#((Silver will be back to normal next post.))

[silver---linings]

Sonic stepped closer to Silver, under the assumption that Silver would be in control. "Yo, Silver, are you... alright?"

Tails reaches out to Sonic stop him. "Sonic! Wait! Something's not right!"

When Sonic got close enough, Silver suddenly swipes his claws at the hedgehog, but in his usual swift manner, Sonic jumps out of the way. "Whoa!"

He skids a bit as he lands on his feet, then glares at Silver. "What the heck, Silver?! What's the big-" Sonic got one good look at Silver's eyes. "-idea..?"

"Sonic, I don't think that's Silver anymore!"

The fox kit wouldn't be mistaken. Silver's eyes are amber in color. The purple eyes glaring back at them... that's not Silver. Something else has taken control.

"Tails! Get back inside!" Sonic yells with urgency without turning to Tails.

"But what about you?!"

"I'm gonna lure him away from the Workshop and try knocking sense into him!" Silver charges on all fours towards the blue hedgehog and tries to pounce him, but Sonic swiftly dodges to the right. "Go!"

Tails quickly closes the door before Silver has the chance to barge in. While Sonic can hold his own, Tails needed to help in case Sonic needed back-up. "I need to find my blaster, and fast!"

Silver growls towards the door Tails just shut. "Hey! Furball!" The beast's attention goes to Sonic, who is pointing at himself. "I'm over here!"

He roars, then once again charges. Sonic leads him down the path away from the Workshop to the mountainous area of Mystic Ruins, where there is more space to fight, then stops to give the Werehog time to catch up, which took little time, surprisingly.

Silver isn’t usually the fastest on foot, and when Sonic was a Werehog, even he didn't run that fast on all fours. Now that Silver stopped at a distance to bare his teeth at him, Sonic could gauge that his build isn't as bulky as his was, he looked slimmer, which could explain how he was able to catch up so quick, and while he didn't look as physically strong, Sonic knows to take his foes seriously, no matter how easy they may seem.

"Now that we have more space to play," Sonic smirks as he gets in position to fight. "let's play fetch!"

Silver growled as he stood up, then his hands glow purple as he created a flail made up of dark psychic energy in one of his palms, with the line connecting to one of the chains on his cuffs, then flung it into the air, making the line stretch before he swung it down towards Sonic.

"What the?!" Sonic quickly rolls out from under it before he got embedded into the ground along with the flail. He turned his head to look back at the close call he just had. He has seen Silver create knives out of his Psychokinesis before, but never has he seen him create a whole flail out of psychic energy. "Well, that's new."

He didn't get any more time to continue gawking as the flail gets loose and swung towards him at an alarming rate. "Whoa!" He jumps and does an aerial backflip to get out of its way before it embeds itself into the nearby rock wall.

"Nice new trick ya' learned!" Sonic quips as he lands perfectly onto his feet before dusting himself off. "Got anymore under your sleeves?"

Silver growls as he makes the first flail disappear, then create two new flails with both hands. Sonic really should've kept his mouth shut, but hey, he enjoys a challenge!

The Werehog starts swinging and smashing the flails around in an effort to smash the blue blur into the ground, while Sonic is effortlessly making sure he doesn't wind up becoming a hedgehog pancake.

His plan is to get Silver to wear himself out before attempting to knock him back into his senses. He has a brief lapse in attention that causes him to smacked by one of the flails and smashed into the ground. He comes back up through a hole he made by spin dashing.

He grabs his arm and winces. "I'm gonna be feeling that in the morning." He shakes it off before going back to avoiding Silver's flails.

This continues for some time. Eventually, Sonic does manage to wear Silver down enough to where the flails disappear and he stops to catch his breath.

Noticing this, Sonic takes this chance to knock Silver to his senses, and makes his move, however, when he got in close, Silver quickly extended his claws with psychic energy and slashed at Sonic.

Sonic didn't react in time, and the claws connect with his chest, making him shout and knocking him onto his back. He winces as put his left hand on his chest and the wounds crackle with dark psychic energy. He glares at Silver with one eye as the Werehog started approaching him.

"Cheap shot." He said through gritted teeth. He tried to get back up, only to find that his body is suddenly overcome with a staticy numbness. The only thing he can still move is his head, but nothing below the shoulders will respond.

When Silver got close enough to Sonic, he slams one hand onto the hedgehog's chest, knocking the wind out of him and pinning him to the ground.

"Silver," Sonic wheezed before letting out a cough. "you need to snap out of it!"

Silver raised his other hand up, and again makes his claws extend with psychic energy, ready to slice into the downed hedgehog.

"Hey!"

The pair look up to the source of the voice and find Tails flying just above Silver, blaster at the ready and aimed at him. "Get your hand off my brother!"

He fires a blast at the Werehog and makes a direct hit. Silver roared as the energy from the blast coursed through him for a few moments, then fell unconscious once the effects of the blast wore off.

"Tails!"

"Sonic!"

Tails lands near Sonic, and sets the blaster aside to help Sonic to his feet once he gained enough feeling back.

His legs still felt tingly, but is able to stand up just fine. "Thanks, little buddy." He coughed. "Had you arrived a second later, I would've been minced hedgehog. I owe you one."

"Sonic..." Tails' ears lower as he points at the partially covered claw marks on Sonic's chest. "Your chest..."

Sonic briefly glanced to the claw marks. They still sting with that energy that was infused with Silver's claws, but luckily, they didn't appear deep enough to cause scarring. "Silver really did a number on me," He chuckled as he ruffles Tails' fur. "but I'll be alright. I've been through worse."

The duo's attention went to the out cold Silver. "I had my blaster set to "knock-out", so he shouldn't be waking up anytime soon."

Tails turned to Sonic. "What do you want to do with him?" He wanted to contain him in case he were to wake up before morning, but he wanted Sonic's input first.

"Wait for him to wake up, of course."

"What?! But what if he wakes up right now and starts attacking again?!"

"I wouldn't worry about it. You said it yourself, he's not gonna wake up any time soon. Even if he does wake up, I think your blaster knocked enough sense back into him."

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Deathday Party

Part of this post series > link

Tim had no idea he was being courted by Danny and was making his way to an official engagement at this rate. What he did know was that Danny had invited him to an important party at the mansion of none other then Vlad Masters.

Danny had mentioned that his family and Masters had a rocky past but it had gotten better before he left for university. Tim wasn't convinced due to the stories Danny had offhandly mentioned. The guy had tried to out Danny to his parents and rallied the town against him. So excuse Tim for not wanting Danny to go back to a homophobic town like that and a bastard who did something so petty just because a kid's mom wouldn't sleep with you.

But Danny was his friend. The only normal friend he had who treated him like this. Sure he really likes giving gifts and has a fascination for flowers but that's all the more reason to look after him. It was pure luck that Tim befriended him before a cult did.

Tim was still going to supportive and still needed to make it up to Danny for not visiting Amity Park last time. So he packed and boarded the plane a few days before the party.

Danny began introducing Tim to everyone in his family. For the most part, it was a warm welcome. Danny's dad told him that they would have to sleep in separate rooms because "He knows how boys could be and there will be no funny business."

Tim was indignant but reminded himself to be polite. Danny's dad may not be the most accepting of LGBT people but this was his home.

Danny only blushed and brushed his dad off, after all, he and Tim hadn't even kissed yet.

Danny's friends were cool though. Sam was definitely the source of Danny's gothic tendencies. She and Danny discussed herbs, crystals, and graveyards together while Tim got to know Tucker.

The next day they went to the Masters' estate and Tim met Danny's other family. Dani or Elle was Danny's little sister or cousin or something. It was confusing but she immediately took a liking to Tim.

"Ooo, he's cute~ You dont mind sharing right Danny?" She teased linking arms with Tim.

"Knock it off Elle. He's too old for you anyway and if Vlad heard you he'd set Tim on fire." Danny admonished her pulling her off by the hoodie.

Tim didn't catch that Danny was being completely serious about the fire part.

Vlad Masters would be out of the house until the party that night but the mansion was being set up for the event. Apparently, the "Deathday" party was a bigger deal than Tim thought. The guest list was a mile long.

From what Tim gathered a death day was a celebration of life after a near-death experience. Like if someone flatlined during surgery and are brought back. Its actually a pretty smart way to deal with trauma by making the event a reason to celebrate.

Tim had heard from Danny of the day he was electrocuted and that it changed his life. He definitely had the scar to prove it. Danny had gotten a UV tattoo over it or something because it glowed faintly at night. It was pretty cool.

That evening Tim was handed his costume for the event. The party had a royal theme, something that didn't seem like Danny's idea. Still, Danny's silver and ivy green dublette looked...pretty good. Tim dressed in a similar red and gold suit.

"You look good." Danny pulled out an ornate emerald cravat pin and pinned it to Tim label.

"You too," Tim said without thinking but Danny smiled before going back to putting the finishing touches on their outfits.

It was...intimate to say the least as Danny pulled back Tim's hair. He fastened their capes and a (fake) dagger to his belt.

Danny put put on a subtle layer of makeup. Darkening his eyes, cheeks, and lips. It gave him a pale and deathly appearance.

"I have to look my best. I don't want anyone to think I'm just using you as arm candy." Danny laughed.

"That implies that you are using me as that already." Tim jested but stopped when Danny pointed to the makeup trey. "You're joking."

"Im not. It's an important event and this isn't Gotham. There are alot of people i want you to meet. Just play along." Danny begged.

Tim agreed letting Danny put on a bit of black and red makeup.

"Aww, Tim. You look absolutely ghastly. Your funeral ready." Danny gushed as he turned to grab the last things they needed. Two circlets with stars emblems embedded in them.

Tim laughed internally. Danny was always to positive Tim forgot just how goth he was. Tim knew he shouldn't be surpised.

Tim and Danny walked to the mansion's ballroom which was full of guests dressed similarly to them. The room glowed eerily under green-flamed torches. Very gothic. On second thought this suited Danny.

A staff member er...servant announced their arrival.

"His Highness the High Prince of the realm of infinite space and his guest."

None other than Vlad Masters approached. He had thrown this party for his godson and wanted everything perfect. He eyed Tim critically before speaking to Danny.

"Daniel I heard about your...friend from Elle. Its that what he is?" Masters studied.

"He's my-"

"Boyfriend! I'm his boyfriend." Tim interrupted. He was not going to let this homophonic piece of shit undermine Danny's sexuality again and try to embarrass him. Especially on such an I'm day. " Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne and head of Wayne Industries. I've heard a LOT about you Mr.Masters."

After a moment Vlad nodded and smiled.

"You've chosen well. He's quite the catch my boy. Happy Death Day." Vlad patted Danny on the back before going to mingle with Danny's parents who where tearing up the cheese platter.

Danny blinked owlishly at Tim. Tim had never used that word yet, Danny thought they were not at that stage yet.

"Sorry Danny, i got caught up." Tim sighed.

"You know he's going to tell everyone right?" Danny laughed "I hope you're ready."

Danny dragged Tim to meet his ghost friends for the rest of the evening between dancing and eating.

Tim had fun meeting Danny's fellow goth friends who complimented him a lot. They were definitely strange but they really loved Danny. The whole party was like a Renaissance festival meets one of those novels that Jason loved. Actually, Jason would be so jealous of him right now. Tim made sure to take pictures. Some of them came out fuzzy but it was enough to make Jason mad.

[taintandviolent]

Taco Tuesday ; Gambit x reader!

summary: You live across the hall from Wade Wilson, and one Tuesday, he invites you over for tacos. 🌮 And that’s where you meet him. The Gambit. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.4K | smut with very little plot, alcohol mention, slightly drunk (but very consenting) reader, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (cher, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk (cos he is a dirty talker, don't argue with me on this), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n.

a/n: this is based 100% on Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit / Channing's version of Gambit!! sorry for the lack of plot here, he deserves better than this filth, but I am down ASTRONOMICALLY and I needed to get it out. I spent so much time trying to get his accent right, I hope it comes off the way I wanted it to... anyway! i'm not certain if anyone will read this, but if you do - thank you a million times over! as always, requests are open! - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @scintie!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle of Jack between your legs — wait. Pause. Rewind. How’d we get here?

Living in the same apartment complex as Wade Wilson was a trip. Even more of a trip was living across the hall from him. The things you heard coming from that apartment... nobody would believe you. So, you never told anyone. 

He’s kind. Albeit, zany but kind. Your interactions have been cordial and nauseatingly neighbourly. But on one regular ol' Tuesday afternoon, Wade invited you inside. He said something about having a party later that night, making tacos and being neighborly. He assured you that it wasn't a sex party... which to be honest, you weren't worried about until he'd mentioned it. Against your better judgement though, you'd agreed, and said you'd bring some liquor.

So, that evening, you opened your door, one bottle of Jack tucked under your arm, and another in your left hand. You shut the door to your apartment and walked straight across to your neighbour’s door. Your fist had rapped against the wood only twice before the door swung open, revealing Wade, and a very… strange and very bald looking dog in his arms. 

"Oh, what the fuck?" You asked, looking down at the creature. "I didn't know you had a dog…?"

Wade’s voice rose an octave or two, in a cutesy tone. "She's a new addition, yes she is!" 

"I brought... well, this. Sorry, it was all I had in my cabinets and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't about to go out and spend money on this. I like… barely know you."

"HA! Brutal honesty. We love to hear it." 

Wade took hold of your shoulder and yanked you inside, harsh enough that you made a small sound as he did. He shut the door with his foot, and towed you towards the table, where everyone was gathered. And that was when you first saw him. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat with a high collar. He lounged casually on one of the dining chairs, playing with a deck of cards. They fluttered from hand to hand effortlessly, and for a moment, you were stuck, mesmerized by the dexterous way he handled them. You weren't sure what was pulling you towards him harder, your heart or your cunt, but you felt an undeniable draw to the man.

Wade's arm wound itself around your shoulders, guiding you around the room to meet each of his friends. At that point, living next to him, mutants were a forced transition. You were used to the concept of them, so meeting a giant silver man, for example, wasn't unexpected. Vanessa was the most normal - you were pretty sure she was human.

Finally, he got to the one you really wanted to meet. The one that your eyes had been darting back and forth to the entire time, the one that when he briefly met your gaze, your heart thudded in your chest. 

"And this... handsome slice of man, is the Gambit. Good luck understanding him, he's a real mouthful."

I’ll bet he is, you thought. 

He pocketed the cards in a quick motion and stood up from his chair. With a syrup-smooth chuckle, the man laughed and said: "You can call me Remy." He did in fact have a thick Cajun accent and spoke quickly – almost too quickly. You blinked once, focusing hard on his words.

"Remy," you repeated finally, before saying your own name and extending your hand. He took it gently and as he shook it, your palm tingled with what felt like electricity.

"Enchanté." (Enchanted)

Your cheeks burned, and you knew they were flushing. You couldn’t control it. "De même..." (Likewise.)

His brows lifted, surprised. "You speak French, mon ami?" (my friend) 

"Heh, uhh... comme un enfant." (Like a child) You chuckled low, averting your eyes for a millisecond. "I took a few years of it in high school and again in college. I’m by no means an expert."

Wade's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between the two of you. There was obvious chemistry there, and a knowing smirk drew itself across his lips. Abruptly, he yanked one of the bottles of Jack Daniels from beneath your arm, before leaning against the nearby wall.

"Oh, fuck me. You understand Gumbo here? That’s cute. No idea what either of you are saying though, someone forgot to turn the subtitles on. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Whatever that meant. You scoffed, but turned your attention back to Gambit, looking at him.

“Sit a while, cher.” 

You happily took the chair that he pulled out, not caring that it was facing away from the others, and plopped down onto it, situating the other bottle of Jack between your legs. You gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, and looked at him with a timid, but a come hither sort of smile. After a moment, you twisted the cap off, and flicked it off somewhere to your right. Wade would find it later, or he wouldn’t. You didn’t really care. 

You two talked for hours, most of which consisted of him telling you about the Void, and how hard it had been, while you pretended to comprehend it. Between words, you passed the bottle back and forth, taking mouthfuls, and inadvertently swapping spit as you did. The thought occurred to you about halfway through the conversation, and your stomach tightened. You shook your head lightly and clenched your thighs together, trying to stave off the arousal that was bubbling in your core. 

There we go. That’s better.

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle, which was still situated between your legs. His fingertips just graze the side of your thigh and his eyes flit to yours. He holds his smile, waiting for you to either protest or move the moment forward, and all you can do is gawk, because your cunt starts throbbing. 

As the evening wears on, though cautious, it’s obvious that Remy feels the same pull that you do. He remains cool on the outside, but internally, he was battling the magnetic tugging he felt from you. He couldn't shake it. He’d compliment you, you’d compliment him. At one point, in between sips, you casually drop that you think his accent is hot and he whispers something underneath his breath, something you don’t understand. Before either of you realized it, you had started to lean closer to each other, your faces inches apart, and you felt the warm rush of his breath over your cheeks.

It was as if you both realized it simultaneously. You rear back, an embarrassed expression plastered on your face. Remy clears his throat. His attraction to you was stifling; something that he rarely felt. He was powerless in his want for you, the draw you had was irresistible.

"Maybe we should... uh..." You murmur, looking deep into his eyes. In a room full of people that were starting to fade away the closer you two got to each other, you were thankful you were still sober enough to suggest a different setting. Any longer and you surely would’ve just straddled him and gone to town. 

Remy moves first. 

"We gon' take a walk." He announces to the others, getting to his feet. 

The conversation stops abruptly, silence hanging heavy. You straighten up, trying your best to avert your gaze, but you still see everyone’s reaction. Someone clears their throat and your heart sinks, feeling like you might die on the spot. The one that had been introduced as Logan, gruff looking dude, raises a single brow at you. In true Wade-character, he ugly cackles, shattering the moment. Your shoulders sink, embarrassed, as you head towards the door, doing the proverbial walk of shame. 

Remy meets you at the door and pulls it open, holding it for you. You duck underneath his arm, looking sheepish and as you exit into the hallway, you think you heard Wade mutter something about a fanfiction but Remy yanks the door shut before you can react. 

“You want to… get some air? Or um… I have… well, no I had liquor, but I brought it to Wade’s.” 

He smiles, and looks down at the floor, before lifting his eyes back to you. “We can do whatever you want, chère. You ain’t gon’ catch me complainin’ eitha’ way.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering the options. Your heart was hammering in your chest at the prospect of just being near him without the others around. You two had been close to kissing in Wade’s living room, and now, you had the opportunity to continue that… or take a walk. The latter seemed less appealing. 

“Y’know what, why don’t we… just…” You take a few steps backwards, jerking your head towards your front door. Concerningly, you had forgotten to lock your door. However, it allows you to open it quickly, and walk backwards into the apartment. Gambit follows you in, his attention never leaving you. 

"You sure 'bout dis, mon ami? I can walk away righ' now." His words land heavy, a promise behind them. He was a gentleman at heart, you could tell. Fortunately for him, you were very sure, and wanted every inch of him.

Mon ami - something that in the few hours you'd spent with him, he'd called you often. Among other things. Mon ami meant my friend, but you knew you two weren't just friends. You saw how he acted with others, and the comments he made. Sure, he had a quick wit and a mouth on him, but the flirting... god, the flirting.

He stands in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. Silently, you nod and take another step back, giving him some room to enter. He takes one wide step towards you, leaving the door open behind him. He reaches for your hip, and you immediately take to playing with his large hands. Delicately, you pay attention to each long digit, trailing your middle finger along the knuckles, and up and down the length of them. You dip into the spaces between, your fingers barely ghosting over the webbing. 

Was that a shiver? Your eyes flit to his, searching them for a hint.

"You sure do know how to make a man feel good." 

Your heart flutters at his words. With his accent, even the simplest of things sounded charming. At least to you. You felt that he could ask if you wanted coffee or how the weather was and you'd be twirling your hair around your finger like a desperate schoolgirl. Embarrassing. 

You’re about to respond and defend yourself by saying that all you had done was play with his hands, which was hardly considered foreplay, but his fingers come up underneath your chin, gently closing your mouth with a dull click of your teeth. He tilts it upwards to an angle where he could easily kiss you. And kiss you, he does. 

It was the kind of kiss that makes your knees buckle, sends a violent shudder from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine. It’s the kind of kiss that needs to come with a warning; Danger: Will Result In Sex. As his lips move against yours, you feel the urgency of his need, of his want, and hum into his lips. Remy takes that as a green light and deepens the kiss, moving his body so that it’s pressing flush against yours. The action leaves you immediately breathless and in response, you break the kiss, tucking your chin to your chest. Your hand finds his torso, pressing hard against the muscles underneath the shirt.  

"Ah, don't you be actin' shy now. You been teasin' me for hours."

“I have not!”

“You think I didn’t notice all ‘dem touches an’ looks you were givin’ me? I may ‘ave been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” 

He had you there. You couldn’t deny that, at all. Even if you’d wanted to. Which, part of you did. Part of you was very nervous, standing before this very handsome man, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your lips but another part of you, the louder one, was delighted that he’d noticed. Furthermore, that he’d enjoyed them enough to come to your room.

You lift your hand behind him, pushing the door shut with a harsh shove. With a twist of your fingers, you activate the locking mechanism, sliding the deadbolt into place. Gambit chuckles, grinning down at you. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you press on bravely, lacing your arms around his neck. They trail down the front of his body, feeling the muscles as they twitch with each ragged breath. 

He quirks a brow as if to ask, 'Oh, really?' You simply smirk back at him. The contact is electric, and you find yourself resisting the urge to grind against him immediately. Instead, you focus on his hands again, bringing one of them up to your lips. You press a delicate kiss on the pads, before slipping one into your mouth and sucking gently. Remy makes a deep, husky sound in his throat, and brings his other hand to your hip, where he pulls you roughly against him.

For a man that uses his hands often, the sensations are high. The way your mouth envelops his finger, your tongue writhing around the digit had his jaw clenching, muscles fluttering on the side of his face. When you draw his finger into the confines of your throat, deep-throating it, his eyes roll back in pleasure. He pulls his hand back, shaking it off as if the inside of your mouth was hot to the touch.

"Woo, you nasty, huh? Nevah’ woulda' guessed... you been actin' like a good little girl 'uhround me." 

After that, it all happened very quickly. Gambit takes a step and connects his lips with yours again, pushing them into you in an act of desperation. Without breaking the kiss, he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby surface. You push against him until his back hits the door with a heavy thud, definitely loud enough for any innocent bystanders to hear. Your fingers undo the button of your jeans, breaking the kiss for only a second to slide them down your legs. 

Once you return to his waiting mouth, the kiss deepens and the coil in your stomach winds tighter, claiming your body in a deep, fiery arousal. His big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a heated embrace. Just for a moment, it’s tender — but shortly after, his hands drop to your ass, fingers slipping underneath the band of fabric to take greedy fistfuls of each cheek. 

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the roundness of them to use as leverage. Letting out a little hum, you sweep your hips across his groin, pressing tightly against him. His eyes drift shut, head bumping against the door as he leaned it back, a low growl coming from his throat. Keeping at it, you grind your hips against him, feeling the outline of his length as it hardens.

“You be drivin’ Remy crazy, grindin’ on me like ‘dat.”

“That’s the intention….” You stand on your tiptoes to pepper kisses on his lips, your warm breath fanning over his face, smelling faintly of Jack Daniels. Remy trails his hand carefully up your rib cage until he gets to the side of your breast, where he quickly slips around to the front, his large hand cupping the fullness of it outside of your shirt. Your reaction is visceral; your breath hisses through your teeth at the sensitivity. 

Remy laughs again and with his free hand, pulls your hips back to his. Swiftly, he spins you around, pinning you between his body and the hard surface of the door. He presses himself tightly against you, shifting slightly so that his thigh was between your legs. The sensation of something that close to your core is dangerous and brings a weak, mewling whimper from your mouth.

“We gon’ have ourselves some fun.” His voice is low, tinged with a new sort of lustful tone that you hadn't heard before. Your mind is spinning, growing dizzy with lust. The alcohol had certainly helped your nerves, you were never usually this brazen. Your core burns with desire at his words, silently begging for everything he was about to give you. His lips hover just over yours; you can feel his breath on your skin and the heat that radiates off his body as it presses into yours.

"Oh my god," you whisper into his mouth. "Fuck..."

His teeth nip at your bottom lip before he captures your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss again. His tongue explores the inside, swirling along your own wet muscle. With every passing second, your heart beats faster and his hands grip your hips tighter, thumbs massaging the flesh above your jeans.

“Wrap ‘dem legs around me, mon coeur.” (My heart) Remy’s voice is husky with want; amongst his playful, lilted tone, a possessiveness lingered, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. He nods once, encouraging you into his waiting arms. You jump up, and he catches you effortlessly, gripping your thighs tight and hoisting you up into his grasp. Feeling secure, you wrap both legs around his waist and encircle his neck with your arms. Your gaze meets his and you can see the wanton need mirrored in his own eyes, darkened with desire.

Remy's smirk is dripping with confidence. Your body's response to him was causing his ego to swell within his chest, and his cock to swell within his pants. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, nipping at the lobe softly before pulling back slightly. In one fluid movement, his hips buck up against your center, teasing you over the layers of clothing. You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the door.

He thrusts up into you again, chuckling low against your ear. The hard line of his cock grinds against you, making you stutter out expletives as it presses against you with a needy demand. 

"You like 'dat, cher? Talk t' me..."

You nod, swallowing and wetting your throat. "Y-yeah, fuck... I do... need you – it – so bad."

“Whaddya’ need?”

“N-need you… so bad.” 

“You can do betta’. Tell Remy what you need...” 

He presses you harder against the door, your back sliding against the wood as he kisses a trail down from your mouth to your shoulder, sucking and biting with all the right intensities. As his hips grind against yours, you feel the damp fabric slide across your cunt, alerting you to just how wet he’d made you. Fuck. 

“Need… need you to fuck me. Hard. Need to feel you everywhere.”  

A few hours ago, you’d agreed to Taco Tuesday at Wade’s. Now, you were getting dry humped by a really hot Cajun guy and moaning into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. You were positive that if someone opened their door, they’d hear you. Somewhere in your brain, the thought should have been moderately embarrassing, but you were far too invested in Remy to care. 

Without warning, Gambit lifts you away from the door and carries you to the nearby couch. He never breaks the kiss, still feverishly claiming your mouth as he moves. Your back hits the cushions and before you can process it, his body weight is on top of you. He slots himself in between your legs, and his hard-on bumps into your stomach as his hips rut against you, finding some relief in the friction. But not enough. 

Remy’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to allow his fingers underneath the fabric. You bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip and push your hips up into his. Thick, strong digits sweep across your skin, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. Every touch brings your temperature up, and it isn’t long before your entire body is consumed in flames. You sigh contentedly, arching up into his touch. 

Abruptly, Remy straightens up, crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tan skin and bulky muscles. His stocky stature makes your tummy clench with anticipation. He was fit, as you assumed, but that didn’t stop your jaw from falling open at the sight. 

“Wow,” you finally choke.

Remy grins. “You like what you see?” 

You nod furiously, hands snapping to his toned abdomen. He’s warm and his skin is soft, begging to be touched. The muscles flex underneath your fingers as you trace a long stripe from his belly button to his collarbone. Your hands claw at his shoulder, attempting to pull him back down on you, but he resists. 

He spoke with a playfulness, almost a sort of pleading. His thumbs flicks at the hem of your shirt. “Ah, c’mon, ‘dat ain’t fair. Enlève-tout toi, huh?” (Take it all off.)

You thought you understood, but if you didn’t, it didn’t matter. Remy was quick to translate his words, busy undressing you, pulling your worn t-shirt over your head, and reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. Most men would’ve fumbled with the clasp, but not him. His adept fingers make quick work of it, allowing your breasts to fall free. He throws your bra somewhere behind him. 

“Hooo, cher…!” His eyes light up at the visual and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks again, half expecting him to make a lewd comment. Instead, his hands cup your tits, kneading the soft plumpness like dough, thumbs grazing the nipples. He exhales through his mouth, jerking his head to the side. 

Finally, he kisses you again. It’s wet and sloppy and his mouth is consuming you, tasting you hungrily. His hips are still moving, sweeping into yours with a calculated precision. You try to spread your legs but the back of the couch thwarts your attempt. He notices this, watching as you struggle with the space. 

“You got a bed?” He asked in between smearing kisses along your neck and collarbone. 

“Yeah-yeah…. Down the hall.” 

“Remy be needin’ more room for what he wanna’ do t’you.”

His weight is suddenly gone from you, an unwelcome sensation, even though you know he’s about to carry you wedding-style down the hallway. He bends down, one arm sliding underneath your neck, the other in the crook behind your knees. For the second time that night, he lifts you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his warm pectoral muscle, rocking back and forth, as he walks you both down the dark hallway. The only light in the room comes from the window, the city outside alive and humming. Carefully, Remy sets you down on the bed, unmade from this morning, your dark gray sheets cool to the touch. 

In nothing but your underwear, which at this point, are damp to the touch, you’re left feeling very exposed. But you can’t muster up any shame, not when he’s looking at you with such hunger, such want. Your tummy feels tight, and the feeling gets worse when Remy’s hands drop to his waist, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. They fall loose at the waist, and he shucks them down the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but a pair of deep purple boxers. Your eyes swing heavy to the outline that’s now presented to you. 

Oh my god. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Remy was a big guy, and that proved true downstairs, too. You can barely pull your eyes away from it, but you begrudgingly rip them away, to look up into his gaze. 

“Please,” you beg. “You’re too far away…” Your cunt is aching and nothing but him, his hands, his dick, will sate her. 

He leans forward, flattening both hands on the mattress and walks them back until his face is in front of yours. He sweeps you into another kiss and your heart races. His hands are perfectly positioned on either side of your hips, you feel them graze the flesh. His finger hooks around the elastic of your panties, twisting it around his pointer finger and gradually, he tugs them down over the curve of your hip.

You nod lazily against his mouth, as you feel the warmth of his hand near your core. Your legs drop apart, knees touching the mattress as you allow him access. One hand sweeps across your inner thighs, stroking them, while the other palms your soft mound. His other hand comes to pause at your knee, and pushes his weight into it softly, forcing you to stay spread-eagle for him. No way you could’ve done this on the sofa. 

