this is a repost from wattpad, which is also my account. do not reupload or edit my work.
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“ in which y/n can’t help but wonder if her best friend of two years, michael, yearns for her the way she now does in this high stakes game of cat and mouse. ”
pairing: friends to lovers, michael jackson x fem!reader
word count: 6.5k
warnings & disclaimers: looots of yearning and pining sorry, michael acts coy and innocent, lots of touching and fondling, praising (reader receiving), thriller era, dom-ish michael, teasing, sexual tension, dry thigh humping, canon michael things, mind games, y/n eventually being down bad, lots of intense eye contact, michael uses a pet name, spanking (once) reader receiving, self insert
authors note: this is my first mj fic in yearsss since the mj fanfic website lol so be nice to me and don’t be shy to comment or request anything! they’re open!! :) the michael movie activated my obsession again, so it’s back full force , i fear…
—
the humid california night pressed against the windows of your apartment, but inside, the air conditioner hummed a steady, cool rhythm that blurred out the sounds of los angeles traffic. you were tucked under a thick duvet, the glowing television screen the only source of light in the room. michael was right beside you, his presence a familiar, grounding weight that had become the highlight of your week over the last two years. ever since that stiff corporate banquet where your father had introduced you to the quiet man with the dazzling smile, michael had carved out a permanent space in your life. he was usually the one dragging you out to toy stores or planning elaborate, secret picnics, but tonight, he was content to just be.
an old noir film was flickering on the screen, but the tone had shifted. the jazz score slowed into something heavy and rhythmic as the two leads on screen moved toward each other. the tension in the movie became thick, and suddenly, the air in the bedroom felt twice as heavy.
you felt michael’s body go rigid against yours. usually, he was all loose limbs and soft sweaters, but now his arm, draped over your waist, felt like a solid bar of iron. you kept your eyes glued to the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. you were a ballerina; you were used to being hyper-aware of your body, but this was different. the sensitivity of your skin felt heightened, every nerve ending firing at the mere proximity of him. michael didn't look at the screen anymore. you could feel his gaze—those wide, expressive eyes—boring into the side of your face. he was searching for something, a flicker of discomfort or perhaps a sign of shared heat.
"y/n," he breathed, his voice barely a ghost of a sound. it was low, vibrating in his chest.
he didn't wait for you to answer. his large, elegant hand, which usually held yours with such careful platonicity, began to move. his fingertips were calloused but incredibly gentle as they grazed the skin of your forearm. he moved slowly, as if he were touching something made of fine porcelain that might shatter if he pressed too hard.
you stayed flat on your back, your breath hitching, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of the movie faded into a dull roar in your ears. you tried to play it off, tried to keep that quiet, distant composure you were known for, but your skin was betraying you. it flushed a deep, warm hue under his touch.
"you’re so beautiful," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your wrist. "so sweet and soft."
his hand wandered down, his palm smoothing over the silk of your pajamas before finding the hem of your shorts. michael had always admired the way you moved, the strength and grace in your long, slender legs that came from years at the barre, but tonight his touch felt proprietary. he dragged his hand upward, his fingers tracing the lean muscle of your thigh with a reverence that made your head light.
he leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive—filling your senses. his dimples flickered as he watched the way your pupils dilated. he was nervous; you could see the slight tremor in his hand, but there was a new, dominant edge to his gaze that you’d never seen during your trips to the arcade or the studio.
"you're shaking, lily," he murmured, using his favorite pet name for you, since you reminded him of a flower. his touch didn't stop; it became more confident, his fingers swirling small, feathery patterns against your skin that made your toes curl. "don't be scared. i've got you. that’s what friends are for."
he leaned over you, his handsome face with a stray curl framed in between his brows sat inches from yours, blocking out the light from the tv. he wasn't saying the words yet—the confession that had been burning in him for eighteen months—but the way he looked at you told the entire story. he looked like a man who had finally found the only thing in the world he couldn't buy, and he had no intention of letting go.
the silence of the room was filled only by the sound of your own jagged breathing. michael shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. the light from the television danced across the high planes of his cheekbones and the bridge of his straight nose, casting long shadows that made him look older, more grounded.
his hand continued its slow, torturous exploration of your legs; his long fingers wrapping almost entirely around the curve of your thigh. he leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek, avoiding your mouth by mere fractions of an inch.
"you always act like you're a million miles away," he whispered against your skin, his voice dropping into that deep, honeyed register that usually commanded boardrooms. "but i can feel your heart, y/n. it's racing."
he let out a small, breathless laugh—a sound that was usually so boyish and bright, but tonight it sounded thick with hunger. he began to heap praises on you, his words a soft stream of adoration that made your chest ache. he talked about the way you carried yourself, how smart you were, how much he loved the way you laughed at his jokes when no one else was looking.
as he spoke, his hand moved higher, his thumb grazing the soft skin of your hip. you finally turned your head to look at him, your brown eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of confusion and longing. you were so inexperienced, so used to the discipline of the dance floor where everything was controlled, but michael was making you feel like you were spinning out of orbit.
"mike," you managed to say, your voice small and shaky.
"i'm right here," he promised. he moved his hand from your leg to cup your face, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip. he looked like he wanted to swallow you whole, yet he remained so incredibly patient, waiting for you to catch up to the intensity of the moment. he pulled the duvet further up around both of you, creating a small, private world beneath the covers. he pulled your body closer to his lean, muscular frame until there was no space left between you. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the solid strength of his chest pressing against your shoulder.
he didn't ask for permission, but his eyes searched yours for any sign to stop. finding none, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours.
"you have no idea," he murmured, his breath warm on your face. "you have absolutely no idea how long i've wanted to just hold you like this."
he went back to his work, his hands finding the sensitive skin behind your knees, his touch feathery and light, driving you to a point of distraction where the movie on the screen was nothing more than flickering ghosts. he was spoiling you with his touch, pouring every ounce of his lonely, complex heart into the way he handled you, making sure you felt like the most precious thing in the city of angels.
the air in the room felt like it was thickening into honey, making every movement feel heavy and deliberate. michael’s hand shifted, his long, slender fingers finding the tender warmth of your inner thigh. he didn't rush. he moved with the same precision he applied to his music, finding a rhythm that was agonizingly slow and devastatingly effective. his thumb traced the delicate line where your skin was the softest, circling and pressing with a gentle insistence that made your vision blur.
you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, teeth catching your lower lip as you tried to maintain that composed mask you wore so well. you knew how to hide pain, how to mask exhaustion, but this was a sensory overload you hadn't been trained for. every time his palm brushed against you, a jolt of electricity shot straight to your core. michael watched you with a predatory sort of patience. he saw the way your long legs tensed, the muscles corded and elegant, and he saw the moment your composure began to fracture. a small, involuntary crease appeared between your eyebrows, and your hips gave a traitorous, microscopic tuck upward into his hand.
the room was silent except for the dull hum of the tv, which made the tiny, broken whimper that escaped your throat sound like a thunderclap. you quickly looked away, staring intensely at a shadow on the far wall, your face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the la weather. the release hit you with a suddenness that left you breathless—a silent, shaking wave that rippled through your entire body. you tried to stay still, tried to pretend your heart wasn't trying to leap out of your chest, but the way your fingers dug into the silk sheets gave you away.
michael froze, his hand still cupping the heat of your thigh. a slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. the gentle, soft-spoken man was still there, but his eyes were glowing with a dark, masculine pride. he knew exactly what he had done to you. his ego, usually kept in check by his humble nature, surged with the knowledge that he was the first to ever see you this undone.
"y/n," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a new, dominant edge that made your skin prickle. "look at me. are you okay?” laced with faux concern, but he knew precisely what just happened.
he didn't move his hand; instead, he applied just a bit more pressure, anchoring you to the bed. the sheer power of his presence seemed to fill the room, a stark contrast to the whimsical man who had been eating popcorn with you twenty minutes ago. he looked like he wanted to lose all control, to let the fire he'd been holding back for two years finally consume both of you. but then he took a breath, his thumb smoothing over your skin in a soothing, grounding motion. he leaned down and kissed your forehead with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes, his gentlemanly side winning out over the impulse to take things further.
"you’re so sweet for me," he murmured, his voice thick and low. "don't hide. don't ever hide from me."
the next morning, los angeles was bathed in a hazy, golden light that filtered through the blinds, painting stripes of amber across the rumpled sheets. michael was already awake, propped up on his side and watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated contentment. he looked refreshed, his mahogany skin glowing and his eyes bright with a mischievous spark. he was being exceptionally touchy, his hand constantly finding yours under the covers or brushing a stray curl away from your forehead with a lingering touch.
you, on the other hand, were trying to disappear into your pillow. the memory of your body’s betrayal the night before felt loud in the quiet room. even though you were both still fully clothed and nothing "official" had happened, the intimacy of the moment—or at least what you perceived as intimate—had shifted the earth on its axis. you felt exposed, your usual cool exterior melted away, leaving you feeling raw and unusually quiet.
michael sensed the wall you were trying to build. he leaned over, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his nose grazing your skin.
"good morning, pretty girl," he hummed, his voice clear and cheerful. he began to pepper your face with soft, butterfly kisses, his dimples flashing every time you tried to hide a smile. "why are you being so shy with me? you know i think you're perfect."
he spent the next ten minutes soothing you, his hands rubbing your back in slow, grounding circles. he was back to being the gentle soul you knew, whispering silly jokes and telling you how much he loved the way you looked in the morning sun. he made it feel safe, like the vulnerability of the night before was just another secret shared between best friends. eventually, his hunger got the better of him.
"i'm going to get us some orange juice," he announced, hopping out of bed with a playful spring in his step. he was humming a little tune, looking every bit the lighthearted man who enjoyed the simple things. he stopped at the door, his lean, muscular frame framed by the hallway light, and looked back at you.
for a moment, he just stood there, his gaze traveling slowly down your body, lingering on your legs. the wholesome air vanished, replaced by that heavy, dominant energy from the night before.
-
the afternoon quickly arose as you worked through your cool-down. the room smelled of cedar and rosin. you were deep into a wall stretch, your spine flat against the floor while your legs were arched back, feet pressed firmly against the drywall. it was a position that showcased the extreme, almost liquid flexibility of your body.
you heard the familiar rhythm of michael’s footsteps before you saw him. he came in swinging a bag of sweets, a lopsided grin on his face, looking for all the world like he was about to suggest a trip to the movies.
"look at you, just a little pretzel," he started, his voice light and full of laughter.
but as he got closer, his pace slowed. the bag of candy lowered to his side. from his height, the view was provocative in a way you hadn't intended; the way your leggings moved with your muscles, the vulnerable arch of your body, and the sheer openness of the pose. the playful comment died in his throat. you saw his prominent adam's apple move as he swallowed hard, his gaze darkening as it fixed on the apex of your legs.
the air in the studio suddenly felt thin. he cleared his throat, a sharp, nervous sound, and reached out. with a sudden, darting movement, he dug his fingers into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close to the center of your heat.
"tickle, tickle!" he chirped, but the sound was forced, a frantic attempt to mask the way his breath had hitched.
you squeaked, the sudden contact sending a bolt of lightning through you that felt far more intimate than a joke. you sat up in one fluid motion, your face hot, a breathless laugh escaping you as you smoothed your hair.
"michael! you scared me," you giggled, missing the way he quickly adjusted the hem of his jacket to hide the obvious tension in his trousers.
he didn't laugh back this time. he stayed hovering over you, his hands deep in his pockets now, his shoulders tense.
"it's incredible, really," he said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant vibration that made your stomach flip. he didn't look away, his eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, unblinking intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"how you can move like that. how you can just... bend."
he stepped a fraction closer, his shadow falling over you. "how did you get so flexible, lily?"
it was a simple question, but the way he said it—the slow, dragging emphasis on the words and the way his eyes dropped to your lips—made it clear he wasn't thinking about ballet anymore. he was thinking about all the ways that flexibility could be used behind a locked door. he knew he didn’t want to go too far just yet, and he wasn't quite ready to blow his cover entirely.
he let out a soft chuckle that sounded like pure innocence, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"come on, let’s get you off the floor before you actually turn into a knot," he teased, his voice returning to that melodic, lighthearted lilt.
he reached down, offering both of his hands. you took them, trusting his strength as you always did. but as you went to stand, he gave a sudden, firm yank—far more power than necessary to lift someone as light as a dancer. the momentum sent you flying upward. you gasped, your chest colliding hard against his firm, muscular torso.
his arms wrapped around you instantly, his large hands splaying across the small of your back and the curve of your hips to "stabilize" you. you stumbled slightly against his shoes, and he used the opportunity to pull you even tighter, his fingers kneading into your waist.
