death grip.
You hear another barking laugh and a thud as if someone were hit, but you dare not look back. You race through the front door of the building and up the stairs to the third-floor landing. Fishing your keys out of your bag, you never unlocked your front door so fast in your life. You shut the door behind you, and you fall back onto it. The event plays on repeat in your head. The look, the laugh, the comment, but mostly Feitan’s blush.
A few hours have passed since the incident, and you finally feel calmer after a cold shower and cooking dinner. Plopping down on your couch with your TV remote in one hand and your homemade mac and cheese in another, you flick the TV on. Browsing through a few channels, you land on the news.
Live coverage of the art gallery robbery. Reporters detailing how on opening night of a new exhibit the standout piece, a sculpture, was stolen. The live feed flips back to the news anchor where they discuss the damage, how the sculpture was priceless, and noted that if the culprit or culprits are found they won’t just be charged with robbery, but murder as well. Faces of six deceased security guards litter the TV screen. You frown at the photos. A wave of grief and pity wash over. In a few seconds, the news transitions to talking about the upcoming snowstorm. Another Monday in Yorknew City.
--
It’s been about a week since seeing the two strange men on your way home. You would like to say that you can barely remember it, repressed like all the other cringe worthy things you have done in your life, but that unfortunately is not the case. You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop thinking about him. You honestly couldn’t say why. Feitan looked… dangerous. He was all sharp edges – pointed eyes, dark aura, harsh tone. The opposite in you in every way. Maybe that is why you are so hung up on him. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Get a grip. You will literally never see him again. He technically didn’t even speak to you.
You feel dazed. Work seems longer. Nights seem restless. Days seem duller. Your co-workers have even caught onto something not being right with you after noticing the staring out the glass doors of the convenience store one too many times. With a huff, you close the book you have been attempting to read for the last hour and toss it aside from you on your worn couch. You grab your phone resting next to you to check the time. Deciding it wasn’t too late, you get up to throw on your shoes and a thick jacket. Normally you stay inside as much as possible during Yorknew’s cold season, but maybe a walk would clear your head.
Snow slowly falls around you as you exit your apartment building. It’s late Saturday afternoon, so the sidewalks and streets are decently full of pedestrians going about their lives. You meander through the people, dodging a few here and there. After a couple of street lights and crosswalks, you spot your favorite cafe. You don’t get to splurge on too much, but you always make sure you can have a little treat at least once a week. The doorbell jingles above you as you enter, a puff of warm air hits your cool face.
The smell of buttery goodness envelopes you. The sight of the displayed sweet and savory pastries makes your mouth water instantly. There is a small line, two workers bouncing back and forth from the register, and a few occupied tables. You pull out your phone to pass the time as you take your place in line. Thumbing through your apps, the world quietly buzzes around you. You hear the chairs scraping the ground in movement, a worker calling for a name while setting a beverage on the counter, the chime of the jingling doorbell, a phone ringing then quickly quieted, and the sound of feet shuffling in front and behind you as the line moves. You glance up from your phone quickly noticing you are next in line. Scanning the case of displayed goods, you smile as you see your favorite in stock.
“Hello, how can I help you?” One of the workers says while handing a cup she had just written an order on to the other coworker. You order your favorite pastry and - you know what, why not - your favorite warm beverage. The worker moves to grab your food from out of the case. You reach into your jacket pocket for your wallet you threw in earlier. In seconds, the worker hands you a small bag in one hand and you haphazardly slide your wallet back in the pocket with your free hand. “Your drink will be out in a moment, enjoy!” The worker smiles toward you as she reaches for another cup to write on. You smile back in response. You walk toward a corner to stand in while waiting for your remaining item.
Suddenly, you feel your skin prickle as if somehow someone got too close. You turn around but only see the same sight as before – workers, ordering line, and a few filled tables. In the corner of your eye, you see a black outline move toward the door. The door chime pulls your focus to that direction completely. You swear you see the same black outfit and short, choppy hair from a few days ago. Feitan. Your heart lurches in your chest, your knees feel weak. In a breath, you quickly step toward the door. Am I hallucinating? You hear your name and drink order be called behind you, stopping you in your tracks. Whipping around, you dash over to the countertop and mutter a rushed thank you to the worker standing behind the counter as you move your phone to your empty jacket pocket to take your beverage.
The café door swings open as you push a little too forcibly onto it in your panic. The cool, crisp air assaults your face as you stumble outside. Frantically, you look around. No black hair or skull gaiter in sight. People sidestep you as they pass, continuing as nothing is happening, has happened. You jog as fast as you can while balancing your drink and bag in your hands down to the nearest intersection. You scan the groups of people around you for anything remotely like Feitan. You see a long black ponytail, fluffy black sweater, a short brunette man, a man with curly black hair, but nothing close to the man from nearly a week ago.