There’s no hesitation in the way he fingers you; sweeping up through your slick folds, smearing your arousal around until she’s coated in it, splaying your pretty, wet cunt apart with his fingers, looking upon it hungrily. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it right. You briefly wonder if that’s another mutant power he has… though being an expert at fingering someone seems outlandish. But he’s just so good at it. His middle finger barely touches you, circling the bundle of nerves delicately. Your back arches up towards him, a desperate groan vibrating your vocal chords. Delighted by your reaction, his finger flicks upwards at your swollen, sensitive clit, making your body literally quiver. 

“Uhugh – god…. Shit, oh my god.” 

He continues like this for several minutes, until your cunt is blazing hot and clenching with every moan you give. 

By the time he presses one finger inside, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and your voice fills the room with needy, desperate sounds. You let out a shrill whine, and he slips in another finger, feeling the stretch of muscle as he does. His heart is pounding in his chest, overcome with lust. The way you sound, the way your body is moving and writhing on the bed, he can’t wait to sink himself into you. 

Amidst a laugh, he says: “People gon’ think we up in here watchin’ porn.”

Did he just insinuate that you sounded like a pornstar? You lifted your head, wearily, to look at him. Your chest heaves with each breath as you try to formulate a snarky remark to no avail. He looked so good – well, always – but he looked particularly good on top of you, his bright eyes lust blown and hungry. 

“We’re… we’re… porn… it’s…  oh god.” 

He shushes you. “You just lay back and keep moanin’.” 

Defeated, you huff and your head hits the sheets again, but not before you catch a glimpse of the way the muscles in his forearm ripple as it pumps back and forth into your cunt. You can’t help but moan at the sight, feeling a shockwave rupture your core. Your hips meet his fingers, rutting and writhing against the mattress in a needy rhythm.

Your first orgasm claims your body before you can stop it. You’re clenching around his fingers as they move, crooking upwards into your sensitive spots. Your slick coats his fingers and when Gambit pulls his hand back, thick, clear strands string from between them. He smiles down at you. 

Remy raises himself to his knees. “Turn ‘round…” 

You flip over and back yourself towards him, thinking that he’s going to go at it doggy-style, but to your surprise, he pulls you upright, pressing your back against his chest. His dick is hot between your legs, and when he reaches down to line it up, you let your head loll back against his shoulder. Gambit’s mouth finds the side of your neck, streaking it with wet, suckling kisses. He was taking his time with you, savouring you and you hum happily through closed lips, reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Instinctively, your hips undulate and his cock slips between your folds. Remy’s hips buck once, letting out a groan that comes from somewhere deep. 

“You ready, cher?” He asks, sweeping your hair away from your neck. You nod furiously. You’ve been ready – you were ready the moment you laid eyes on him.

Remy reaches down to sweep his fingers along your entrance briefly, before gripping himself and guiding the head of his cock into the slit. You keen at the feeling of his velvet-soft head pressing into your entrance, warm pre-cum leaking from the slit. He murmurs words of encouragement into your ear as you feel his hips press against your ass, urging his thick, veiny shaft inside your cunt. He does it gently, allowing you time to adjust to the girth, but the sting still makes you cry out. “Fffuck!”

He begins to thrust his hips shallowly, your cunt stretching around his cock. The feeling is all-consuming, and your body feels heavy in his grasp. One hand is gripping your waist tightly, the other, fingers splayed out on your stomach just above your cunt. There’s a pressure building in your cunt, and each thrust magnifies it. The sting of his cock fades to an ache, then to a dull throbbing that makes you want more and you lean forward slightly and press your ass into the curves of his hips, meeting his thrusts. 

“Mm, ‘dat’s it, cher…” His voice is hot on your skin. 

His thrusts get deeper, but there’s a lingering tension in his body that makes you feel like he’s not getting what he wants. You’re right; all at once, Remy pulls his cock from you and switches positions. 

You’re suddenly on your back, looking up at him as he looms over you, all muscle. His cockhead nudges your entrance again, but doesn’t penetrate. 

“Say my name, cher… I needa’ hear it leave ‘dat pretty mouth.” 

“Which one? Gambit? Or Remy?” You ask, breathlessly.

The way his eyes rolled back at the second option told you everything you needed to know. A smirk twisted your lips cruelly and you lifted your body slightly, just enough for your mouth to reach his ear. You moan his name over and over again, knowing full well the effect it’s having on the mutant man.

“Remy, Remy, Remy….” Your tone is high-pitched and whiny, but he seems to enjoy the lewdness of it all. He bucks his hips hard into you, and the fullness reaches an all-time high as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours with a slap.

“Huhhh—!” You gasp, breathing ragged. “Fuck!”

“Gonna’ make you cum so hard you ain’t gon’ walk right for days.” His voice is low and filthy and leaves a stain on your mind. Your cunt clenches around him possessively, pulling him somehow deeper inside of you. 

As your head bangs into your headboard, the tip of his cock bumps your cervix over and over again, and your jaw goes slack, literally fucked silent. Remy hears the thudding of your skull and puts a hand between it and the wood, but he doesn’t stop his relentless, deep thrusting. 

The pleasure reaches a peak and your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on his golden skin. Remy’s groaning loud into your ear as he cums, muttering in an almost incoherent melange of French and English. His accent is somehow heavier, and you can barely make out the words as he’s saying them into your skin. It doesn’t matter though, because you feel how full you are, and Remy’s hot, white completion is leaking out the sides and staining your sheets. 

He stays like that for a moment, hovering on top of you. His cock softens inside, completely spent and eventually, he slips it out, rolling over onto your bed.

“Ah, joi de vivre, huh.” (the joy of life), he says drowsily.

You laugh, and nestle underneath his arm, in the space he’s left for you. 

If you had your way, you’d do it all over again. 

Though he doesn’t say it, so would he. 

[valer1esgallery]

Mammon head cannons

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I feel like mammon is totally prone to night terrors about loosing you and his brothers, normally waking up in a cold sweat. After literally having you head in his arms, he is horrified that it will happen again. While in bed, he will grip you tightly in his sleep, almost scared you will disappear again. Once awoken from one of these night terrors, he will stay in bed with you, head buried in your shoulder while his hand rests over your heart, or silently get out of bed and check on everyone. He hates seeing his family hurt.

Why do I feel like he has a split tounge. He got it medically done a couple hundred years ago and he thinks its a cool party trick. When asked if he would ever do it again, he says he would but in reality, he would probably never do it again. The healing process sucked, his tounge aching and in alot of pain while it healed, not being able to eat solid food for a while, having a constant headache, he wouldn't do it again.

Loves to have matching items with you <3 Weather it be a phone case, small rings, earrings, a necklace, loom band bracelets, outfits, nails, whatever. He loves matching with you though he never admits it was his idea. He HIGHLEY hinted at it until you said it first, which he agreed to almost immediately after abit of talking.

Is like a puppy whenever your up in the human world, sighing and laying around while he waits for you in his free time. He still goes to RAD, gamble, cause trouble, but whenever he has time to himself or doesn't have to focus on more things, your swarming his head. So happy once your back in devildom

So many rings, either got the idea from Asmodeus or it was trendy ages ago and it stuck with him forever. He has both silver and gold rings on almost all fingers, though he has once small home-made ring made from the handle of a spoon that you made him that he always keeps on his ring finger. Don't look into it too much human!

He loves seeing his pact mark on you, it gives him a small comfort. His mark is right on your left wrist, its easy to spot but also easy to hide. He enjoys just tracing it while you both are studying, doing it absent mindedly while he slightly zones out. If you mention it, he will blush deeply and move away, flustered while denying ever doing it

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Sorry this was short, my first post on this account! What would you guys like to see next?

[harrywavycurly]

Worst Mob Boss Ever: Mafia!Harry One Shot

Pairing: Mafia!harry x Rowland!reader

CW: Language, slight mentions of threats of violence

A/N: I got hella inspired by this post, the accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss one and this is where my mind took it. I wrote this in one sitting sorry if it’s shit I had to get it out of my head!

Summary: Harry gets into the wrong car when your brother Mitch picks you up from work and you just want to go to book club✨

Harry let’s out an annoyed sigh as he reaches over to grab his suit jacket, giving the man behind the coat check a tip before he looks down at the watch on his wrist. In all the years he’s worked for him, Harry can’t remember a time when David has ever been late to pick him up from his Monday lunch meeting. After putting his jacket on he quickly reaches in one of the pockets for his sunglasses before stepping outside the restaurant, Eric the head of his security detail already standing outside waiting for him.

“He got held up at the red light the construction on the new apartment complex down the block it’s causing some issues.” Eric informs Harry as the two men walk down the short staircase in front of the restaurant. Harry just nods as he slides his sunglasses on, Eric stands to his right and looks around to see if he can spot the black suburban anywhere.

“You’re looking to the left and to the right when the car is right in front of you.” Harry snaps harshly as a big black suv pulls up in front of the restaurant. Eric quirks a brow when he notices a disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, he takes a step to the side to try to get a glimpse of the license plate. “Why do I even keep you around?” Harry questions mostly to himself but he says it loud enough Eric can hear him as he takes a step towards the car.

“Wait boss that’s not-” before Eric can do anything Harry is already climbing into the suv and shutting the door. Eric watches in horror as the suv begins to drive off and all he can do is reach into his back pocket for his phone and begin making a few phone calls as the head of one of the most powerful families in New York disappears around the corner.

Harry doesn’t hear what Eric says as he sits down and gets comfortable in the leather seat and lets out a sigh as he brings a hand up to take his sunglasses off and place them back in his jacket pocket. That’s when Harry notices a pink fuzzy pair of what he can only describe as slippers next to a bright purple backpack on the seat next to him. Now if he was a normal person this is when he would probably begin to either panic or get anxious because Harry doesn’t own any fuzzy slippers nor does he own a purple backpack, but Harry isn’t exactly built to panic so he just reaches over and picks up the backpack and brings it over to sit in his lap. He opens it up and rolls his eyes when the first thing he sees is a romance novel with a book mark half way through it, he reaches in and moves a few things around and finds it’s just mostly filled with clothes but then he spots a wallet. He picks the wallet up and to his surprise when he opens it all he finds is a library card with “Rowland” written on the back making him assume that’s the card holder’s last name and some cash, he finds it a bit odd because he wasn’t aware people even still used library cards anymore. He lets out a disapproving tsk when he doesn’t find any form of identification having hoped he would at least find out whose car he was in.

“Who the fuck are you?” A loud startled voice causes Harry’s gaze to move from the tacky silver glittery wallet in his hands to the man in the driver’s seat that’s turning to glare at Harry over the console that sits between the two front seats.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well I asked you first so…who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Harry Styles.”

“Cool so what the hell are you doing in my sister’s car?” Harry looks at the wallet in his hand and then to the slippers in the seat next to him and nods his head upon learning these items don’t belong to the long haired man driving the vehicle but possibly his sister, not that he’s one to judge but the slippers are god awful no matter who’s wearing them.

“Why did you stop in front of me in the valet line?” Harry questions as he looks out the window and notices they are parked in what just looks to be the back of the restaurant he was just inside of.

“I stopped because that’s what you do when the car in front of you stops. What did you want me to do? Ram into them? It’s basic driving manners you dick. Now get the fuck-”

“Oh thank god that shift is over it was hell in there.” The door beside Harry opens briefly as a jacket and apron are roughly tossed on top of him before the door is slammed shut. He feels his jaw clench slightly as he tosses the items to the seat next to him making them land on the slippers before sliding to the floor. The man in the driver’s seat turns his attention away from Harry as the passenger door opens so who Harry can only assume is the man’s sister can climb inside.

“What’s with the face? Mitch are you-”

“So your name is Mitch?” You slowly turn your head to face the backseat as Harry’s deep voice fills yours ears, it’s one you’ve heard many times seeing as he’s a regular at your job having a set reservation for every Monday at noon with four other guests.

“Uh Mitch why is Harry Styles in my backseat?” Your eyes meet Harry’s and for a moment he feels the corners of his mouth twitch as if he wants to smile but he fights it. Your eyes travel down to the wallet in his hands and the backpack that’s open and sitting in his lap and without thinking you turn your body so you can reach into the back seat and snatch the wallet from his hands with a glare.

“Where are your manners? Why are you going through my stuff? Are you some kind of weirdo?” You fire off questions as you close your wallet back up before reaching for your backpack and pulling it to sit in the front with you by your feet.

“You know this guy?”

“I don’t know him like we’re friends I just know his name and that he eats here every Monday.”

“I don’t eat here I just have a meeting here every Monday. The food here is-”

“Why are you still in the car? Just get out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Harry watches you and Mitch both turn to look at him with raised brows making him let out a sigh. “If I get out of this car without informing my guys that you’re not a threat then the moment you drive on any open road I’m afraid it’ll only be a matter of hours before I hear about how your car is now a flaming heap of metal on the side of the road.” He explains calmly as he reaches down for your jacket that fell off the seat and places it neatly on top of your slippers.

“Listen the only threat in this car seems to be you and I’m sorry did you say-”

“Flaming heap of metal? Like what you’re-you’re going to blow my car up? You can’t just blow up people’s cars that’s so rude.”

“I can. Because I have. Many times.”

“Dude I’m gonna have to ask you again. Who the fuck are you?” Harry glares at Mitch because he hates repeating himself as you let out a sigh of frustration while running a hand over your face. Harry takes a moment to consider how much he should actually divulge about who he is but when he looks over at the pink fuzzy slippers, he decides that since he now knows your last name and where you work he can subtly keep tabs on you so if he ever needs to pay you a little visit you won’t be hard to find, so what he says next doesn’t seem risky at least not to him.

“I’m Harry Styles the current head of the Styles family and before you ask-”

“Say no more man. You said you’re head of a family that has to mean mafia and I’ve seen the god father so I don’t need the run down on how your little family works.” You look at your brother with wide eyes as he talks a mile a minute and runs his hands through his hair as an attempt to calm himself down and Harry has to hold back a chuckle because so far he was having a pretty shitty day and oddly enough ending up in the wrong car with the two of you has slightly begun to turn it around.

“You’ve got to be the worst mob boss ever then because how did you even end up in my car? Don’t you have security or something?” Mitch shoots you a glare as you turn to look at Harry who can only shrug because honestly this was all his own doing since Eric did seem like he was trying to warn him before he got into the car.

“I thought he was my driver because he stopped right in front of me in the valet line outside the restaurant.” Harry answers honestly making you roll your eyes, an action Harry usually doesn’t tolerate when it’s directed at him but for some reason watching you do it makes him smirk at how annoyed you are.

“Oh right because every black suburban must be for you is that it? That’s so narcissistic of you.”

“Please stop insulting the mob boss in the backseat.” Mitch mumbles as he reaches over and gives your shoulder a light shove, you just smack his hand away and let out a huff as you go back to facing the front.

“I’m sorry but he’s ruining my plans.” You inform your brother who then turns to look at Harry.

“So can you call your dudes and tell them we aren’t a threat so you can get out of the car?” Mitch asks as nicely as possible and Harry licks his lips before giving Mitch a small smile because he knows the long haired man isn’t going to like his answer.

“I can’t do that.” Mitch lets out a groan as Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have my phone. Phones aren’t allowed at family meetings.” He explains as you lean your head back so it’s resting on the headrest and close your eyes and take a few calming breaths. Harry seeming to be so unbothered by the whole situation has you on the verge of causing a full on scene in the back parking lot of your work because you just got off a hellacious shift and all you want to do is go to your book club and change into your comfy clothes with a glass of wine while taking about the steamy scenes of the romance novel in your backpack.

“See what I’m saying? Worst mob boss ever. He doesn’t even have his phone.” Harry can’t help but laugh and that seems to not be a reaction you find acceptable because all of a sudden your glaring at him and Mitch is looking at Harry through the rearview mirror with an apologetic expression on his face because he knows his sister is about to let him have it. “Listen Mr. Mob Boss I have plans tonight. I’m only off nights one day a week and that’s Monday when I work the morning and lunch rush and tonight is book club and if you get in the way of that then I might actually become a real threat to your safety so if you refuse to get out of my car then fine how about I get out? Because-”

“If you get out of this car I will not be able to protect you from the men inside that truck over there.” While Harry is impressed with your willingness to stand up to him and even borderline threaten him, he knows you have no actual clue who you’re dealing with in terms of what lengths his men will go to in order to get him back. You watch as he motions to a black truck that’s parked near a beat up minivan a few cars over from yours in lot, the windows are blacked out and you know it wasn’t there when you left through the back of the restaurant just ten minutes ago.

“How do we fix this if you don’t have a phone and no one can get out of the car? We can’t just sit in here forever.” You argue as Mitch just rests his forehead on the steering wheel with a huff officially hitting his limit and letting this be his sign that he’s giving up.

“Let me see your phone.”

“Let me hear some manners. Even the worst mob boss ever needs to have manners.”

“May I please borrow your phone-wait I still don’t even know your name.” Harry states as he quirks a brow at you and he can’t help but smile when you tell him your name with a roll of your eyes as you hand him your phone.

“But just type in the number and I’ll do the talking because I really don’t have time for any beating around the bush okay?” Mitch sits up as Harry begins typing in Eric’s phone number and he can’t help but wonder how this conversation is going to go because he’s not even sure if his head of security will answer or not since your number won’t be one of his contacts.

“His name is Eric and-”

“Hello? Eric? Hi yes I have your mob boss in my backseat and I need you to come get him please—what? No I didn’t kidnap him he’s the one who got into my car on his own—Uh excuse me sir do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Yes I’m being serious I have things to do and he’s got to go so come fucking get him—no no no I do not have any demands besides for you to come get him from my backseat!—He’s not the one being held hostage! I am! He won’t leave my car and I have book club!—what? Signs of life? What like you think I killed him in my backseat? Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of floorboards of a car? As if I’d murder someone in my own car-” Harry has to admit he is very entertained and only a little shocked at how you’re speaking to Eric over the phone, given how you just kinda threatened him only a few moments ago but he can only imagine what his security is saying to you because your cheeks are turning red and he can tell you are slowly beginning to reach the end of your patience. That’s when he decides he needs to step in as he reaches over and gives you a small smile before he gently takes the phone out of your hand and puts it up to his ear.

“Eric.” Harry hears the other end go quiet for a moment before he hears a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank fuck I thought she was some seriously sick and twisted psycho or someone one of the-”

“I’m fine. I’ll be home later. Do not follow or mess with this car do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And no one is to touch them. Ever. Understood?” Harry isn’t dumb, he knows he has to pick his words wisely or Eric will “accidentally” do something to one or possibly both of you and use the excuse that Harry didn’t say he wasn’t allowed to hurt the people in the car just that he wasn’t allowed to mess with the car. He also knows that with the amount of time this car has been sitting in this back parking lot one of the men in that truck have gotten all the information they need on you from your licenses plate.

“Understood.” And with that Harry hangs up and hands you back your phone.

“We can go to book club now.” Mitch doesn’t hesitate to put the car in drive and begin to leave the parking lot, noticing a few ominous looking black trucks are also parked in front of the restaurant as well. “Don’t worry they won’t do anything.” Harry says in an attempt to sound reassuring when he sees Mitch look a little nervous when the truck from the back parking lot pulls up next to them at a red light.

“We can go to book club? You’re not invited.” You explain once Mitch is further down the road and the truck has turned off a side road letting Mitch feel a wave of relief wash over him as he loosens his grip on the wheel.

“Even if I’ve read the book?” He asks making you raise an eyebrow as you twist around in your seat to look at him. Harry just chuckles as he clasps his hands together in his lap, twisting his S ring around a few times. “The Hating Game right? That’s the book in your backpack? It’s not the best but it’s not the worst the movie is horrible but the banter is-”

“You read romance novels?” Harry just shrugs as he looks down at his hands. “You read smut instead of horror or like crime novels? How lame.” He smiles at your teasing and he feels like for as long as he’s in the backseat of your car he can just be the guy who reads romance novels, doesn’t keep his phone on him, gets into cars just because they look like the one his driver usually picks him up in and most importantly he can just be the guy who thinks the girl in the passenger seat is cute especially when she’s annoyed with him. Or to put it simply when he’s around you, Harry feels like he’s okay with being the worst mob boss ever.

[borathae]

Close Shave | Jungkook x f.Reader

↳ Full Art

"You walk in on Jungkook using your razor to shave his balls and the bratty question for help on his lips. It's only fitting to help him, if only so you can give him a sexy little punishment for touching your things."

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life Smut

Warnings: sub!Jungkook who is the cutest pookie, mean Dom!Reader, he tries to make her laugh, until she accidentally gets him horny, then he tries so hard not to make her notice his boner, spoiler alert: it was her plan to make him hard, she shaves his dick and balls, handjob, edging, multiple orgasms (m. receiving), whiney!Koo, some dirty talk, overstimulation, ruined orgasms & post-orgasm torture, begging & subby boy tears, male squirting :'), soft & cuddly aftercare, he is so cozy in subspace hehe <3, they're in love <3

Wordcount: 4.5k

a/n: sometimes i give myself new kinks and i think that's beautiful :') have fun besties, i missed writing this kind of Koo 🤍

You knock on the downstairs bathroom door.

“Sweetie, are you okay in there?” 

Jungkook has music playing, but is worryingly quiet. Normally when he listens to music in the bathroom, you can always hear him singing to it. He did so at first, but became worryingly quiet all of a sudden.

“You didn’t slip and fall in there, did you?” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer you. Your worry grows. He’s got Chase Atlantic playing and he isn’t singing to them. He loves singing to Chase Atlantic. Something must have happened.

“I’m worried, I’m coming in. Last chance to stop me”, you tell him loudly and open the door. 

Jungkook reveals himself to your eyes instantly. He is sitting on the floor with his back against the sink counter. He is in his white button up and slippers, but doesn’t wear any pants, sitting with his legs spread and his head right between them. A silver bowl filled with dirty water stands in front of him. Shaving cream and hair swims in it.

“Oh? Sorry”, you gasp.

Jungkook’s head shoots up, his big eyes look you up and down.

“Since when are you here?” he exclaims, “you scared me, wah, don’t do that. I have blades against my balls.”

“Sorry, oh god.” You laugh. “You were suddenly so quiet and I was worried that you slipped and hit your head. I didn’t know that you were shaving.”

“Yeah well, trying to. The razor sucks ass”, he says, waving the pink razor around.

“Is this my razor? And my shaving cream?!” 

He pulls a sorry “I’m a little shit” face. 

“No?”

“Jungkook, I shave my armpits with that. I don’t need your ball hair on it”, you whine.

“Hey, you’re acting as if you never had my balls in your face before.”

“It’s about the principles. You doofus, you’re gonna dull the blades.”

“No, I won’t. They’ve already been dull since the beginning”, he says and demonstrates their inability to shave on his crotch.

“You’re doing it wrong. No, what- Kook, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Urgh I knew it”, he groans and stands up. The view is a little funny. White dress shirt, black slippers and crotch messy in shaving cream. He presents the razor to you, “show me.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Show me. I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

“You saying it like that makes me think you’re not gonna be a good boy.”

He smirks playfully. You study it with a fluttering pulse. It could be fun. You could use it to give him a little punishment for taking your stuff. 

“Fine”, you give in, “sit on the counter.”

“Okie dokie”, Jungkook says, jumping on the counter with a giggle, “look at us. Shaving my balls together.”

You roll your eyes, bending down to get the bowl. You put it on the counter next to him, cleaning the razor under running water. Once clean, you walk to him. 

He opens his legs for you, making grabby hands at you. You meet his eyes. They’re sparkling boyishly.

“Don’t give me that face”, you say.

“I’m not even doing anything”, he defends himself, fluttering his lashes at you.

“Yeah sure.” 

You step between his legs, chuckling when he instantly grabs you and kneads you. 

“Doofus.”

“Heh, you’re pretty”, he says, earning himself another fond roll of your eyes.

“Scoot to the edge.”

He follows. 

You bend down and place your hand on his balls to stretch the skin. The razor touches his skin.

“Careful. If you cut them off, you’re at a loss too.”

“I’m gonna be careful”, you say in a chuckle, dragging the razor through his bush. It picks up a good strip of it.

You straighten up and clean it in the bowl.

“Woah, how did you manage to get so much?” Jungkook gasps.

“Practice. You had the angle all wrong”, you say, bending down again. 

“I knew that it was user error.”

“No, you didn’t. You said the blades were dull.”

“No, I didn’t”, he says, clearly being playful. 

“Mhm sure”, you mumble, feeling oh so very fond of him.

You and he share silence, which the music fills. You can listen to Jungkook singing softly and every time you straighten up to clean the razor, he gives you a little grin. One you never retort because you kind of enjoy acting a little annoyed. He knows that it’s pretend and therefore tries to make you laugh and he’s cute when he does. One time he tapped your head to the beat of the song, another he rubbed your neck to the melody as he sang the lyrics with all his heart. Another time he called you pretty, while yet another time he tried it with a silly joke about pubes. His attempts were very good and whenever you had your face between his legs and he couldn’t see it, you let a fond smile wash over it. 

You are straightened up again, cleaning the razor in the bowl. Jungkook watches you, gazing at your face more than anywhere else. 

You bend down again, shoving his balls to the other side.

“Oh? Careful”, he chuckles, “that was quite the shove.”

“Sorry, I gotta do the other side now”, you tell him, furrowing your brows as you guide the razor through the first patch. 

Jungkook stays still, but puts his fingers on your head.

“How many fingers?” he asks.

“I’m tryna concentrate”, you tell him with concentrated brows. 

“Try. I’m making it easy”, he says, wiggling his fingers.

“Three.”

“Correct. See? I knew you could do it.”

You scoff, “doofus.”

You clean out the razor then go straight back to shaving him. Jungkook watches you.

“It’s kinda funny to see you between my legs like that and only have you shave me. Normally you’re doing something very different when you’re like this.”

You stop mid-shave, keeping the blade on his skin as you lift your eyes. 

“You lift your eyes like that too when you do.”

“You’re so annoying”, you mumble and look back at his balls to finish the shave. You smile.

“I saw that.”

“You saw nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure I did. You smiled.”

“I was gritting my teeth in concentration. Like this.” You straighten up and show it to him. “See?”

Jungkook laughs, scrunching his face for it.

“No, you weren’t. I saw you smile.”

“Whatever you saw, it didn’t happen”, you say and bend down again. But before you can, Jungkook stops you with a finger under your chin. 

“Mhm?”

He leans in, stealing a kiss. You grab his thighs instantly, kissing him back with a fluctuating pulse.

The kiss breaks with a bite to your lower lip and his lips curling into a smile.

“I love your smile”, he whispers, following it up with a giggle and peck attack to your lips.

You huff out air to cover up your chuckle, nudging his chest, “doofus.”

You bend down, unable to hide your smile. Jungkook soaks up the view with a fluttering heart. He is having so much fun right now. Spending time with you like this is new and exciting. He also likes the little game you make him play. You are so obvious when you only pretend to be annoyed and he gets so nicely competitive to make you break that he could squeal now that he finally sees your smile.

Your smile soon drops however. A look of concentration replaces it as you guide the razor over his skin smoothly. You clean it and go straight back in, putting your fingers on his dick to move it aside. 

“I think JK Junior has a preference to fall left.”

“Yeah, definitely...JK Junior? Really?”

“Yeah.”

You chuckle, “you’re annoying.”

Jungkook bites down his squeals, having a hard time with it. He loves making you laugh! 

“Should I hold him?” he offers.

“No, keep your hands to yourself.”

“Okay”, Jungkook says and runs his fingers over the nape of your neck.

“I didn’t know my neck was yourself.”

“I’m not touching JK Junior, am I?”

You scoff, following it up with a little chuckle.

“You’re annoying.”

Jungkook snickers, kicking his feet.

“Hey!”

“Oop!”

He tenses up, gawking at you with big eyes.

“No kicking. I’ll cut you on accident.”

“Sorry.”

You clean the razor, “I’m almost done, don’t worry.”

“Already?”

You glance at him. He is pouting.

“Are you sad about that?”

“Yeah.” He pouts harder. “This is so much fun.”

You hide the victorious smile. It’s all going according to plan. You knew that he wouldn’t be happy with just his balls. Now the real fun is going to begin. All of this was just a warm up, the perfect way to get Jungkook into a giddy kind of mood. And when he is in this kind of mood, it is terribly easy to turn him on. Oh, you are going to have so much fun with him. 

“Fine, I’ll do JK Junior too”, you fake your annoyance, “good god, I knew you would do that”, you add, bending down to do the last part of his balls.

“Yay thankies. I swear it’s just because you’re so much better at it than me.”

You feel ecstatic. Look at him still thinking that he is in control when you are playing him like a fucking game.

“Yeah sure”, you say and finish the shave. You straighten up, clean the razor, then leave to get the shaving cream. 

“The cream is really good. It smells so nice”, Jungkook says, “flowery and sweet. I like it.”

“Yeah and it’s only fourty bucks”, you say sarcastically.

“What?” He widens his eyes. “Fourty bucks?!”

“Yeah and you used way too much.”

“Fuck, sorry. I thought it’s like four bucks. Mine’s like three sixty.”

“No, I always get the expensive one.”

“Why? Cream is cream. Wouldn’t a normal one do the trick too?”

“Sure, but this one lasts me more than a year ‘cause I only have to use a little.” 

“Sorry, I’ll get you the next one.”

“Mhm, okay”, you say and begins spreading some on his crotch area.

“Okay, I definitely used too much. Look at how well it foams up.”

“Right? It’s really good”, you say and wipe some on his nose.

“Hey”, he gasps and laughs, wiping the foam away, “not cool.”

You give him a grin and pick up the razor. You have a plan. You will do the first few shaves normally and then go in with the attack. Jungkook doesn’t suspect a thing. He is still singing and making jokes with no idea of what will happen soon. Oh, you are going to ruin him. 

You finish three small patches. It is finally time. Your heart is racing as you go in. You pick up his cock, holding it in your hand. Act innocent at first. Make him believe you are only making it easier for you, only to drive him desperate with your warm hand little by fucking little.

Jungkook stops singing for just a second, but then continues. He feels it, but doesn’t want to pull attention to it. Oh, you could squeal. 

You clean the razor, releasing his dick. For now. You will do two more like this and then you won’t pull your hand away when you clean.