"whoa, whoa! easy there, lily," he murmured, his tone thick with faux concern. "i’ve got you. i didn't mean to pull so hard. are you okay? did you hurt your ankle?"
he didn't let go. instead, he began a thorough "inspection," his hands sliding up and down your arms and then back down to your thighs, ostensibly checking for injuries. his touch was lingering, his palms warm through the thin fabric of your workout gear. he moved with a frantic, helpful energy that made it seem like he was just being the doting friend he’d always been, but his thumbs were tracing deliberate, slow circles against your skin.
you looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. you were so close you could see the tiny flecks of gold in his large, bambi eyes. he looked genuinely worried, his brow furrowed, yet he was rubbing your hip in a way that felt anything but accidental.
"i'm fine, mike, really," you stammered, feeling shy under the suggestiveness of his "care." "you don't have to..."
"i just want to make sure you're sturdy," he interrupted softly, his hands moving to cup your face for a second before sliding down to rest heavily on your shoulders. he gave you a little shake, his gorgeous smile returning.
"can't have my favorite ballerina getting hurt on my watch. i forget my own strength sometimes."
he stepped back just enough to give you air, but kept one hand firmly on your forearm, his fingers stroking the skin there. he looked so sincere, so sweet and helpful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking his earlier stare had meant something else.
"you’re such a gentleman," you whispered, offering him a small, goofy smile.
michael’s dimples deepened, a flash of something dark and satisfied gleaming in his eyes for a split second before he masked it with a wink. "only for you, lily. only for you."
he turned toward the door, swinging the bag of candy again as if nothing had happened.
"now, come on. i bought these strawberry laces for us."
as the evening melted into a warm, hazy evening, michael seemed to be in high spirits, but there was an edge to his playfulness that kept you on your toes. in the kitchen, the air smelled of garlic and browning butter as the two of you worked on dinner. michael was behind you, supposedly reaching for a spice jar on the top shelf, but he didn't just reach—he leaned his entire body weight into your back. his chest pressed firmly against your shoulder blades, and his arm stayed up, caging you against the counter for several seconds longer than necessary.
"can't quite reach it," he whispered right into your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "you're in my way, lily." he didn't move, though. instead, he rested his chin on your shoulder, his hands coming down to rest on the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you in his heat. when you finally turned around, flushed and breathless, he was already walking away with a jar of oregano, humming a cheerful tune as if he hadn't just pinned you to the cabinetry.
later, sprawled out on the living room rug for a game of mancala, the game felt more like a battlefield of nerves. michael was a focused player, but tonight his focus was entirely on you. every time he reached for the wooden marbles, his fingers would "accidentally" brush against yours, or he would use his long, slender foot to nudge your calf.
"your move," he said, his voice a low drawl. he was sitting with one leg bent, his arm draped over his knee, looking every bit the relaxed multimillionaire, but his eyes were tracking the way you bit your lip in concentration. he reached out and playfully flicked a marble toward you, but as you reached for it, he caught your hand, holding it just a second too long.
“you're overthinking it. just let it happen." he gave your palm a soft squeeze before letting go with a wink.
the sun had long since set when he finally sat down at the grand piano in the corner of the room to work on a new arrangement. you sat on a velvet ottoman nearby, watching his hands fly over the keys. michael was a master of his craft, but tonight, the music he was playing was different—it was moody, rhythmic, and heavy with a tension that mirrored the air between you.
he stopped abruptly, spinning around on the bench to face you.
"come here," he said, patting the small space on the bench beside him. "i want to show you something."
you sat down, your shoulder pressed against his. he didn't start playing again immediately. instead, he reached over and took your hand, placing it on the ivory keys.
"feel that? the vibration?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. he placed his hand over yours, his long fingers interlacing with yours, guiding your hand to press down a chord. he stayed like that, his body leaning into yours, his hand heavy and warm over your own. he wasn't playing music anymore; he was just watching the way your chest rose and fell with your shallow breaths.
"you're so quiet tonight, lily," he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a slow, hypnotic circle. "what's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"
he looked so innocent, so genuinely curious, but the way he was looming over you, his knees brushing against yours, told a completely different story. he was playing you like one of his instruments, and he knew exactly which notes to hit to keep your heart racing.
—
the moon was a sharp silver sliver hanging over the hills when you both finally retreated back to the sanctuary of the bedroom. the house was deathly quiet, leaving only the sound of your shared breathing to fill the space. you were lying on your side, facing him, while michael lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands tucked behind his head.
the air was thick enough to choke on. all the little touches, the "accidental" brushes, and the heavy stares from throughout the day had built up into a pressure cooker of tension. you felt a desperate, fluttering need in your chest—a silent plea for him to finally bridge the gap.
slowly, michael turned his head. his bambi eyes were dark, almost black in the shadows, losing that playful sparkle for something far more predatory and focused. he shifted, rolling onto his side to face you, his muscular frame looming over yours. his hand came out from behind his head, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path from your collarbone down to your waist.
your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard it was almost painful. he moved closer, his scent of sandalwood and warm skin enveloping you. his hand didn't stop at your waist; it slid lower, his palm hovering just an inch above the center of your heat. you could feel the radiance of his skin through your silk pajama bottoms, a magnetic pull that made your hips give a tiny, involuntary twitch toward him.
he leaned in, his handsome face inches from yours. his gaze dropped to your lips, and for a second, you were certain this was it. you saw his dimples flash in a ghost of a smile, his eyes searching yours. you looked back at him, your shyness finally giving way to a raw, pleading vulnerability. you were practically vibrating, your lips parted, waiting for the first taste of him.
just as his nose brushed yours and his hand began to descend to finally claim you, michael froze.
he blinked, the intensity in his eyes vanishing as if a light switch had been flipped. he pulled his hand back abruptly, tucking it under his pillow, and rolled onto his back with a sudden, casual sigh.
"you know," he said, his voice returning to that high, soft-spoken tone, "i just realized something terrible."
you stayed frozen on your side, your body still humming with a frantic energy, your mouth literally hanging open in shock.
"w-what?" you managed to choke out, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.
"louie," michael said, staring at the ceiling with a look of mock-distress. "my llama. i think i forgot to tell the groundskeeper to give him those special grain treats today. louie gets so grumpy when he doesn't get his treats on time. he probably thinks i've forgotten all about him."
you felt a wave of cold frustration wash over you, followed by a heat that prickled at the back of your neck. you stared at the side of his head, your eyebrows knitting together in a hard line of genuine irritation. you were practically aching, your body wound tight like a spring, and he was talking about llama feed.
"michael," you said, your voice tight and strained. "are you serious right now?"
"dead serious," he chirped, finally looking over at you. he saw the frustration written across your face—the way your jaw was set and the indignant spark in your eyes.
he felt a surge of absolute triumph. for months, he had been the one lying awake, frustrated by your sweet obliviousness and your "just friends" boundaries. seeing you this undone, this visibly annoyed by his sudden withdrawal, was the ultimate ego boost. he reveled in the way you were looking at him, enjoying the fact that he was the one in total control of the temperature in the room.
"it's important, lily," he said, his voice oozing a fake, sugary sweetness as he reached over to pat your cheek condescendingly. "responsibilities, you know? i’d never forgive myself if he was hungry."
he let out a small, innocent yawn and closed his eyes, a tiny, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that he didn't bother to hide. he knew he was being a bit of an ass, but as he heard you huff and turn your back to him in a fit of pique, he knew the payoff—when he finally decided to stop playing—was going to be legendary.
staring at the dark wall of your bedroom, you squeezed your eyes shut, your mind a whirlwind of self-reproach. you felt like a fool. of course he was thinking about his animals; michael was a soul who felt everything deeply, a man whose kindness extended to every living thing.
you told yourself that you were the one being selfish, projecting your own hidden desires onto a man who was simply being his usual, attentive self. you were just best friends, you reminded yourself sharply. his touches were just his way of being tactile, and his stares were just a byproduct of his intense, artistic nature. you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you for even hoping for more.
you shifted under the covers, trying to pull your dignity back around you like a shroud. you were convinced you had read him all wrong. and then, the mattress dipped.
michael moved with the slyness of a fox, shifting closer until you could feel the radiant heat of his chest against your back. he didn't say anything at first, letting the silence build until you were hyper-aware of every inch of space between you. then, he leaned down. his lips, soft and surprisingly warm, pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, right where the fine baby hairs met your skin. the sensation was electric. your shoulders hiked up toward your ears in a sharp, involuntary shiver, a soft gasp escaping your lips as a million tiny tingles raced down your spine.
you felt completely defenseless, your body reacting to him with a mind of its own. you heard a low, melodic chuckle vibrate against your skin. he didn't pull away; instead, he hovered there, his mouth so close to your ear that you could feel the ghost of his breath.
"you’re so sensitive, lily," he murmured. his voice had lost every bit of that high, sweet lilt. it was deep, rich, and dripping with an alluring gravity that made your stomach drop in the best way possible. "your whole body just... reacts to me."
it wasn't a question; it was an observation made by a man who knew exactly what kind of power he held over you. the frustration from moments ago vanished, replaced by a thick, heavy longing that made your head swim.
he reached around, his long fingers grazing your jawline as he gently tucked a stray curl behind your ear. his touch was lingering, his thumb brushing against your temple with a possessive softness. he stayed like that for a heartbeat longer than necessary, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.
"goodnight, beautiful," he whispered.
he settled back onto his pillow, leaving you wide awake and trembling in the dark. the gentle man who loved his llamas was gone for the night, and in his place was a man who knew he had you exactly where he wanted you—right on the edge of falling completely apart for him.
—
the apartment was quiet, and you were exhausted, your muscles aching from a six-hour rehearsal, but your mind was stuck on a loop of michael. you kept replaying the way he’d looked at you in the studio, the way he tenderly fondled you to comfort you to the point of your sweet release that night, and the vibration of his voice against your ear the night before. you felt a twinge of shame; he was so pure-hearted, so kind, and here you were, imagining those long, melodic fingers doing things that weren't "best friend" appropriate.
the guilt didn't stop the heat, though. your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your gray cotton shorts, and you squeezed your eyes shut, visualizing his face—those dimples, that soft, curly hair as you teased your folds. you imagined him whispering encouragement, telling you how good you were doing for him in that sweet, melodic voice. you shut your eyes and threw your head back against the couch, picking up your pace. the release hit you fast and hard, leaving you shaking and breathless against the sofa cushions as your muscles violently clenched around nothing.
you were still in the bathroom rinsing your hands, your face flushed and heart still thudding, when you heard the front door click. you jumped, heart leaping into your throat. michael. you heard a soft melodic hum, an endearing habit of his as you heard muffled shuffling.
when you stepped back into the living room, he was standing by the bookshelf, looking tired but radiant in a sleek black military-style jacket he hadn't taken off yet. he looked at you with such genuine, wholesome warmth—a smile that reach his eyes and made him look like the gentle soul the world knew him to be. you felt like a criminal. how could you have just done that while thinking of him, the man who probably spent his press conference talking about world peace?
"i missed you so much today," he murmured, opening his arms.
you practically fell into him, needing the comfort. he was the best hugger in the world; he didn't just hold you, he enveloped you. his large hands cupped the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled your face into the crook of his neck. but you were still hypersensitive, the aftershocks of your solo session making every rub of his palm feel like an electric current. to make matters worse, you were acutely aware of the damp, cold sensation of your panties against your skin. something about the contrast between his wholesome hug and your secret act made a spark of mischief flare up in you. you wanted to know if he was really as innocent as he acted.
as you both moved to the couch, you sat down and waited for him to look toward the kitchen. you surreptitiously tugged the hems of your shorts up, letting the soft gray fabric ride high on your thighs. when you reached over him to grab the remote, you made sure to arch your back, giving him a deliberate, lingering view of your curves.
the air in the room vanished. michael went rigid, his breath hitching audibly. he cleared his throat, a sharp, strained sound. "y/n," he said, his voice a bit higher than usual, a forced laugh behind it. "pull your shorts down, you're going to catch a chill." his eyes were burning into the upholstery, but the way he gripped the armrest told you he was seeing everything. deciding to double down, you "accidentally" knocked a coaster off the coffee table. you stood and bent over directly in front of him to pick it up. the light gray cotton of your shorts stretched tight, and in the bright living room light, the dark, tell-tale dampness at the crotch was unmistakable.
a heavy, deafening silence fell.
before you could stand back up, michael’s hands—those big, veiny hands you’d just been dreaming about—clapped firmly onto your waist. he didn't gently lift you; he yanked you back and upward, swinging you around until you were straddling his lap, your knees pinned on either side of his hips.
his face was inches from yours, but the sweet michael was gone. his jaw was set, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in your scent. he reached down, his large hand cupping your jaw with a firm, dominant grip that forced you to look him in the eye. his gaze dropped to the wet patch on your shorts, then snapped back to yours, dark and swirling with a fierce, possessive hunger.