A defeated sigh escapes your lips. I am losing it. With a shake of your head, you readjust your food bag to the same hand as your drink and feel for your phone in your pocket. A sharp realization hits, you can feel your phone in your pocket, but you can’t feel your wallet. You glance at the ground around you and see nothing. You feel around in your pocket to be sure, but, again, no wallet. Irritation sweeps through you. I guess I lost my mind and my wallet, how wonderful.
--
You did not find your wallet yesterday. You walked the length of sidewalk between the café and intersection dozens of times. The café didn’t have anyone turn in a wallet either. You hope whoever ended up with your wallet feels just as annoyed as you are about having to get a new id card as finding it near empty.
You flip the light switch to the open sign off. You worked an open close shift today and you could feel it in your bones. The past week of restlessness and the two crappy encounters of the week make you feel even more sluggish than normal. The promise of two days off enabled you to power through the exhaustion. You grab your things and lock the twin glass doors of the convenience store. Since it is Sunday, the store closes at ten rather than midnight so the street still has a handful of people walking about. You tug your jacket zipper up higher. So over this week.
You manage to get up to your third-story apartment in no time. The hallway light flickers as you push open your door. Glancing around, you don’t see anything amiss. Even with your apartment being a shoebox, you appreciate that you have managed to decorate your space cutely enough. If others see it, they might call you obsessed as the entire apartment is dominated by your favorite color. The couch, the pillows, cups, plates, bed sheets, even down to your toothbrush are all various shades of your favorite color. You aren’t embarrassed; you like what you like. And when you like something, you tend to like it a lot.
Kicking off your shoes by the door, you make your way to your bathroom as if on autopilot. Shower and then bed. As the hot steam from your shower wraps around you, you feel sleepiness overtake your exhaustion. You step out and immediately reach for your towel to wrap around you. Quickly, you blaze through your nighttime routine. Walking through the bathroom doorway and through your bedroom door, you search out for your favorite nighttime attire. Your bedroom is small, like the rest of the apartment. Barely big enough for your much loved and adored queen-sized bed and the few other pieces in your room. You finish getting ready for bed. Flipping the covers back on your bed, you sink into it. A sigh of relief leaves you. The day is done, the week is done. You close your eyes, feeling the waves of slumber lapping at the edges of your mind.
The sudden sound of cabinets slamming jolts you awake. Panic floods your system. You reach for your phone positioned an arm’s length away. The screen flashes on, showing the time as two o’clock in the morning. Your apartment never really gets dark due to the barrage of outside lights near your windows, but you turn on your phone flashlight for extra light. You move the light toward all the corners of your room. “Hello?” You call out weakly. You don’t see anything or anyone in the room. You push the bed covers aside and stand. You inch toward your bedroom door that leads out into the combined living room and kitchen and the bathroom. The bathroom door is directly across from your bedroom door, so you flick your light in that direction first. Nothing. You creep into the bathroom, deciding to check the shower. Nothing. You move out and toward the living area. The living room and kitchen is one space. You shine your phone toward the kitchen. No kitchen cabinet doors are open. “Hello?” You meekly call again. You flash your light around all the kitchen, not that there is much to see. The cabinets look undisturbed. You turn and look at the other half of the room, the living room. Your couch and throw pillows haven’t moved since you came home either. TV is off. And, most importantly, the corners are empty. Nothing again.
You let out a shaky breath. It’s probably just mice? No… a big rat trying to get in or out the cabinets? You wouldn’t be surprised; there is a reason you can afford this place in the first place. You move to check your front door locks. All perfectly in place. It’s fine. No one is here. It’s probably a rat. Didn’t what-his-face down the hall complain about rats last year? You force yourself to breathe deep breaths.
You walk back into your room and crawl back into bed. So over this week. So so so over this week. You toss your phone next to you in bed and pull the sheets back over you. You continue to force your breath to even out. The anxiety subsides and you feel your eyelids get heavier and heavier. The blackness of sleep circles your mind.
“Miss me?” A familiar, accented voice echoes in the dark before you can even register what is happening. Your eyes flash open and you see the gray-black eyes that have haunted you for a week. You recognize in a moment the heavy weight of the black-haired man across your body as he straddles you on the bed with his cold, calloused hand clasped painfully over your mouth. Terror seizes through you. A scream creeps up through your throat, but before anything more than a whimper leaves your throat Feitan instantly wraps his free hand around your neck in a tight grip. Your eyes widen as you see a wicked smirk on his face appear. You grab his wrist with both hands, trying to pull him off your neck, but Feitan doesn’t even seem to notice. A low, sinister laugh trickles out of him. “Shh! No wake neighbors.” The fear erupting throughout your body barely leaves you able to do more than a tiny nod of your head. Feitan’s eyes glim with manic mirth in the darkness. In the back of your brain, amidst the terror, a piercing thought breaks through. It’s another Monday in Yorknew city.