It goes well and then the fourth patch comes. You don’t pull your hand away, keeping it around his cock with just enough pressure that he feels it.

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle. You look at him with faux confusion in your eyes.

“Why are you laughing?” 

“Nothing, uhm, you’re pretty.”

“Doofus”, you say, smiling internally. Of course he’ll act innocent. He is still in the belief that this is innocent, that you are just shaving his dick. He won’t tell you that the warm pressure around his cock is starting to affect him. 

But you know him better. You know that his brain is currently trying to zone in on nothing but your touch, while he is actively trying not to make it do that. He doesn’t sing as much anymore because he needs to concentrate. He is so adorable. 

You won’t have to do this for long anymore and then you can move to the next step. Oh, he is going to have a very hard time with that. You have the perfect plan. 

You increase the pressure whenever you clean the razor, doing the smallest pulsing motions with your fingers. You make sure to keep them small enough that they aren’t noticeable, but that he will ask himself why it suddenly feels so much better. By the third time, you hear him exhale shakily. He hasn’t sung to the entire song by now. 

You look up, watching as Jungkook tries to make a normal expression. He had his jaw tightened and brows furrowed before that as he secretly tries to keep the blood from shooting to his cock. 

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah. Yeah totally”, he says, nodding his head vigorously, “you uhm…do you have to do a lot more?”

“Mhm?” you look at his crotch and act as if you needed to inspect him, moving his cock from side to side with your hand moving around his tip. 

Jungkook sucks in air, tensing his thighs. His cock hardens a little in your hand. Not enough to be visibly noticeable, but you can feel it.

“Mhm, I would say that we still have some way to go. Why? Did your butt fall asleep on the counter?”

“No”, he laughs breathily, “no, not at all.”

“Okay, just say if it does”, you say and bend down to drag the razor over his skin. You pretend to struggle with the position and to fix it by moving his cock to the side with a pulse around his tip.

Jungkook doesn’t sing at all anymore. He is actually very quiet and you know that it’s because he is trying so hard to keep his breathing silent as to not make it obvious that he needs to breathe to regulate himself. But of course you notice because he is not slick with it. Unlike his cock, which is beginning to be slick between your fingers. 

You straighten up to clean the razor, pulling your hand from his cock. Jungkook’s hips chase you, but he tense up when you look at him again. He is giving you such intense eye contact that you know for a fact that he is trying to distract you. Oh, he definitely noticed how hard his cock is. 

He can’t even think of a joke right now, simply staring at you with a nervous smile on his lips. 

You don’t retort it for show, looking at his cock again.

“Mhm”, you let out loudly, furrowing your brows. You want him thinking that you noticed his semi. 

Jungkook tenses up in panic.

“It’s not-”

“I don’t know how to get that part, mhm”, you interrupt him, “oh? Sorry, did you wanna say something?”

“Huh? No, not at all”, he says and laughs nervously.

“You’re so weird sometimes”, you mumble and pick up his cock to move it to the side. Unlike before, you don’t use your entire hand for it, instead you keep three fingers on nothing but his tip, moving them up and down as little as possible. Again, it shouldn’t be obvious, but he should suddenly ask himself why it feels so good. 

And he does. He is trying not to show it, but he must currently scream in his head. His thighs keep tensing and he is doing a worse job at masking his heavy breathing. 

You clean the razor, retreating your touch. 

“I think this part is easier to shave. You got more room”, you tell him calmly.

“Yeah, totally. I totally agree with you. Totally.”

“Are you okay? You’re talking weird”, you say and gasp, “oh god, did I cut you somewhere?” you exclaim and pick up his cock to move from it side to side with your hand pulsing around his tip, “you should have told me. Gosh baby, where is it? I can’t see anything.”

“No, it’s”, he is squeaking, arching his back and grasping your wrist to stop you, “you didn’t cut me. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” you look up at him. 

He nods his head vigorously, “I’m coolio.”

“Okay, if you say so”, you say and change grip to three fingers on his tip. His cock is so hard by now that you know that this round will be enough to make him fully erect. The fact that he still hasn’t acknowledged it, acting as if he isn’t completely out of breath, is giving you the biggest butterflies ever. He is so bad at pretending and it’s so exciting to you. You won’t say anything either, you will continue to act oblivious while you drive him insane with just three fingers. 

You work meticulously to shave him while your fingers move up and down his tip secretly. Jungkook grips the edge of the counter again, tensing his stomach to prevent his back from arching. 

You clean the razor, dropping his cock again. You make sure to look at the water, but in reality you watch him from the corners of your eyes. His cock twitches and leaks. Jungkook gasps and goes to wipe it away quickly, hitting it in an attempt to make it go down, which results in a more aggressive throb because he likes it. 

“Mmh.”

You look at him. Jungkook scrambles into a relaxed position quickly, fumbling for words but he can't think of anything. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Mh-hm”, he gets out, nodding his head vigorously.

You move back to shaving him, picking up his cock between your fingers. You want to stay longer this time around, do the strokes in three tries while your fingers massage his tip secretly. You keep pressure on the spots, using the shaving cream as slip. Jungkook’s thighs are flexed, his abs engaged. You glance at his hands. His knuckles are white because he is using so much strength to grip the counter, resulting in his veins to bulge all the way from his hands to his elbows. He is so sexy. 

You make sure to slow down more, to really drag it out. He should be desperate once you’re done, he should crave your touch again and ask himself why on fucking earth he is such a needy fucking man. And oh how you drag it out, how good you time it. You pull back at the perfect time which results in Jungkook to arch his back and whisper a curse. 

You glance at his face. He is scrunching it, gritting his teeth as well. You edged him. And he isn’t even aware that you can see his agonised face because he is too busy trying to suffer in secret. Fuck, you want him like crazy. 

But you stay quiet. You look away before he opens his eyes and clean the razor with an innocent expression. You can feel his eyes on you. They are begging you as much as they are trying to figure out if you were actually that blind to his problem. You don’t grand him eye contact, moving in instantly. 

Jungkook sucks in air, tensing up again. You dare to glance up at him. As you had figured, his eyes are closed. He is biting down on his lower lip, flaring his nostrils as his nose tries to keep up with all the wheezing he is hiding from you. His eyes are closed. You can dare to increase your touches. He is too preoccupied with suffering quietly to watch them become obvious. You allow yourself his initial reaction to the increasing pleasure. He opens his mouth to moan only to remember in the last moment that he needs to be quiet and he bites down on his lip again, tilting his head back just enough to reveal his throat. He is so sexy, holy fuck. 

You look back at his crotch, concentrating on gliding the razor over his skin safely. It might not be obvious yet, but you actually want to do a good job in shaving him. He’ll come out of this experience smooth and with a scrambled brain. You are making sure of it. You finish the round the moment Jungkook’s hips dared to chase you. 

The latter lets out a small whimper, squirming on the counter because you had him so close. 

“I like this razor. I don’t know how you used it, but it’s not dull at all”, you speak calmly.

“Yeah uh, yeah I don’t know.”

“It’s probably because you used too much cream”, you say and pick up his cock, keeping the movements minimal again because his eyes are on you. You put the razor to his skin and drag it up his skin. Your fingers massage his tip, Jungkook tenses up more. More. More. 

“Oh god”, he squeaks and begins twitching as the pleasure finally gets too much. You move the razor away for safety reasons, gawking at his flushed cock shoot all over his tummy and your hand. He is writhing, thrusting his hips into your touch as he cums with his panicked eyes first looking at his cock, before meeting your darkened gaze. 

“Seriously?” you ask him, cocking your brow up.

“Sorry”, he whimpers, reaching for you with the goal of kissing you. It feels so good that the shame is minimal to him right now. 

But you aren’t happy. You need him to suffer a little more, you need him confessing how bad he needs your touch. You pull back in the best moment, ruining his high which results in Jungkook to sob in agony with his hips fucking the air.

“Please, please it hurts please. Touch me please.”

“Well, that didn’t take long”, you say, placing the razor aside, “it only took you twenty minutes to finally admit it. A new record”, you say sarcastically.

“You knew?” he gasps out, writhing.

“Duh. You think it felt that good accidentally? I was touching you from the beginning”, you say and pick up his cock to jerk it off quickly, finally using your dominant hand for it. 

Jungkook drops his head against the mirror, finally arching his back and moaning the way he had wanted to do for ages. 

“You’re so cruel.”

“It’s what you get for using my stuff”, you throw back, twisting your hand around his tortured tip. 

“Sensitive please”, he begs, kicking his feet desperately. 

“You begged for it. So take it”, you order with no ounce of pity in your voice.

“Oh god”, he presses out, arching his back repeatedly while his shaky hands grip the marble.

His cum already became a deep white from the fast friction, sticking all over your hand and his cock. Residues of the shaving cream add even more slip to the punishing handjob. You know that he won’t hold out for long with the rhythm you have going on and that it’s gonna be the kind of orgasm which makes him cry just a little. 

And how right you were. Jungkook can only take five more pumps and then the overstimulation gets too much, forcing him to orgasm with such intensity that he shoots all over his own face and mirror. The sudden hot mess on his face startles him, making him cry because it was all too much. It still is. You don’t slow down even now that he is cumming. It burns and aches so much and Jungkook has no control over his body anymore. All he can do is sob and shake uncontrollably while you force his poor cock to soothe the burn by squirting all over himself. 

There is so much of it that it runs down on each side of him, spilling all over the counter and washing away the remnants of shaving cream. He sobs and he moans, he whines and he keens while you match his noises with evil laughter and mocking coos. 

Jungkook cries so much harder. You are so mean to him and he didn’t even do anything. You are so, so mean. 

His orgasm dies down as aggressively as it began. His once pleasured writhing becomes agonised, he tries to tug your hand away, sobbing begs to warm your heart.

“Please, I’m sorry. I won’t take your stuff again. I’m sorry, please!” 

“Promise me?”

“Promise! Please I’m sorry, I promise!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Promise!” Jungkook screams so loudly his voice bounces off the walls, “holy fuck, I’m sorry!”

“That sounded better”, you say, finally releasing his ruined cock. You tortured him so good that you made him go soft as a defence mechanism. He is so fucking lovely to play with.

Jungkook drops against the mirror instantly, wheezing for air and spilling tears as he scrunches his face. 

You rub his trembling thighs, guiding your touches up his torso slowly until you can pull him into a hug. Jungkook hides away in the crook of your neck, holding you with his arms both weak yet terribly strong as they try to clutch you for soothing. You rub his back and scratch his scalp.

“You did so well, sweetie”, you praise him, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Hmmh”, he lets out, nuzzling his face into your shoulder from left to right. 

“You were also not slick with pretending everything was okay.”

He laughs, but it soon turns into little sobs. He lifts his head, looking at you with teary eyes.

“You ruined me, oh god look at me”, he says, laughing even if tears run down his face.

“Gosh baby, I’m here now”, you say, cradling his face.

“It was so nice”, he presses out, sniffling aggressively in order not to cry again. He ends up pouting with sparkly and happy eyes.

“It really was” you say, brushing his tears away, “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too. It, it was so nice. I felt so happy to be with you and, and making you smile and then you made me so horny. Oh god”, he falls around your neck, “I feel like a giddy boy, you have no idea.”

You giggle with him, ruffling his hair. 

“I think I’m getting an idea.”

He giggles and squeezes you, following it up with a deep sigh. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Kookie.” You kiss his neck. “Do you want me to do the last stripe too?”

“Huh?”

“Your dick. You lost it like one more razor stripe before the end. I’d hate to leave you unfinished.” 

“Oh god.” He giggles, kicking his feet and nodding his head vigorously. “Yeah, you can finish it.”

“Nice. I promise I won’t rile you up again”, you joke, making him laugh to the point where he has to cough because he laughed way too hard. The joke definitely wasn’t that funny, but he is giddy, in love and totally mushy in his afterglow. You could breathe and he would think that it is the funniest thing you have ever said. 

You like when he is like this and after you finished the shave and you cleaned him (and the mirror), you take him to the couch for cuddles and kisses. He is just too adorable not to.

[messenger-of-babel]

Three Year's the Charm

Summary: You're nervous to make yourself known as Bruce's partner at his annual winter gala. (Bruce Wayne x reader)

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: Please see the note attached to the Christmas Masterlist! Due to unforseen circumstances I've had to slow and put a pause entirely for some places. I'm going to try and double posts when I can. Much love and Merry Christmas!

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Christmas was supposed to be a time of peace, of getting together with family and friends. To open presents in front of a roaring fireplace, to eat baked treats with festive drinks. 

Your Christmas was shaping up to be wildly different. Sips of alcohol or eggnog made you more nervous as you watched guests pile in, filling the foyer of the manor.

This year’s tree was magnificent, covered in blue and silver and stretching to the ceiling of the ballroom. You had watched Alfred give harsh instructions to the workers setting it up, standing at the top of the stairs like a foreman till it was perfect. Bruce had told you it was his pride and joy each year, and it was better to not get involved when Alfred was tasked with decorating the tree. The year before Alfred had often for a beautiful golden look, and the year before had been a wonderful red and white combination.

This was like any other Wayne Christmas Gala, (you had attended three so far) except this time, you were going to be introduced on the arm of THE Bruce Wayne, the namesake and host of the entire thing.

While you two had been in the talking phase Bruce had an excellent handle on his public image, and any paparazzi that managed to steal a snap from you was unable to locate it when they went to work the next day. You relationship had been reduced to his hand on your thigh when you went for late night drives, or even later romps in the back of his car with tinted windows. Stolen kisses normally held behind the enormous Christmas tree once all the guests had gone were now to be on display for all to see, and more accurately, for every glare. 

You weren’t a stranger to the way that the public cast looks to every supermodel, reporter, and actress that had been on the playboys arm over the years. You had seen the snide glares and haughty stares afforded to his partners, and you know that once you walked down those steps on his arm you’d be next. 

When you feel him step behind you, warm palm on the hand of your back, you tense. “You’re worried.” He murmurs, voice low as he scans the ballroom below. “It’s not a good look on you.”

You cast your eyes back. “It’s hard to not be. I’ll be torn apart by angry women and billionaire men alike. What a Christmas.” You mutter back. 

“It won’t be so bad, baby, I promise.” He says, moving his hand in circles to try and sooth you. “But if you prefer we can-“

“No.” You sigh. You had thought about that all day and had been half tempted to ask him to call it off. But you couldn’t.

In The early years of your relationship you didn’t mind being a secret, knowing that Bruce wished he didn’t have to keep you out of the light either. Yet as they wore on and you fell for him more, you got selfish. You wanted him to yourself.

So even if it came with the stares and made the pit of dread coil in your stomach, there was still the part of you that wanted to be with him down there under those Christmas lights.

“I want this.” You say softly. “I mean, I want to be with you. Properly.” You give him a small smile. “Besides, I’ve just gotten Damian to like me. I’m not going to back down at something infinitely less scary.”

Bruce gives a chuckle to that and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You really did get him to warm up, in the end.” He teases.

“I don’t know if I’d consider him warm, but he’s definitely less cold.”

“Oh come on, he shows affection.”

“Just last Tuesday he rolled his eyes in my direction and muttered something under his breath in Arabic.”

“See? He does that to me all the time too.”

“I don’t know if that’s an affectionate thing either.” You laugh, grinning wider when he lightly pecks your shoulder. His warm hands pat down your sides and you step towards the staircase yourself.

The chatter was like a low hum as Gothamites socialised below, drinks in hand as they circled the floor like well dressed sharks. “Don’t worry,” Bruce whispers, smiling softly as if to encourage you. “I’ve got you.”

With a squeeze of his hand you moved your other to the banister, steeling yourself as you both begin to descend the stairs. As if your first step set of an alarm, heads began turning your way and narrowing in on your form. Each step down, every inch down the curved staircase made conversations hush. You could feel the stares piecerce through your outfit, discoing you from the inside out.

Were you good enough for Bruce? Had they seen you before? Were you famous? What were you this time? A swimsuit model? A CEO? From old money? New money? A stray from the side of the street? An accountant on wall street?

The questions were heavy in the air, easily crushing out the Christmas spirit that the band weakly tried to keep alive. When you hit the final step and felt the smooth marble of the ballroom floor beneath you, the feeding frenzy started. They began to circle you and Bruce, smiles shining and fake.

They offered you greetings, and handshakes and smiles,  but the beating of your heart made it hard to focus on them. Silently you looked up for Bruce, and he understood what you were asking.

“Everyone,” He called into the crowd, tone charming and sly smile on his face. At the sound of their host the guests turned like dogs, focusing in on the billionaire in front of them. “I hope that everyone is enjoying the festivities, please, help yourself to the drinks and more, God knows I can pay for it.”

Theres a scattering of laughter as he jokes with them, flashing them that billionaire grin. “I want to take the time to introduce my partner here,” he looks down at you, tugging you closer to him. “No better time than Christmas, I think. So on behalf of us Waynes here,” his hand tightens around you. “and all of my sons, we wish you a very Merry Christmas.”

Theres applause after he raises his glass in a toast, and the band starts again with full force. You flick your eyes up to Bruce, who is currently studying the chattering that has spread across the guests with a smirk.

“What did you do that for?” you hiss, tugging him closer to your face. He smirks back, that boyish glint in his eye returning.

“You wanted me to fix it, darling.” He chuckles. “I did.”

“You called me a Wayne.”

“That I did.” He grins. The band starts a slow rendition of ‘Last Christmas’ and he tugs you towards his chest, feet already moving in a lazy waltz. “It’ll keep them guessing for a while. They’ll try to figure out what we are, but they’ll behave in case you’re already my spouse.” He smiles down at you, watching you follow his waltz.

“Already?” you raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head softly, lowering his head towards yours. “What do you mean already your spouse?” you ask.

“It means,” he murmurs, spinning you till you were dancing under the light of Alfred magnificent Christmas tree. “That I may have just spoiled my New Year’s surprise.” He huffs.

You study him under the LED’s, how the light flickers off the edges of his face, highlighting the contours and shadows of his skin. You raise a hand to trace them softly and he turns his cheek into your palm. This was Bruce Wayne, the man who fought for the betterment of Gotham every night. Who looked nothing but weary standing in front of you now, about to mark the end of another year.

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.” You say softly, offering him a small smile.

“Merry Christmas.” He rumbles back, eyes lighting up again. He dips his head down to press a kiss to your lips, and you can feel the corners of his mouth tilt upwards when he does.

You loop your arms around his neck, foreheads touching. You could only wonder what tree Alfred would put in the manor next year, and if once you were officially a Wayne he’d let you help choose the colours.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Eight)

Summary: After your Grandmothers intervention, Tommy learns the horrible mistake he's made. Will he be able to get to you in time before you commit your life to the man who had used you as a punching bag throughout the entirety of your relationship?

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining.

Word Count: 4061

Authors Note: This chapter was supposed to be the final part of Uptown Girl, but it was starting to get too long with too many scenes. So I decided to split it into two. The final chapter will hopefully be posted next Friday!

"Fuck sake" Tommy grumbled under his breath with a frown of annoyance creased firmly between his brows as he stormed into his office past the preparations for your wedding.

Yes, that's right. Your wedding was to be held at Arrow House. The wedding of the woman who he believed had not only played him, but played with his scorned feelings, he'd carelessly let himself slip into a comfortable normality with.

The finer details for the grand event had been meticulously planned for weeks. And with both your denial and refusal to give any attention to the dreaded event, the arrangements and your fate were quietly arranged without your knowledge by the man who would claim you as his wife in a days' time on the grounds of your childhood home. And as the rightful owner of Arrow House, Tommy was now to host the wedding of the woman he had let himself fall in love with. Fuck.

Slumping into his leather chair with a grunt, his melancholy feelings for the thrilling moments you had spent in your shared home resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the bronze horse you had once fought over. The very same ornament that had cemented the beginnings of your passionate love affair.

"What?" he raised his head from the piling mountain of documents that had forgoed his attention to the sculptured figurine stoically stood judging him.

" Shit..." He leaned back into his chair as the gnawing feeling of guilt that had been eating away at him came out in a rumble of disgruntled huffs and heavy sighs of discontent for having treated you so cruelly the previous night.

His fingers itching to call you, to hear your witty comebacks playfully put a spring back into his famously brooding temperament, he looked longingly at the phone sitting beside him. One call away from hearing your voice, from settling the pining within him he felt having been away from you for the first time since his arrival.

Had he made a mistake? Shit, he didn't even give you a chance to explain, Tommy thought to himself as his fingers clutched around the receiver, lifting it to hear the operators voice echo through the line before abruptly slamming it back down as his hurt feelings rapidly shunned out any attempts to make contact with you.

Tommy Shelby was not to be taken for a fool. And yet here he was, foolishly in love with you.

" You got something to say, eh?" Tommy's furrowed brow returned to the ornament with a mumble at the beady-eyed sculpture, disapprovingly looking back at him.

Quick to silence its inaudible accusations, Tommy turned the weighty ornaments' critical stare away from him. Only to be faced with the unsightly alternative. It's ass. A clear portly reflection of what he himself felt like. A total, utter, ass. Fuck.

"Grannie...please!" Johnathan whimpered in pain as your elderly grandmother dragged him by the ear through the large doors or Arrow House after discovering the details of his devious scheming.

"Silence your sniveling, child" she scolded him, when her eyes turned in horror at the ghastly sight before her.

"Good heavens..." Grannie ignored your brother's continued pleas for mercy to be released from her painful grip tightening around his reddening ear as her eyes scanned the room at the bustling arrangements, and large decorated cake being rolled out on a silver trolley in front of her.

" Hm!" Her angry voice hiccuped with displeasure as her wooden cane of punishment came down onto the head of the figured groom atop of the intricately frosted cake. Further submerging him under layers of sponge until he met his sugary death, before marching off to Tommy's office with Johnathan whimpering in tow.

"Yes?" Tommy's creased brow rose to the sound of a knock at his door. If it was someone asking about wedding plans, they could fuck off, he released a breathy sigh, having had enough of hearing, let alone seeing the arrangements made for the grand day he'd keep himself far away from.

" Dowager" his frown softened into a smile upon seeing your Grannie meekly turn the corner.

" I do apologise for this sudden intrusion, Mr Shelby. But the stupidity of my grandson is something I must urgently address. And I will have you hear from him himself, the pain he has inflicted on his sister, and in turn you with his unforgivable actions" your grandmother spoke with a panging hurt pulling at her heart for the generational damage the male members of her kin had burdened the women of her family with.

" Hello" Johnathan peaked his head around the door with a one-handed greeting, apprehensive to face the gangster he had cheated out of hundreds of pounds.

" Make haste, you blithering idiot" your grandmother pushed her cane into his back towards Tommy stood hunched over his desk. Broad shoulders casting a gloomy shadow of fury around him.

" Johnathan" Tommy's jaw tightened as his fisted hands pressed into the mahogany wood, a stone throw away from wringing the neck of the mumbling man stood before him.

" I'm not quite sure how one goes about saying this..." Johnathan pondered nervously, trying to lessen his involvement before somebody took it upon themselves to remove his bollocks. If not by the gangster that ruled Camden, then the one that was thoroughly pissed off in front of him instead.

" In the simplest of terms, eh Johnathan? Since you find me foolish enough to have given you my money" Tommy scoffed at the nervous smile, flashing across your brother's face. His patience for high society's inability to talk straight, gone the moment he became part of their games.

" I...I have a problem, you see. A gambling one" your brother openly admitted. His unexpected confession, garnering Tommy's brooding temper as he fished for a cigarette to dull the mounting headache your family name and its members inflicted daily, if not hourly on him.

" Go on" Tommy ignited the rolled tobacco between his fingers, blowing a pummel of smoke to the ceiling as he waited on an explanation as to how you was a part of your brother's scheming. The only reason he was still entertaining the blubbering shell of a man stood across from him.

" Y/N my dear sister, has unfortunately taken the brunt of my problems" his head lowered as Tommy cleared his throat at the sound of your name and the fluttering beat caught in his chest.

" Always there to pick up the pieces but never the one to roll the dice, poor ol' girl" the weight of your brothers guilt for the way he had unfairly treated you suddenly pushed down onto his shoulders, burying his body into the floor.

" My sister had nothing to with the money I took from the sum you gave to pay off my debts, Mr Shelby. That was all my doing" he let the last of his confession slip through his sorrow for the events he had caused. For the miscommunication and hurt feelings he had cruelly inflicted between you both.

" My little sister loves me, of that I'm sure. But, she loves you far more. Don't doubt her word, Mr Shelby. She'd never do to you what I have done to her" his eyes cast down as a silence settled over the room, both Tommy and Johnathan stood quietly mulling over their feelings of guilt for the way they had treated the woman that had known nothing but a life of hardships at the hands of men.

" I have taken it upon myself to make sure he pays back every penny, every shilling of what is owed to you" Grannie stepped forward, breaking the silence between them as the last remnants of shame painfully pricked at both of the men's hearts.

" Shoveling coal " she announced his new profession as Johnathan gulped down the remaining minutes of freedom he had left before the many hours of hard labour commenced.

"Nose to the grindstone, isn't that so Mr Shelby?" she said as Tommy absently nodded his head, tired with the discussion of money as his preoccupied thoughts burdened him with a heavy feeling of worry that he wouldn't be able to salvage what was left of your relationship in time.

"23 Maple Cottage, Cheltenham. Before it's too late" Grannie gently urged his distracted mind to the phone sitting beside him before leaving him to settle the rushed mistakes he'd made.

Perching himself on the edge of your father's desk, Tommy released a stifled breath from his lungs as he pinched the throbbing pain sitting between his brows.

" Any ideas how I'm gonna get her back, eh? Tommy looked down at the four-legged statue, hoping the inanimate object that had become his counsel for the most troubling of matters would have the answer.

" Yeh, didn't think so" he huffed at the wordless reply as he stubbed his cigarette into the glass dish beside him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

" Miss Y/L/N" Frances greeted you, surprised to see you stood on the porch of Arrow House as she opened the doors to greet you.

" I just need to retrieve a few things, then I'll be gone" you looked behind her, now suddenly feeling like an outsider as your searched the foyer for any signs of life.

" You're always welcome here, Miss" she sent you an inviting smile as her eyes glossed over with sorrow for the young woman she helped raise and the situation she now found herself in.

" I'm afraid that's no longer the case, Frances" your eyes dragged over the bricks of your childhood home you had been shunned from to your shuffling feet on the gritted ground beneath you.

" Is he here?" you nervously questioned, afraid at any moment you'd face the man responsible for breaking your heart. Responsible for the guilt weighing down your shoulders you had burdened yourself with on behalf of your brother.

" Head buried in paperwork. You'll go unnoticed. Come on, dear" she urged you forward with her hand out for you to take, foregoing the many questions that nagged her thoughts as to what had your and Tommy's growing relationship take a sudden blow.

As you made your way through the foyer of your childhood home, you apprehensively turned your head to your father's former office. Expecting Tommy to be stood there, ready to give you your marching orders with thundering steps and pointing fingers for a second time.

But with the gangster seemingly occupied with the many business matters he'd let lapse during the time you had spent together, you passed the preparations for your wedding unseen and unheard as you made a beeline for the top of the winding stairs that would safely separate you from the house's new owner.

Stood in your bedroom, you furiously pushed back your tears from your reddening cheeks as you struggled to close the small suitcase filled with memories of your life spent at Arrow House.

" Come on!" You shook the leather case on top of the antique cabinet, frustrated with the flimsy clasp that was doing little, if not anything, to help you stash your belongings and make a speedy departure. The whole flustered scene and rickety furniture that had blown your cover watched under the gaze of the very man who had thrown you out. " Bloody thing!"

" Y/N?" Tommy's gravelly voice echoed to you from the frame of the door he'd been stood against as the buckle effortlessly slipped into place. Typical.

" I...I'm just leaving" your mousy voice quietly spoke through a shudder of nerves as your cheeks blushed red at the unexpected sound of Tommy's voice feet from you.

" Don't" he swallowed back his own apprehension to face you, having cocked up the very start of your budding relationship in one rushed assumption and trail of hurtful words he now shamefully regretted.

Clutching your fingers tightly around your small satchel, you turned on your heel before you were met with his approaching footsteps rapidly closing in.

" Y/N, wait" his hand grasped hold of your bag as you swerved past him and away from what you assumed was an attempt to withhold your life's memories tightly packed in your suitcase.

" Please, there's nothing here of value. You've taken my home, let me keep these" your lids welled with tears as you pulled at the small satchel, eyes cast down and away from the man battling with you over items that held no importance to him.

" Y/N, would you just hear me out" Tommy struggled with you until finally letting go. Causing the contents to spill out onto the floor as you scrambled to retrieve them.

"Sweetheart, enough!" Tommy pleaded with your frantic state as he watched your shaky hands desperately try to salvage the small collection of trinkets. Had he done this to you? Given the final blow to an already broken woman, Tommy thought to himself, crouching down as he gently reached his hand out for yours. If only to briefly calm the panic within you" Hey..."

" What?! What Tommy?" You cried, snapping your head up as you pulled your hand away.

" You've taken everything from me! What more do you want?" Your anger for him came out in a strangled sob as you tried to grasp onto the last breath of air in your lungs. Chest heaving, body aching. You had succumbed to the many years of stress that had bored down on you.

" You" he replied, his chest squeezing tightly around his thumping heart as he searched the face of the girl that always had one last push in her to continue on.

" I...fuck..." he sighed, his words getting caught in his throat after the countless speeches he'd prepared, the countless times he'd tried to call your grandmother's house to no avail. Pumping himself up time and time again, only to be met with a ringing tone at the opposite end of the line.

" I was wrong, darling. Wrong about it all" his hands brushed up your arms, fingers curling around the thin fabric of your silky blouse. Wanting to pull you into his arms. Preying you'd let him and all would be forgotten.

" No..." You shook your head, brow creasing with anger for him having discovered the truth you couldn't convince him of the previous night.

" You don't get to do this, Tommy. You're too late" you said through the sobs caught in your chest, shrugging him off as you stood up to leave.

"Y/N!" He called after you, watching the end of your skirt flow out of sight as he scrambled onto his feet after you.

"Hey!" His voice echoed down the stairs as he rushed after you, clambering to save the little that was left of your feelings for him.