"y/n," he rasped, his butterfly rash more prominent now as a histamine response, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made your blood turn to fire. "exactly what is it you think you're doing? because i know what i'm looking at, and it's not very innocent."
—
the air in the room seemed to vibrate with the force of your heartbeat. you felt small in his grip, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you looked into his eyes—eyes that usually held the softness of a summer morning but were now as dark and turbulent as a storm over the pacific. you’d never been here before. your experience with men was limited to a clumsy, forgettable kiss in a dorm hallway years ago. this was something else entirely; this was raw, masculine gravity, and it was pulling you under.
"i... mike, i was just..." you stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to wiggle backward, looking for an exit that didn't exist. "i didn't mean... it’s just the shorts, they’re—"
"don't lie to me, lily," he interrupted, his voice a low, velvety growl that made your knees weak. his hands didn't budge from your waist; they felt like iron bands, anchoring you to him.
he knew exactly what you were doing. he had spent endless months watching you behave so cluelessly and carelessly, which drove him to the brink of insanity every time you leaned over with your natural scent engulfing him, called him your “friend” in the presence of others, or laughed at his jokes with that sweet glimmer in your eyes. he wasn't going to let you win this game of chicken. he wanted you to feel the same desperate, clawing yearning that had kept him awake for hundreds of nights.
michael leaned back into the sofa cushions, his face shifting into a look of mock disappointment, though his eyes remained fixated on your lips. he began to bounce his thigh, a rhythmic, steady motion that pressed directly against the center of your damp heat. the friction was immediate and overwhelming.
"this isn't what best friends do, y/n," he murmured, his tone scolding yet deeply alluring. he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "i thought you were a good girl. but look at you... you're being so nasty, thinking of me like that. you shouldn't be doing these things."
as he talked, he shifted his grip, his hands sliding down to your hips and pulling you flush against him. he began to grind your pelvis deeper into the hard muscle of his thigh. the sensation was so intense, so focused, that your head fell back, a soft, broken whimper escaping your lips. you bit your tongue to keep from crying out, your fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his jacket.
suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room. he had delivered a firm, stinging spank to your bottom, the shock of it making you gasp and lurch against him.
"you shouldn't enjoy this," he whispered, his dimples flashing in a cruel, beautiful smirk. "a sweet little ballerina shouldn't be making those noises for her best friend."
he was ecstatic. hearing the way your breath hitched and feeling the way your body was melting into his was a high better than any stadium roar. he was finally getting a taste of the power he held over you, but he was a master of self-control. he wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of a finish—not yet. he wanted this to burn in your memory until you couldn't breathe without thinking of him. just as the tension in your body reached a fever pitch, just as you felt the familiar wave starting to build in the pit of your stomach, michael abruptly stopped.
with a firm but gentle shove, he lifted you off his lap and sat you back down on the cushion beside him. you tumbled slightly, your hair falling in a wild, dark curtain over your face, your chest heaving as you fought for air. you instinctively clamped your legs together, the cold air hitting your skin making the dampness of your shorts feel like a brand of shame.
michael didn't look flustered. he leaned back, crossing his legs and smoothing out his jacket as if you’d just finished a conversation about the weather. he turned his head, his chocolate eyes scanning your disheveled form with a long, quiet intensity that felt more intimate than the touch itself.
"be good for me, lily," he said softly, his voice returning to that sweet, melodic tone you knew so well. "and maybe next time, i'll let you finish what you started."
Summary: You're visiting Dennis's family ranch and need to get creative in order to have alone time.
Word count: 1k+
Tags: NSFW 18+, no use of y/n, established relationship, p in v sex, unsafe sex, fingering, nipple sucking, creampie
a/n: did I make my English major friend give me writing advice and proofread? Yes. I’m giggling and kicking my feet at this one though so I hope you enjoy!!!
Requests open
Is this worth it?

The thick stack of hay you lie on keeping you off the hard barn floor, but also prickles your skin.
How did you end up here in the first place?
When you came to stay at Dennis’s family ranch in Nebraska for a weekend, you knew what it would be like. No privacy and no alone time, just a revolving door of voices, footsteps, and curious eyes.
What you didn’t know, however, was that it would lead to Dennis making some delightfully questionable decisions.
And that's how you two ended up in the back of the barn—tongues intertwined as heat pools in your stomachs, despite the small of hay flooding the air.
He presses a deep kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing yours. Warm hands slid over your abdomen as he gradually lifted your shirt, revealing the lacy red bra you were wearing under it.
“I’ve got you. Just relax and let me handle this” he croons. His tongue licks a slow stripe up your navel before he gently slides a cup of your bra down to suck on your breast. His mouth finds your nipple, circling it lightly before gently sucking. A shiver runs through you as he traces delicate patterns, pulling a whine from your lips.
“You sure we aren't gonna be caught?”
“Mhm,” he murmured, his voice vibrating over your sensitive bud. A helpless whimper escaped you, your body clenching around nothing, clit throbbing as your heat ached for him.
“Fuck—Den, you’re being a tease…” You whine, the slick between your thighs overriding any sense of dignity you had. He pulls back from your nipple slowly enough to make you ache. “Relax,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to rush—I’m not going anywhere. Let me take care of you.”
He’s painfully slow as he unbuttons your jeans, easing them down your thighs along with your panties until they are just below your knees.
He just stared for a second, drinking up the sight of your wet core as you practically writhe on the ground with anticipation.
“I know—I know, baby. I've gotta get her ready for me.” He coos, kissing and sucking along your neck, his middle and ring fingers sliding through your glistening folds before dipping into your warmth.
He drags his fingers inside you at a painfully gentle pace, his thumb coming up to draw delicate circles on your clit.
“Dennis…I need you inside” you pant
“Not yet. Hey—take a breath for me, okay, baby?” His voice stays calm and steady as his fingers lift your chin, waiting until you're looking at him. “That’s it. You’re so pretty when you slow down.”
His fingers make quick work of his belt, easing himself free without breaking eye contact. Precum beaded at his tip, a silent promise of what was to come.
The tension between you had been building for what felt like hours, every touch sending shocks through you. He moved closer until your bodies were pressed together. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling.
He easily found his way into your tight pussy, your walls squeezing him tight as he slowly slid inside until bottoming out.
He paused, letting you adjust. “You good, are you comfy?”
You were as comfy as anyone could be, lying on a pile of hay in a barn (which was not at all), The hay scratched against your skin. The barn smelled faintly of dust and straw. But none of that matters right now. The way he was positioned pressed against that sensitive spot deep in your core. It drove you wild. “Yes-yes! Please go, I need it. I need you”
Then he slowly, carefully moved inside, gradually picking up the pace until you were both rocking back and forth on the pile of hay as he pumped into you.
You run your hands through the back of his hair, pulling him into a heated, open-mouthed kiss. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other slips between your bodies, finding your clit.
With every thrust of his hips and circular motion of his fingers, you're driven closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach tightening, threatening to snap as hay presses into your skin and the scents of the barn filling the air, obscene sounds of skin slapping echoing off the wooden walls.
“Fuck-Den, I'm so close” you whimper against his mouth.
“Good… I’m close too”
With another sharp snap of his hip, you feel yourself come undone, clenching hard as you gush around him. He followed not far behind, buried deep as he paints your insides with thick ropes of cum. He continues to thrust gently as you both ride out your orgasms, before he stills, pulling his softening member out of your core and collapsing on top of you.
“That was so good, you were perfect for me” he cooed softly.
“God I needed that so bad. I love your family, Denny but I don't know how you lived here with so little privacy” you say softly, your voice low as it's clear you're still trying to catch your breath.
“Yeah, well, you get…creative” he says with that stupidly soft grin you love.
You wipe beads of sweat from his forehead, under his slightly overgrown golden curls. “I would usually love to cuddle with you after… but I'm lying on a pile of hay” You huff tone flat but amused.
He blinks at you for a second before registering what you said and getting up off of you. “Oh, uh-yeah, sorry.”
“How are we gonna get to the bathroom to clean up without them seeing us?” you ask as you redress yourself, wincing at the lingering stickiness in your panties.
“Uh-” he hums, still focused on fixing his belt. “We’ll… sneak past.”
He shrugs, offering a nervous smile as he plucks a stray piece of hay from your hair.
“…And pray they don't notice”
a/n: due to a request I just got I’m gonna make this part one of a two shot!!!
Prince Sanji sighs as he looks out the frozen windows of his chamber. He's being dressed in his robes and breastplate and fur coat. He's only eight, but as one of the five heirs to the Germa throne, he needs to be protected he supposes.
Sure, he thinks. Protected from outside threats, so their throne won't look weak. But protected from the other Princes? Not so much. No amount of breastplate can protect him from Niji's scathing comments and Yonji's cruel laughter and Ichiji's expression. Sanji doesn't have the right word for that look yet, but it guts him all the same.
He sighs again, letting the valet tie his belt around his middle and clasp his fur coat at his clavicle.
"You seem awfully pensive, Your Highness," he says with a soft chuckle. It sounds nervous, like he still thinks he's stepping out of line when all Sanji craves for is real conversation like this.
"Not really," he murmurs, looking down at his boots. "But it's snowing pretty bad out there, so I won't be able to leave the palace."
The valet, Pedro, chuckles. He's a Mink, and Minks have always been considered less than in Germa. But Sanji quite enjoys Pedro's company, scarce as it tends to be.
"You'll find some sort of amusement," Pedro says, paws on his shoulders now that he's finished dressing him. "I hear our visitors arrive today. The King has asked for all of your presences in the throne room."
Sanji groans, throwing his head back a bit so his fringe falls away from his face and the eye it usually hides. The yellowing bruise under his eye and at the tail-end of his eyebrow shows for a moment before Pedro guides his head back to place and carefully runs his paw through the strands. Then, he turns to grab Sanji's circlet and guides it over his head.
It's identical to his brothers': a simple gold band.
"There," Pedro says, his snout shifting into a smile. "Very Princely."
"Just what I want," Sanji says with just a hint of sarcasm.
-
The throne room is grand and over the top. The marble floor sparkles, as if made of glass, the pillars holding banners with the numbers 66 on them.
Further into the room, at the very center of a grand dais is King Judge's throne, massive and regal. On a lower dais, on either side are smaller thrones for his children. In order of their births and their right to the throne: Reiju and Ichiji on one side, Niji and Sanji and Yonji on the other.
This is where Sanji is now, siting in place and looking a the grand oak doors as if they'll be opened any moment now with the royal family of Shimotsuki passing through. He truly just wants to get this over with.
"I hear they have a princess," Yonji snickers. "Ya think they wanna offer a marriage pact?"
"Pfft, no," Niji scoffs. "Father would never marry any of us off." Then he blinks, turning ice-blue eyes towards Sanji. All five of them have blue eyes, inherited from their late mother, but Niji's are far the paler, icier ones. To match his awful personality, perhaps. "Well, maybe Sanji's the exception. Since he's useless."
Yonji laughs at this, as he always does.
Sanji feels the tip of his ears heat with embarrassment. He's useless because he's not very good at wielding a sword yet and his hand to hand combat though a little better than swordfighting is not as up to speed as the King wants it to be. How can he lead one of their military factions if he cannot fight? Useless, that's what he's been labeled as.
"Hush," the King calls just as the grand doors are opened and the herald scurries in to announce the Royal family of Shimotsuki.
In walks in a man with hair a darker shade of blue than Niji's, and gray eyes. The woman next to him has her hair in a neat and simple up-do. And the children that walk on either of their sides look less than pleased to be here.
King Judge rises and, so, the princess and the princes do as well.
"Your Majesty," the blue haired man greets with a deep bow. His smile is slow and easy and Sanji thinks he wants to be able to smile like that some day. Be charming, like this. "And all Your Highnesses, I am pleased to be in your presence."
"King Arashi," Judge greets with a bow not as deep or truthful as his counterpart. "It calms my nerves to see you and your family arrive well and good despite the weather."
King Arashi's smile is still intact, it crinkles the corner of his eyes. He's younger than Sanji's father but he already looks to be more of a man than him. Not that Sanji will ever say this aloud, not that he should be having thoughts like these. But Arashi's presence is soothing and it makes Sanji feel brave.
"Please," Arashi says, shifting to grab his wife's hand and pulling her forward. "You remember my wife? Queen Tera? And these are Princess Kuina and Prince Zoro."
"Yes," Judge says slowly, looking down at them with half lidded eyes. "Of course. Welcome to Germa, Your Majesty." He looks at the children. "Your Highnesses."
Queen Tera bows. "I am humbled by your welcome. I still ache at being unable to join you in your pain for your wife's departing."
Judge is being extra nice, Sanji takes note. He must want something from them; usually, his father is a bit of a jerk to anyone that isn't himself or his favored children. And even then sometimes he has no such patience for the princes.
"Thank you," Judge says evenly.
Shimotsuki's royal family aren't dressed for this weather. They wear leathers and armor and capes, sure, but Sanji thinks they'll need furs to deal with the never-ending cold.
Judge steps down from his throne and heads to them, placing a large hand on Arashi's shoulder and leading him back towards the way they came. What was the point of this, then, Sanji wonders with a hidden roll of his eyes.
His dad had probably just wanted to show off his throne room so he can be perceived in the exact way he wants. As rich, as powerful.
"Come, some of the help can show your wife to your chambers while you and I can start discussion, what say you?" Judge is saying as he leads them out. "The children can be shown around by Sanji. My other children have pending appointments to attend to but Sanji should be free."
That's the last Sanji hears before all three adults exit the throne room and all that's left inside are a bunch of children.
Princess Kuina crosses her arms in front of her chest as she sizes them all up. Her hair is short and dark, her eyes the color of steel. She's taller than the boy, who's also frowning at them in a similar pose as her. He can't tell if they're siblings or not, despite Arashi calling them the prince and princess.
"Hello," Sanji chirps, smiling at them. He figures someone has to break the ice.
Kuina tilts her head to the side. Her skirt is a deep blue and reaches her knees, showing the top of her snow-wet boots. "You're Prince Sanji, I suppose?"
Niji, next to him, scoffs. "Sure is, 'cuz it sure ain't any of us. That'd be offensive of you to assume."
"I don't remember her talking to you, though," Prince Zoro finally says with a sneer.
Kuina places a hand on his shoulder and, though he still looks annoyed, he relents.
"Do you want a problem?" Niji asks, tilting his head.
But before Zoro can say anything, Ichiji starts to move down the dais. "Enough of this. Father's right: we have somewhere to be. Let's go."
"Yeah," Yonji says snickering. "We have actual training to do. Something Sanji doesn't get, since he sucks. That's why he'll be with the two of you."
Sanji feels his face heat up, looking down at the marble dais and listening to his brothers make their way out. He feels the hand Reiju places on his shoulder. It's meant to be reassuring, but it just makes his belly hurt.
"It's a pleasure to meet the two of you," she says to Kuina and Zoro. "My brother will be very helpful with any questions you may have."
And with that, the rest of the Vinsmoke children leave the throne room and Sanji is left with the Shimotsuki heirs.
-
"Why would you let them talk to you like that?" Zoro finally asks after a silent walk out the throne room and through the main grand halls.
"Zoro," Kuina says, looking at him with an expression that communicates something to him and only him.
But this time Zoro doesn't back down. His hair is a mess of green spikes, made messier by the silver circlet around his head. He wears shoulder armor and arm-guards over his leathers and he has a sword sheathed at his side. He looks like he's Sanji's age.
"I'd knock his teeth in," he grumbles, gray eyes narrowed.
"Forgive him," Kuina says, a small smile on her lips. "He can be very passionate about bullying."
"Tch," Zoro scoffs.
Sanji can only stare at them, his hands clasped behind his back and under his fur so no one can be able to see them shake. To them, he tries to give them his most winning smile, remembering Arashi and his charming expression and trying to replicate it. They must be used to that, though, considering they live with him.
"Niji and Yonji are always like that," he says, trying to laugh it off. "You get used to it."
It seems to be the wrong thing to say because now even Kuina looks at him with an incredulous expression.
Sanji starts to lead them towards the gardens, knowing he won't really be able to take them outside but also wanting to be near freedom even if it's only metaphorically. Kuina and Zoro follow after him quietly.
"What is Shimotsuki like?" he asks, quick to change the subject now that the chance has presented itself.
He looks over his shoulder at them, Kuina's staring right at him with a placid expression but shimmering eyes. Zoro is staring out the wall of windows, still looking annoyed. Sanji's starting to wonder if that's just how he looks; an angry puff of moss.
"Shimotsuki is by the sea," Kuina says, "so it's very chilly. But definitely not like this."
Sanji laughs a little at this. "Does it snow?"
"Not every winter, but yes," she says smiling at him. "Does it snow often here?"
"Yeah," he sighs. "Makes it hard to go outside."
"Just go outside," Zoro mutters. Then, he looks up at him, his eyes narrowed again. "Why do your eyebrows look like that?"
"Why does your face look like that?" Sanji quickly retorts. "And your hair. You're like a sentient mold."
"Sure, whatever, twirly-brow," Zoro responds, lifting a hand up to make a curl in the air with his finger. "Weird, curly brow dummy."
Kuina smacks the back of her hand against his arm but Zoro only snickers evilly to himself. Sanji doesn't feel hurt like whenever his brothers say mean things to him. This is like fire to the fuel inside him. This just makes him want to match Zoro word for word and see who gets the last insult.
His attention shifts to Kuina.
Maybe not in front of a lady, though.
-
Zoro and Kuina are not siblings, but they're cousins. Kuina's parents had been the King and Queen before they died in an awful accident on their way to Dressrosa. So while Kuina's the next queen in line based on lineage, Arashi and Tera, Zoro's parents, have taken the throne until she comes of age.
Dinner that first night is overstimulating.
All the children are sat at a table together, with Zoro and Niji throwing threatening glares at each other and Yonji egging Niji on to continue his verbal abuse towards Sanji. Kuina and Reiju, seeming to be the older ones, tried to placate the whole thing while Sanji tried to make himself as small as humanly possible.
It's all Sanji can do but sigh long and hard once he's alone in his chambers again. He's divested from his princely clothes and now wears his soft bed-clothes, sitting at the couch on one of the corners of rooms.
He's always felt like his chambers are too big for him. And he's always wondered how he can feel so claustrophobic with so much space around him.
He sighs, picking up the worn-down cook book he likes to look at. He skims the recipe to a simple plate of rice and curry, remembering it being the last thing he'd tried to make for his mother before she died the year prior.
He doesn't try to go to the kitchens anymore; before, though it incensed his father, his mother had made it so he wouldn't get in trouble. Sanji can only wonder what Judge would do to him now if he ever finds him in the kitchens with the chefs.
His door is pushed open and Sanji hugs the book to his chest and stares, wide-eyed, at who could possibly be coming in. It's usually Reiju, but she only ever comes after his brothers have beat him up, with concealed bandages and ointments to help him.
It's Zoro.
He stands there, dressed in sleeping shorts and a shirt. Not warm enough for Germa, Sanji thinks. Zoro comes in, closing the doors behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Zoro asks, looking at him accusingly.
Sanji opens and closes his mouth, looking around his chambers, as if he'll find the answer as to what is happening right now.
"This is my.... bedchamber?" he says, but comes out as a question.
Zoro looks around the rooms as well, a look of pure confusion on his face. "What the--- are you sure?"
"Yes....?"
Is he... lost?
After dinner, Zoro and Kuina had been shown to their chambers by the maids, each of them having a room in the same wing their parents are in. That's way on the east wing, though, on the other side of the palace from Sanji's room.
"Are you lost?" he asks him and that seems to make Zoro very annoyed.
"Of course not!" He moves further into the room, looking down at the fur carpeting on the ground between his bed and the space that makes up his den where most of his entertainment, his clothing chests and the space where he's dressed are. "I meant to come here."
"Right." Sanji rolls his eyes. Yeah, he's definitely lost. "You realize your chambers are in the east wing?"
"Duh," Zoro says, finally close enough so that he can sit on the couch with him. "To get there I just have to turn east."
"Wait," Sanji blinks, "what?"
Zoro side-eyes him, like he doesn't get what's so hard to understand about what he said. "To get to my chambers, in the east wing: turn east."
"I mean... sure? But you have to go up the grand staircase and towards the bedchamber sector."
"Yeah," Zoro agrees.
He's definitely lost.
"Anyway," Sanji says, giving up and deciding he'll just walk him back when the time is right. "Why are you out and about?"
Zoro shrugs a shoulder. "Don't really like sleeping in places I don't know."
"I've never been anywhere else," Sanji admits with a sigh. "Father usually takes Reiju or Ichiji."
"Oh, so that nasty one doesn't get to go anywhere either? Cool." Zoro dips down to look at the title of the cook book still in Sanji's hands and against his chest. "You really need to beat him up."
"I'd rather not get in trouble," Sanji says, lifting the book for Zoro to better inspect it. "Niji would also beat me up easily if I ever tried that. Especially since the other two would join him."
Zoro's nose wrinkles. "That's not a fair fight at all."
"No," Sanji agrees. "But I'm also not very strong."
Zoro grabs Sanji's wrist and lifts his arm, looking at it like searching for something specific. First of all, Sanji thinks, what the heck how dare he? He's so straightforward!
"You don't have muscles," he finally says, stating the obvious.
"Neither do you," Sanji scoffs.
Zoro scoffs right back and flexes his arm, lifting his sleeve to show his arm. There's definitely not any muscles there either but Sanji sees the firmness all the same. Of course he trains, he even carries a sword with him!
"You should train so you can beat them up," Zoro says, punching his fist into his other hand. "Don't be a wuss, curly-brow."
"Don't call me that," Sanji snaps and shoves Zoro.
He regrets it for just one second before he's shoved back by Zoro. It starts a shoving match that quickly turns to them wrestling each other all over the length of the couch and down to the fur carpets.
This is nothing like what he endures with his brothers. Zoro isn't trying to hurt him, but rather is just being playful. Sanji's never experienced this and he laughs when Zoro puts him in a headlock that's firm but loose enough for him to break out of.
By the end, they're both breathing hard, clothes rumpled and hair disheveled. Sanji looks at Zoro, the sweat on his forehead, as he lies star-fished on top of the furs on the ground.
"That was fun," Sanji admits before he can catch himself.
Zoro turns to him, still breathing hard. "Yeah. You've never wrestled before? For fun?"
Sanji shakes his head.
"I wrestle my dad all the time," Zoro says, "And Kuina."
Sanji tries to envision himself doing something similar with Judge or Reiju and all he feels is his belly flip with discomfort. He grows envious of the easy life Zoro seems to live. He's fierce and confident while Sanji hides his smart mouth behind a wall to keep himself safe and unseen for as long as possible.
Zoro moves so he's kneeling in front of him, resting his upper body against the couch. He locks his gray eyes with Sanji's blue ones, his expression unreadable even for an eight year old.
"I can teach you some cool moves," he tells him. "Before I leave. So you can punch your dumb brothers."
Sanji's heart does a weird thing and he feels his face grow warm. Zoro has freckles just a shade darker than his tanned skintone so they're hard to see unless close up. His eyelashes are thick and a shade of emerald green and this close he sees silver and gold in his gray eyes. He's... pretty....
"I... I don't know if that'd be a good idea," he says and Zoro shakes his head.
"C'mon, curly-brow," he insists. "You gotta show them you're strong so they can shut up. And punch their mouths so they can really shut up."
Sanji looks down at his cook book, chewing on his lower lip. He looks back at Zoro, who seems to have caught the fading bruise on his eye, left bare by their earlier playful fighting. Sanji quickly finger brushes his fringe back over it, cheeks growing warmer than before.
"Okay," he says.
Zoro's smile is crooked and it pushes a dimple right on his cheek.
-
They're out in the courtyards, him and Zoro and Kuina. It's not actively snowing but the grounds are filled with white snow, some melting but most thick and clumped.
Kuina has her hands crossed in front of her chest, watching Zoro's form as he curls his hands into fists and gets into a stance. She walks around him, inspecting, and nods when satisfied. They both turn to Sanji who's looking at them with a troubled expression.
He just feels wrong fighting with his hands. It doesn't feel like it's his style; he doesn't know what his style even is but he doesn't think it's this.
Still, Sanji mimics Zoro's form, curling his hands into fists and bending his knees in a stance. When Kuina circles him, she moves his elbow this way, bends one knee more, kicks her boot to his so he shifts his foot.
"Good," Kuina says when she's satisfied. She turns to her cousin her expression turning more suspicious. "Don't hurt him, Zoro. We don't need to cause trouble to whatever Uncle Arashi and Aunt Tera are doing here."
"Yeah, yeah," Zoro says, waving her off. He quickly falls back into his stance.
When he punches Sanji, it hurts. Annoyed as hell, Sanji ignores the pain and throws a fist of his own, catching Zoro at the point of his chin.
"Try to actually aim at me," Zoro says though he rubs at the bit of redness where one of Sanji's knuckles connected.
Sanji growls and throws another punch, catching Zoro at the center of his chest. The other boy lets out a soft oof but he laughs all the same. Like he's approving of it.
"Yeah, like that," Zoro says, grinning wildly. "Pretend I'm the blue-haired loser."
"Niji," Kuina provides, rolling her eyes. She turns to Sanji. "Don't stop after one punch, Sanji. After one, throw the other and then the other again. You don't want to give him a chance to attack back."
Right, Sanji thinks, sighing dreamily at Kuina. Like Zoro, she's tanned with freckles. Despite not being siblings, they do look a bit alike if Zoro's green hair isn't taken into account. She's lovely, Sanji thinks as he bats his eyelashes in her direction.