Turning to see his thundering steps racing after you, you stifled back the fury that had replaced the guilt you had let yourself feel as you juggled with the bag in your hand.

" You not gonna talk things out with me, eh? Come on, I'll pour you a whisky and we'll..." Tommy impatiently tried to mend the fracture separating you both as you let the weight of the flimsy suitcase in your hand fall onto the table beside you, battling with it once again.

" Like you gave me the courtesy of the other night, Tommy?" You seethed back, cutting him off as your eyes drifted to the small clock on the marble table out of place, fingers itching to put it back to its previous location.

" I have to go" you snapped your eyes away from the turning hands behind the glass, silently bringing an end to the day.

" Y/N" Tommy watched you turn to leave, before grabbing the ticking wooden box and placing it back in your preferred spot on the ivory-stoned table. A feeble, but undoubtedly desperate attempt to please you in any way or form before you shut the doors on him for good.

" Just five minutes, eh?" He jogged over to you, trying to reason with your stubbornness.

" No, Tommy!" You pulled his hands off you that had slipped around your waist in your frantic attempt to flee.

He had hurt you, broken your heart in the quickest and cruelest of manners when he expelled you from the house you had been born in.

Stubborn to the core, but no longer in the competitive nature that had filled your days since his arrival. The playfulness you had both enjoyed, now replaced with a hardened willfulness to protect yourself from him breaking what was left of your heart.

" I have to go. I have a big day tomorrow" you said through the forced smile of deceit etched on the corners of your mouth. Fake it until you make it, had now suddenly become your daily mantra to block out the dread you felt inside.

" Wha.." Tommy scoffed, his brow knitting together as he rested the weight of his body from one foot to the other. " You're gonna marry that bastard?" He's jaw tethered with tension, hand motioning to the door behind you and the risk you were ready to take.

" What choice do I have, Tommy?" You echoed the words you'd tell yourself before you fell headfirst for the unwanted guest you once resented. Holding out hope that the one consistency in your life would change for the better more than Tommy who had been so quick to abandoned you to his own paranoia.

"You have a choice. One right here, with me. Like we promised" he stepped forward, brushing a lone tear from your cheek.

" Until when though, Tommy? Until you next throw me out in the middle of the night? Cal's a sure thing" You turned your head away from the calloused pads of his fingers cradling the side of your face, from the breathy sigh of guilt slipping past his lips.

" Look after her" your gaze darted up to the high ceilings of your former home, tears trickling down your face as you parted with your last hope and the man you had fallen in love with.

" Y/N!" Tommy threw his hands up in the air as he watched you walk through the large wooden doors. Leaving with your bag in hand like a guest rather than the permanent figure in his home, the years of your life spent together replacing the dull walls of Arrow House he had hoped for.

Fuck, he couldn't let you get married. Wouldn't let you get married. And if he wasn't able to convince you of it himself, then he would with the catalyst that would not only bring a halt to the day, but take down the bastard that had been planning it.

With the hour of your vows rapidly drawing near, Tommy stormed to his office. Pulling the small black book of connections and information learnt from within the drawer of his wooden desk.

Picking up the receiver of the brass telephone sat beside him, Tommy's fingers scrolled down the many names he had collected intel on. Harold Sterling, Dicky Jones. The two pompous men he had spectacularly exposed at your engagement ball to the one name that ignited a furious rage within him. Cal Astor.

" Switchboard" the operator at the end of the call announced as the lines connected.

" Maryval convent, Perry Bar Birmingham. The Orphanage"

" I'm sorry" Johnathan eyes cast down as he turned to you, both stood outside the doors of the church as the sound of the choir announced your arrival through the angelic notes echoing against the cobbled stone.

" Enough" you faced him, straightening his limp tie back into place as his teary eyes watched his younger sister tend to everyone but herself on what was supposed to be the most important day of her life.

"Sissy..." He grabbed hold of your hand as you patted down the creases in his suit. Distracting yourself from the event about to unfold. " Tommy, did he not..." he began before you cut him off and settled the questions his mind had been nagging him with all morning.

" He did" you gave him the answer you knew plagued his thoughts, one you wanted to distance yourself from. " This is my choice, Johnathan" you adjusted the ivory veil over your shoulder as you threaded your arm into his. " Shall we?" You smiled through your apprehension as the heavy doors opened, and you stepped into the depraved future you knew awaited you.

Holding onto your brother's arm, you grasped at his tailored suit as the many guests turned to face you. The blinding light shining past the alter, casting colours of reds and blues through the stained glass, obscuring the curling smile of the man who you would call your husband in a moments time.

Slowly you paced along the tiled floor as your eyes searched among the smartly dressed gathering of people. Chest heaving as you realised the one person you wished to see, the one person that could stop you from taking the next step your stubborness refused to let you run from, was absent.

" Sweetpea" Cal took your hand, pulling you up to stand in unison with him as the sounds of your Grannies weeping, muffled though the hankie chief clutched tightly in her hand, echoed through the bricked room. Tears anybody would look endearingly upon, but ones that only held sorrow and hopelessness for the promise to your mother she was unable to uphold.

" We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of hands..." The priest began as Cal's eyes roamed over your body, the dress he had picked out on your behalf pleasing him enough to let his mind wander to the night he would enjoy spent in private with you. A night where you would no longer be able to refuse your duty to him.

"Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace" the words of the gowned man bounced between the four corners of the small chapel, silent with no sounds of protest.

"Then let us begin" the priest smiled to you as he urged you and Cal to join hands, when the door creaked open and the unexpected sight of a smartly dressed man with two gentlemen accompanying him slipped through. Tommy. He was too late...too late.

Grasping his fingers around yours, Cal's jaw snapped with anger as he watched Tommy take a seat with his brothers in an empty pew. His irritation at the bold move, further igniting his fury when he caught the longing stare shared between you both as your eyes drifted towards Tommy at the far end of the church.

Digging his heavy signet ring into the fleshy palms of your hand, Cal pulled your attention away from the gangsters' presence to the ceremony taking place.

" Now, Tom?" Arthur quietly leaned into his brother as his long legs, itching to be free from the small seating area, struggled to stay still.

" Not yet, brother" Tommy's eyes drifted back to your glowing beauty and the glittering rays of light cast on your shimmering dress. Imagining himself stood there with you making the vows of love and dedication he wished he could have articulated to you the day before.

" Do you Cal Meredith Astor, take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" a snort of laughter from the third-youngest Shelby at the unusual middle name, abruptly delayed Cal's response.

" I do" Cal's eyes darted to the giggling gangster, and the smirk of satisfaction Tommy had for the embarrassing echoes of laughter filling the room.

" And do you Y/N Y/L/N, take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" Tommy held his breath, as your eyes darted away from Cal's face to the pull of Tommy's pleading stare, begging you to choose him over the man that would beat you blue every waking hour for the rest of your life.

"I d..."

NEXT PART (FINAL)

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

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[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter six)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, roughhousing, overstimulation, mild bondage, insane amounts of teasing, some mild dubcon scenes/allusions to dubcon, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, eventual piv (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 6/6

SERIES MASTERLIST

words: .......13.5k

a/n: WHEW what a wait. thank you, as always, for your patience this past month or so! as i’ve mentioned i’ve been busy as hell, but it is with many internal screams that i can say! welcome to the final chapter of this series!! what a ride we've all had these last few months! buckle up for like. essay length extensive smut and also plot. in varying order. as always, feedback makes my world spin round at rocket speed, and just. thank you guys for all the love ever since i posted chapter one last november (november me with a brand new sideblog had no clue this would become a Thing i finished let alone a Thing people liked!! that's all on you lovely humans. ily)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

Heaven was his head between your thighs.

His hands on you, everywhere. Hot mouth pressed to your skin, your neck, your thighs, your cunt. He was slow. Thorough. Pulling cries out of your mouth that got louder and louder until your back arched on the bed and you lay slumped and panting, twisted in his sheets. Taken apart and stitched right back together.

It hadn’t started like this. Not even close.

You woke to a soft light on your face, the curtains parted slightly. Your throat felt sore, and you were tired. Body heavy, slumped across a bed. His. It came back to you in fragments. The party. The photograph. His hand in your hair. His eyes after, apologetic and pleading. Falling asleep right here, next to him, but there was nobody beside you anymore. Your eyes adjusted to the room; you’d never seen it at this time of day, with sunbeams lighting up the walls. You could hear a soft tapping sound, like rain on the windowsill, but it was a bright and sunny spring day out.

Typing. That’s what it was.

Steady, satisfying clicks as the typewriter punched ink onto paper. You turned your head towards the desk across the room.

Coriolanus was sat there, focused, a breakfast tray pushed to one side. He didn’t notice you for a while, and you rolled over to take him in, a slight squint in his eye as he concentrated. You pulled your tired body up and leaned against the pillows, and he turned.

“Morning.” He said in surprise.

“Hi.”

This was strange. Like a warped sense of a morning after.

“Coffee?” He offered. “It’s still hot, I think.”

“Please.”

As he stood to pour from the French press, you took a look around you, eyes landing on the nightstand. A glass of water stood tall next to the silver chain he’d given you last night.

So innocent. If someone took a peek through a crack in the wall, they’d think you were a perfectly normal couple. Domestic bliss.

Not so much, you thought, as he walked over and handed you a cup.

He didn’t linger, but sat down at the foot of the bed, and that only made things stranger. He’d never been one to shy away from physical proximity, but here you both were, sipping just-hot coffee as he eyed you carefully. Like you were an animal in an enclosure, and he hadn’t quite figured out which approach to take with you yet.

“Are you working on something?” You nodded toward the cluttered desk.

“Just the usual. Work.”

“Oh? Didn’t know you worked in here.”

“I don’t, usually. Never have, in fact.” He sounded sheepish. This was entirely new. “But I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Oh.

You said just that.

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“I can go if you’d like. Leave you to rest.”

“No, that’s okay. Stay.”

His eyes softened a little, shoulders sinking down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You considered. You hadn’t really thought much about it.

“Tired, I think. This is helping. Thank you.” You sipped at the cup of coffee, careful not to spill it on his sheets. An oddly comfortable silence hung in the air.

“I called Cordelia. She’s coming over this afternoon, we can figure it all out. Print a story you’re happy with.”

“Wait, what? We don’t have an appointment for three more weeks.”

He glanced awkwardly at the floor, and cleared his throat.

“I thought you’d want to make it as quick as possible. It will be, and it won’t shine badly on you. I’ll get Lucille to pack your things, and if you don’t want to go back to your parents, I’d be happy to put you up somewhere in the city for as long as you’d like. It’s the least I could do after everything that I-”

“Coriolanus, stop.” You shook your head, bewildered.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

He paused.

“Of course.”

“How the hell are you meant to know what I want if you’ve never asked me?”

He frowned, eyes darting from the floor, to you, to the floor again.

“I… Well, I assumed that-”

“Don’t assume.” You interrupted. “God, when will you stop assuming you know what’s best for me? It’d be nice to feel like I have a say in this. Don’t you see that if we do this, we’ll just end up right back where we started? I don’t want that, do you?”

“Doll, I think this would be for the best.”

“Why, am I getting too difficult for you now? You got someone new lined up ready to take my place? Someone less complicated? More complacent?” You snapped.

“Of course not, it’s not that.”

“Then why? Why do you want me gone? Because it’s pretty damn clear that you do from where I’m sat.”

He sighed, turning to face you, but looking at your lap. You gripped the cup with a vice, like you were trying to snap off the handle. You placed it on the nightstand.

“I’ve just been wondering if this has become about something… else, to you. and I wanted to say that if that’s the case, this can’t continue. Because… well, I’ve grown fond of you, and it isn’t fair to keep you hoping.”

Your confusion softened your sharp edges.

“Hoping for what?”

For whatever reason, he didn’t meet your eye as he spoke.

“Hoping that… I can give you something I don’t think I’m capable of. Or at least, not anymore. It’s not fair on you. I can’t give you what you need.”

“And what exactly is it that I need?”

He shifted, looking awkwardly to the floor. At first, your frown only deepened, then it hit you. A knowing smile crept onto your face.

“Oh my god… you think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

His frown only widened your grin. you were pretty sure you must’ve looked insane. Despite yourself, you let out a laugh, and his frown only deepened.

“When you… you’ve been upset lately. The other week at the luncheon, and then last night, I thought it was-”

“That I was, what, in love with you?”

A cocky, shit eating grin now took over your face.

He started a sentence, but stopped himself. You could see it on his face; he was completely thrown.

“So you’re not.” He checked.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed, Snow. ‘Course not. That’s never what this was about, I mean, we have rules for a reason. Sure, we’ve been breaking them like it’s our day job, but not the golden one. Never the most important.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked a little sheepish.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” you repeated, “I’m not in love with you.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. His shoulders sank down, like he was relieved.

“I see. That’s good, that’s… for the best.”

“So will you cancel Cordelia?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want., it’s done.”

You nodded.

“See, this is better. It’s a lot easier when you ask me things. And I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t exactly been the most talkative either.”

“It’s not exactly our strong suit.” He agreed.

“Yeah. You know, while we’re on the topic, there’s something else you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

“You can run me a bath. A hot one. With bubbles.” You added.

It was slight, but you saw it. He perked up.

“Okay, doll.”

The bath was hot, and it smelt like the softer parts of him, like fresh linen and the spice of his cologne. Again, he didn’t linger, just ran the bath, saw you into the room and let you be. It was frustrating – while it was nice to soak in the hot water and feel your muscles relax, you wished he would just talk to you, instead of acting like you were something to avoid, something to walk on eggshells around. This change in his demeanour wasn’t a completely unwelcome one – you didn’t mind feeling as though you had the upper hand, and held all the cards for once – but you didn’t like being treated like you were broken, either.

You sank your head underneath the bubbles and stayed down there for a few seconds, the rush of water clouding your eardrums. It was a peaceful kind of noise, and when you came back up for air, you found yourself breathing a little easier.

You pondered. Processed, considering the steps to take next, rolling your neck out and stretching your feet to the edge of the tub. Anytime you thought you’d reached any sort of plateau with Coriolanus, something new would pop up out of seemingly nowhere. You hadn’t minded the danger at first, it drew you in and kept you hungry for more, but you’d grown tired, weary from the whiplash knotting your neck.

When the water cooled, you looked around, but couldn’t see a towel. You cleared your throat.

“Snow?” You called out.

Soft footsteps. Then, his voice from behind the door.

“Everything okay?”

“I just need a towel. I can’t see one near me.”

“They’re in the linen closet in the corner.”

You eyed the floor between the tub and the closet.

“I’d have to get out and drip bathwater all across the floor. Can you just come in here and hand me one?”

Silence.

“Please?” You added.

More silence. Then he quietly cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Okay, fine. I’m coming in, I won’t look.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

The door cracked open and he made a short beeline to the closet, unfolding a towel and holding it out. When he walked to the side of the tub, he looked off to the side like the colour of the walls was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

You pulled yourself out of the water, shivering as the cold air hit you. Then you backed into the towel and took it from him, wrapping it around yourself, sinking into the soft cotton. He stood behind you, paused, seemingly suspended in place and unable to move. You heard him draw in a breath, inches from the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. His breath caught on the droplets of water gathered on your skin, and it warmed you and gave you a chill at the same time.

“I know you are.”

Then in a flash, you spun around, lips on his, hungry. He kissed you back like he had something to prove, and hell, maybe he did. His hands tangled in your wet hair and yours made for his shirt. The towel slipped to the floor and fell in a pile at your feet. One button came open, you broke the second, which flew into the air and landed on the floor with a tap. He pulled you in closer, hands all over you, and you worked frantically at the third, not caring if it broke, not caring about anything.

“Doll.”

You looked up at him, at his blown-out eyes.

“Want you to fuck me.” You breathed.

“I can’t.”

You jolted to a stop, catching your breath. He took a step back.

“What?”

He pulled in slow breaths, like he was trying to cool himself off. His eyes pressed shut.

“Not like this. Not until I know you trust me again. I don’t… I can’t hurt you again. I won’t do that. I need you to forgive me first. Completely.”

You exhaled slowly, then cleared your throat, lowering to the ground to pick the damp towel off the tiles. When you came back up, half-covered, he was staring at a spot on the wall again, breath laboured.

You tied the towel around you, and looked right at him as he looked away, eyes averted.

“You sure about that, Snow?” you drawled. “You sure as hell don’t look it.”

He swallowed thickly.

“I’ll let you get dressed. I’ll just be in the bedroom.”

You brought your hand to your lips, brushing over where he’d just kissed them once he’d turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. You eyed your pile of clothes with disdain.

He was back at his desk when you walked out, wrapped in a shirt he’d offered you, hair towel in hand. He didn’t look as focused on his work this time.

“I cancelled Cordelia. So don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you.” You made for the bed, and climbed back onto it. “Rather just talk to you anyway.”

His jaw tensed. It seemed he was still doing everything in his power not to look at you.

“You know, there’s this thing called eye contact. Remember that thing Cordelia waffles on about? It’s important when you’re having a conversation with somebody. I’m a big fan, myself.”

His eyes shot daggers at you. But at least he was looking.

“And what did you want to talk about, exactly?”

You shrugged, and he glanced back at the desk, and pretended to study one of the papers there.

“I don’t know. All of this, I guess.”

Much to your annoyance, he didn’t answer. Your eyes swept the room again, and you brought the towel to your hair. The sun was high enough now to light up the silver chain on the nightstand, and you took it in your palm, turning it over.

“Did you mean it when you said I could have this?” You wondered aloud.

He looked at you again.

“Wasn’t sure if you remembered that.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then I meant it.” His words shouldn’t have made you smile, but they did.

“Will you put this on me?” You asked.

“Uh. Sure.”

The chair creaked as he pushed it back from underneath him, and he walked over to you cautiously, perching on the bed, taking the dog tag, then ever so gently brushing your hair to one side.

“Can I just ask-”

“Anything.” He said quickly.

The cool metal slid onto your chest as he secured the chain, falling low.

“When you were out there, did you…” you swallowed.

Say it.

“…hurt people?” You praised your voice for not shaking. The silence in the room was deafening. But he finally answered.

“I did what was necessary.”

“It must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was.”

“Do you think about it much?”

“More than I care to admit. But it was a long time ago.”

You turned to face him.

“Doesn’t make it less real. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. What matters is that I’m here now.”

You smiled.

“You didn’t get too bad of a deal of it either, President Snow.”

He put your hair back into place, fingertips trailing your shoulder.

“I certainly didn’t.”

You thumbed the cold steel, an odd feeling of satisfaction washing over you.

“Was it worth it?” Your voice sounded quiet, even to you. You were fully aware of the weight of the question, heavier still from the complete understanding that you barely knew what you were asking.

“Yes.”

It should’ve scared you, the surety in his voice. But it didn’t.

Warm breath caressed your shoulder blade, and it really shouldn’t comfort you, but it did. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you. For putting it on. I always get these things tangled.”

“My pleasure. I meant what I said though, sweetheart. No wearing it where anyone’ll see, okay? I need you to promise me.”

You turned your head, shifted so you faced him. You suddenly realised just how close your faces were, and your voice dropped low.

“I promise. It’s nothing new. We’re no strangers to secrets, you and I.”

Your noses were almost touching, and he was looking down at your lips. You drew in a breath, and inched in impossibly closer. You felt his breath on your lips, hot and shallow. Your nose bumped his.

And then his lips were on yours again. But just as quickly, he pulled away.

“Don’t.” You pleaded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t. Not until I’ve fixed this. Please, just… tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You sighed, pulling away.

“This is what I want, Snow. But…”

“Yeah?”

“I just… never knew it would get so complicated. I think for now, maybe I need a little time.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“I might go home over this weekend. Spend some time with my parents. No tricks, okay? No messengers, no word from you, the entire time. I’ll come back here on Monday morning, and I’ll tell you what I’ve decided then.”

He nodded.

“That’s fine.” He cleared his throat again. “So you’ll leave tomorrow morning?”

“If that’s okay.”

He seemed as satisfied as one would expect with that solution.

“Yes. Of course, anything you want.”

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked a little disappointed by the formality.

“And Snow?”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Before I go, will you lie next to me for a little while?"

It was oddly intimate, the way the day stretched on. He lay next to you for a while, and you sank into the sheets and eventually dozed off. When you woke, he was still there, quietly tapping at the typewriter and poring over paperwork. You spent the rest of the day in his room, in bed mostly, with food being brought up to you which you shared in mutual silence or casual conversation. Lucille packed your bags, and you spent the night in his bed, a little distance between you. But when you woke up, you had to slowly pull away your woven limbs.

Leaving was a quiet affair. Snow gave you a chaste kiss goodbye, and Henry snuck you and your bags through the back exit and kept to backroads, so nobody would know who you were or where you were going. Your parents didn’t know why you were visiting either; they didn’t need to. As far as anyone was concerned, you were taking a short weekend trip to check in with your family.

The two days passed quickly. You spent the time reflecting, debating what your next move would be, and listening to your parents argue. You found yourself glancing at the clock by Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday night you were practically crawling out your skin ready to leave. You considered what he’d offered you; an apartment on your own, somewhere in the city. But the thing is, you’d grown used to his moods, to just having him around, if only to dig your fingers into and pry open, searching for secrets. Life would feel awfully dull without it. You’d never met someone who was a match for you, who challenged you. You wondered if he felt the same.

Monday morning rolled around and you let out a heavy sigh of relief as you climbed into the car. Henry glanced back at you, but didn’t comment.

The second the manor came into sight, your head clouded with doubt. Would he want you to stick around? You’d spent the last couple of days toying with all outcomes like some omniscient god, but until now you hadn’t considered the fact that Snow might’ve done some thinking through of his own.

But as you pulled up at the side door, there he was. Standing perfectly poised, waiting for you, and all your worries washed away as he looked at you. Henry opened the door, and Coriolanus offered his hand as you stepped out the car. He looked at you with the same intensity as he had that very first night in his room, when you’d finally dropped the charade, and you returned the stare. Even just feeling his hand on yours set your skin on fire.

When you finally got inside and it was just the two of you, he stopped you.

He looked regal before, proud and superior. Now, you could tell it was a façade, laced with a nervous discomfort.

“Well?” He prompted.

You looked at him. Took in the way his eyes couldn’t stay in one place for too long, the tightness in his jaw that only appeared when he was under pressure, and the slight urgency seeping through his otherwise controlled question, and realised then that you hadn’t been the only one going a little insane these past few days.

And now, you had the upper hand again.

“Upstairs,” you answered. “Your room.”

When the door closed behind you and he paced towards the desk, you almost smiled at the parallel. It felt like an age ago that you’d strutted in here, dressed in his suit jacket with something to prove. You knew the cards you were about to play now like you had then, but your thoughts still raced.

Snow cleared his throat.

“So? Have you made up your mind?”

You waited for him to turn and face you.

“I have.”

“And?” So quick to reply. You’d never heard him so on edge.

You wet your lips, taking a step towards him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying stretching this out a little, watching him squirm.

“I’ve decided that… I’m staying.” You said finally.

He let out an audible breath, almost like he didn’t care about you hearing his reaction anymore. Like he’d been strung out the entire weekend, just like you. Like he’d imagined this conversation in a million different ways. He stepped towards you. This was an old dance; one you knew well. You closed the gap between you, and his hand grazed your jaw.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He said. You held his gaze, he brushed your lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Can I…” His voice dropped.

“Not just yet.”

You relished the little frown that knitted his brows.

“I know you, Snow.” You continued. “You’re good at what you do. You’re better at this than anyone out there. You’re dedicated, and I think that… something tells me you’re going to be President for an awfully long time. I want to be by your side when that happens. I’m not going away when this arrangement suits me too. But I have terms.”

He watched you as if he was mesmerised, and you wondered if he even noticed the way you slowly walked him towards the bed. You hid your smile as the spell broke, and the back of his legs bumped the ottoman. He gazed down at your lips, just a little thrown off kilter.

“Tell me.”

You got closer, lifting your hands to the lapels of his shirt and giving them a tug, turning him so you were stood against the ottoman and he was facing you. He moved so easily, as if this was a dance, one you’d practiced a hundred times over.

“Let’s start with this. You said you’d do anything for my forgiveness, right?”

“I meant it.”

“Good.” You nodded, “Because there is something you can do for me.” Your hand traced his jaw, and he leaned into it.

“Name it.” He whispered, lips pressing against your palm. “It’s yours.”

You leaned towards him, faces close, noses touching, foreheads pressed together. You could feel the almost on your lips, could feel his breath. You relished in the feeling, that electric tension between the two of you. You held onto it, inhaled it like smoke, before cutting it loose.

“Kneel.” You breathed.

Feeling his brows twitch gave you a rush, and when you pulled back, he looked like art. You slowly moved down, sitting on the ottoman, holding his gaze. Then slowly, steadily, like he was walking a gossamer-thin tightrope, he shifted, nudging your legs open to stand between them, and lowered himself down to the floor, knees gently knocking against the hardwood one at a time. You give him a slow nod.

“Like that. Good. Stay there.”

Your legs parted a little further, and his eyes lined up with the way your dress lifted, bunching at your hips, exposing black lace with white trim, barely covering the space he seemed to lean towards.

He wet his lips, glancing up at you. Eyes bright but laden with want, so heavy he thought he might drown in it.

“Can I…” He whispered, and you felt it more than heard it, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

You smiled a little, and shook your head.

“Fuck. Please, doll.”

“Did I ask you to beg?”

“No. But… what can I do?”

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you considered.

“You can take these off. Slowly.”

You sighed when his palms brushed your hips, pushing your dress up then hooking soft fingers into the band of your underwear, slowly pulling them over your hips and down your thighs. He was gentle, pulling back but staying oh so close to you as he pulled the lace past your ankles, tossed it to the side, and moved in again expectantly.

“And now?”

You pushed your legs apart again, just enough. Drew in a breath.

“I want you to watch.”

A sound slipped from his mouth, and you weren’t sure if it was just a shaky breath or a quiet curse. His eyes darted between your face and the heat between your thighs. If you couldn’t already feel the mess you’d made, the way his lips parted and his eyes went heavy-lidded would give it away in an instant.

His gaze followed your hand, unwavering as you slowly brought it between your legs, and lazily trailed your fingers towards where you were aching to be touched. Then with a gasp, you brushed your finger against your clit and starting drawing slow circles, slipping further down to push against your opening, slipping through the mess you’d made just from seeing him knelt on the hardwood. 

You kept your head tilted back and your eyes closed, touching yourself with Snow knelt between your legs incredibly brazen, even for you. He was mere inches away, laboured breath dusting the skin of your inner thighs.

But as you melted into the feeling, sinking deeper than you could imagine in just a few short seconds, you opened them again. And there he was, darkened eyes fixed on where your fingers ran messy circles on your cunt, and you let out a soft whine. It was enough to make him redirect his stare to your face, and you couldn’t help but stare back, pressing harder against your clit with a broken sigh. You planted your feet on the floor as you shifted your hips a little, getting slightly closer, making it easier for you to carefully swirl a finger around your entrance, then gently push inside.

“Fuck.” He breathed, rocking forward slightly, to which you shook your head, knee pressing against his shoulder, pushing him back. His pleading eyes drove you on, pushed you to fuck yourself faster, obscene wet noises filling the quiet space.

He looked wrecked; lips parted, eyes begging, glancing up at you. And it only made you all the more shameless, bucking your hips and crying out, gasps slipping from your mouth that you couldn’t deny were getting played up a little for effect. He stared on, looking so fucking small between your legs, so hard you could only imagine it hurt.

You weren’t sure if he noticed he was breathing in tandem with you, but as your breaths picked up, got a little strained, so did his. His eyes slitted, heavy with lust as he stared on.

You got a little cocky; let it go to your head. Nothing would ever beat the rush of adrenaline you felt from seeing the most powerful man you’d ever known giving into you, letting you set the rules. It was intoxicating.

“You okay down there, sweetheart?”

He sighed, slow and heavy.

“I…” He trailed off, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is there something you need?” Your voice was breathier than you would like, control slipping from your fingertips, but it was still there and the way he looked up at you. His mouth opened again, jaw agape, on his knees like it was a silent prayer. You fucked yourself faster, mean, dripping down your fingers. He finally spoke.

“Please.” He whispered.

“What did you say?”

“I said -” he swallowed “- I said please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me touch you. Put my mouth on you, I won’t even use my hands. Just let me… baby. Come on.” His voice was raspy and ruined.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet? I’m not so sure.”

His breath was shallow, eyes wide and blown out.

“I’ll prove it to you. Just let me touch you, and I’ll do anything you want. Please, doll.”

You hummed, pretending to weigh it up in your head.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely. Go ahead. But keep your hands to yourself.”

“Thank you. Fuck. Thank you, baby.”

He listened, inching in cautiously, like he was expecting you to change your mind, then he pressed his mouth to you and there it was.

Heaven.

“Oh fuck.” Your breath hitched in your throat.

You hummed as he dragged his tongue over your folds, setting your nerves alight, instinctively rocking into the pressure you’d been thinking about since you got him on the floor. His hands, you noted, sat dutifully on his thighs, gripping onto them like it took a physical reminder for him not to reach out and grab your hips, push his fingers into your soft skin and own you.

As welcome as that sounded to your foggy mind, this was about proving a point. You were the one calling the shots here. So you rocked gently against his face as he kissed your clit, lapping at the heat between your legs, only pulling away at intervals to catch his breath, the daylight making the mess on his chin glisten, only to dive back in again, movements slightly limited by the lack of his hands, which you could see was bothering him.

You couldn’t help but tease him a little between gasps.

“I have to say I missed this. Seeing you underneath me.”

He looked up at you. But there was little defiance in his eyes, just want. Want so depraved that it sent a flush through you, making you feel a little unmoored.

“If I didn’t know better, Coryo, I’d say you were enjoying this.”

Face buried between your thighs, a broken whine sent a little shock through your core. You moaned, getting a little strung-out, a little breathy.

“Is that a yes?”

You felt him nod.

“Good. Glad to see you’re putting up less of a fight this time. It wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Giving in?”

This time, his eyes contained a little more fire. He pushed his tongue firmer against your clit, cutting off your question with a gasp. A few moments passed, and you heard him hum.

“Is there something you want to say, baby? Go ahead.”

He pulled back, catching his breath again.