He's promptly punched.
Zoro looks annoyed. It's probably because Sanji hadn't been paying attention. Now really frustrated, Sanji lets out a battle cry and starts to attack Zoro. Some of his punches miss, some Zoro blocks or smacks away but there are quite a few that make mark.
They fall to the snowy ground, Sanji straddling Zoro as he continues his onslaught. He only stops when he realizes Zoro's not fighting back, rather, he's grinning up at him.
"What?" Sanji demands. "Why are you being so weird!"
"See? You can totally fight them," Zoro says with a laugh, pushing him off. "Just do that, what you just did."
Sanji looks at Kuina, her hands on her hips and a similar smile on her lips.
-
Zoro shows up in his bedchambers again and Sanji wonders if this time it's on purpose rather than his lack of direction.
He sits on the furs, in front of Sanji, his eyes on the cook book again. He doesn't speak for a while and Sanji has really come to enjoy Zoro's company, despite sometimes wanting to throttle him, so he lets the silence be.
He turns the page to a simple salmon dish, reading over the ingredient list and then the author's blurb of the meal, the taste, the pairing of side dishes and drinks. Sanji really enjoys the blurbs.
"You like to cook?" Zoro asks, head tilted, hands on his bent knees.
"Mhmm," Sanji hums, closing the book and deciding it's a little rude to read while he has a visitor. "But I'm not allowed to. Father would punish me if he ever finds me down in the kitchens."
He watches the slow way Zoro's nose wrinkles like it does when he doesn't approve of something.
"Have you ever cooked?"
"For my mother," Sanji says, a pang of sadness shooting right into his heart. "She passed away last year. Your father was here for her funeral."
Zoro gives a slow nod, looking around the chambers. "So why did you cook then and not now?"
"Mother wouldn't allow Father to punish me," Sanji tells him. "Now that she's gone, there's no one to stop him."
Zoro clicks his tongue against his teeth. "If you like something, you should be allowed to do it. Your father is dumb. Like your brothers."
Sanji feels both a little nervous and a little brave at Zoro's words. Also a lot vindicated. He just says whatever he wants without care for the consequences. Sanji promises he'll try to be the same soon.
"What do you like to do?" Sanji asks, tilting his head.
Zoro looks at him then, tuffs of green hair falling over his forehead. He seems to have washed his hair not long ago.
"I like to train with my sword," Zoro says, shrugging. "I practice with my mother and Kuina. I used to practice with my father but he's busy with Kingly stuff."
"When did your father become king?"
Zoro pokes one of his pinkie fingers in his ear. "Kuina's parents died when I was four. Kuina'd been five. So.... four years now."
No wonder Kuina doesn't look like she's grieving anymore. She must still feel the loss, Sanji thinks, but she seems to have overcome the devastation. She looks well loved and taken care of by Zoro's parents, too, if what Sanji's seen during meals is anything to go by.
"What else do you do?" he asks, wanting to know as much as he can about Zoro. He supposes they're friends now, so it's only right.
Zoro looks thoughtful for a moment, throwing himself back and lying down to look up at the ceiling. "Dunno. I guess I like to nap. And I like to sometimes ride my horse. Her name is Onigiri."
"Onigiri?" Sanji repeats, laughing. "That's so adorable!"
Zoro rolls his eyes. "She's all black and has a triangle-like spot right on her forehead. It seemed like a good idea!"
Sanji laughs more, wishing he could see Onigiri and see for himself if the spot actually does look like an onigiri. Zoro sits up a bit, supporting his upper weight with his elbows. He watches Sanji laugh for a moment, disbelieving snickers escaping him too.
-
Zoro visiting him in his chambers becomes a ritual for the remainder of his trip in Germa. It creeps up on Sanji, how much he enjoys and looks forwards to it.
They talk about dumb things and smart things and serious things and funny things. Zoro tells him about Shimotsuki and how much he hopes he never has to rule because it sounds like too much work. In turn, Sanji tells him he wants to see the rest of the continent and tells him about a rumor he's heard about a sea called All Blue. And he wants to so desperately find it.
He thinks Zoro will laugh at him for believing in stuff like that. But instead, Zoro sits up and tells him he should. And then he adds that he'll join him too, whenever he decides to go.
It'd left Sanji lightheaded.
One day, Zoro punches Niji when the former catches the latter sneaking a punch to Sanji's gut. Zoro'd been furious, lunging for Sanji's brother and then throwing fist after fist.
Luckily, their parents weren't around and it'd taken most of them to get Zoro off the other boy. And when Yonji made to go and attack a contained Zoro, Kuina'd stepped in and had promised pain if he so much as touched a single one of Zoro's dumb green hair.
It'd been a big commotion and Sanji had felt horrible both because of the punch to the gut and because he had two other people fight his battles. Reiju had come to see him, like she always did after he'd been attacked, but Sanji hadn't been up for visitors.
Now, he listens to the doors open and shut and he wants nothing more than to be left alone. He listens to the footsteps come close, feels a dip on the bed.
"I'm sorry."
It's Zoro.
Sanji lurches up, blue eyes wide. Something tells him Zoro isn't one to apologize often. "Zoro..."
His shoulders are hunched, like he's ashamed. Sanji really doesn't want Zoro to be ashamed of anything; it's not him at all and he doesn't want him to start to be like this for Sanji's sake.
"I lost my cool," Zoro admits. "When I saw that jerk hit you. I shouldn't fight your battles, that's what Kuina said. And it's true, I shouldn't. And I won't." He turns to him then, his gray eyes clear with his sincerity. "But I don't think that's what I was doing. I won't fight your battles, but I will defend you when you're treated bad in front of me."
-
-
-
Sanji is eight years old when he's pretty sure he falls in love with an idiot boy with green hair and a dimpled smile.
He doesn't get to see Zoro after that visit ever again because one day the palace of the Shimotsuki royals is invaded and no one survives. So they say.
Sanji is left heartbroken and he grows up bitter and alone with desires to see the rest of the continent and chase after a myth of a beautiful sea. But no one to go with.
summary: you made peace that you'd sneak into the rival university’s swimming pool to sabotage their star captain—the almighty Katsuki Bakugou himself. Though things might not go as you planned…
tags: profanities. sexual activities, and terms. heavy petting. no penetration. no use of y/n. mdni. two-shot. (3.2k) swimmer!b.k x f!reader
navi for part 2
Chapter 1: tom and jerry
There’s a rumor. A ritual, apparently. Something stupid. And something the Yuwei Sports University’s star captain of the swim team does the night before every swimming tournament. You heard, ever since the blondie started it, he’s been taking gold after gold—truly undefeated champion.
Two days before the competition. You've decided, after countless thoughts, countless plans, and countless attempts, to wake the fuck up—that deep inside, you knew it wouldn't end well. Still, you're gonna slip in.
Tonight's the perfect day. Like the one stubborn little rodent you are, about to steal food. And it just so happens that the ash-blonde's the owner.
It’s worth a shot, you said. As a student from Shiketsu Sports Academy, their main rival school, nonetheless.
“Girl, do you really have to do this? What if you get caught?” Camie’s voice echoed through the phone. “Of course. I hate seeing my brother lose—” you hissed back, keeping your tone down, hiding behind the dense shrubs thicket. “Especially to that cocky fucktard.”
“—And I won’t get caught. At least… I think so.” You take a quick peek at the exit of the indoor pool, seeing other members of their men's swimming team now taking the exit of the facility. Your eyes squint at the figures. Todoroki. Kirishima. Kaminari. Midoriya. Sero. Iida. Tokoyami. All of them exit.
With no Bakugou in sight.
Todoroki slows down, subtly glancing all over, before meeting your eyes from afar. He briefly nods. Then jogs quickly to his peers.
You smirk.
Bingo.
“Girl—the hypocrisy!—You were literally eye fucking him the first time you saw that fucktard. You whore.” You rolled your eyes. “I find him hot, yes—fuck too hot. But it’s hard to drool over a guy when my brother's been sulking all the damn time because of him. I’d like some peace of mind, thank you.”
Camie snorts. “I don't get it. Inasa's completely fine with losing. Yes, he gets sulky. But he'll be cool later. Heck, he's even hanging out with those Yuwei boys.”
“Well—I'm not fine with it. I'm the one being bothered."
“And what if Inasa finds out about your little sabotage mission?”
“He'd hate me. Probably would sulk forever.” You let out a sigh. “Wait—You wouldn’t snitch on me, would you?” Crickets on the other line. “Camie! I'm your friend! Bestfriend!”
“Hmm… you're kinda close with Shoto, right? You promise to set me up with him?”
You heavily sigh, defeated. “Fine. Deal. Just keep your mouth shut and distract the guards.” You can practically hear her squeals from the other side of the phone. “Bet. Don't slut around, bitch. Bye!” you rolled your eyes as the line ended.
You tug the blanket tighter around you—your makeshift invisibility cloak. “Damn. I feel like Hermione right now.” You make your way through the indoor pool's exit. If things go to hell, at least he won’t see your face. Right?
Just a week ago, at a certain pretty boy's birthday bash, he accidentally spilled the details about Bakugou. One shot of sake is all it takes for him to talk—the ever-so-dashing, Shoto Todoroko. He’d told you about Bakugou’s lucky swim trunks and how he'd practice with them, a day before competitions, unaware you had ulterior motives. Poor innocent guy. Lucky you.
Bakugou Katsuki—the golden boy. Ranking first place, every damn time. And right behind him? Yoarashi Inasa—your brother. If it weren’t for the spiky-haired menace, Inasa would’ve won the tournaments. Instead, every loss ended with your mountain boar of a brother demanding a comfort hug. A tight, clinchy, and cramped bear hug—
Every. Single. Time.
You’d had enough.
If sabotaging that delicious, dashing, panty-dropping gorgeous blondie meant your peace and no bear hugs, then so be it. You grin. “Get ready for me, Bakubabe.” At least, you get to see a second of him again.
Fair enough.
You sprint toward the indoor pool, gripping each end of the blanket tightly. And there he is from a distance—soaking deep, as his butterfly strokes cut through the water flawlessly, as though his flexed muscled arms were blades. Wings, even.
Breathtaking—
Ravishing—
“Perfect—” you whisper, admiring the blonde behind a vending machine near the locker rooms, peeking through the machine, in awe, as if you were one prey bedazzled by their food. Little did you know, your teeth have been munching on your red painted lips the entire time. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he completed another lap, though from your hiding spot, you couldn't see it. You take a long breath, “Focus. Bros before hoes. I can do this.” Nodding to yourself with gleeful determination, you slip into the locker rooms, gently. The door closes carefully until it clicks shut.
Click.
You immediately rush to one human-sized locker, uniquely painted in bold orange with straight black strokes. You shake your head. “Tsk. Tsk. Does he think he's all that? What an egotistical guy.”
A hot as fuck egotistical guy.
“Shut up!” Teeth gritting at your talking mind, as you search his locker's contents freely. T-shirts. Dumbbells. A cap. A speaker. “Why's there no trunks?” You mutter, continue searching, the tip of your foot now tapping against the tiled floor. Jackets. Sweatpants. It was all the usual, just normal stuff, until—a one-square packet fell. You picked it up—
A condom. Double XL.
To say you were stunned was an understatement. You blink, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed, gulping down a big lump of your own saliva down your throat.
Then Inasa's big smile flashes through the back of your mind, his arms spread out, ready for the hug. You hit your head. “Stupid. Focus—Here's to no bear hugs!” You nod briskly, about to shove the condom back.
But then, footsteps reverberate from the outside.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each approaching step imitates the sound of your heartbeat. The heck?! Todoroki said he'd swim till one—it's just midnight! I should still have an hour left! Why is he back so early?!
You wrap yourself back in the blanket and dash to the locker beside him, not bothering to close his messed-up locker at the very least. Thinking, he'd probably assume it's his peers. You nod to yourself so surely, low breaths, clutched so tight in the blanket, it's almost strangling you. And still clutching in one hand… his condom.
The door opened, and you peeked through the locker slats. You heard the door lock. Click. There he goes—damp luscious hair, waist wrapped in a white towel as he finger combs his hair, walking towards his locker. You avert your gaze, closing your eyes shut instead.
Godly thoughts—
Godly thoughts—
GOD, WHY DID YOU CRAFT SUCH A DIVINE MA—?!
He calls your name, suddenly. You freeze, ice cold on the spot.
Shit.
“Come out, now.” He exclaims. “While I'm asking nicely.” Though his tone was deep and threatening.
How the heck does he know my name? We've never talked!
Silence. Only your frenzied heartbeat fills your ears. No. I should at least keep my dignity. I won't come out—even if he's my big fat crus—
The locker doors unlocked. Agonizingly slow, hearing every creak. When it opened…
The door revealed the spikyhead menace. You stared at him, lips slightly open, blinking repeatedly, dewy-eyed. So fucking handsome… His damp hair was pushed back, staring back with a slight glint in his carmine eyes.