“Still don’t want me to use my hands?”

You shook your head.

“Then can you… if it’ll feel better.” He glanced at your hand, resting lazily on your thigh.

“What?” You knew what he was getting at, but he shot you back a look as if to say, don’t make me say it.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Then say it.”

“Put your hand in my hair. You can… be rough, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

Your smile turned into a sly grin.

“You want me to pull your hair? You sure?”

“I’m sure. I don’t… I liked it, last time.” He confessed quietly.

“Liked what?” You pushed.

He took a steady breath, looking down at the velvet seat you were perched on. He gritted out the words steadily, pointedly.

“When you sat on my face. I liked it.”

You pressed your lips together to hide your smile.

“I know you did.”

He paused, looking down at the floor. Then he looked back up. You brought your hand to his hair, fingers running through the soft strands. He started peppering kisses along the insides of your thighs, something he’d been too desperate to consider when you’d first given him permission to taste you. Now, they sparked the fire even more, and as much as you liked the careful attention, you guided his head to where you needed it. Keeping his words in mind, you gave a slightly rough tug on his hair, and he responded with a pained hum that edged you closer.

At one point, you saw his hand shift to try towards his pants, but you yanked his hair in response.

“No touching yourself yet. Or I’ll only let you watch, okay?”

You built up a rhythm, growing careless with the tugs on his hair so that you felt pressure in all the right places. Your fingers pulled harder as you got close, and you could hear his shallow breath as you took what you wanted from him.

“Fuck. Coryo, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that. You wanna make me cum?”

He nodded as best as he could with your hand gripping tight in his hair, and the motion only brought you closer, legs growing weak and tired, hooking over his shoulders now that you’d let him closer. You felt the ache build, almost painful with how long it had been, and you felt yourself snap, spinning out of control as your hand tensed, then fell from his hair. Then his hands were on you, gently this time, smoothing over your bucking hips with a level of control that you melted into as the feeling washed over you. He didn’t stop, pressing his tongue against you harder as you fell apart, shaking like a leaf as he worked your cunt until your cries bordered on screams.

“Fuck. Oh my god, that’s it, I’m…” You broke off into a shout, something so outlandish it sounded foreign to your own ringing ears, but you were too far gone to care. You could vaguely feel yourself grabbing at him as he pulled away, at his hair, his hands, anything, as you slumped back onto the bed. Slowly, he propped himself up, placing a knee between your legs and leaning over you. And his eyes, heavy and wanting, had you aching all over again.

He held back a little, clearly still in the space you’d pushed him into.

“Can I…” He whispered, those desperate eyes fixed on your parted lips as you caught your breath.

“Yeah.” You gasped, and he lowered his head towards you.

This time, he kissed you softer. Still hungry, still wanting, but slow, methodical, like he wanted to relish it. Almost like he wasn’t trying to own you, but in that moment, you could almost go so far as to believe the contrary. And your head swam with pride, feeling his lips on yours as he gently pressed you into the soft mattress.

But you didn’t sit in the feeling for too long.

“Was that okay?” He gasped.

“Yeah. More than okay. But you used your hands at the end there, baby. You know what that means?”

His eyes narrowed as his head cleared a little.

“Lie on your back for me.”

He obliged, dropping onto the mattress and shuffling up to lean against the pillows.

“I missed you, you know.” You murmured as you followed suit, hovering over him to get another kiss.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Thought I was gonna go out of my fucking mind with how much.”

“Yeah?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”

“I hoped not. Glad I was right.”

You smiled again, and shifted closer towards him.

“I could always show you how much I missed you, if you wanted.” Your eyes darted down to the front of his pants, the outline of his hard cock pressing against the material. He went a little quiet again, nodding a little, and you grinned. Climbed onto your knees so you were just a little above him, then swung a leg over one of his to sit carefully on his thigh. You paused for a beat.

“I won’t touch you until you tell me to, baby.”

He sucked in a breath.

“You can touch me.”

You tutted.

“What do we say?”

“Please.” He added quickly.

Without a word, you leaned in, brushing a hand over his cock, starting gentle, but quickly adding pressure. You could tell he was holding back, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering as he tried to control his breath.

“Not getting shy on me again, are you?”

He didn’t answer, just met your eye and you took it as a challenge. Unbuttoned his slacks and with a glance and a nod, slid them down his legs. You licked your palm slow, making sure he was watching closely.

“Fuck.” He breathed.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me properly, I’m just gonna have to work harder then, aren’t I?” You drawled as you slipped your hand underneath his boxers. There was a soft thump as his head dropped back onto the headboard and he cursed as your fingers grabbed the base of his cock.

“Like that?” Your mouth pulled into a sly smile.

He hummed, breaking off into a sigh, lips parted and eyes towards the ceiling as you fisted his cock. I’ll take that as a yes.

You swirled your thumb around the head of his cock, gathering messy precum that had gathered at the tip from your teasing, and it hit you then that most of your interactions until now had been psychological, toying with words, with ideas and almosts. You knew by now what made him tick, which words you could use to push him to the edge, but you’d barely had the chance to touch each other. But you were a fast learner, and you knew what you wanted from this.

You wanted to make him fall apart.

So you picked up the pace, and it must’ve ached with how fast you were fucking his cock with your fist, but his determination not to lose his cool made it all the more exciting. It got wet, and that was one thing his composure couldn’t hide. It egged you on, shifting your own hips on his tensing thigh as your sore cunt pressed against the muscle.

“You can hold back all you like, but I can tell you’re fucking close.”

His eyes fell shut in a lust-clouded haze, breath picking up. His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned. You were tempted to take it down your throat, really see how he held up then, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet, and you were on a high learning just how to make his body respond to your touch, how to make him weak. So you worked your wrist and felt his legs jolt a little, and you knew it was a matter of seconds.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to ask nicely. I don’t know how generous I’m feeling just yet. Convince me.”

“Jesus.” He gasped.

“No, just me. Go on, baby. Beg me. You wanted to earlier, right? Now’s your chance.”

An honest-to-god whine left his mouth, voice cracked and completely fucking ruined. You slowed your motions.

“No, baby, don’t stop. I’m so fucking close, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum. I fucking need it, I did everything you said, I got on my knees, I fucking… fuck, I did what you told me, didn’t I? Everything you asked? And I didn’t touch myself, I haven’t… fuck. All weekend, I haven’t-”

You pressed your lips together.

“Poor thing. You’ve gone this whole weekend without cumming?”

“I was a little fucking preoccupied.” He gritted out.

“Over little old me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Please,” he repeated, “I need to cum. I did what you wanted, doll, I- shit-”

Satisfied, you picked the pace up again, obscene wet sounds filling the room as his hips rocked a little into your hand as he got close again. Too far gone now to hold back, his face contorted in pleasure, eyes fixed on you. Then, in a seemingly small motion as you leaned into him a little, the dog tag that had been sitting tucked under your dress - and had stayed hidden against your skin all weekend - slipped out, the pendant swinging into the air beneath you, and as Coriolanus caught sight of it, you felt his hips tense, then his cock was twitching and spilling into your hand.

“Shit, that’s so… oh my fucking god, doll.”

You pulled your hand from his boxers and brought it to your mouth, cleaning it off a little.

“You really did need that, huh?” You smirked, and he sighed.

“Yeah. I really fucking did.”

You nodded at his boxers.

“Can I take these off now?”

He pressed his head into the headboard again and nodded, so you carefully pulled them down his legs. Panting and overheated, he unbuttoned his shirt as you threw the fabric to the floor.  What he didn’t expect you to do, though, was put your hand back on his still-twitching cock that sat tired and used against his stomach. He flinched a little as you palmed it, and you looked at him mischievously. Started to move your hand again, slow and steady, but firm.

“That’s… baby. Stop, I already came, I… fuck.” He winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You chuckled, voice turning a little dangerous.

“Oh, you thought we were done?”

“Doll, that’s not – shit – that’s not fucking funny. It’s sensitive, I…” It turned into an uncomfortable hum, but you felt him twitch under your palm, slowly getting hard again. His leg gave a little involuntary kick, much to your satisfaction.

“I… what the fuck.” His voice went quiet and strained, and yours got menacing.

“Oh, you can take it, can’t you? Thought you said you liked me taking the lead a little. You can handle it, can’t you, Snow? Or do you want me to stop?”

“Mm. That’s… was different. Please.” You kept going, a rush washing over you as you wondered if he even knew what he was begging for. You got more daring, rubbing your palm over the tip, and grinned when he cried out.

“You want me to stop? Just say the word. I will.”

He was half-hard again, more cum leaking from his tip as you sped up just a little.

Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head frantically as the rest of him trembled.

“Didn’t think so.”

His face was twisted like he was holding on desperately, trying to maintain control as you relished in his permission, and palmed him harder.

“Jesus fuck.” He said, voice getting louder now, legs twitching and hips bucking up in little jolts you were certain he couldn’t stop if he tried. You had him now, pliable like clay between your fingertips, shaking apart.

“Is that too much for you?” You taunted, getting cocky now.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snapped, but it fell flat when his voice broke halfway through the question. You laughed.

“I know exactly who I am, Snow. I’m the girl you’re gonna be stuck with for a long time, and I’ve got some demands to make. So listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once. You know what happened last week?” You were aware you were starting to sound almost as insane as him, but you didn’t care.

“You don’t ever,” you spat, “do that to me again. If you do, I swear on all of Panem, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”

He whined, desperate, so far gone you weren’t sure he was fully listening.

“Say you fucking understand.”

“I… I understand. Fuck. Please. I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“You’re lucky I’m giving you another chance. From here on out, you only get to treat me like a whore when I tell you to. Okay?”

“Yes. Yes, okay. I understand. I’m… shit.”

“This is a partnership, starting now. We help each other. We trust each other. We talk to each other. We don’t go behind each other’s backs, or fuck around with other people. Okay?”

“Okay. That’s… doll, can you slow down just a little? You’re… I’m…”

“You’re gonna cum again?”

He nodded, chasing his breath. You leaned towards him, lowering your head to his chest and dragging your tongue against his collarbone.

“Good. You can cum again, Coryo.”

“Thank you. Thank you - fuck. That feels… I’m-”

“You gonna cum all over my hand again, baby? Do it, I’ve got you. You can cum now.”

The second time he came was with a pained cry, painting your hand until it dripped down your wrist and onto his stomach. When you finally released your grip, he slumped down and sighed, aftershocks still jolting through him.

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?”

“I did. And I understand.”

“Good.” You murmured into his ear, and you felt goosebumps rise on his torso, “Then I think we can come to an agreement.”

The week went by in a blur of whispered words and tangled limbs. He rarely left you alone, and you barely felt the time pass, every waking moment spent together, flesh on flesh. When he worked, it was at the small desk in his room, and he took plenty of breaks to lounge in bed with you or run you baths.

You learned each other’s tells, growing comfortable touching each other, but Snow stuck to his word, much to your annoyance.

Not until you trust me again, he’d said. Wasn’t it clear enough by you staying?

You’d all but moved into his room, sending Lucille back and forth with hampers for your clothes, which now hang in one side of his closet, or sat folded in his previously empty drawers. You felt closer to him than you ever had before, and the two of you had skin littered with bruises which made you grateful you didn’t have any public functions to attend for quite a while. He’d stopped leaving you to go into the city and work, instead managing people from afar, and letting them get on with their jobs so he could weed out the weakest links.

For the first time, it felt a little like he was yours. Or as much yours as he possibly could be. And as you spent more time together, not just half-dressed and desperate, but talking, really talking, you slowly started to feel like you could be his, too.

“Tell me it feels better than he did. When you were together.” He whispered one morning, when you’d not long woken up and he’d immediately ducked under the covers to get between your thighs. He paused, fingers inside you, looking at you intently, and at first you were confused as to what he meant. You heard the tinge of vulnerability in his voice, and took the cue.

“You really think you deserve that? After everything?”

“No.” He whispered, eyes dropping down again.

“So what do we say?”

“Please.”

“One more time for me.”

He spoke up, voice gorgeously wrecked.

“Please. Tell me it’s better.”

“That’s good. And since you’re being good, I’ll tell you. He didn’t…” you swallowed, catching yourself, “He didn’t really like doing that. what you’re doing.” Your facade cracked a little and you glanced off to the side, not sure what reaction you were expecting.

“Really?” His voice was dumbfounded. It made you laugh.

“You know, Snow, a lot of guys don’t. They’re lazy about it. Want to get it over with, get to the real thing.”

A wide smile pulled at his lips, wolfish.

“Who wouldn’t want to do this?”

“Easy for you to say, handsome.”

He grinned wider.

“Can I try something?”

“I don’t know. will I like it?”

“I think we both will.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Okay, Coryo.”

His smile only deepened, pulling into an excited smirk as he gripped your hips once more, lightly kissing your thighs as he got closer to where you wanted him.

You gasped as his tongue worked you, and when you came, he kept going, easing up only after you’d fallen apart more times than you could keep count.

“Can’t believe you still won’t fuck me.” You pouted one day, as he sat at the desk with a pen in hand, scratching against paper.

He turned around to face you.

“I told you why. Not until-”

“I trust you again, I know. But how do you know that? I could trust you just fine and you wouldn’t even know it.”

“I’ll know.”

You hummed.

“Or,” you started, slipping off the bed and pacing towards him, “you could just fuck me now and call it square.”

He chuckled.

“Nice try, sweetheart.”

You pulled a lip between your teeth as you stood next to him, and he moved his chair out towards you. You smoothed a hand over his dress shirt, and grabbed a hold of his tie. Then you hooked a leg over both of his and lowered yourself onto his lap, face right next to his. You’d grown comfortable with being close to him, and while it still felt electric, you could handle it better. You rocked your hips on his as you got comfortable.

“Feel familiar?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m getting flashbacks.”

You smirked.

“Can I take this off?” You tugged at his shirt.

“Only if you play nice. No acting up, okay?”

“If you say so.” You shrugged, making quick work of the tie and buttons. Once the shirt was off, your lips were all over him, trailing over his chest and neck, tongue tracing lines across his collarbones.

“You don’t have to be anywhere for the next week, do you?” You murmured into his ear.

“No.” His breath hitched a little.

“Good.”

With that, you closed your lips around his pulse, and sucked.

While you littered his whole torso with bruises, and your neck was given a few of its own, you started rocking your hips lazily against him, playing coy like you didn’t know what you were doing, like you couldn’t feel him rock hard between your legs.

“Now this really is taking me back.” His voice strained when he spoke.

You only hummed in response, lace panties bunching in an all-too-familiar way. But you didn’t work your hips like you had something to prove this time, you went slower, taking your time, but staying deliberate in your movements. Your lips met his, breaking away only to breathe, then again when you felt his hips roll a little and his breath get laboured.

You rocked your hips harder, nice and firm. You could feel his cock twitch through his pants, right up against the wet spot forming on your panties. The friction had you shaking.

“Feel good?” You breathed.

“Yeah. Feels real fucking good, sweetheart.”

You smiled as your head lolled back, gasping loud to make sure he really heard it.

“You know what would feel even better, though?”

He mumbled something back but you didn’t catch it, lost in the haze.

“Think it’d feel better if you were fucking me for real right now.”

You didn’t expect the broken moan that escaped him, hands gripping your hips hard. Like the thought of it was enough to make him shatter.

“Baby,” he warned, “don’t.”

“But it would be so easy.” You pressed, “pushing my panties to the side and fucking into me right now.”

“Doll-”

“I know you want to.” you whispered against his ear.

“Do you now?” His strained voice told you everything you needed to know.

You nodded. “Mhm. I know you do. I also know that it’s driving you crazy, having me this close, but not able to take what you want. You must be going out of your mind, you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because I am too. I’m tired of this rule, Snow. Let’s just forget about it, and fuck me already.”

“Get up.” He said firmly. You started.

“What?”

“You heard me. I said get up, sweetheart.”

You climbed off his lap and stood, cautiously, legs shaking from how close you’d gotten. He did the same, towering over you a little as you failed to hide the smile on your face.

“Get on the bed.”

You took in a breath, shaky with nerves.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You sat back on the bed, peering over the mattress as he ducked down to pick up something from the floor.

“What are you-”

“Eyes closed.”

“Okay.” You shut your eyes, then felt him get close to you, his lips meeting yours as he knelt in front you, mattress dipping as he shifted. His hands brushed your arms, slowly pushing them behind your back as you melted into him, and before you could open your eyes, you felt the smooth silk of his tie wrap around your wrists and pull.

“What-”

“You want to act up, doll? Fine. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum all over my fingers before you’re begging me to stop.”

His hand slipped between your legs, pushing your lace panties to the side and pressing a finger into your wet cunt as you cried out. Your eyes pleaded at him, desperate.

“But why can’t you-”

“I said,” he repeated, pressing his finger into the spot that make you see stars, “not. Fucking. Yet.”

He spent hours fingering you open, making you cum until you cried. Then he cleaned up your tears and kissed like you were his whole world as you fell into an exhausted sleep, his words floating around in your head.

The black box was tied with a crisp white ribbon, and sat waiting for you on your bed. You approached it with caution, thumbing the piece of card on top of it. It was a note written in ink.

Wear this tonight. Think you’ll suit it well.

-       C.S

You’d gone into your room to collect something of yours to take to Snow’s room. You rarely went into your room anymore, most of your things had found their place in his, much to your satisfaction.

It was the first day in about two weeks that Coriolanus had finally had to leave the house to go into the city, but he’d promised it would just be for the day. It was also the first gala you had to attend since you’d made your decision, which you were slightly nervous for, but mostly excited to get out of the house, because although the sacred oasis that his room had become, it would be nice to have a change of scenery.

And that brought you back to the beautifully wrapped box lay in front of you. You were buzzing. You turned the note over in your hands, pulling it to your face to breathe it in. It smelt like newly printed books, and something distinctly him.

You recognised the label on the box, it was one of your favorite designers. You pushed the lid away to reveal the most beautiful dress you’d ever laid your eyes on – and you’d seen some impressive pieces.

It was a dark crimson red with gold embroidery, soft as silk. You unfolded it gently, letting the fabric spill out towards the floor. It was a little more revealing than anything you currently owned, with a deep slit up the leg and a plunging neckline, waist cinched, but the rest of the dress was floor length. A smile crept onto your face.

After counting down the hours, it was finally time to make your way downstairs. Snow stood in a full suit, waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

“You look beautiful.” He remarked.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself.” You smiled in response.

You met at the foot of the stairs, and he took your hand in his.

“Thank you for the dress. It’s gorgeous.” You added, not sure why you were lowering your voice in your own lobby.

“I knew it would suit you. Now you’re almost ready to go.”

“Almost?” You frowned, not sure what you could possibly be missing.

Coriolanus lifted his hand to pull the white rose from his breast pocket. He examined it, then lifted it to your hair and tucked it gently behind your ear. Your lips parted in surprise, and your hand reached up to meet his.

“But it’s your signature. I couldn’t-”

“I know. But people won’t be looking at me tonight. They’ll be looking at you. And this way, when they do, each and every one of them will know that you’re mine.”

That knowing smile crept back onto your face, and you leaned in to press your lips to his.

When you pulled away, you thumbed his tie, realising the color matched your dress exactly.

“I’m sensing a similar theme here.”

“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been seen out in public. It’ll be good to show up like this, show a strong front, not leave any doubters.”

You hummed.

“And when we get home?”

His stare drew you in; you could get lost in it and never find your way out.

“That depends.”

Your gaze lowered to his lips, then back up again.

“Missed you today.” You said.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You promise?”

He smiled.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

“Snow?”

He hummed in response. Your hand felt like it could melt into his, thumb brushing your palm.

“What would you say if I told you that I trust you now?”

His hand stilled. His eyes bored into yours.

“I’d say… that I believe you.”

You held your breath in, letting the anticipation wash over you.

“Later?” You whispered, and he nodded.

“Later.”

The ball was one of the most extravagant you’d seen, large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fountains of champagne dotted around. The health minister had outdone himself, and when you said so to Snow, he muttered a comment about him spending more time planning parties than doing his real job. But he smiled to all the right people, and his hand in yours calmed your nerves as a large procession saw you into the ballroom.

You danced until your feet turned numb, spinning on the ballroom floor, every time Coriolanus put his hands on your waist or wrapped his hand around yours drawing you in further, bringing you closer to forgetting everyone was watching you when his eyes were on yours, each stare becoming some secret language you were now terribly well-versed in. He didn’t let himself get distracted this time, quickly gravitating back to you any time he got pulled away into a conversation, and you basked in the attention, the two of you flirting to high heaven. When you’d spun until you were dizzy, he went to get you a drink, and you stepped off the floor of twirling couples.

It was then that you saw your mother, standing anxiously to one side, the stem of a champagne glass pressed between her fingers. Your parents rarely made it to these functions, but apparently, they had made time for this one. Suddenly aware of your frown and not wanting to arise suspicion, you plastered on a false smile and swanned through the crowd in her direction.

“Oh, darling. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course I am, mother, I wouldn’t miss it. Is everything alright?”

She glanced around the two of you nervously, fiddling with her glass. You touched her shoulder and gently guided her further into the corner of the room. You rarely saw her this distressed, usually the picture of grace and poise.

“What’s wrong?” You pressed.

“Have you heard from Nathaniel?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Nathaniel Greene? Not in a long time.” You figured the little stunt of yours from the month before should go unmentioned.

“I heard from his parents the other day. They’re completely distraught.”

“Why? What on earth happened?”

For a second, echoes of threats that had long settled to the ground popped back into the forefront of your mind, and you swallowed thickly. You sat down in two small chairs at the side of the room.

“They can’t begin to understand why. Perhaps it was work, perhaps he was gambling, or in debt, but nothing could possibly explain such a cruel fate.”

“Mother, tell me what happened. Is he…”

Her hands shook, and you took the glass of champagne from her and placed it on a nearby tray.

“He’s not dead, my darling. It’s worse. A messenger came to his house late the other night. They asked him to pack a bag, and they took him away. To… I can barely say it.”

“Mother,” you gritted, “tell me.”

“A peacekeeper, of all things.” Horror filled her voice. “They sent him away to the districts, for the next twenty years. But what could he have done? I can barely understand it. Can you imagine? A young man of his standing, wasting away in that place? His family is ruined.”

Right then, the crowd around you parted in a way that could only announce the presence of one person.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

You lifted your head to meet cool blue eyes and a slightly suspicious stare. From where you sat, Snow towered over you both, drink in hand.

“Everything’s fine.” You replied, “my mother isn’t feeling too well. Do you think we could find my father and have him take her home?”

He nodded at an Avox nearby who stepped dutifully away without missing a beat, and a server offered your mother a tray with a glass of water on it. You stood and faced Coriolanus, conscious of the now very interested crowd, and nodded to the large double doors that stood to your right.

“A word?”

He followed you in cautiously.

“I just heard something interesting.” You started.

He stood up straight, setting his jaw when you finally turned to face him. Even though you were barely alone, just a closed door between you and hundreds of people, it felt electric to be standing so close to him again with nobody watching you.

“What’s that?”

Playing it safe. An interesting move.

“Oh, just some rumor about an old friend of ours.”

“Who would that be?”

You smiled.

“I thought it was funny you asked about him the other day. Were you worried if I left you I’d go back to him?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Coriolanus.” You drawled. “You sent Nathaniel off to be a peacekeeper so I couldn’t go back to him.”

His stony façade fell through a little.

“And if I did?”

The deep frown you’d plastered onto your face for your mother’s benefit fell away, and your lips curved into a smirk.

“I’d say... well played.”

He blinked.

“You’re not upset?”

“Over him? Barely.”

“You’re - ” Snow paused, “so you’re not angry that I sent him away? The districts are hell, you know.”

“I’m sure. I don’t care, Snow. If anything, I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

You shrugged.

“He had it coming. He slept with my closest friend a week after we ended things. He never knew I found out. I’ve just been waiting, really, for him to get what he deserves. I doubted you’d let him off without a warning. There I was thinking you’d lost your touch for a while.”

You wanted to bottle the feeling you got from his eyes burning into you, with something that tasted like admiration.

“I nearly did let him off, for your sake.” He confessed. “But... if that's the case, I'm glad I changed my mind."

“So am I. It was that weekend I left, wasn’t it?”

“Damage control." He said tightly, "You can’t blame me.”

“Thought so. Good work, Snow.” You stepped towards him and revelled in the apprehension on his face with a smirk. “It’s a shame for his family, but they were never particularly nice. Collateral, I suppose.”

“You really don’t care at all?”

“Does it look like I care?”

“No.”

“I think you can read me as well as the next person. So I don’t care. Is that so tragic?”

He shook his head, bewildered. A strange smile appeared on his face.

“No, that’s… that’s good.”

You smirked as a thought popped into your head.

“How long do you think he’ll last out there?”

“Who knows? I hope you’re not banking on him ever coming back.”

You fiddled with his tie, smoothing it down.

“Never. We can’t all be Coriolanus Snow, can we?”

“Certainly not.”

You stepped even closer, and his back bumped softly against the wall. His gaze fell to your lips. You'd painted them a red so deep it was almost black, matching the dress.

"You like the color?" You asked.

"Yeah. Reminds me of when you kissed me in front of everyone and I couldn't get it off."

You laughed.

"Well, it was one way of getting your attention."

"It drove me fucking crazy, you know. It's all I thought about when I jerked off for weeks."

Fuck. Your eyes went a little heavy, laden with want.

“I hope this hasn’t changed our plans tonight.” You murmured.

“Has it changed them for you?”

You shook your head quickly.

“No. You?”

“Of course not.” He brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face.

“Good. Because now he’s out of our way, I’m tired of this party. I want to go home."

His eyes darkened a little and he drew in a breath.

“I’ll go say my goodbyes.”

With one of his hands on the doorknob, you stopped him.

“Snow?”

“Yes?”

“I don't want you to be nice. Later, I mean.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was just a few squeezes shy of breaking off the doorknob.

Your body slammed against his bedroom door with a force. His hands travelled under your clothes; wanting, needing to touch. You sighed and gasped at the feeling, his cold hands on your skin shooting chills through you, tugging off your clothes, kissing your neck, taking all that he wanted but still desperate for more. The rose had long fallen from your hair and lay, forgotten, on the hardwood. He kissed you with purpose, like he was once again trying to prove that he owned you, all the while understanding that he couldn’t. Maybe that’s what pushed him to touch you, to kiss you like it was the last time, like he was scared you’d float away somehow, even though you both know that wouldn’t really happen.

You understood it, because you felt the same way about him.  

You revelled in it, in the way his hands wrapped around your back, lowered to your legs, and lifted you up to push you harder against the door. His lips travelled across every square inch of bare skin he could find, your dress pushed down to your waist, lace bra exposed.

“Take it off.” He whispered, and you arched your back, reaching for the clasp and unhooking it with lightning speed. The lights were dim in his room, casting shadows that danced as the two of you moved together. Your head fell back against the solid wood as Coriolanus licked a trail up your neck. It was depraved, more passionate than anything you’d felt before. You could hardly think, blood pumping through your veins faster than you could stand. The only thing louder than the rush of blood in your ears was the sound of your breath mixing, hot and heavy as you took, impatient and without apology.

You cried out as his hips pressed harder into yours, and you could feel his length pressing up against you for the hundredth time. Except this time, you could finally let yourself imagine him inside you and trust that he wouldn’t turn this into another round of the game you’d thought endless. You squeezed your legs around his hips.

“Bed.” You gasped, and he grinned, wolfish and thrilled. You were the luckiest girl in Panem, to get to see him look at you that way.

“Been waiting to get this dress off you since I had it made.”

“Don’t tear it. Be gentle.”

“With you, or the dress?”

You narrowed your eyes as he carried you to the bed and placed you down on the mattress.

“Thought I told you that already.”

He was careful with the dress, slipping it over your hips and draping it over the back of the desk chair. When he came back, you were propped up on your elbows, legs bent at the knee, stare unwavering, panties the only thing left to take off. He was still wearing too much, shirt messily undone, pants still fastened but barely concealing the tent beneath them.

“You sure about this?” He checked.

“That a trick question?”

“Doll.”

You laughed. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Take off your shirt, handsome.”

He pulled off the white shirt methodically, and you shifted onto your knees to pull off his belt and toss it to the floor, eager to speed things along. You took in his toned chest and let your gaze sink down to his boxers, where his cock stood painfully hard beneath the material.

“Can I…” You prompted.

“Fuck. Yes. Please.” He sighed as your nails trailed up the bare skin of his thigh and brushed softly over his cock.

You smiled at the addition and took one last glance at his face, anticipation clear on his features that morphed a little in the near-darkness. Then, you pulled the material down his legs and his cock sprung free, and you forgot that you’d done this before, that you were used to this, to him, to being with him in almost every sense. It all slipped away, and as your hand reached to touch him with nothing between the two of you, it felt like the first time you’d ever done it. The breath he sucked in as you started to push the precum around his tip urged you on, making you brazen, and you readjusted your knees on the bed and got closer, then licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip.

“Oh my – fuck.” He groaned, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face, grateful for the darkness.

“That okay?”

He laughed, something dark and untethered.

“You fucking know it is. Such a fucking tease.”

“Wouldn’t be such a tease if we’d done this sooner.”

“Somehow I doubt that, sweetheart – ah.”

He was cut off by you taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking hard as you gripped the base. You pumped your hand a few times and revelled in the sounds he made, choked out grunts and broken sighs, mixed with the occasional curse or a cry of your name.

You felt his hand gently brush against your hair, ever so cautious.

“Can I…”

“Mhm.” You hummed in the affirmative, and he sighed, all low and shaky as he pushed his fingers through your locks, not guiding, just careful pressure on your scalp as he let you take the lead.

“Baby,” he gritted out, “I don’t know how much longer I can… fuck, that’s-”

He sucked in a sharp breath as you stopped, pulling off, lips swollen. You looked up at him, stunned as he caught his breath.

“Coriolanus?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we turn a light on? I can’t… I want to see you.”

In the shadows, you could just make out the glint of his eyes and a dumbfounded smile.

“Of course.”

He stepped away, kicking off his boxers, and you watched him reach over the desk to switch on a small lamp. It lit up his face and you took him in, a thin cast of sweat shimmering across his face and chest. When he turned, you glanced away like you hadn’t been staring. He caught on with a grin.

“Like what you see?”

Such a dick.

“I’d like it better if you were over here.” You mumbled as he paced back towards you.

“You’re the one who wanted the light on, sweetheart. Now I know why.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Snow.”

“Coryo.” His breath danced against your lips as he closed in, lips sealing against yours as he pushed you back on the bed.

“Coryo.” You repeated with a smile when he pulled away kissing down your neck and chest, feeling the shape of the name in your mouth.

Then his hands were on you again as if they’d never left. More heat pooled between your legs as he trailed his hands down your thighs, and you let your head fall back as his fingers pressed through the seam of your panties.

His breath got shaky again as his fingers pushed the scrap of wet fabric to the side. You gasped as his thumb went straight to your clit, determined, rubbing tight circles against the hard nub.

“Oh my god, Coryo, I-”

“So fucking wet, sweetheart. Is this all for me?”

It was too much all at once. You pressed your lips together tightly and nodded. Beside yourself, your left hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your moans.

Then he fucking stopped. Your hand fell from your mouth, and you felt the lace get pulled down your legs.

“What are you…” You trailed off. The dim light let you make out his face and you could see his expression now, wanting, but careful, methodical.

“Open your mouth.”

When your lips parted, a little in response, but moreso in surprise, the two fingers he’d been using on your clit slipped into your mouth, pulling your jaw open as his other hand propped him up. You could taste yourself, hot and heavy, spilling onto your tongue.

“I want to hear you, baby. You can’t cover your mouth like that if I’m gonna hear you.”

You nodded, brain a little dead.

“Good girl. Now I don’t have a free hand, know what that means?”

You cried out a little, tongue trapped beneath his fingers.

“Touch yourself, doll. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you nice and fucking close, okay?”

A little self-aware with him hovering right above you, you snaked a hand between your legs, but when you saw the look on his face you stopped wasting time, pushing two fingers inside yourself, heel of your hand bumping your clit as a whine slipped past your lips.

He kept talking, whispering hot and heavy into your ear, dragging his lips over your neck, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, every touch burning your skin like it was molten. When you’d lost yourself enough, mouth still parted; his fingers gentler now he’d made his point, he ducked his head lower, trailing his lips over your tits, placed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. Your moans got louder, feeling like every inch of skin he covered was hardwired to your cunt, your fingers getting tired and sloppy as you got yourself closer, dripping down your thighs.

You made a sound and he glanced up at you, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Just fuck me. Please, I can’t wait anymore, Coryo.” You whined, trying desperately to slow down your breathing.

“Poor baby. Couldn’t make yourself cum first?”

You shook your head, any more and you were sure your eyes would start to water.

“That’s okay, doll. I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.”

He lowered himself down towards you, arms either side of yours, crowding you in. Then his hands travelled down, lower, and your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as you felt his cock press against your entrance.

“Fuck.” You whispered, and he was strangely quiet. You blinked, and looked down at him, and you’d never seen such a pained look on his face. His lips parted, eyes heavy and slitted as he looked down at where his cock rubbed up and down like he was in a trance, slowly nudging your clit and getting himself wetter, tip glistening in the dim light.

Desperate for friction, you started rocking your hips, aching for him to push inside of you.

“Not just yet.” He breathed, voice strung-out and insane. “I won’t make you wait much longer, baby.”

“Please. I need you to fuck me. Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Usually, you’d see a sly smile appear on his face, but he just pressed his eyes closed as if the thought was going to send him over the edge. It was the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. Then, finally, you felt his cock catch at your entrance, and slowly press inside. You gasped at the pressure, at the size of him, and he was barely even moving.

“That’s it, baby.” He breathed. “I’m right here.”

He shifted his hips a little, and you clawed at his back, nails digging in until he hissed, rocking your hips to beg for more. You didn't want him holding back, not when you'd waited months for this. You strained your neck lifting it from the bed to whisper in his ear.

“I meant what I said, Coryo. Don’t be fucking nice.”

It was as if something in him snapped. Like he was holding on by a single thread, and you’d send him spiralling out of control. His hips jerked forward and you cried out as he filled you to the hilt, then rocked into you again, picking up a pace that was almost punishing. You tasted it, still wet on your lips, clung to your skin, and now, deep inside you.

Danger.

“So fucking pretty. Does my pretty girl need to get fucked, huh? Just like that?”

You could barely form words, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in further, feeling pinned open and beautifully used. Your cries melted together in your head until you could only understand bits and pieces, and as he fucked you, unrelenting, you felt your back slide up the mattress. Your nails dug into his back, and you were sure they must’ve drawn blood. His forehead pressed against yours,

For a second, he slowed, looking down at you.

“That okay?” He muttered.

You nodded, frantic, barely there.

“Yeah.”

He sped up again and your legs grew weak. He reached his free hand down to grab hold of your thigh and push it higher, the new angle making you see stars, clenching around him impossibly tight.

“Good fucking girl.”

At some point, as you exchanged fewer words and more heated glances, you felt your hand slip from his back and come to rest against over his on your thigh, to hold it in place. He took it in stride, taking it in his, fingers interlacing as his thumb brushed yours.

You didn’t think much of it. How could you? Not when he was stretching the walls of your cunt as you gripped him like a vice. Not when you could barely hear the words coming from either of your mouths. But oddly, it was the gentle contrast that pushed you to the edge as he fucked into you just like you’d asked, hard and unrelenting, mean.

Despite it all, it was the thumb that brushed yours that had moans spilling from your mouth as you both took exactly what you wanted from each other. It sparked something in you, something that let you know you were safe here, that there weren’t any walls between you anymore, no twisted games that wouldn’t benefit you both equally.

“I’m close.” You gasped as his cool blue eyes spilled into yours, and you knew he was all yours.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? I can feel it.”

You nodded silently, muscles in our thighs tensing around his back, the hand that was twisted into yours now falling onto the bed beside you. He gripped it tighter, and fucked you harder, with a point to prove. When your eyes slid shut in ecstasy, right on the edge of falling apart, he squeezed your hand, palms hot and clammy against each other just like the rest of you.

“Look at me, baby.” He urged, fighting for breath. “You’re so fucking close, I need – shit – need to see you when you cum for me.”

It wasn’t hard to keep your eyes open, to keep them on him when he looked like that, like he was carved by the fucking gods, brow scrunched and shining with sweat, eyes bluer than ever, lips parted in an o shape. It was the prettiest sight you’d seen, and your hand tensed around his when you came, trembling like a leaf, mouth parting in a shout you barely heard, eyes focused on him, only him as he fucked you through it.

"Fuck, that's it, doll. Like that? Right fucking there?"

You cried out in response, and as you spilled apart, you heard your name slip past his lips through your ringing ears , followed by a string of curses, each one filthier than the next, not letting up once as he followed you over the edge, hips stuttering as you felt warmth fill your walls and his head fall down onto the pillow beside yours.

A few moments passed as you let the feeling wash over you, feeling the wonderfully sore, sticky mess between your thighs after he pulled out. You heard him catch his breath, then tumble onto his back by your side. You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, then at him, and with a smile realised he’d been looking at you.

“Like what you see?” You echoed. He smiled, coy.

“You know I do, beautiful.”

You sighed, satisifed.

“Keep calling me beautiful, Snow, and I might start thinking you want to fuck me.” You teased. “Wouldn’t want to give a girl the wrong idea.”

He laughed, bright and loud. A few more seconds passed, and you hummed.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I’m just a little annoyed I didn’t get to ride you.”

He swallowed then smiled, almost awe-like, transfixed. It was a feeling that you’d gotten used to over the past few weeks, but it felt new this time. Different.

“You’re not done?”

“Are you?”

He glanced at your lips, then back up again, voice earnest.

“Not with you, sweetheart.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good. Then lay back. Head on the pillow for me.”

He obliged, blonde curls spilling over the fabric. You liked it when he grew his hair out a little, you thought as you hooked a leg over his waist. His hands came up to touch you, but you pressed his wrists back into the mattress.

“No touching, Coryo. You hear me?”

He nodded, eyes darkening again, and you lowered your head to kiss him, deep and slow. Felt yourself meld into him with a smile as his cock hardened against your thigh.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the white rose he'd given you, discarded haphazardly on the wooden floor.

And something inside you just knew, you’d never get bored of this.

a/n: hope you liked it. thank you again for the love and for screaming along with me this whole time <33

taglist: (more in the comments) : @superchatnoir07 @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904@pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @ohstardew @ohmeadows

[rueclfer]

crave to do it again // touya todoroki

when just for a second, it all felt so simple

a/n: geettt this shit out of my drafts!!! is this the fucking angst yall wanted!!!

@bbluefllame 😔

At 12:00AM, it was unusual for the city to go quiet. Aside from the buzzing lamp post, crickets chirping, and the occasional chatter from the nightcrawlers down the street, you wondered where everyone had gone. Maybe they knew what was to come.

The cool night breeze was circulating through your apartment along with soft ambient music emanating from your record player. You were fists deep in various articles of clothing, crumple up notes, loose photos, and more all haphazardly thrown in dingy cardboard boxes.

"Touya, look." You call his attention away from the wad of paper in his lap. "You have to wear this tomorrow." You held up the "If lost, return to Y/N" shirt you had gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday last year.

"Asshole." He chuckles. "If any part of that shirt survives, they'll come for your ass next."

"Heavy on the if." You mutter, sadly smiling to yourself, letting your hands fall back into your lap.

You tightly clutched the black fabric, looking closely at the worn cracked lettering before bringing it up to your nose, deeping breathing in his faint lingering scent of citrus and cedar mixed with laundry detergent.

You two were sat criss-crossed on your bed with a box sitting in between you two. You occasionally glanced up at him to see his furrowed brows focus on whatever item he had in his hands, silver hair damp from the shower, and him sporting an old band tee you two passed back and forth as a pajama shirt. You wished you could take a picture of this moment.

Everything almost seemed normal. Almost. You tried not to let the dread brewing in your stomach overwhelm you, but your hands had been clammy all day, you couldn't keep any food down, and you were sure you were less than 12 hours away from a breakdown.

"Gross. Don't know why I kept this." He flips a photograph over to you, revealing a creased family photo of the Todorokis burnt around the edges, but every single face still legible. "Throw it away for me, yeah?"

"Absolutely fucking not." You snatch the photo from his fingers, peering closer to see him in his childish glory- missing teeth, tousled hair, and a wide grin that had diminished with age.

It was rare for you to see a photo of Touya before he joined the league. You never told him, but the night he revealed his full name to you, you scoured the internet for any photos from his previous life, but only ever finding the haunting school photo from news articles announcing the death of pro-hero Endeavor's eldest child.

"I'm not throwing any of these things away." You held the photo close to your chest, tears suddenly welling up in your eyes the moment they met with his own.

His eyes widen for a split second, before faltering into a soft, regretful gaze.

"There it is." He sighs.

Touya shoved the box in between you two off of the bed, reaching over to take you in his arms.

"You know, I was waiting for the waterworks all fucking day, I was almost sure you were looking forward to me dying."

"Shut up, I'm fine." You say, tilting your head back, letting the tears settle back in your eyes.

"You don't have to be fine, sweetheart." He mutters, bringing your head into his chest, holding you tight. "We can talk about it, you know."

"It's just.." You begin, pulling back with tears streaming down your cheeks now "..look at how perfect this is, Touya." You plea. "Look at us." You gesture to the mess of your bedroom with his belongings and boxes scattered around.

In another timeline, it would have been an image of you two moving in together. It's your first night. You're figuring out how to split the closet with him. Maybe you can have breakfast for dinner for the fun of it. You'll try to sleep early, but you two are giggling to yourselves until early in the morning. You two would sleep in until mid-afternoon, and spend the rest of the day in bed. He'd stay.

"I know. I'm sorry." He whispers, reaching up and swiping away your tears with his thumbs.

You knew that despite the end coming near, it was all still perfect- meeting him, knowing him, falling in love, spending his last moments with him. Last moments. The dread was creeping up your throat. How can you make time stop?

Touya knew deep in his heart that if there was anything that could have saved him, it would have been you. If he had just been a bit less rotten, if he had been born in a different hour, in a different body, he would have married you, given you a quiet life, and anything else you wanted. He wouldn't have this festering darkness inside of him threatening to overcome with every passing second. He wouldn't have been born with a single purpose. His life could have been yours for the taking.

"Promise you don't hate me for this?" He hangs his head to rest on your shoulder.

"I could never hate you." You rake a hand through his hair, letting the other rest on the nape of his neck. "I'll think about you for the rest of my life. I'll celebrate your birthday every year. I'll talk to you every night before I go to sleep. I'll tell everyone about my partner and how big his heart was and how he made the stars shine for me. I'll love you forever."

"In another universe, I would have given you everything." He murmurs.

You two silently settled in bed, tightly wrapped in each other's arms as you laid your head on his chest, and taking in his heartbeat by memory, being sure to lock the gentle sound in your head.

"What do you think you'll do after?" He breaks the silence, hand running up and down your back.

"Maybe find God or something?" You sigh. "I dunno."

"Don't make me fucking laugh." He chuckles, almost making your eyes water again from hearing and feeling the deep vibrations through his chest. "God does not want to find you, that's for damn sure."

"Well ask him for me, when you see him, yeah?"

"So sorry to break this to you, babe, but I don't think I'll be meeting God tomorrow." You could hear a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I guess I'll see you in hell then." You look up at him, meeting his eyes in the moonlight leaking in from the open window. "Put in a good word for me."

"That's more like it." He presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You two silently ask yourselves the same question. Will he be fine after tomorrow? Will you be fine after tomorrow? Will that little boy in the burnt photo be at peace? Will you be able to go on?

"Any last secrets?" You ask, half joking. "Or any burning piece of information you've been keeping from me? Now would be a great time to unpack."

He takes a moment to think.

"When you go through the rest of my clothes, in one of my pant pockets, I still have the wrapper of the condom we used from the first time we fucked."

You slap your palm down on his chest.

"Dumbass." You laugh. "Why the fuck would you still have that?"

"What can I say, I'm a sentimental guy. Put it in a scrapbook or some shit." He shrugs, smiling at the thought.

"Yeah. I will." You half laugh, half choke out, silent tears now staining his shirt. "I have a secret too."

"Go for it."

"What if I told you I already killed your dad so there's no need for you to go out tomorrow?"

He shifts his body to face you now, slinging an arm over your waist and pulling your body flush to him. The air was filled with you silently sobbing behind your hands. You told yourself you'd be brave for him, but the bitterness in your heart had been leaking. It was circulating in your blood, and you couldn't pretend like it wasn't killing you from the inside anymore.

"I'd say, cool." He presses his cheek against your forehead. "And then we'll stay like this all day. Or maybe we'll take the first plane ride out of Japan. Wherever you'd wanna go, I'll follow you."

"Yeah. I'd like that." You say in between sniffles. "I think it'd be nice to leave Japan. Just for a bit."

You wondered if this was acceptance or denial. You could laugh and cry about it now that you're in Touya's arms while you two were waiting for the sun to come up, but for a long time, you saw the headlights in the distance, and the humming slowly growing louder in anticipation as tomorrow crept closer and closer.

In this moment, you accepted that you would grieve for him much longer than you were able to love him. You denied that he would be leaving you in a few short hours. You accepted that this was a necessary evil that had to be taken care of. You denied that this was the only way.

In another universe, you won't have to miss him. In another universe, he doesn't have to die for this. In every single one, you love him for as long as you'll remember him. In every single one, he'll survive through you.

You eventually hear his breathing slow down into deep inhale and exhales through his mouth. This was your last act of love for each other while you two walked this Earth together- a quiet night in each other's arms.

You memorized the patterns of his scars, the way they brushed against your skin. The color of his eyes you would see in the ocean. His silver hair still clumped in your hairbrush sitting on your bathroom counter. His love dazed expression is captured on a photo strip hidden in your wallet. Maybe he'll live forever, after all.

He'll wonder how long it'll be under you check your glove department for his letter. Knowing you, it'll at least be a few weeks.

"Idiot." He thinks to himself.

Your laugh echos in his head right before he's engulfed in flames. He wonders if your homemade cream could heal these new burns. Can you see him now? Tell him you're proud. Death isn't so sweet as he imagined, he wants to tell you, but seeing your face dissolve with his vision as he burns up is as close to heaven as he'll get.

In the end, you were right. You always were. It is nice to leave Japan. Just for a bit.

[inlovewithpandora]

ᥫ᭡ — Cut The Cameras

Artists — Hobie Brown x fem!influencer!reader

Lyrics — While you're filming a video for your YouTube channel Hobie walks in your studio and sees you in some revealing attire. When he sees your ass spilling out your shorts all he wants to do is bend you over and fill you up.

Genre — Oneshot

Music Advisory — lighty Halloween themed, subtle fluff, smut, porn w/ plot, afab!reader, p in v (unprotected), overstimulation, mention of creaming/squirting, implied handcuff usage, imagined as black!reader but you can always imagine reader differently

Duration — 1.1k words

Words from Artist — This is my first Hobie smut post so I’m excited to share it with y’all! I wrote this around October but I didn’t post it due to my hiatus so I’m posting it now. Always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — main m.list・atsv taglist・navigation

You stand in front of the mirror making sure your outfit, makeup, and hair are up to your standards before turning on your camera. The intro card begins to play and once it finishes, a smile spreads across your lips and you say your opening line. “Hey, guys! Today, I’m finally doing a Halloween costume haul since a lot of you requested it. I ordered ten costumes from Fashion Nova and I’ll link everything in the description so you can purchase them. Now let’s get into the video!”

—

You’ve been filming for almost thirty minutes and have shown four different costumes. Once you change into something new you turn the camera back on. “This is the next one.” You turn in a circle, showing off your costume that’s the scandalous version of inmate attire. “I really like this costume, I think it’s snug in all the right places and I love how the color orange looks on me.” As you continue talking to the camera about the costume, showing them the silver handcuffs that came as an accessory, you hear the door to your video room open, making you turn your head to see who is coming in, even though you have a feeling who it is.

Hobie walks in with a confused expression, wondering why you were standing in front of the camera wearing clothing that accentuated parts of your body he didn’t want the world to see. “Hey, baby!” You come over, grab his hand and pull him into the camera’s view. “I’m glad you’re here because I’m making a video for Halloween costumes and I want your opinion.”

You spin around so he can get a full view and just from that small moment, he can see the slight jiggle of your ass that’s spilling out your shorts and your breast moving upward before resting in their normal position. “It looks amazin’.” He walks right behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You look so sexy in this.” He mumbles before starting to nibble on your earlobe.

You can feel him flush against you, pressing his growing bulge into the swell of your ass. By the huskiness of his tone and by his actions you can tell what is on his mind. “Hobie, I can’t right now. I have to finish this video.” You tell him while grabbing his arms, trying to free yourself from his hold. You’re determined to get this video finished today because you want to have it edited and uploaded by the end of the week, especially since you haven’t been posting lately due to your busy schedule.

Hobie grumbles at your words and tightens his grip on your waist so you don’t have the ability to escape his firm hold. “We can make a video of our own if you like.” You can practically hear the smirk on his lips as he hints to creating a porno. His hands begin to travel to his favorite part of your body, your beautiful cunt. By gliding his hand down your stomach, he finally reaches your pussy and once he does he cups it, rubbing his fingers across the clothed area. “C’mon, love, I know you want this too. Let me give it to you.” Hobie knows that you weren’t going to give in, that’s why he’s resorting to one of your weaknesses. He turns his head a little and begins to plant kisses on your neck, swirling the tip of his wet tongue on your skin while lightly sucking, creating the first of many hickeys.

“I-Okay, Hobie, y-you win.” Your voice is soft and quiet with a hint of a quiver, feeling your heart pounding inside your chest from the sensation of Hobie’s current attack on your neck. You know that his advances would only increase and that he isn’t afraid to strip you and bend you over with the camera rolling, so you decide to give in and let him have his way. You reach out in front of you and click the power button and once you see it completely shut off, you turn to Hobie with a small smile across your lips. “I’m all yours.” Your voice holds much enthusiasm and lust as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, and before you know it your legs are wrapped around his waist as he carries you to your shared bedroom.

—

“Hobie, s-slow down! It's too much!” You cry out, feeling his mushroom tip pounding against your cervix while keeping his hand tight on your hips. Hobie is brutally attacking your cunt, slamming his pelvis against your ass, making sure you are receiving every inch of his lengthy dick. Everything is becoming too much since you have come multiple times before this round, so your pussy is far past overstimulated.

Hobie knows that he’s pushing you past your limits, but he has faith that his baby can take it. “I know, baby, but this is the last one. You can cum one more time for me, can’t you?” He coos as he runs his hand down your spine, pushing your back into a deeper arch which allows him to hit new angles of your g-spot. Now, since you’re in a new position, he is hitting the spongy part of your walls, causing your legs to tremble underneath him, a sign that you are close to achieving your next orgasm. “Atta, girl, I knew you could do it f’me. Cream on this dick.” Hobie encourages you with a hard smack on your ass, making your body shudder from the impact.

“Oh, shit!” Your next sentences are jumbled together as your brain short-circuits so the best words you can vocalize are profanities besides your boyfriend's name that all come out in moans. Your cunt begins to clench around his shaft and soon after you come, your cream begins to coat his dick, and your juices squirt onto his abdomen. Hearing the lewd noises coming from your lips, and the squelching sounds coming from your wetness cause Hobie to release his warm seed into your empty womb.

Hobie gives you a few more long thrusts, making sure his semen has reached your uterus before he pulls out. When he withdraws his length from your warmth and lets go of your hips, your body goes limp and falls onto the bed, not having enough strength to do anything else but relax. Hobie can’t help but chuckle at how fucked out you are, but in his defense, he just couldn’t hold back, not when you looked so sexy and desirable in your Halloween costume.

When you finally can muster up some energy, you turn over and are met with Hobie's brown eyes staring down at you with a smirk on his lips, already thinking about fucking you again even though he promised this was the last time. “One more round, baby and this time we’re using the handcuffs.”

Previous Song

Editor — @justmemyselfandthemoon

Fanbase — @inspace1 @phoenixx69 @savagemickey03 @cxsmiclore @soilmayo @liyahsocorro @baizzhu @solanawrld @onlyloaksgf @popeheywardssecretgf @number1gal @taylormarieee @toneystank-3000 @h3art-l3ss @mellagzz @em-x0 @3zae-zae3 @beargracecanbeanyone @miguellover6969 @strawberryclouds22 @ban-al3x @kxllanxtdoor @lorarri @maxlynn17 @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @miunmoxo @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @tater-tot0423

[raitonsfw]

𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 | 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚏𝚢𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛

synopsis: Fyodor offers to take care of you on your period, as weird as that seems to you. Normally it would be the usual gestures, like milk chocolates and warm baths; but you never thought he’d be into this.

warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, smut, period smut, blood play/kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v intercourse, dirty talk, creampie, massages, petnames (my love, good girl), insecurity about having a period, fyodor's a sweetheart.

a/n: marked it as dark content because well, blood play. if its not your thing that's okay, personally was just craving fyodor in every type of way today so this idea came about. wc: 2.7k. m.list

now playing: MOON CYCLE by melanie martinez

divider credit: @benkeibear

You had curled up near the window with one of Fyodor’s blankets wrapped around you. It was cold outside, nothing new, it was winter after all. The holidays would be coming up soon and you reminded yourself to look for a present for him in the next few weeks. A mug of hot cocoa sat amongst the coffee table and you stared at it solemnly.

Fyodor hadn’t come home yet.

It’s the same routine over and over. You wait by the window, seeking solace in the snow that stuck to the branches of the trees. His footsteps were often covered over by the time you awoke in the morning, the goodbye forgotten on the tip of your tongue because he never managed to disturb your sleep. He was silent in the dawned sunrise, the light barely reaching the windows that he opened for you. The birds chirped lightly as he left without so much as a trace lingering within the bedsheets next to you.

The window was your company, in its hinges and blinds. It was your only company as you waited for him to come back from his post. You didn’t know what he did most days, it didn’t matter in your eyes. He never brought home the insolent manner he forgave in the midst of his work. He’d lay everything outside the door and walk in with a fresh aura, something you were grateful for. And then the rest of the night, he was yours.

The hot cocoa had gone cold, the marshmallows melted into the drink and you frowned at it. You forgot you had made it for yourself, too preoccupied by the starlight moving its way through the sky. It wouldn’t do much for you anymore, the comfortability of the hot drink wouldn’t make your pain go away. It was that time of the month, where everything ceased to be exciting. It felt horrible, especially without your lover’s arms massaging your aches away.

Fyodor would take care of you, to the best of his ability at least. Chocolates would be sitting by the fireplace and warm baths would be drawn for your sake when he knew you weren’t feeling all that well. Fresh blankets would be piled onto the edge of the bed as well as some of his clothes for you to wear. But what he couldn’t help you with was the insatiable wanting that overcame you, you wanted him on a silver platter. Wanted nothing but to be touched by him, in every place you could imagine. Wanted nothing but to touch him and make him beg with that lovely accent of his, dripping curses from his lips.

But you couldn’t picture Fyodor ever doing such a thing for you. Not when his hands were so clean, you knew blood would surely taint his demeanor. Maybe he would even leave you, disgusted by the simple question. You didn’t want to ask, afraid of what the future would look like without him due to a stupid fantasy. A stupid desire.

The front door opened with a quiet noise, pulling you from your muses. Your head snapped towards it and you smiled. “You’re home.”

“My love, you look cold.” Was the first thing he said when he saw you, cuddled up in the corner of the sofa. You nodded, snuggling up more into the blanket. His scent wafted off of it and it eased you as you watched him put his belongings down on the kitchen counter.

“I have the fireplace going, plus I found your blanket at the bottom of the closet.”

“Ah, so that’s where that went.” He chuckled lowly, shedding his overcoat and hanging it over one of the dining chairs. His hat came off next, resting on the same chair. “How was the day?”

“It was fine, I just read a book.” You held up the small book from your lap, flipping through the pages for emphasis. “I finished it too.”

“Was it one of the ones you found from my collection?” He asked as he moved around the living room, tidying up some of the mess you had made. He picked up the stale hot cocoa mug and pondered at it for a second. “Would you like another one?”

“No, it’s okay Fyo.” You sighed, waving your hand at him. You probably wouldn’t drink a fresh one either. The dull pain crawled against your back and you pouted a bit. “I don’t want to waste another one.”

He murmured a tiny ‘okay’, bringing it over to the kitchen counter. You continued talking about the book you read, it was one of the ones you found from his massive collection. He had a library of sorts, to say the least. Bookshelves lined the bedroom you shared with him, novels housed within the wooden crevices. You were stunned when you first saw the shelves as you moved your belongings in, forgetting how much of a bookworm he could be.

Now they comforted you as you sat alone on those chilly days, waiting for his return.

“You’re not feeling well?” Fyodor asked, a hint of concern sprinkled in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem to be.” He came up behind you, leaning over the sofa to kiss the top of your head. He placed his hands on your shoulders and squeezed gently, trailing them down your back. His fingers kneaded into the depths of your shoulder blades, relieving some of the pain that sat there. “My love…”

You shivered at his touch even though it was over the blanket, reveling in the way his presence felt. He gently moved your hair away from your neck, pressing a few kisses there with a soft hum. His tongue lapped at the light hickies, some he left days prior when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. One of your hands came up from under the blanket to rest in his hair as he sucked a few more into your skin, a soft moan leaving your mouth.

“Did you miss me?” Fyodor asked quietly and your hand ran through the soft strands of his hair, pulling at them lovingly. You captured him quickly into a hushed kiss, moving your lips gently against his. A short noise came from his mouth, like he was a bit shocked you kissed him first. He wasn’t used to you making any moves, normally you let him take the reins and decide how he wanted to move his chess pieces with you. A strategic game it was, he had to come up with new ways to keep you entertained so you wouldn’t become bored.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He muttered against your lips, a smug laugh coming from him. You pulled him closer to you, that wanton feeling hitting hard in the pit of your tummy and you whined into the kiss. You needed him, needed to watch as his eyes rolled back from searing pleasure, needed to hear him force your name out between sobs-

He broke the kiss, patting you lightly on the arm and you looked at him confused as he leaned back up. “Fyodor-?”

Your confusion fizzled away as he picked you up from over the sofa and you realized you shouldn’t have started this. You shouldn’t have gone with your instincts, shouldn't have given in. You couldn’t tell him no, he knew you wanted him from the way you just acted– how were you supposed to tell him you were on your period?

Or did he already know from how you were acting? Did he not care? You couldn’t tell. Panic set in underneath your skin and you fidgeted in his arms as he brought you to the bedroom. As he laid you down on the bed, you hesitated when the white sheets caught your eye. “W-Wait, hold on.”

“What is it, my love?” His hands snaked underneath the soft shirt you were, one of his shirts, and you let out a yelp at the cold intrusion. Fyodor rolled his hips against you slightly and you whimpered a bit as his erection rubbed against your clothed clit. You really didn’t want to stop, a small sigh had escaped him and you were going feral from it.

“Ah, your hands are cold.” You whined out, but you didn’t really care all that much. “I don’t think we should-”

“It’s okay.” Fyodor said, looking at you with concern again. You felt your heart sink at his expression as he got to his knees and off of you to give you space. “We can stop if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, looking towards his bookshelves. He really did have quite a collection, the series neatly cluttered together in the heart of the center shelf. You avoided his gaze on you, hoping he wouldn’t question any further. But deep down, you were praying he’d realize and still fuck you into oblivion.

Fyodor’s eyes kinda widened, seemingly understanding why you were acting this way. You knew he wouldn’t shame you, a warm bath was waiting and he’d go out to get you that milk chocolate for you, letting you eat it to your heart’s content. “Time of the month?”

You nodded and a wave of sadness rushed over you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t help that you feared the worst. Not that he’d leave you, but that he wouldn’t indulge you. Your arousal had already settled within your body, the buzzing sensation rushing through your veins. It would be such a bother if he stopped now-

Fyodor pulled you from your thoughts again. “Please don’t cry.”

You felt him rub small circles into your hip and you couldn’t be more thankful at the intimate gesture. He pressed his face into your neck, holding you in a tight embrace and you let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t mind.” You heard him murmur into your neck, his hands trailing to your waist. “I can take care of you.”