“Cat got your tongue?” He raised a brow, his rough voice pangs you in the head, like some hammer. You bury your face in the blanket and go for a run, straightaway.
But his hand clutched the back of your top ever so smoothly, feeling like a sneaky mouse caught by a raging cat. “You're actually fast—I'll give you that.” He pulled you toward the benches, hands on your shoulders as he forced you to sit, then stood before you.
“But it’s cuz of damn athletes like you—” He crossed his arms, muscles flexing, his skin still moistened, glistening like a glazed doughnut. I just wanna bite—Wake the fuck up! This is a matter of life and death!
“—The reason why people think all athletes are fuckin’ airheads.” Still, you remained tight-lipped, contrary to your squabbling inner voice. Your head droops low, facing your thighs instead.
You can feel his eyes on you. But you don't mind. This is too embarrassing. Even for someone like you.
A moment of deafening silence fills the locker room. Only the occasional drops of water from the showers, and the chirping crickets can be heard.
Just then, he slowly dropped to his knees, his arms lying on each side, entrapped by him as he gripped the benches. W-What's happening? Why's he kneeling?
A calloused hand suddenly removes the blanket around you tenderly—behold, your dolphin shorts and a baggy bomber jacket. A pause, then you felt his eyes hover over you. His finger finds your chin, gently lifting it—he's now beneath, gazing up at you. “Tell me…” His husky voice whispers.
The same finger brushed past your knees. Trailing up to your bare thighs. Barely touching. Up to your hand by your thighs. Your heart fucking stops beating as you catch your breath. His eyes haven't left yours. You should pull away. Swat his hand or something. You don't. You just watch him. Never breaking eye contact. His hand stills on your lap. You felt his thumb start brushing the end of your shorts. The sound escapes before you can stop it—a soft, breathy, “Mmm…” Your hand flies to your mouth. Too late. He heard it.
His eyes darkened. “You good?” How can this be good?! Asshole. I just wanna pull you—
“Fine,” you manage. It comes out throaty.
His smirk grows. “You sure?”
Dick.
“Mmm.” He kept on trailing, back and forth. Featherlight touches, and you see it—the way his Adam's apple bobs deep. The way his muscles flex harder, gripping onto the bench tightly, knuckles white. Stealing glances at your thighs and back at you, a small curl on his lips—
Then he swiftly snatched the condom from your hand.
Ah, shit. I forgot.
He slightly smirks, with a playful glint in his eyes. “Why did you bring a condom?” Your eyes widened as you were about to reach for it—he snatched your hand. “Are you plannin’ on doing something to me or what?” Your brows furrowed.
He holds it up between two fingers. “Double XL,” he reads, tone low and amused. “You did your research.”
Your face burns. “That’s not it—I didn’t—”
“No?” He leans closer, his lips almost brush your jaw.
Your brain short-circuits for a beat. Then he chuckled. That freaking chuckle, bringing you back to your senses. You shift your gaze anywhere, but him. “—I didn’t bring that! It's in your locker!” You pointed at his locker, wide-eyed.
His smirk returns. “Oh? So you went through my shit?”
Oops.
He just cracked a sly grin, setting the condom beside you. Then he placed your hand on his shoulder. His bare shoulder under your touch. Before he leaned even closer. Unaware, your legs decided to spread themselves as he kept leaning. Even closer. His head is just inches away from your chest. So close that you're smelling his burnt sugar scent. So close that if he looked down—just a tad down—he'd be squished against your breast, accidentally.
“What…” you swallowed. “are you doing?” You muttered, teeth lightly biting your lips.
He tilted his head, still with a smirk. God, that sexy smirk. Silence stretches between you. Two seconds. Three. You don't know. His eyes were drowning, at this point—you're just braindead. “Hm?” His voice drops lower. “Just not risking a track and field athlete running away.” His arms behind you slowly shift in a caging position. Just inches away from your ass. Your inner thighs pressed against the sides of his naked chest. “We need to talk,” he declared, so close you could feel his breath.
Usually, even from afar, you'd see and hear how he's truly one loud menace. Boastful. Arrogant. A devastatingly gorgeous fucktard. That's how he is. Yet right now… Why is he… gentle? You were about to steal from him. He should be mad. Throw you out. Report you to the deans. Snitch to your brother. He should do that. Instead… he’s kneeling before you, too close.
“In this position?”
He nodded. “I feel incredibly comfy from here—Should I pull away?”
His gaze unwavering, leaning his face closer, you could almost feel his breath. You should say yes. Tell him to back off. You should—But his face is just right there. His long lashes. Damned perfectly shaped brows. Incredibly sharp ruby eyes. Clear airbrushed skin. Wet, lustrous blonde locks. Those moisturised pink lips. You could just lean forward and—No. Bros before—fuck, what was my mantra?
“How could I say no…”
A grin instantly appeared on his lips, then you slightly leaned backwards for space, chest puffed out a tad with one hand lying behind you for support. You rest yours over his other hand. Your lips start to dry, so you wet them—never breaking eye contact. “What do you want to know?”
“All of it.” He rasped, your brow raising in response. “Confess with all you've got. If you leave one thing, or stop—I'll rat you out to your brother.” His palm rested atop your thighs, dangerously high.
“Mm, not scared of him.” You muttered. He began caressing your inner thigh. Repeatedly. You tighten your grip on his shoulder, faintly digging your nails in, as he hissed. Fuck the mantra—Fully feeling the heat of his palm, you nibble your inner lip, biting back an embarrassing moan yet again. Your thighs tense. Yet his hands don't stop—
And you want it that way.
“Yeah? Then talk.”
“If I don't?”
His hand halted stroking, the curl in his lips pressed into thin lines as the playful glint in his carmine eyes disappeared. “I'll stop. You can leave the room right now, I won't tell shit, and we'll forget this happened—”
“Your call.” He mumbled, yet his palm didn't leave your thighs. What he said was the best possible route for your situation. Your mind keeps telling you to take his offer. It isn't so bad, after all. So you should—“I… I'll tell you.” Just like that, your body decides to take over. No thoughts. No planning. Just feeling.
Best fucking decision ever.
The curl is his lips’ return. “That's it, good girl—” Not having time to react, His hands grip under your thighs abruptly, your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders as he stands up. He spun around as his towel fell in the process, whilst he flashed a small, genuine smile. Not playful. Not teasing. An honest one. Just a flicker, but you caught it. I've never seen him smile… so handsome…
He sits down on the bench, with you comfortably perched atop his lap, legs resting on each of his sides. His rugged hands rubbed small circles on your back, eyes locked to you. “My knees hurt—you can tell me like this.” You raise a brow at his smug look. Sure, it does.
Your hands find their way to your jacket zipper and drag it down painfully—slowly—before tossing it somewhere. The cold air surged over your bare torso, with only the lace bra covering your tits. “It's hot,” you reason. His eyes darkened, locked into your covered breasts freely. You feel his fingers drag up to your waist.
You lifted his chin, imitating that sexy smirk. “Eyes on me. We're talking,” You rasped, forcing eye contact. He stayed watching. Anticipating your every move. You wrapped your arms around him, jerking your hips forward, tits pressed against his hard chest. Then you sit on his bulge. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you closer. Harder. “Mmm,” you whimpered, heart racing uncontrollably.
His grip on your butt cheeks tightened at the sound of your moan, pressing you harder on his bulge. You gasp as you feel his hard cock, nibbling your lip, almost bruising it. Your cunt pulsed inside your shorts, wetness pooling, gushing—it seeped through the fabric. You're soaked, he can probably feel it. No. He should feel it. You rolled your hips against his bulge, digging your nails deep into his back. "Uh-huh—" Your voice shakes as you grind down. Back and forth. Excruciatingly. Torturously. Painfully. Slow. He grunts, “Argh—You can talk later,” he bucks, thrusting up to you.
His cupped your flushed cheeks, his thumb rubbing them slowly. Then his hand shifted to the back of your head, “I fuckin’ want you. Right now—” He pulled you in, crashing his lips against yours. Your mouth opened for him, letting his tongue explore deep. Your hands tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer. Deeper. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth. Sloppily. Filthy. His hands roamed your back, fingers tracing your spine. As you arched into him, grinding harder desperately. His fingers find the hook of your bra, unhooking with a quick click. “Fuck—" he breaks the kiss, panting. His forehead rests against yours, his carmine eyes filled with lust. “We can stop if you want.”
You pull back slightly, breathless, “Huh? No way—” You peck his cheeks. Then press your lips to his swollen ones. Down to his neck, peppering it with soft kisses. He keeps his carmine eyes on you, heaving. As your lips trailed down to his rock-hard chest. But then you saw it—
The tiger-print trunks. Right there. Just under you.
His lucky trunks. Your eyes widened, looking up at him. He's wearing it all this time?!
“See somethin’ you like?” He smirked. Too wide. And you swore. It was the cockiest smirk you've seen. “Better yet—somethin’ you came here for?”
You freezed. Seconds passed before you digest the news.
“Motherfucker.”
You push his chest away, getting off his lap. “Hey, hey, hey—” He grips your waist tighter, holding you down your place. “—What’s the problem?” his brows furrowed, ruby eyes glinting in confusion. You heave a long breath and glared at the ash-blonde. “So you knew my plan? Shoto told you?” He just hums, back to messaging the sides of your waist.
“From the get-go? That's why you knew I was hiding there?”
He nodded. “Mhm.”
“So… you're playing me?”
“Mhm—Hah? Fuck no! It's not like that—”
“I like you.” Your heart beats fast. Too fast. “Too fucking much.” His hands paused, staring at you for a long time. Too long. His sharp eyes, wide-eyed.
“You know that damn well. Everybody does. So, to get back at me, for this shitass attempt to sabotage you, you take advantage of my feelings. Is that it?”
He uttered your name, “Hey, no—I would nev—”
“Bakugou,” your voice low. “I may be stupid. Petty. And freaking fool for you. But—no one gets to use me. Not even you.”
In a flash, you were off his lap. Swiftly picking up the blanket and your jacket, as you frantically zipped it back on.
He followed you around, calling your name yet again as you rushed to the door. “Hear me ou—”
You glanced at him, brows deep as it can get, eyes filled with fury. “For godsake—we were about to fuck! So report me—Do whatever the hell you want for all I care!”
“Don’t follow me!” You yelled before the door shut.
> the dogboy gingerly sits down on the closed toilet as his owner turns on the water for the tub and plugs up the drain
> the pup curls his tail around himself as the sound of heavy flowing water fills up the warm silence, waiting for the tub to fill
> the priest presses a few tender kisses to the dogboy's head before dipping his hand in the water to check the temperature
> "its warm now, puppy. let's get in, yeah?"
> the dogboy nods and stands up, tugging his baggy t-shirt off his head and tossing it to the floor as the priest also rids himself of his remaining clothes before turning off the water
> the priest steps in first, guiding his pet to sit in front of him as he sinks into the warm water
> they both let out a pleased sigh, their muscles relaxing as the water seeps into their skin and soothes the aches in their bodies
> the dogboy rests his head on the priest's shoulder, humming softly as he feels his owner's hands caress his sides
> it's peaceful here
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
> no worries, no expectations, just them
> the minutes pass, and the water begins to turn cold much too soon
> the dogboy whines and curls into his priest, trying to escape the newfound chill
> the priest kisses his head and gently nudges his pet, signaling it's time to get out
> the dogboy obeys and steps out of the tub, shaking the water out of his hair and earning a scoff from his owner
> "you're making a mess, pup"
> the priest steps out and grabs a towel, ruffling his hair before patting his pet dry
> he wraps him up in the towel before grabbing another one and drying himself
> the dogboy steps out of the bathroom and pads over to the bedroom, rooting around the closet for a robe
> he takes one out just as the priest steps in, handing it to him with a small yip
> the priest smiles and takes the robe, wrapping it around himself but still keeping it open, he knows his pet wants to feel his skin
> the two of them crawl into bed, letting the plush warmth of the blankets envelop them
> the dogboy buries his face into the priest's neck, taking in his scent as his paws slowly trail over his owner's soft skin
> the priest holds him close and presses a kiss to his head, gently scratching behind his ear
> the world shrinks down for the second time that day, this time to the size of the cozy bedroom, as nothing else exists outside of it
> sleep comes quickly to both of them, the peace and tranquility of the moment lulling them into a warm, dreamless rest that keeps them until morning
@princefable if you would like to be tagged in these as well, just let me know ^–^
also maybe consider sending a prompt or idea my way so i can keep writing these. you can also send a request for me to write something in any of my fandoms listed in my pinned post. have a good day!
desperate times, desperate measures, part two - robert house x reader x double!house (bobby apartment)
part one here
rating: 18+ (MDNI !!!)
word count: 5.8k
tags: established relationship, established boundaries (everything is consensual), reader is a bit of a brat to begin with, sub!reader, dom!house (both of them tbh but more robert), oral sex, male recieving, p in v (not safe but again, everything is already established, still dont copy them pls), multiple female orgasms, aftercare
summary: after walking in on the two of you, Robert House is now willing to give you his attention. The problem is that it might be a little too late for you. He couldn't even spare 5 minutes so now it's his turn to wait. You toys with the two men, taking a bratty turn, and soon you discover what happens when Robert House isn't in the mood for these types of games.
a/n: maybe a little bit too long of a wait between parts but here we are !! still impressed I managed to get it over 4k tbh. also I still have many ideas for Robert House so this won't be my last fic but maybe not as frequent, if I have something to say/post then I will, just let me know if anyone's out there lol. enjoy and lmk if I missed any tags as per usual...
also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80705236/chapters/214880221
Whether you wanted it or not, you had Robert's attention now. In your everyday relationship, his attention came in the form of light touches on the small of your back as you stood next to him, observing him as he watched the cameras. He would shower you with gifts - jewellery, dresses, whatever your heart desired, just as long as you came home to him and Bobby at the end of the day. It came in tones of jealous greens and passionate reds. Tonight was certainly no different. Those colours burned ever brighter through his eyes as they moved between you and Bobby ; waiting for the next move.
From where you were stood against the wall, you could see how Bobby began to relax as Robert addressed him. It was a different form of relaxation, a different way of letting go. His shoulders fell slightly and his posture loosened. He moved his head to the side and his neck cracked, almost as if he was physically trying to shrug off the remaining control he had over the situation. You envied him sometimes. How was he able to give up control so easily, so completely in an instant ? Perhaps that's why Robert kept the pair of you around - Bobby, his mirror image, the perfect portrait of submission and you, the confidant, something to be moulded, tamed. You knew you would end up falling eventually - it always ended the same but it wasn't the ending that mattered, it was the journey. How would they get you to break this time ?
You saw how Bobby's hands moved down to his belt buckle and you heard it unclasp. He pulled it through the loops and threw it on the ground. He turned around slowly and faced you, the zip now open.
"You gonna help me out here, doll ?" He asked. You saw how he strained against the fabric, he was so desperate and you supposed he did deserve a reward from treating you so well with his mouth mere moments ago but then your eyes moved over to Robert. He couldn't even spend 5 minutes on you this past week, you would have taken anything. A quick embrace on the way between the workshop and study, a small kiss on the forehead as you sat reading in the lounge. Hell, you would have let him use you under his desk, just so you could be helpful.
That's all you wanted. To be helpful. You weren't entirely sure what Robert got up to in his workshop, in his study or what happened in the strange meetings with Vault Tec that he sent Bobby to on his behalf. You didn’t want to either. It was not your burden to carry, Robert had once told you. All he needed from you was a listening ear, a helping hand in the daily operations and of course, a warm body when the nights got cold and those human instincts consumed all three you. You trusted him. Trusted that if he needed a plan, he had one or several working away in the background. You were happy to just be a form of relief for the two men ; in what ever way they found most useful. The issue was, of course, they had never left you this long before.
You felt slightly bad as you recognised the glow of mischief and brattiness begin to burn once more. Bobby didn’t deserve it but Robert ? You just hoped he didn't go too hard on you in the end. Your eyes flicked back to Bobby as you huffed,
"No," You replied. Your eyes remained firmly on him as he narrowed his own in confusion.
"No ?"
"We had a plan," You breathed out as you walked towards him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you fluttered them slightly. You smiled sweetly at him. It was a mirage of innocence, hoping to catch him off guard, get him back on your side.
"He's here now," Bobby argued. He spoke about Robert in hushed tones even though the man was sitting only a few paces away. It seemed he had forgiven Robert for the lack of attention he had received. He was given the privilege of following his instructions, he had earned the right to let go and he wasn't going to take advantage of that. His boss had given him an order and he was grateful. He was going to execute it to the best of his ability.
"Is he ?" You asked as you brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders.
You began to ghost your fingertips over his torso, trailing down over his abs and stomach and stopping as you came to the waistband of his open trousers. You saw how Bobby pressed his lips together to avoid being too loud. He nodded, not trusting any words he spoke to come out confidently.
"The way I see it, this is just a courtesy. His toys were getting along too well without him. He got jealous." You spoke as you looked over at Robert in the chair. His posture had changed, his hand was gripping the arm of the chair and he was rigid. He was trying to suppress something. You weren't sure what or why but this new plan you were making up on the spot seemed to be working.
"He's not gonna touch you the way you wanted to be touched." You moved your hand up to Bobby's neck and applied slight pressure. This time, he didn't do anything to stifle to moan that spilled from him. That same hand snaked to the back of his head, found purchase in his hair and pulled sharply. He let out a sort of whimper that went straight to your core. You cocked your head as you looked down at his pants, you thought about placing a hand over it, just to see how he would react but he didn't deserve to be teased. If you were going to touch him, you wanted to mean it. You untangled your hand and brought it back down to your side.
You stepped away from Bobby with a sigh and made your way to stand in front of Robert. With your lack of clothing, he could see everything and he was very clearly enjoying the show. You couldn't quite make out if he was showing any outward signs of excitement due to his crossed legs but the wide pupils, irregular breathing and white knuckles showed you enough.
"All he's gonna do is sit there and bark orders, hoping we'll like it." You stared into his dark eyes.
"We do like it," Bobby sighed as he moved about behind you. You heard him kick off his dress shoes and pull his trousers off completely leaving him in his underwear. You did notice how Robert tensed up once more as he watched Bobby undress out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to you completely.
"Maybe I've changed. It's been a week, lots can happen in a week. Maybe I don't want him here at all. If he can't even spare 5 minutes for us, maybe he should go back to his study and use his right hand. It's quick and easy, isn't it ? Don't even have to leave the room and afterwards, you can get back to your very, very important work."
There was no real anger behind your words. It was petty and playful and served only to get them riled up. A part of you knew that you might have pushed it a bit too far, that Robert might actually follow through on leaving. He pressed his lips together and hummed slightly before letting out low chuckle. You raised your eyebrows as if to say your move as you felt Bobby come in close behind you. Robert took his eyes away from your form and made eye contact with the man behind you. He gave a nod, an instruction, and before you could even say anything, you were being pushed towards the floor.
Bobby's warm hands gripped your shoulders and began to push. You tried to resist but he overpowered you quite easily. Your knees buckled and hit the carpet beneath you with a thud. They began to tingle and ache as you looked up at Robert, now kneeling in front of him. Despite the almost shame and embarrassment that came across your face, your arousal had never burned so bright. You felt yourself pulse as Robert uncrossed his legs and lent forward, forearms on his thighs. This position confirmed that he was in a similar state to Bobby, an obvious tent in his pants. You did wonder if that was from the display before or had only made itself known now.
"Disobedience is unbecoming of you, my dear," he spoke as he lent in closer. He took his hand and placed it against your face ; his palm only adding to heat that collected on your cheek. You were forced to stare up at him as he smiled. He saw the way the adrenaline ran through you, it caused your pupils to widened and he was sure if he moved that hand to your neck, your pulse would be racing. You were almost tempted to lean in, to melt against it but seeing that smirk, the look that almost said I've done nothing wrong, you tried to jerk your head away from his grip. He quickly moved that hand to hold you in place by jaw. Despite your submissive position, he could still see a fire within you.
The loudest sound in the room was your breathing, heavy and defiant. Robert loosened his grip slightly as he brought his thumb over your lips. They parted and he was able to push the digit inside. Your eyes fluttered as you fought the feeling to close around it and suck. Instead, he could feel your teeth graze it slightly. He knew you weren't going to bite down, you wouldn't dare, so he pushed down on your tongue, allowing for him to go deeper. As you reached the knuckle, he moved in close to whisper,
"I think we should put that sharp tongue to use, don't you ?" He asked, voice sickly sweet and mockingly innocent. You almost bit down on his thumb from trying to suppress a whine, you were unsuccessful. It came through muffled and reverberated around Robert's thumb which made him laugh.
"Turn around, dear." He gave one final instruction and he removed his thumb from your mouth and lent back in the chair again. Your head was beginning to swim with feelings of submission, about how good it would feel to just give in, to let them use you, play with you, enjoy you and everything you had to offer. Robert could see the hesitation on your face and so he helped to spin you around. Your knees burned against the carpet as he twisted you 180 degrees to now kneel in front of Bobby instead.
In the moments you had spent locked in a staring contest with Robert, Bobby had been hard at work. He stood in front of you, fully exposed now. He held his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down just to relieve some tension. His own touch wasn't as good as anything you could offer, and he was really hoping you would offer soon, but it worked for now. He was inches from your mouth and you subconsciously moved your tongue out and over your lips as your mouth started to water.
Your eyes travelled up to his own, mimicking the position you both found yourselves in earlier. Only, he wasn't looking back at you. He was looking straight ahead at Robert, as if you didn't exist. Your eyes returned to a neutral position, once again looking at his length. His thumb swiped over the head and his hips involuntary jerked forward but his eyes remained solely on Robert. You bit your lip to avoid smiling too wide as a new plan began to form.
In one motion, you moved forward and began to lick at the head. You hummed as the precum hit your tongue. You heard him curse as he quickly removed his hand and let you work, your own hands coming to help. They took him nearer the base, the places your mouth couldn't quite reach yet. You continued to bob away, every motion taking him deeper inside your mouth. Your tongue began to swirl around the head, making sure to hit him where he was most sensitive. Your own arousal continued to pulse through you and you felt your thighs rubbing together. As soon as you felt the friction adding to your own wetness, your legs were forced apart by warms hands on your inner thighs. It threw you off rhythm a bit, you slowed down slightly as he went a bit too deep. Your watering eyes gave way to a steady stream off tears that ruined your makeup. You heard Robert click his tongue in disappointment,
"Ah, ah, ah. You don't get to feel good unless I tell you. Understood ?" He demanded. You managed to nod as you regained a steady rhythm around Bobby.
You felt him pulse and throb within your mouth and realised that he had probably been on the edge since arriving in the penthouse, if not before. He was close. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see how his hands balled up and flexed as he fought the urge to grab your hair and push you deeper. He hadn't been given that order yet. As you took him deeper, your thoughts began to slow. All these plans, all these ideas. It was almost too much to keep track off. You wanted their attention. You wanted to feel useful. To continue working on these plans, to harbour these feelings of disobedience was akin to control and you certainly were not in control right now, nor did you want to be.
You took Bobby in deeper than you had before. His cock hit the back of your throat causing you to gag a little, gaining a light chuckle from the man watching the whole thing but a guttural, primal moan from the man who was enjoying your mouth. Something clicked into place and all these needs, wants and selfish desires disappeared. You continued to suck with a new rhythm. A very enjoyable rhythm. You were lost in the sensations. The way he felt heavy on your tongue as you licked. The way he tasted as you swallowed what was given. The way your mind was finally silent.
You didn't even feel the fingers in your hair until you were ripped from him. You began to pant, trying to catch your breath as Robert held you in place. Your eyelids fluttered as you swayed slightly. Strings of saliva glistened against your chin as you let out a pathetic whine and tried to wriggle free to get back to Bobby.
Truthfully, you had never felt so good, so free. Both feelings of increasing arousal and pleasure within your stomach and core mixed with the floating feelings of submission. Long gone were any thoughts of defiance. Long gone were any thoughts at all. You knelt between the two men as a willing subject. A docile thing ready to be moulded into perfection for them. Within the afterglow, you would deny these feelings but for now, this was exactly where you needed to be.
"There she is," Robert cooed as he held your hair near the scalp even tighter. He pulled slightly, forcing you to meet his eye. It had shifted from a dangerous stare to a fondness. He was almost proud of you for falling, for giving up. You knew he enjoyed the fire, the fight but within your empty head, you willed yourself to come to a realisation. This attention worked both ways and although you were sure he didn't need you to check in on him, perhaps you should have extended that courtesy. If you and Bobby were desperate, who's to say he wasn't as well ?
"W-why'd you stop ?" You heard Bobby groan after a few moments, his own breathing shaky and unstable.
"Because you're not entirely innocent in this whole affair, are you ?" That made Bobby look away from the man in front of him. It wasn’t quite shame or embarrassment but almost guilt. At least it was him being edged and not you. You weren't sure if you could handle that level of cruelty right now. He focused on his own breathing trying to slow it down as he took whatever punishment this seemed to be.
"Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous this evening." Robert said as he let go of your hair. You almost mourned the lack of contact. As Robert stood up, he undid the buttons on his jacket and then peeled it from his body, neatly folding it over the back of the chair. He reached a hand down to you, which you took, and rose on unsteady legs. You were now sandwiched between these two men. One naked and begging, the other getting ready to indulge in his primal instincts.