“With a bath and chocolate?” The familiarity felt nice, though your mood became dampened. You glanced down at where his hands were, but you didn’t question it.

“No, my love.” Fyodor made his way down to your chest, planting kisses above your breasts and over them. He sighed fruitfully as he thought about what you asked, hiking your shirt up over your tummy. “Well, yes if that’s what you want waiting for you afterwards…”

You watched him lap his tongue against your chest, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh and you groaned out, head falling back against the pillows. He let out a slight laugh as you opened your legs for him a bit, letting him settle in between them. Moving downwards towards the pudge of your tummy, Fyodor pinned you to the bed by your thigh.

His fingers slipped inside the waistband of your (his) sweats and you gasped as they found your clit like second nature. He massaged it gently, taking in your choked whines. “I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

His violet eyes bored into your figure as you seethed under his touch, his forefinger dipping slightly into your cunt. He moaned to himself as he felt the wetness, the blood that pooled there, slicking up the tip of his finger. Of course he didn’t care, he just wanted you– in fact, you might’ve awakened a new kink in him.

“Maybe I’ll even taste you, savor you on my tongue…” He continued with a whine etching the end of his sentence, mocking yours as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows weakly. “You want me to-?”

You cut him off sharply, the ‘yes’ falling from your lips as his fingers slid fully in. Curling them in and out, you arched your back with his name falling from your lips. “F-Fyo-”

“Yes, my love?” He didn’t stop, sped up his movements even, looking up at you with endearing eyes. Yours stared back, albeit some uncertainty filled them. He kissed you once to calm your nerves before lowering back down towards your thighs with an assuring smile. “Don’t worry about the sheets.”

He slipped his fingers out quickly and tugged your sweats over the swell of your ass, pulling them off completely. Pad and panties forgotten, he moved them aside to the edge of the bed somewhere. Gripping both of your thighs, he hoisted them over his shoulders and fervently licked a small stripe up your cunt to test you. And when you moaned out, eyes shutting tightly and hands flying to his head, he dove right in.

He savored your metallic taste, lapping at your clit and into your cunt with a lick of his tongue. Fyodor groaned into you as you pulled his hair, your thighs twitching as he drove you crazy. He could feel your slick against his cheeks, but he didn’t mind. He welcomed the way it made you squirm, you were pliant and submissive, desperate to feel something– anything. You were completely putty in his hands and his dick throbbed in his trousers, strained against the white material.

He came up for air, his face stained and you gasped. But, again he didn’t mind, simply just wiping it off on his sleeve as he moved to pull himself out of his confines.

“Fuck, can’t wait any longer.” Fyodor breathed out as he positioned himself between you. Sinking in slowly, a low moan was drawn out of him and you nearly came right then and there. His hands came to clasp yours and his dark eyes fluttered shut as he bottomed out. He felt you tighten around him and he shook with pleasure as he thrusted into you. “Such a good girl for me…”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way he dragged within you. It felt like you were on fire, every single instance of you dreaming about this coming to the surface and melting from his touch. He pushed into you again and again, a slow rhythm, and even though it was slow, an obscene noise came from it. The wet squelching made you dizzy with excitement and Fyodor buried his head into your neck again, panting out small curses.

It felt amazing, Fyodor could barely contain his moans. His cock had stuffed you to the hilt and your blood made it so easy to fuck into you without much force. He rocked into you with tiny whimpers, trying so hard not to cum but he felt it rushing up his spine the more he plunged into you. This was the best decision he’s ever made, to take care of his lover who needed him.

You chanted out his name, your back arching up into him and he thrusted into you faster. He pinned you down again as he changed his position, leaning back and pulling your thighs close to his hips as he sat almost on his haunches. He watched his dick disappear in and out of you, the so-called red filth becoming near molten gold to him. You gripped the pillow above you for leverage as he plowed into you. You felt your orgasm nearing, expelling within your nerves and you whimpered, looking at Fyodor. He looked back at you with hooded eyes and pressed one of his hands on your tummy.

His hips faltered slightly and you watched his eyes roll back, pumping shallowly into you and painting your insides with his cum. He fucked it into you and your orgasm followed right after him, nearly shattering your senses as you clenched around him harshly.

Fyodor pulled out of you, littering kisses against your flushed cheeks as you caught your breath. He massaged your hips fondly and smiled warmly. “I’ll run the bath for you, my love.”

You don’t know what you did to get such a perfect lover; one minute you were in such a dark place and the next, he’s there to kiss your sorrows away. He went to run the bath for you and you looked at the sheets, blemished with you– you and him combined and all you could think of was how the hell you were going to get the stains out.

“Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll take care of it, now come here and let me take care of you.”

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[confessioncassette]

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

minors do not interact. 18+

II - “I want everyone to see you.” 

IX - “Look at you, squirming around like that. Pathetic.” 

(regarding this post)

summary : you play a joke on Alastor and it backfires

tw : nsfw, DUBCON (consent is not voiced, Alastor owns readers soul already), public (shaming? humiliation), degradation, fingering, yandere themes - PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

“Don’t act all shy now, my dear. Remember who started all this?”

You could try and act that this wasn’t your fault, having your body pressed against the cold glass forced to overlook the city of Pride below you, but you’d be lying. Alastor’s temper has put you in a rather sour mood lately, so why not have a little fun to ease the tension? Owning your soul was one thing, but the demon always took it to another level. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was because he has an aggressive case of power control. Who the fuck knows, but, like when all things come to a head, it was time for you to mess around in your own way.

You’ve filed through every harmless prank you could think of this week. It was time for the arrogant bastard to choke, just like the sickly cherry flavored syrup on silver spoon he’d been forcing down your throat since you’ve become a pet on his chain. It was supposed to be all in good fun, obviously for your own gain, to do the one thing you knew was off limits.

Now, you know the demon has a particular short temper, but you never thought that it would lead you to this.

“Out of all the things your little mind could come up with,” Alastor’s voice drawls close by your ear, “you decide to interrupt my show.”

You knew that poking the bear was a dangerous act, but what’s the fun in that? Alastor always wedged his way into your life, finding the most ridiculous tasks to give you at any time of the day. Day after day, he silently weasels his way into your life, appearing out of thin air like a fox sneaking into the henhouse- which is ironic considering his looks. He always makes himself visible, appearing around every corner, every meeting, every dinner- smiling like he’s got the upper hand, just to spite you. Your cup was surely overflowing, it was only a matter of time for that last straw to set you over the edge.

“Did you forget who owns you?”

The jaunty song playing over the radio fades out, clearing the air within the studio. Condensation from your breath fans over the window as you remain still, awaiting his next move. Maybe he’ll continue his show as normal and save your punishment for later in the sake of his beloved hobby… you could only hope.

The air is thick and the hairs of your neck prick your skin. Vermillion eyes intensely gaze at the back of your head, swimming with so much disgust and scrutiny that it almost feels physically invasive.

Subtle static of a record fills the broadcasts’ dead air.

After what feels like an eternity, Alastor finally moves to reach for the microphone, all while keeping a firm grip on the nape of your neck to keep you pinned. Your cheeks burn numb from the cold, and you swallow, quickly coming to the realization that this little joke you’ve played was a huge mistake.

Alastor wasn’t in the mood for silly games, nor was he ever, but with the way his eye twitched and lips curled into a sinister smile when you hid under his desk to unplug his microphone mid-show… you guess you didn’t really think it through.

“Welcome back, dear listeners! I apologize for being cut short earlier, I had a little mouse in my studio. Though I hope you enjoyed Eddie Cantor in his infamous song ‘Makin’ Whoopie’ as you waited!” Alastor laughs lightheartedly before setting the microphone up on a small stand. In the next millisecond, both of Alastor’s hands were below your waist to roughly rip your panties down over your thighs and flip your skirt over your ass in one swift motion.

Alastor’s reflection in the window showed his eerily calm composure, his gaze downcast, focusing on himself as he slides off his gloves, tossing them carelessly to the floor before loosening his bow tie.

“We’ve had a change of plans. You see, I’ve caught this little mouse and I haven’t a clue what to do with the poor thing.”

Polished red tipped shoes kick your feet further apart, as one clawed hand curls around your waist while the other that held your neck travels downward; a single finger trailing slowly over your spine. The scratch sends a chill down your back and flares your instinctive fight or flight response. It’s funny, the cool glass shivered you to the bone, but that clawed finger branded your skin.

“Your heartbeat,” Alastor growls, “I can feel the vibrations. Is this poor little mouse scared?”

Indeed you are. Your blood rattles under your skin and your breath shakes unsteadily within your ears. With his prey caught in a trap, paralyzed in fear and eyes blown wide, he savors the moment.

So pretty - to have you still for once.

“If you think moving right now will get you out of this situation, you’re in for it. Stay put,” he warns in a lowly, pessimistic tone.

In a split second, like you’re not even there, Alastor continues to talk to his listeners.

“Now! Let’s give a little lesson, shall we? When a little joke goes too far, what should you do?” He pauses for a beat like he’s waiting for his audience to answer through the speakers, “that’s right, punishment. And what is the best way to punish someone?”

A hand spreads your ass apart, and roughly at that, sharp fingernails threaten to break the soft flesh. You whimper, but not too loud. Avoiding your gaze to the city below you, you opt to close your eyes. Alastor’s floor to ceiling windows give the illusion of standing on the edge of a cliff. You pray to whatever god would hear you in the depths of Hell that it doesn’t crack under the pressure, and your stomach blanches at the feeling.

“Humiliation.”

Two long, thick fingers force their way into your hole and you arch slightly at the intrusion.

“Humiliation is the best way to teach someone that their acts have consequences. If one is humbled enough, they’ll never do it again.” The end of that sentence was filled with static, his voice a demonic growl. Lights flicker all around you in the studio, the knobs of his ancient electronic equipment going haywire.

“Alastor, please I’m sorry!” You whimper the best you could, lips squished against the window and all.

The demon tuts, then lowers his voice to speak directly to you. “You got yourself in this mess, little girl. It’s only right that I correct your insane behavior.”

“Shut up if you know what’s good for you.” Alastor adds.

The long fingers that fill your hole now begin to move at a medium pace. Your own slick coats him in one, two, three steady pumps. The sound of your wetness begins to fill the air along with the radio static as he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit, forcing the sounds from your hole to amplify.

You roll your head backwards, lolling your mouth open in a silent scream. Your eyebrows furrow with his ministrations, and fuck, does it feel good. You would have never thought that the prude demon would have this in him, to pleasure so well…

“Look at you, squirming around like that. Pathetic.”

Sharp teeth scrape the tenderness of your neck before gently biting down, forcing a half shocked scream of pleasure. But you don’t dare say anything, not when it feels this good, not when you’re confused from it all.

Where did this come from? Surely this wasn’t just from the prank you pulled. No, this passion is deeper. This comes from…

Alastor’s smile creeps wide, eyes glimmering with delight as he reads every expression of your face, your body, you scent, your heart beating like a little rabbit. It’s only fair he’d let you know now that this was the final push before all hell broke loose. He just needed a reason to bend you over the table to properly exercise the pent up emotions. A good reason other than he owned you, because for him, that’s not entertainment.

“Ah,” Alastor sighs, “seems like this little mouse is enjoying her punishment. Come on, dear, let everyone hear your little moans of pleasure.”

You let a groan slip past your lips, sultry and smooth as Alastor curls his fingers deep into your cunt, dragging the pad of fingertips along your sweet spot. Breathless and dazed, your moans sing a sweet melody to his ears.

“Do you like this? Do you like being my little pet?” The hand over your hip guides you to hump back into him, meeting his knuckles deep inside you. Squelching fills your ears, and this earns a groan from the demon behind you, his voice vibrating your backside.

Alastor contemplates conjuring his chains around your neck, but what’s the fun in that? He already has you trapped, compliant.

“So helpless, don’t worry,” He tuts, ears pinning back as he enjoys the way your walls squeeze tightly around him.

In the heart of the Pride ring, where most channels are broadcasted, all TVs are switched off in an instant. Sounds of your pleasure ring through every street and alleyway, catching the attention of all who dwell here.

“So pathetic, fucking yourself on my hand. I can feel you leaking all over me, squeezing me… Do you want more?” Alastor’s tone is degrading. You’ve never heard him like this before. He was the master at come backs and shit talking without aggressiveness, so this comes as a shock. Maybe this was who he was behind it all. Maybe his own feverish emotions override it all. The power trip you have known to know was way worse when it meant you’re completely at his mercy.

“That pretty little face, you don’t even care that you’re exposed for all of Pride to see, do you? You want people to see that you’re mine? You like being controlled?”

This time, that hand that rests on your hip, travels forward and down to your little bud.

You fuck back into him fully now, a burning fire grows deep in your belly. With every thrust, you’re either met with his fingers knuckle deep, curling at your gummy walls, or forward into the pad of his fingers swirling wet circles at your clit. You can’t control the feeling, your body acts as if you’re a rabid animal, desperate for release. Your walls tighten around him, and your body grows hot, your mind drifting away… away… away for that string to snap.

Alastor pauses.

You let out a breath you didn’t think you were holding, tears swell hot in your eyes. You blink, wetness catching your lashes, but again, you don’t dare make a sound. You don’t dare tell him your disappointment.

He might not even let you finish if you did.

So you remain good, in hopes that he’ll continue.

“This doesn’t seem like a punishment, does it?” He chimes before amplifying his voice to the microphone.

“Beloved listeners, you all know that I reside here at the Hazbin Hotel.”

Your eyes shoot open and you blanch at the thought. You know where this is going.

“No,” you whisper, meeting crimson eyes in the reflection of the window.

“Hmm?” Alastor taunts, his head tilting to the side, ears twitching as he does.

In one breath, the demon ignores your pleading eyes.

“This pest has had me at my wits end lately. I’ve been dying to properly dispose of it. I encourage whoever is listening, if you have free time, to stop by the hotel and see a show.”

Your knees buckle and once Alastor was done, he began pumping his slender fingers deep inside you once again.

“You’re going to be a spectacle.” His voice low and right outside your ear.

“I want everyone to see you. I want everyone to see you unravel in my hands. Only then will you know who you belong to. -

Only then, everyone will know who you belong to.”

[about-faces]

So a month ago, I received an awesome present from @edward-nb, who attended the Thought Bubble arts festival where they spoke to Christian Ward on my behalf. Next week, I received this in the mail:

Normally, I would have just posted that with the usual AAAAAAAAAAAAs and whatnot, but I knew I wanted to do something special with this. And, oh right, I just happen to be a custom framer at Michael’s.

Photos don’t do this justice, because the colors (both the print’s and the framing materials I chose) are much richer in person. Doing this really made me appreciate Ward’s use of color.

Designing and assembling this was one of my tougher jobs, and I really wish I’d been taking photos of the whole process just so you could understand how much work went into this. First, a custom-order two-tone frame, made from two separate frame designs of the same molding.

I also sprung for a silver fillet with a nice tarnished look, resembling a coin and/or Scarvey’s prison bars. I wanted to have it be a uniting factor between the two colors, while also letting the more tealish frame stand out against the blue top mat. The teal frame and the blue mat both work beautifully with the piece, but up against one another, they were clashing. I fear they still are, honestly, but I hope the silver was an effective fix both aesthetically and thematically.

Additionally, I added a spacer between the purple and middle mat, which adds a lovely bit of shadowy dimension and drama.

I’m still not 100% sure I’m happy with it, and I do wish we had more variety with color at our disposal, but this was the design I kept coming back to, and I’m very pleased with how it turned out.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Keigo Takami General Profile

Yandere! Keigo Takami x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, implied masturbation, possessiveness, lots and lots of guilt, Stockholm Syndrome/you've kind of lost it by the end, mentions of eating/eating healthily, mentions of murder, Dabi makes an appearance and is directly responsible for your kidnapping, insinuation that Keigo's jerked it to some rather icky nasty stuff of yours, non-consensual photography, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 15K (genuinely how)

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

If Keigo was pressed to describe his type, the very first thing that he would blurt out is intelligent. He wants a woman that can match him in terms of intellect. Someone who can follow his quick-paced jokes, his sarcasm, someone that keeps up with him, really.

He finds it wildly attractive when a woman is confident in her own knowledge, and ideally his darling would be knowledgeable in an area he knows next to nothing about.

He likes hearing them spiel on about something they’re passionate about – and he'll be listening, intently, with a hand under his chin and eyes glossed over because while their words are interesting, watching them is really what’s fully engaging him. There’s something wonderful about the way that they’re able to answer all the questions he prompts them with, never missing a beat and fully dissecting his question before giving their best thoughts back.

It’s just wonderful, and although he’d never divulge any sensitive information to them out of fear for their safety, there’s something euphoric about knowing that if he really wanted to, if he could, he thinks they would understand how he feels.

He thinks they could understand how careful he has to be, how he has to think out his every move and word dozens of times in advance, making sure everything is exactly how it should be.

And really, this helps Keigo feel less lonely – it’s less polarizing and solitary if he knows that his darling could support him, even if he won’t tell them anything.

Just the knowledge makes him giddy, his heart beating faster because it feels so very good to not be alone.

Witty

Similarly to their intelligence, Keigo needs a darling who’s able to dish out what he serves. A witty, silver-tongued darling would have him constantly on his toes, finding that speaking with them is entertaining and leaves him wanting more.

His darling isn’t boring, or a drag to speak to – their stories and commentary leave him on the edge of his seat, growing addicted to their voice and finding himself wanting more more more, eagerly asking all sorts of follow-up questions that he normally wouldn’t bother with.

And really, this is one of the first signs that his feelings for them have ventured beyond friendly – he’s never been this invested in someone before, never wanting to interact with them so badly, never wanting to be around them and hear their voice and watch their lips move to form syllables.

He finds his darling’s sense of humor to perfectly match his own, leaving him winded and often more flustered than he’d care to admit.

They’re just so cute – the knowing little look they send him when they crack a bad pun that leaves him chuckling, the way their face scrunches up when they make an accidentally dirty joke.

It’s endearing, really, and it only makes him fall for them harder, his desperation to see them growing stronger with every passing day because god, they’re just so perfect.

Civilian

While Keigo is capable of developing an obsession with a fellow hero, it’s unlikely.

Part of what draws him to his darling is their innocence – they don’t understand the realities of their society, how violent and horrible the darkest members are, how much crime and unrest fills the city streets right under their nose.

It’s the way his darling is able to be so happy and carefree in the face of such terror that draws Keigo in – they practically radiate positivity, talking about their own mundane life and managing to lull Keigo into a false reality that he, too is simply a civilian.

That he isn’t a double agent with a non-existent sense of self, that he isn’t bursting with stress and anxiety at any given time. It’s a nice reprieve, really, and it’s one that he slowly begins craving. The moments of peace and tranquility addict him, causing him to view his darling as a sort of stress-reliever, someone he can go to when things become too heavy, too dark, too much.

He wants to hear about everything happening in their lives – their crazy neighbors, annoying coworkers, the cat they saw crossing the street, the latest thing broken in their apartment. He wants to know about the mundane things, the things he’s never experienced and never will experience.

His darling is a sort of portal to a totally different world – what he could have had if he hadn’t been born into the family he was, if he hadn’t had inherited his quirk, if he hadn’t have done this or that.

His darling represents possibility, a side of Keigo that he desperately, desperately wishes he could embrace – which is why he slowly begins fantasizing about a future with his darling, always complete with a nice little house, a few children, a pretty ring on their finger, and complete domestic bliss.

It’s a dirty fantasy to him, really, something far off and dreamy, but with every interaction he has with his darling, it only stronger, and he only grows more desperate.

Empathetic

Keigo needs someone who is able to see past the layers of persona he puts on as Hawks and instead see him. Keigo Takami. He needs someone who’s able to listen to his words and comfort him, to see the frightened, abused boy he still is at heart.

The idea of a darling who’s able to understand him on such a deep, raw level leaves him feeling equal parts terrified and relieved, because he’s never really had someone there for him before.

The concept of a companion, of someone to rely on and love and cherish is such a foreign concept to him, and although he finds the idea enticing (having watched more than his fair share of rom-coms and trashy romance movies), Keigo doesn’t believe that he’ll ever get to experience it.

His life is too busy and hectic, and having a woman to hold and love and protect would add too much unnecessary strain. Except once he meets his darling and he feels seen for the first time, things begin changing. No longer does he find himself alone, internally grappling with his real identity and his hero identity, slowly losing himself with all the stress and obligations towards the commission.

No, he’s not alone because he has them – his darling, the one who’s smile and a simple brush of their hand leaves him breathless, feeling like a little kid with a sense of wonder and hopefulness and love that makes his heart pound in his chest.

A darling that’s able to incite these feelings in him is really the key to catching his attention in the first place – a cruel fate, really, considering his darlings is only trying to help him, only trying to help reassure him that he doesn’t have to be the ever strong, ever cool Hawks in front of everybody.

It’s a noble thought, really – but ultimately one that dooms his darling, forcing the blond to latch onto them with incredible strength and never, ever letting go.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

It takes quite a while for Keigo’s obsession to form. He’s never really had the time nor desire to get close enough to someone to even consider a relationship, and while he’s a had a one-night stand or two, that one night of intimacy is the closest he’s ever gotten to someone. He’s just not emotionally available, and for very good reason – he’s lived his entire adult life (and much of his youth) completely under the Commission’s control, his every desire, action, and thought controlled by others.

It’s sad and some part of him knows it, pitying himself even, but Keigo’s just not interested in developing any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. He doesn’t have time, and there’s a small part of him that questions if he’s even able to form that kind of a connection with someone. A childhood full of abuse, training and emotional neglect has fucked him up in more ways than one, and he’s genuinely unsure if he’s even capable of something like love, if he’d even be able to give someone a healthy relationship, his heart.

He swears off romance, finding it trivial and just not something for him, but things begin changing the longer he knows you, the longer he’s around you and spends time with you. His feelings are purely platonic at first – you’re funny, someone he finds himself actually getting along with and not dreading seeing, and it’s always a pleasure when he happens to run into you when he’s out on patrol or just wandering around the city in a rare moment of free time.

(And at this point, it genuinely is random – there’s no pre-planned meetings, no orchestrated attempts at just so happening to run into you, no attempt to follow you or know your location at all hours of the day. It’s just fate, really.)

He slowly warms up to you, deciding that he actually really likes you, and as the weeks turn into months, there’s this feeling that starts tugging at his heart. It’s this strange phenomenon where when he’s lost in thought, planning out his next moves in making sure he balances his double agent lifestyle, there’s this lingering thought of you.

He’ll gear up in his hero suit, shrugging the jacket on over his wings and checking himself over in the mirror, only to let his hand linger over his jacket lapel. He’d never noticed the small speck of blood on the tan material – had you? It was surely an enemy’s, some criminal that he’d roughed up a bit too badly before capturing, but it was still an unfortunate sight. His lips quirk down a bit as he thinks of whether you’d noticed it when you’d ran into him at the end of his patrol yesterday – you hadn’t mentioned anything, but maybe you were just being polite.

Something about the thought of you seeing him with blood on him leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

It’s not until a notification on his phone gets his pocket buzzing that he snaps out of his small reverie, blinking at his reflection and feeling a small bit of confusion settle over him. Why was he thinking of you? Surely it wasn’t your blood, and you hadn’t been present during any of his fights yesterday – why had the thought of you popped into his mind?

Keigo’s not sure, but he pushes aside the thought as he jumps off his balcony, the wind catching his wings and letting him soar towards the Hero Commission building.

He doesn’t give it much thought, but then it happens again the next day; he’s out on patrol, flying a good ten feet above the skyline of this particular neighborhood, when he sees a woman walking with a bouquet of flowers. They’re pretty, he supposes – roses mixed with some greenery and tulips, the kind of perfect bouquet you’d see in a rom-com or some cheesy movie.

He smiles a bit, seeing the way the woman was sighing down at them with a dreamy look on her face, and before he can stop himself there’s this flash in his mind of you with flowers in your arms. They’d be a different color, of course – your favorite color, and maybe even a different flower. Whatever one was your favorite, that’s what he’d get you.

He freezes as the last thought flits through his mind, his wings freezing too and causing him to falter a bit mid-air, desperately flapping them to stay afloat. What the hell?

He doesn’t like it, at first – the way you’re slowly seeping into every aspect of his thoughts, always some little twinge of you sitting at the sidelines, an idle thought of wow, you’d look great with that shirt on or a small question of would she like this?

It makes him uncomfortable, because he doesn’t know how to deal with this strange new development – sure, he's heard all about love and falling for someone, because while he may not look like it, he’s watched his fair share of chick flicks and raunchy romances.

But still, this is different – it’s different because it’s him, because it’s you. And it’s different because Keigo notices, as time passes, that none of those films or stories mention just how all-encompassing the feeling is, or how it makes him want to swing by your apartment every night, flying outside your window and letting those honey eyes scan the room to find your familiar figure.

They don’t mention anything about the desire that eats him up at night, how he seems to see you in everything around him – his pillow is soft, but he’s sure your stomach would be softer. His dining chair is comfortable, but having you sit in his lap would make it more comfortable.

The ratty shirt with the massive holes cut in the back is loose on him, but where it looks sloppy on him, you’d manage to look cute, he’s sure. It scares him, if he’s being honest, because he feels his control over himself slowly slipping through his fingers – he can’t stop himself from checking over you when he knows you’re at work, repeatedly flying through the area when he really doesn’t need to, just to make sure there’s no villainous activity.

(And always keeping an eye out for you when he knows your shift is over – he always gets too nervous and chickens out, but one of these days he swears he’s going to swoop down and pick you up, holding you in his arms as he flies around with you, chuckling in your ear and pulling you flush against his body under the guise of ‘safety’ – just please ignore the hardness you feel against your back or the labored breaths in your ear.)

It scares him that he can’t stop himself from suddenly paying much more attention to your every word, listening to you like you’re spouting holy epiphanies as you tell him about your coworkers or this new film you watched, biting his lip and nodding along, letting his eyes occasionally flick down to your mouth as quickly as he can, just so you won’t notice.

Thus starts a troubling pattern – Keigo starts slowly craving learning as much as he can about you, because with every thought that pops up into his head, he finds his knowledge about you is sorely lacking. He doesn’t know what your favorite flower is – he can’t get you that bouquet he was fantasizing of.

 He doesn’t know where your favorite take-out place is – he can’t surprise you with dinner on nights he can tell you’re tired. (He can tell because he’d followed you home from the air and noticed your slouched shoulders and the way you’d looked on the verge of tears when you’d stubbed your toe on the uneven sidewalk, but still.)

He doesn’t know what size shoe you wear – he can’t pick you up those new shoes he thought you’d like, or get you a new pair of those fuzzy, warm socks he noticed were looking a little ragged in your laundry bin.

 He doesn’t know what your ideal date is, so he can’t plan one with the knowledge that you’d be as happy as humanly possibly, all smiley and bashful and shy, all because you’re with Keigo himself.

It frustrates him, and he figures it wouldn’t hurt to look into you just a bit more – he’s got access to all kinds of information, security clearances associated with his status as both a hero, an agent of the Hero Commission, and an agent of the Meta Liberation Army making pretty much any piece of information he wants to get his hands on accessible. He’s getting access to your computer and phone, sifting through your search histories, contacts, even your bank accounts and government information.

(How else would he be able to start depositing occasional bits of money into your account, gifts he knows you won’t notice because you never check your transaction histories? You may not know about them, but he does, and it makes him feel good, important when he’s gifting you a hundred dollars here and there, making sure you have a cushion so that you can spoil yourself and indulge in all the things he knows you want to, but you don’t have the funds to do so.)

He’s designating a specific feather to slip into your purse or pocket, attached to your person so that he can track where you’re going, feeling the vibration against your back when you’re talking, when you’re shivering because you’re cold, when you’re standing or sitting or laying or moaning and gasping and shaking –

(He’ll always stiffen up when the feather he’d managed to slip into your jacket starts vibrating with the sound of your cries, his cheeks and neck feeling unbearably hot as he starts to sweat, wings twitching uncontrollably and rushing to the nearest bathroom, clutching the sink and grimacing because god, you’re moaning so damn much, you must be touching yourself and he’s not even there to see it, not able to watch you fall apart – maybe you’re even thinking of him, of how he’d fuck you nice and deep, pushing your knees up to your ears and groaning your name over and over while he fills you full of his cum – He’s in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time, and when he comes back with his pants just slightly askew, Dabi will cock a brow but not make a comment.)

He’s even going so far as to set up cameras in your apartment, having broken in one day when you weren’t home, making sure they’re placed in inanimate objects so you don’t find one and get scared.

(Though, he can’t deny that the image of you running to him in fear, crying and clutching onto him and telling him that someone’s stalking you has a very nice ring to it… Ultimately, though, he knows it’s best for you to not take on the stress and burden of knowing your every move is being watched, recorded, stored onto his phone and computer so that when he can’t sleep at night or is particularly stressed from all the lying and sneaking around, he’ll have something pretty and sweet to look at, something calming and relaxing, something that makes him sigh and his lips quirk up into a small smile as his thumb rubs the technology, imagining it was your cheek.)

It’s a slow slide into his obsessive tendencies, but once his feelings for you have formed in full, Keigo is a lost cause – and once you end up trapped with him, forced to depend on him for everything, this trait will only present itself more strongly, becoming harder and harder to ignore because he won’t bother hiding it anymore.

You’ll be scared and apprehensive every time he arrives with a glass of water right when you were beginning to feel thirsty, but really, you should know better. You’ll be unnerved when he presents a new bottle of shampoo to you right as you start itching to shower, but it’s inevitable.

Keigo knows you better than you know yourself, after all – and he just wants to keep you happy, keep you safe. He's just in love, and doesn’t he deserve someone to love?

Doesn’t he deserve to be happy too, to finally, finally have something all to himself, something that’s his?

Protective

Frankly, though Keigo hides it well, his protectiveness over you is unbearable. He’s a seasoned pro-hero who spends a good amount of time with villains, and as a result he’s more than aware of just how dark of a place the world really is. He has intimate knowledge of just how many horrible people are hiding in plain sight, all the violent and horrific crimes they commit, and just how often they manage to escape unscathed.