Bobby looked between the two of you before he spoke up,
"This doesn't seem-" He began.
"Would you like to fuck her or not ?" Robert huffed. A sort of short tempered outburst you weren't used to, especially in these scenarios. It wasn't anger but regardless the tone and the vulgarity sent a shock straight to your core. As did Bobby's response,
"Yes."
He didn't need to told twice. Robert stepped back a little, not completely out of the equation but making enough room so that Bobby could position you in one of the many ways you found favourable. You weren't quite sure how you got onto the bed, face down on the blanket near the end of it, facing the desk and chair that Robert once occupied. Your hips in the air, your entrance ready and waiting for something, anything to fill it. Perhaps it was down to the fact that you had done this song and dance hundreds of times before so your body and mind knew exactly where to go. Perhaps you were so willing and malleable that you let them move you about like a doll, like a toy. All you were aware of was the almost painful lack of contact, the dull ache of arousal within your stomach and the overwhelming need to be filled.
You felt the bed dip behind you as Bobby climbed up to join you. One hand came to rest on your waist as the other lined himself up to your hole. Robert had come to stand in front of you and gave a commanding nod as he began to undress himself. It started with the buttons and then the zipper but as much as you wanted to take in the image, you almost fell forward as Bobby entered you.
Finally. You let out a moan of relief as he began to fuck you. Your fists found purchase on the bedsheets as they curled up and gripped tightly. You struggled to keep your eyelids open. Within the pleasure, your mouth had fallen open allowing all the moans, sighs and whines to fall freely and bounce off the walls of the bedrooms. You had many reasons to be thankful for the Penthouse, not having neighbours to hear the sinful sounds that would erupt on an almost daily basis (if things went to plan) was certainly one of them.
Your body rocked in time with the thrusts. Bobby knew exactly how you liked it and he knew you could take it. Still, you could tell he was holding back. He had been close so many times this evening and as much as he wanted to let go, wanted to cum, he also wasn't going to go over that edge without permission. Within your mewling, you managed to eek out a few words,
"Harder. I can take it." It came out broken and in between thrusts but you knew he had heard you when he began to almost slam his hips into you. You felt his cock reach that delicious spot inside you and for the second time that evening, you were as close as he was.
You felt his hands grip you tighter as he fucked you both harder and faster now. You didn't need to tell him the latter but it definitely helped. The pleasure building, wave after wave. Your head was reeling with feelings of surrender. You felt whole as you felt Bobby's hips stutter.
"Fuck. Please, I'm gonna-" He spoke through gritted teeth. Robert simply smiled and gave that silent nod yet again. He was enjoying this display far too much to disrupt it with his words. It proved only to show how much control he had over the situation as well. How you would do whatever he said, even if he didn't need words to get his point across.
Seeing that nod and feeling you gripping him like a vice, the pulsing and contracting around him, swallowing him deeper with every thrust. It was all too much. He went deeper once more and you felt him about to fall over that edge. That taut feeling in your stomach was about to snap, you wondered if you would cum at that same time. You didn't have to wait long for that answer. You felt your thighs start to shake, he kept hitting that one spot he knew only he could reach and it had you calling out, crying out even. As your orgasm washed over you, Bobby was close behind. His hips crashed against you and you felt him coat your insides. You felt him twitch and heard him groan as he did so. A relaxed smile came to your face for a multitude of reasons ; he had done so well listening to Robert, he had made you cum for the second time that evening and he finally got the release he had been so desperate for.
Time seemed to slow as you felt Bobby pull out, leaving a mix of both his release and yours dripping onto the sheets. You stayed in this position for a moment, catching for breath and allowing the last few shocks of your orgasm to wash over you. Your legs stopped shaking and after a few moments, you rocked back onto your knees, your hands unclenched the bedsheets, palms pushing against the mattress helping you to rise. Your back and shoulders met Bobby's chest as you did so and he began to place gentle touches over your arms.
Your head was still spinning from the perfect storm of submission and pleasure and as you stared towards Robert, now naked in front of you, you realised this was far from over. He climbed onto the bed, staring you down something predatory as he did.
"You can take one more." He spoke. It wasn't a question. Still, you nodded in answer. Your cunt pulsed at the thought, although in this mindless state, you couldn't quite figure out if it was from arousal or overstimulation. If this was the punishment from earlier, you would take overstimulation over edging any day of the week.
You felt Bobby's hands resting on your shoulders as he gently pulled you flush against him. Your head against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat still racing as you began to lie down flat. He was still half hard against your back as you moved down the bed to allow Robert to get between your legs. Insatiable, you thought. You didn’t have much time to reflect on that as you felt Robert beginning to stretch you out.
What he lacked in length, which wasn't much compared to Bobby if you were being honest, he made up for with his thickness. You felt completely full as he rocked into you. He began slowly, letting out a low guttural sound as he slipped inside. You noticed how you received him, raring and ready to go as if you hadn't just cum mere moments ago.
In this light you couldn't help but notice how human he looked. It was easy to equate his need for control with that of an otherworldly nature. When he stood that tall in the neon signs of Vegas, it was hard to imagine him in these moments. And yet, here he was. A sense of almost vulnerability as he rocked into you. You saw it on his face. How he seemed satisfied as he stretched you out. Perhaps, this evening was the only thing that had gone right this week. In these moments, when you both gave him control, when he didn't have to rely on the computers and equations to know what to do, to know who was going to win. Robert always knew he would come out on top, in every sense of the word.
You felt your body go completely limp from pleasure and you knew it wouldn't be long until another orgasm was coaxed out of you. Your whole body moved with every thrust. Your back arched and your hips bucked upwards to meet his. Everything your body was doing was happening without your say. Your mind too far gone from bliss to even think about moving, not that you would really do anything else in this situation.
Your head fell to the side as your eyelids fluttered from the overwhelming feelings bubbling up inside you. You noticed how Bobby's hands had moved from your arms and over to your breasts as they bounced in time with the increasing speed Robert was fucking you with. He took them in his hands, pinching your nipples as he did, ellicting a small squeal from you that made him laugh.
These touches on your body, the feeling of being utterly stretched out was nothing in comparison to when you suddenly felt fingers on your clit. It made you jolt forward in both shock and pleasure. From where you were lying, eyes screwed shut and head floating, you couldn't quite tell exactly which one of the men it was. In this state, the individual didn't matter. Here and now, you were one. A pleasurable mess of hands, fingers and mouths ; hands on your breasts, fingers circling your clit and mouths of your lips and on your neck. It was all too much. Tears began to fall as you felt your orgasm getting closer and closer. You weren't even sure what noises were coming out of your mouth. Were you trying to say something ? Things like don't stop, keep going, please ? If they were orders, the hands and the cock inside you obeyed. If they were moans, whines and sobs, then the hands really enjoyed pulling them from you.
Without much warning, your third orgasm enveloped you. It was stronger than the previous ones, ten times as pleasurable from the overstimulation. First, you felt it in your head. The last remaining thoughts silenced in an instant. Replaced by static and fuzz with an undercurrent of satisfaction and submission. Next, it was all over your body. How your shoulders shook as you convulsed. How your back was practically off the bed trying to buck your hips to take Robert deeper. How your thighs ached from all the tensing and tightening they had done this evening. How your toes curls inwards and fists balled up. Finally, you felt it inside. How your walls pulsed around the length still pounding away at you. How your orgasm pooled around him and threatened to spill out every time he moved backwards.
You dared open your eyes to see Robert's reaction but your vision began to blur the moment you did so. He was still going. You felt him twitch inside and the thrusts became deeper yet slower and deviated from that rhythm that had brought you over the edge. Bobby moved his hands once again to your shoulders. He was holding you in place, not forceful of course, more so to ground you, bring you back down to Earth as Robert finished up. You felt him still inside you as he released, an almost hissing sound escaping his mouth as he did so. Your eyes closed gently in ecstasy as the remaining shockwave rolled over you.
You weren't sure how long your eyes were closed for but they slowly fluttered open as you felt something wet and warm against your skin. You were gently sprawled out on the king size bed, head resting on the pillows, no sign of the stained sheets that had just held the three of you. You were still naked, that wasn't a surprise but you began to panic as you couldn't see either Robert or Bobby. Once again, you noticed that wet feeling across your inner thighs. It felt like a cloth and sure enough as you raised your head from the pillow to look down, you saw Bobby. He was cleaning you up, taking such good care of you, you couldn't help but smile as you threw your head back down onto the plush pillows.
"Welcome back," he laughed as he continued to soak up the sweat and result of multiple releases.
"How long was I out ?" You smiled staring up at the ceiling.
"Not long." Your head turned in the direction of the adjoining bathroom to see Robert stepping out. He was fully dressed, not quite the suit and tie you had seen him in earlier but a more relaxing get up, something casual for the evening. You had to admit it put a bit of doubt into your mind. If he was getting dressed, was he going to leave ? Go back to his work ? Your eyebrows furrowed slightly and he noticed. Quickly, he made his way back to the bed and sat down at your side.
"I'm not going anywhere, dear." He moved his hand to your head and began to smooth down the more wild strands of hair. A little bit uncharacteristic of him, you thought but for now, you would take it.
"Okay." It was more of a whisper than a statement. Fearful that if you dared to raise your voice anymore than that then it wouldn't be true. You noticed that the cloth between your legs had stopped moving as Bobby stood up. He was also beginning to dress, a clean pair of boxers rather than a full outfit but still more than you had on.
"You didn't have to do that, you know. I was gonna take a shower," you said as you stretched your legs out, flexing your toes as you did. You did, however, notice a weakness to them, especially in the thighs.
"Can you walk ?" He retorted. You simply rolled your eyes and watched as he walked to the pile of previously discarded clothing and put them in the basket at the corner of the room.
The sex was good. It was really good but in these moments, the calm and quiet of the afterglow. The domestic touches and glances. You weren't sure what you preferred and you were happy to be called greedy for wanting it all. You let out a contented sigh as Robert moved his hand away, satisfied with how it grounded you for the time being and reached into his trouser pocket to light up a cigarette.
"Penny for your thoughts ?" He asked, taking a drag.
"My thoughts are worth much more than a penny," you responded playfully.
"I think I can afford it," he said with a wink. You let out that same sigh as you pushed yourself upwards to rest on your elbows. You could see Bobby beginning to dress himself, the bottom drawers of the large chest reserved for him. He rarely spent much time in his own suite these days.
"I might just be the luckiest girl in Vegas. What did I do to deserve this ?" You laughed. Bobby took a seat at the end of the bed as he traced reassuring patterns up and down your legs.
"Well, you sorta did rig the game." Bobby spoke, his fingers still continuing to move up and down.
"How ?" You replied deadpan.
"I mean, look at you. You're beautiful." His hands trailed upwards over your knees, "you're smart," they continued up to your thighs, "and you certainly know how to make us crazy."
You laughed gently as you shook your leg out to remove his hands. Not that you didn't like the way it felt but if those hands were heading where you thought they were, you would have to shut it down. You couldn't handle anymore tonight.
"And you're going to overwhelm her if you're not careful," Robert spoke up. He reached over to the the bedside cabinet to ash out the cigarette, still maintaining that gentle eye contact as he did. It made you feel special. Right now, he didn't care about his work, he only cared about this moment.
"The night is still young, boys, who knows what it'll bring ?" You quipped as you sat up further. You had regained most of the feeling in your legs and desperately needed that shower.
"Still, I am taking that shower now. You need to talk about the business trip and as much I support your endeavours, it might bore me back to sleep," you spoke as you flung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up. They were still a bit uneasy but you regained your footing.
"Business can wait," Robert responded.
"No, it's fine. Please. I don't need you sneaking off to the office later so you might as well do it now. Then, we can head to the lounge for a nightcap," you smiled as you walked around the bed towards the bathroom.
"Oh, there's a nightgown of yours on the hook for you afterwards," Bobby interjected. He really had thought of everything.
"Thank you," you returned earnestly.
As you closed the door behind you, your back sank into the oak and you stood resting against it for a moment. On the other side, you could hear the flick of a lighter and gentle conversation. You smiled to yourself. You meant what you said earlier, how did you get so lucky ? There was no point in pondering questions you didn't have an answer to. For now, you were safe, you were happy and you were loved. And within the chaos of Vegas, that's what made you a real winner. Not the bets placed on rigged tables. Not the hollow conversations with drunk strangers. Just knowing you had a place to call home, a bed to rest your head on and those two men who, going forward at least, always made time for you.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It's the first December since the truce had been established, and Nightmare and Dream have very, very complicated feelings regarding this time of year. Decisions are made, for better or for worse.
Chapter 1 is based on the song "Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call" by Bleachers!
An angsty little twoshot for Gyftmas! The second chapter is still in the works, but if you're craving some angsty Dreamtale twins during the holidays...