And of course, he also knows just how many innocent victims get wrapped up in their schemes, often resulting in injuries and trauma and even death. And while Keigo generally is disapproving of murder, he’s even more staunchly against the concept when it’s your death, when you’re the lifeless body that’s laying on the cold, hard cement, blood pooling around your head and your pretty eyes staring aimlessly above, your fingers cold and your neck bruised and oh god oh god –

The realization that the way he feels for you has wandered into romantic territory is the same moment that he realizes that you could very easily be one of the civilians he was just a hair too slow to save.

He’s helping an older woman crawl out of a pile of rubble left behind from a stand-off with a villain, part of the building having collapsed in on itself, and all of a sudden he sees something sticking out from below a large, cement cylinder – a foot, stained red at the ankle, and immediately he feels sick.

Evacuations aren’t always successful, and oh, look at that – the foot’s complexion is oddly familiar, and he swears he’s seen that nail polish on someone else’s fingers before. Bile actually rises up the back of his throat as he realizes that everything about this unfortunate soul reminds him of you, even down to the hair dotting her leg. It’s a hard pill to swallow as images of you bloody and bruised flash through his mind, each one making his chest tighter than the last.

It leaves his fists clenching and his jaw tight enough to make his teeth hurt, and it’s in that moment that his body almost seems to operate on autopilot – the images of you battered and too injured to be helped are still swirling through his mind as his feet leave the ground, his wings beating faster and faster with every second, his desperation to reach you strong enough to get his heart practically racing out of his chest.

The wind is whistling in his ears as he flies to your apartment, his muscles aching from the exertion, his lip caught between his teeth as he mentally chants that you’re okay, you’re okay, please God you have to be okay.

It’s only once he lands on your apartment balcony and sees you clumsily doing your dishes in the kitchen sink that relief floods his system, his entire body sagging against the railing as he finally lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding back.

You’re okay.

You’re alive and breathing, and as his eyes scan every exposed inch of your skin, he can’t find even a speck of blood. A hand comes up to rest over his heart, and Keigo swallows, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing with the weight of the motion.

He spends longer than he’d care to admit on your balcony that evening, those yellow eyes watching like a hawk as you move about in your tiny apartment, mentally assessing each and every movement. You’re pretty like this, he thinks – you’re entirely unaware that you’re being watched, but there’s something about seeing you be so natural and free that’s exhilarating, making his heart pound and his cheeks flush pink because this is what you’re really like when no one’s watching. It makes his chest ache to see it, his gloved fingers reaching out and pressing against the glass of your sliding door, the urge almost unbearable to be with you and hear what he’s sure is you singing along to some horrible song.

He’s idly wondering if you cook all your meals, and that’s why you have so many dishes – would you cook for him? He's a lousy chef and frankly a bit picky about his food, but he’d eat anything you make for him with a bright smile and trembling fingers, eagerly wolfing down the food and being nearly brought to tears because you made this for him.

He’s imagining the way you’d let him hold you at night, sharing a bed with you and your body pressed snugly beside his, an arm draped over your side and your soft breaths tickling the expanse of his chest. It’s a pleasant thought, but all too soon his phone is buzzing and he’s brought out of his reverie, glancing at the time and sucking in a sharp breath because it’s been an hour and a half of him just sitting here, gaping like an idiot at you.

Embarrassment creeps up his spine, but before he jumps off the balcony and heads to the Commission to report back, he spares a final glance over his shoulder at you, and the smallest of smiles sits on his lips, something warm blooming in his chest.

But from that moment onwards, Keigo slowly becomes more and more consumed by the idea of just how truly unprepared you are for any sort of villain encounter. You have a quirk, sure, but it’s minor and not especially useful, and it certainly wouldn’t help if you were to be cornered in some dark alleyway, or if you were to hear your front door’s lock being picked, or if you were to be caught in the crossfire of a villain robbing a bank.

And it’s small things that remind him of these facts – he'll see you trip over seemingly nothing, losing your footing and stumbling for just a moment, and immediately fear is sitting heavy in his gut because god, you’d be dead meat running from a villain. It’s endearing, of course, but it’s scary.

He hears you giggle sheepishly and rub the back of your neck as you admit to your friend over lunch that you’d forgot to lock your door when you left for groceries yesterday, his skin and feathers bristling and a small prick of anger bubbling inside him because are you asking to be the next tragedy covered on the news?

 He takes you out for dinner (that he hopes you’ll think of as a date, even if the restaurant is a simple diner that he knows you love) and sees a bandaid on your finger, his voice a touch lower than his previous joking tone as he asks if you’re okay, did you hurt yourself? Your response of how you’d accidentally caught the sharp edge of a razor in the shower makes his entire body tense, both at the idea of you in the shower and at the idea of your blood being drawn, of the way you’d probably hissed and bit your lip, the pain acute. You’ll notice the way he freezes up, this look on his face that you can’t quite describe, but soon he’ll be flashing you that familiar grin, taking a sip of his soda and telling you that unshaved is better, hasn’t anyone ever told you that?

(He likes the way you roll your eyes and pretend that you aren’t embarrassed by his comment – at least, he hopes that’s how you’re feeling, because the comment made him himself a little hot under the collar.)

Everything you do is a reminder to him that you’re weak, and it’s this constant mantra that moves Keigo to take his own measures to ensure your safety. He’ll offer to walk you home from work every day, waving off your concerns by telling you that his patrols end right around that time anyways so it’s no big deal.

(They don’t – they tend to end much earlier, but this way he can fly around for a bit, trail you from the air and keep his eyes trained only on you, all with the luxury of lying when you notice his presence about how his patrol areas happen to line up with the district you work in.)

He’ll tell you that he’s sure your cooking is good, but he knows what place has the absolute best lunches – and would you look at that, it’s not too far from your apartment! Maybe you’d be interested in getting lunch with him sometimes? He knows the owner pretty well because he’s always in there, maybe he could even get the both of you a loyal customer discount.

(He’d only started eating there because a late night of watching you through your apartment windows had led to his stomach growling too much to bear, and he’d strolled into the twenty-four-hour establishment absolutely ravenous for food, still glowing from having watched your sleeping face.)

He’s even making unsolicited, subtle remarks about your own habits designed to get you to change some of your more problematic traits – he’ll tell you that eating breakfast is actually very good for you, he’s heard that people who skip breakfast tend to have bowel problems.

(It’s delivered as a joke and you snort because he’d been a little graphic with a bad pun thrown in there, and as Keigo basks in the sight of your smile and the sound of your laughter, he hopes that you’ll remember the sentiment – you need to be eating properly, after all.)

He’s telling you that crime rates have been awfully high in your neighborhood lately – it’s recommended for all civilians to avoid speaking to anyone on the streets – just for safety purposes, of course.

(And because it dramatically reduces the number of men you interact with, something that makes both his protectiveness and possessiveness cool ever so slightly because that means one less man that you could meet and fall for and want and love-)

And why shouldn’t you believe everything that he says? He’s the number two hero, a man who’s saved more lives than you could imagine – how could he not be the authority on safety? Who are you to doubt anything he tells you, any advice he gives you?

And Keigo knows this – which is why he’ll start pushing further and further with time, trying to convince you to drop anything dangerous at all; did you know that more people cut themselves with knives than with all other cutting tools combined? You should really be careful, you know – besides, sometimes recipes are better with whole tomatoes!

(Really, he just wants to avoid seeing a knife in your hands – you’re not trustworthy with something so sharp, even if the sight of you in the kitchen slaving over the stove is strangely adorable, strangely right.)

Did you know that most animal attacks are from dogs? Maybe you shouldn’t consider getting that cute puppy you’d been gushing about – you just never know.

(Really, Keigo’s just worried that you’ll end up spending all your time and attention with said puppy, leaving him with only the most meager scraps that won’t be nearly enough to satisfy him, and while he’s serious about the dog attacks, he’s mostly just selfish. Plus, an animal companion would make slipping through your window late at night almost impossible.)

Did you know that the vast majority of murder victims are women? You should probably take him up on his offer to be your personal chaperone – consider it a favor for a friend, he’d told you.

(Though he’d been gritting his teeth as he said the word ‘friend’, even the feel of it on his tongue making something ugly twist in his gut. The way he feels for you certainly isn’t friendly – it can’t be, not when he’s imagining waking up with you every morning, the way your lips would taste, how you’d look on your knees staring up at him while you gag and choke and suck so hard your cheeks hollow out.)

And once you’ve been kidnapped, this trait is only furthered, his paranoia eating away at him because he knows you’ll be rebellious, that you’ll want to lash out and hurt yourself and hurt him, and just the thought leaves him buzzing with anxiety, stress eating away at him because he absolutely refuses to let you get injured in any way.

You have to stay pristine – his gorgeous, precious partner that he loves, the only woman who’s ever made him feel something so strong. You have to be okay – because if you aren’t, then he isn’t either, and the only thing more dangerous than a powerful, cunning man living a double life is a broken, apathetic man who wants everyone to know just how little life means now that his other half is gone.

Controlling

His controlling tendencies manifest as a result of both his extreme protectiveness, and as a sort of coping mechanism from the lack of control he has over his own life. He does love you – at least, he thinks this is love.

(If it’s not love, then Keigo doesn’t know what the fuck this could possibly be – what else would cause him to be thinking of you at all hours of the day, his body physically aching and yearning to be with you? What else could cause his breathing to hitch and become so uneven when you’re in his presence, his quirk nearly out of his control as his feathers ruffle and flutter and come down around you like some sort of cage?)

He loves you, sure, his obsession festering into something darker, deeper, more unmanageable and impossible to come back from, but there’s a part of him that begins exerting this control over you as a way to satisfy himself.

By dictating your life, it’s almost like he’s dictating his own – like he gets to choose what happens, like he has self-autonomy, like he isn’t just a puppet being used by others. It’s euphoric, cathartic, and this only furthers his dependence on you – not only do you make him feel something warm and gooey and suffocating in his chest, but you also make him feel calmer, more grounded, more whole.

But as lovely as it is for Keigo to finally get a grip on his own mental health, this has rather disastrous effects on you – even before he’s stolen you away, these controlling tendencies are present. Of course, they’re difficult to spot when Keigo is still just the handsome, flirty hero who seems to have a soft spot for little old you. You’re in a metaphorical honeymoon phase at that point, beyond flattered that someone like him has noticed someone like you.

And so, you don’t really notice the way that he tells you to stop hanging out with a particular friend that you keep rambling on about. They’re going through a hard time, you’re sure of it – it’s the only reason they’ve been so snappy and distant lately, and it’s only natural for you to bear your burdens to Keigo, telling him how they were rude to you last weekend, how they’ve been ignoring your calls, how you’re at a loss because what could possibly be happening?

And Keigo will grit his teeth, his smile tight and visibly strained as he clutches onto his coffee cup with white knuckles, eventually telling you wow, that really sucks, some friend. Maybe you should stop hanging out with them – obviously they aren’t as invested in the friendship as you are, sound like they’re not as good of a friend as you are, frankly.

It’s good advice, all things considered, but it’s presented in a way that flatters you, that makes you sound like you’re the reasonable, good friend and they’ve simply dropped the ball. And so, you’ll follow his advice – that friend isn’t contacted again, and Keigo personally sees to it that you’ve blocked them, having gone in and manually done it on your phone while you were fast asleep.

You won’t notice how he makes subtle comments about what you should order when you’re at a restaurant together – he’ll never make comments about your weight, but he’ll prompt you to eat something healthier, something more, something that’ll leave you happy but nourish you as well. The comments are again difficult to spot – when he opens up the menu, he’ll pipe up and tell you that they’ve got that salad you were talking about the other day – you know the one? Yeah, sounds good – do you want to split it? I think we should get some extra chicken on top, too.

(Once the salad arrives, of course, you’ll be eating the majority – Keigo will nibble at it, picking at it and making a bit show of always having his fork packed with the greens – and a lot of the chicken – but you’ll be the one shoveling food into your mouth, feeling full by the time Keigo’s eaten roughly ten bites.)

You won’t notice it much at all, really – which is why it’s such a shock to one day wake up in Keigo’s luxury, king-sized bed, the soft white sheets smelling like fresh laundry and the pretty red, silky pajamas he’d changed you into feeling foreign on your body.

But just like his more needy and clingy tendencies, Keigo’s controlling nature will start to show itself once he’s stolen you away. There’s no point in hiding how he feels now, is there? You’re aware that he’s in love with you (he tells you every fucking day, after all, with a hushed voice that sounds much too vulnerable for you to bear and a barrage of kisses along your jawline and neck), so what’s the point in dialing down some of the more questionable aspects of his infatuation?

He’d kidnapped you out of paranoia, and now that you’re with him constantly, he’s able to really, fully control your actions and the things you’re allowed to do. He’s not too dehumanizing with it, but there’s a lot of limits on things that you normally wouldn’t even think about – you’re allowed to watch TV, but only for an hour a day and only specific channels and programs he’s approved.

(Generally, the cutoff for what he considers ‘appropriate’ for you are things without graphic violence, nothing terribly sad, and nothing that would cause you tension or stress. So, all horror movies are off the table, all dramas, all action films, really only leaving the things he wouldn’t mind watching with you – romances, mostly, and the occasional film with much more erotica than he realized. His face will turn red as the actors moan and whisper hushed I love you’s, his yellow eyes nervously flicking over to you from his spot beside you, his fingers itching to reach out to you, the blanket covering you both suddenly feeling much too hot.)

You’re allowed to eat what you want, but with a few very strict guidelines – you can’t have anything over a certain amount of grams of sugar, nor are you allowed to consume anything that isn’t paired with a vegetable. He’s forcing you to eat protein, and if you don’t eat meat he’ll count out a specific number of nuts you must consume that day, just to make sure you’re getting proper nutrition.

He especially loves if you’ll let him feed the nuts to you, or any food, really – he likes to feel needed and helpful, and to have you looking at him with those pretty eyes, the fork pressed against your lips while you swallow and thank him for the food… It makes Keigo’s breathing get a bit heavy, his mouth watering because god, he wants to use that fork after you, would you think that’s weird?

He’s not taking away any of your basic privileges like dressing yourself or using the restroom alone, but Keigo has a way of making you feel pathetic without even trying to; there’s just something about the way he looks at you, all soft smiles and wide eyes, his palms always clammy and nervous, his touch always hesitant but eager.

He won’t explicitly create a schedule for your daily life under his thumb, but you’ll essentially be in one, anyways. He leaves for work in the mornings, parting from you with a very, very tonguey kiss, and while he’s gone on his patrol all day, you’ll cycle through reading a few of the (pre-approved) books he’d gifted you, practicing your art skills, practicing your musical skills, and staring out the fifteen-story window, the one-way, bulletproof glass not giving you even the option to crack it if you wanted to brave the fall.

You’ll be stagnant, really, something that Keigo doesn’t appreciate at all once he notices it happening, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely can’t relinquish control – you’re his, and even if you’re unhappy, Keigo will be damned if he gives up caring for you and making your decisions for you. That’s love, isn’t it? He knows what’s best for you, so why can’t you see that? Why do you fight him and tell him he’s a monster, a horrible, horrible man?

He just wants to keep you safe and happy and loved, so why are you making it so fucking difficult?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

While Keigo isn’t too terribly possessive as far as yanderes go, he really only has so much self-control. Of course, he doesn’t like seeing other men around you, those already narrow eyes of his growing even sharper and smaller because he does not like this.

But what sets Keigo apart from others is that while he’s enraged, anxiety and anger prickling at his skin and causing goosebumps to litter his entire body, he’s smart. He’s good at reading people, at fully assessing situations and making split seconds analyses, and that’s exactly what he’ll do whenever he sees you in a situation where another man is showing interest.

He’ll examine the man’s face – is he smiling? Laughing? Serious? Frowning?

Smiling and laughing generally means one of two things – either the man hopes to become friends or acquaintances with you, or he’s flirting and he thinks it’s going very well. Keigo can’t decide which option he hates more.

A serious expression or a frown normally means that the man is trying to create a mysterious air – to embody hypermasculinity, to try and lure you in by looking the part of the strong, dominant man who’s only weakness is you. It makes Keigo cringe, his nose scrunching up in a wince as he thinks of how terribly stupid this man must be to think you’d fall for something like that – he obviously doesn’t know you or your intellect, at least not like Keigo does. Nobody knows you like Keigo does – not even yourself.

He’s looking at the man’s body language – if he’s leaning towards you, he probably has less than innocent intentions, either trying to intimidate you or get close to you to fulfill some sick, perverted urge.

(An urge that Keigo knows all too well – the urge to feel you, to touch you, to smell you, to have your skin against his. It’s an urge that he’s had to fight more times than he can count, stopping himself from scooping your into his arms and burying his face into the crook of your neck, his hands roaming every inch of your body because god, you smell good and you’re so fucking pretty and your voice is like heaven to his ears and you feel too damn good pressed against him like this and fuck you drive him absolutely insane.)

If the man has his hands in his pockets, that generally signals to Keigo that he’s not as confident at this as he’d like you to believe, showing the hero that the man is more than aware that you’re wildly out of his league, that really the man should have absolutely no business speaking with you.

Keigo’s noticing the distance between your body and the stranger’s – if it’s more than three feet, he’s able to take a small, minimally relieved sigh because at least the man isn’t likely to try something. But if he’s closer to you, dangerously close to being in your space and making you feel uncomfortable, immediately Keigo’s wings are flapping, the movements harsh and unconscious as his fists tighten and he grits his teeth because he’ll be damned if he lets anyone make you uncomfortable.

And he’s analyzing your body language, too, of course – if you like the interaction, if you’re pleased by the attention, if you’re scared, if you want to leave, even if you want to leave with the stranger himself. And while Keigo wishes he was wrong, the moments where you actually seem to be enjoying the flirting of a stranger make him bristle, a deep scowl settling on his face while insecurity and panic grip his heart because he has to stop this before it's too late – before you let yourself get wooed by another man before Keigo even gets the chance to fully earn your trust and adoration.

Seeing you approached by potential rivals for your love really brings out the worst side of Keigo – it brings out all the skills the Commission drilled into him, those eyes of his dissecting the other man like he’s merely a slab of meat, the blond finding every possible point of weakness in the man’s stature or attitude, just so Keigo can understand the full scope of what he’s competing with. Just so that Keigo can understand exactly how he can be better than this loser – how he can impress you and get you acting all bashful and dismissive of his witty flirting just like you should be.

Jealousy isn’t too pretty on Keigo, and while he won’t just blindly murder any man that steals your attention for even a moment.

(He’d lose his hero status very quickly, no matter how much he sometimes wants to send a feather clean through their neck, slicing their head off and feeling not a smidge of remorse because now he’ll finally stop running his mouth at you when you’ve clearly already been chosen to be Hawks’s woman – the number two’s sweet, important little partner that he absolutely cannot lose).

His patrol had felt incredibly long today – no large villain sightings, with only a few petty muggers making the time pass. Keigo sighs, wings flapping and wind whipping in his ears as he eagerly scans the streets below.

Normally, you’d be walking to the grocery store right around now – he’d noticed you were low on eggs, so it was only a matter of time before you braved the cold autumn air. Suspicion immediately pricks along Keigo’s spine, however, as he slowly flies along the path that you take to the store. You’re no where in sight – he doesn’t see your familiar jacket or notice the way the sunlight glistens off your hair, and immediately something uncomfortable is settling in his gut.

This wasn’t like you – you’d told him once that you prefer this time of day for your shopping because the store is the least crowded, and Keigo knows how you feel about interacting with strangers. And yet, you’re missing – something that makes him immediately pick up his speed, brows knitting together and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Eager eyes scan every sidewalk as he quickly makes his way to your apartment complex, every second that he doesn’t see you only furthering the feeling of dread slowly eating at him.

He’s near the point of whipping out his phone to call you and check the tracker he’d installed into your phone when he lets out an audible sigh of relief, having spotted your familiar form on the sidewalk below. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment at this point – and with a look of disgust, Keigo identifies the reason why.

There’s a man with you.

You’re standing and speaking with him, tucked away at the corner of the sidewalk, and immediately the feeling of panic is replaced by anger, his shoulders tensing up. As he swoops down and lands on the top of the building above you, he cranes his neck to get a better look at this man. Keigo’s never seen him before – you’ve never interacted with him in all the months he’s been watching you, leading him to believe that this man is a stranger.

Keigo taps his foot impatiently, trying to decide if this is good news or bad news. On the one hand, it’s always good news to know that you don’t have many men in your life – Keigo should be the only one, really, the only person, even, not just man.

But it also means that this stranger probably stopped you to strike up a conversation, which can only means two things – either the man is asking an innocent question, or he’s interested in you. Interested in you, as in wanting to date you, to kiss your pretty lips and hear you whisper those three words and bend you in half and make you scream and moan and gush-

Keigo grits his teeth, left eye twitching slightly at the mere thought of this man being brazen enough to approach you like this. And based off the way he keeps steadily stepping closer to you and you keep subtly shifting away from him, Keigo suddenly understands exactly what’s going on.

He hesitates for only a moment, a small pang of doubt registering in the back of his mind (wondering if this is how you look when you’re with Keigo himself, that annoying insecurity revolving around anything romantic and anything with you once again filling him with false worries), before he’s jumping from the rooftop, landing with a small grunt onto the sidewalk a few feet away from the two of you.

Clearing his throat, he walks with a bit more urgency than normal towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and leaning in.

What’re we talking about? Keigo asks, yellow eyes fixed on the man, any semblance of a smile gone from his face. His chest is puffed out ever so slightly, wings spread to make his physical presence as big as possible, to make him as intimidating as possible. Immediately you’re jumping, slightly embarrassed and slightly relieved at Keigo’s sudden presence. He feels you relax slightly against him and tries to ignore the way his throat goes dry and his pupils dilate – he’ll relive the memory of you feeling safe around him later tonight, but now’s not the time.

The man steps back immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at the hero sheepishly, guilt written all over his face. Keigo scoffs under his breath, examining the man’s face in closer detail. He’s somewhat attractive, and that same nagging voice comes back, idly wondering if you’d prefer brunettes like this man over blondes like Keigo, or if you preferred slightly taller men, because this stranger is easily a few inches taller than the hero. He frows, biting the inside of his cheek and willing the thoughts to go away – at least until he’s sorted this out.

Oh, Hawks, hey man, I didn’t – we’re not talkin’ about anything. Nice to meet you, miss. The man fumbles for his words, before quickly backpedaling and practically running the opposite direction, peeking over his shoulder every once in a while and wincing.

Keigo holds his ground, not moving, keeping those eyes locked on the man’s figure until he’s eventually a good block or two away. Only then does Keigo turn to you, his cheeks a little pink as he flashes you a smile. He’s still got his arm wrapped around your shoulder, and he gives you a small squeeze that he hopes isn’t too forward – he wouldn’t want you to get the idea that he’s after the same thing that stranger had been.

(Though really, isn’t he? He just wants all of you, not only your body – and he can take much better care of you, can’t he? Better than that gangly, sleazy man ever could, better than any other man ever could.)

He’s brought out of his small reverie by you profusely thanking him, telling him that the man had just approached you out of nowhere and you didn’t know how to leave the situation without it potentially escalating.

Keigo only smiles lazily, nodding at you and telling you not to worry, that he’s a pro hero, so it’s kind of my job, you know? Though for my favorite civilian, I don’t mind working overtime.

He winks at you after that, feeling only slightly anxious that you’ll find the action too arrogant, but you only blink owlishly at him, mumbling something about feeling guilty that it’s ‘overtime’. Keigo waves off your concerns, releasing your shoulder and trying not to show loss on his face.

You thank him again, smiling at him in a way that gets his knees very close to buckling, but he just clears his throat and nods, saluting you playfully and letting his wings flap, already a few feet in the air as he tells you to enjoy the rest of your night and to call him if any other creeps show up. You’re still smiling as he flies back over the roof of the building, but you don’t notice how he stops, peeking over the roof to see you make your way in the direction of the grocery store.

A small smile sits on his lips at the sight, smaller and more genuine than the smirk he’d been wearing moments ago.

Knew it, he thinks earnestly, already mentally predicting what you’ll pick up from the store. And as he hovers back into the air, cracking his neck and knuckles, he decides following you there couldn’t hurt – just in case any more men decide to mess with his woman. 

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Keigo’s obsession with you is overwhelming, terrifying, and pushes him to do a number of things that force his morals to be flung out the window of favor of keeping you safe, happy, his, but there’s still a few things that he can’t push himself to do, even with you in mind. One of these things is to steal you away.

 Kidnapping you is not something he wants to do – he may nurse a few beliefs about how you’ll eventually forgive him for being so obsessive and domineering over you, but Keigo isn’t stupid. He knows your image of him will never recover if he presses the chloroform-soaked rag up to your mouth and coos at you while you fall limp and into his arms.

He knows you’ll never truly forgive him if you wake up one morning in his apartment, breakfast in bed waiting beside you while he stares eagerly down at you, apologizing for having to be so extreme but trying desperately to convince you that he had no other choice, that he did it for you, that he did it to keep you safe.

He knows it won’t go over well, and Keigo already feels so unsure of how to properly court you and make you genuinely like him and not just Hawks that he doesn’t want to do something even slightly risky. He already knows that stalking you, breaking into your home at night to restock your refrigerator and lay beside you on your bed is crossing enough boundaries and grounds for you to be seriously afraid of him, but kidnapping you is a line he simply isn’t willing to cross.

At least, that’s how he initially feels – until something drastic happens, something that seriously threatens your safety and Keigo can’t just simply sit back and allow it to happen. And of course, it’s fucking Dabi – Keigo’s stomach drops when he hears you mention something about running into a man on your way over a cozy cup of coffee in a local café, the air warm and smelling of espresso.

He’d picked the café because he knew it wasn’t super busy – as much as his pride swells when civilians notice him and beg him for autographs and photos right in front of you, it also makes him nervous because the last thing he wants is to come off as cocky or arrogant or rude.

(Plus, the thought of making you jealous of his fans – especially the adoring women – gets his heart racing, his face and ears feeling hot because it makes him feel good that you’re being possessive over him, but he really doesn’t want you to worry. He’ll always be yours.)

But now he’s wishing it was full to the brim, voices chattering and making it difficult to hear the way you describe a man with so many piercings and a pretty serious skin condition came up to me, he knew my name! Keigo, why do you think he knew my name? Do you think I should be worried?

He’s stiff, every muscle in his body tense and his grip on the coffee cup in his hand so tight that it shatters, coffee and ceramic shards getting everywhere. He’s still staring at you, though, even as you gasp and stand up, running to grab some napkins and wipe up the still steaming coffee. There’s some on his hand but he doesn’t seem to care – to even notice, really, if the way he’s just staring and not even flinching is any indication.

Your brows furrow as you wipe the drink off of him, chest heaving slightly as you ask him if he’s okay, if it hurts, if he’s even listening to you. Keigo just swallows, still looking at you, before telling you with an unnervingly flat voice that it’s certainly weird, but I wouldn’t worry about it.

You don’t mention it again, instead trying to ignore the heavy atmosphere and the way he’s looking at you, all wide-eyed and not a single bit of emotion on his face. It’s scaring you, to be honest, and you’re quick to give him a small side hug and thank him for meeting you for coffee. Keigo mumbles something back as he watches you walk away, something prickling at the corners of his eyes that almost feel like tears as he imagines how Dabi could’ve possibly learned about you.

He’d been so fucking careful – always making sure to not let his phone ever directly point at your face or your address, never explicitly saying your full name in case he was being bugged, never even breathing any bit of information that the greedy bastard could get his hands on.

And yet, it’d all been for nothing – because now that Dabi knows about you, everything has changed. You’re in danger, because although Keigo believes that Dabi won’t immediately kill you, he can’t simply rely on his gut – you’re in danger. And although he’d promised himself he wouldn’t snatch you away, that he wouldn’t betray your trust and make you hate him, he doesn’t really have a choice now, does he?

And so, with a heavy heart and red, puffy eyes, Keigo slips into your apartment, the sleeping pills he’d mixed into your water sitting on your nightstand leaving you out like a light, even as he fabricates the crime scene. He’s shattering your window to mimic a home invader, tangling up your sheets and leaving dirty prints coming out your front door, your clothes ransacked and your television and computer destroyed.

It has to look real, after all – faking a death is difficult but he’s done it before, and as he soars away across town to his own apartment, with you clutched in his arms and your hair tickling his neck, Keigo can only whisper apologies against the crown of your head, squeezing his eyes closed and hoping that even in your unconscious state, you can feel how terribly, terribly sorry he is.

Of course, even though your kidnapping isn’t the idea situation for you or your captor, Keigo still tries to make the best of it. He doesn’t pretend to think that you’re happy with him – he expects the crying and screaming when you wake up the next morning, his expression carefully neutral as you accuse him of being a villain, a creep, even though it makes his chest ache in a way no injury ever has, his lips feeling numb because god, he can’t breath with how you look at him in disgust and hatred.

It’s horrible – but he grits his teeth and bares it, avoiding the pillows (lush and top-quality, of course, covered in sheets of your favorite color) you’re throwing at him, not saying anything until you’ve had your fill. And really, his explanation once you’d calmed down enough to listen to it isn’t nearly enough – he’s at a loss for words, really, looking at you with such honest eyes that it only makes you cry harder.

He’ll tell you that I need to keep you safe, and I – I’m selfish, so this is the only way. It’s lackluster and it’ll have you despising him, but as the days slowly pass, you’ll find yourself growing less and less enraged at him, instead growing more and more complacent about your new life.

Because really, Keigo absolutely fucking spoils you. He’s certainly not hurting financially, and he won’t bat an eye at buying anything and everything he thinks you could possibly want.

He’s getting takeout every night, ordering all your favorites (without having to ask you, of course, something that’d scared you at first, but there’s something about the way he eyes you as you eat it that makes you pause, his small, almost shy question of do you like it sounding rushed and nervous) and making sure to pick up snacks and goodies on his way home from almost every patrol. He loves to see you smile, and even in the beginning, when you’re still afraid of him and betrayed, the way your lips quirk up ever so slightly into the shadow of a smile when he hands you your favorite snack makes him gulp, something warm and overwhelming and hopeful bubbling up inside him.

He’s buying you pretty necklaces and jewelry that remind him of you, all the pieces startlingly within your tastes, his memory of the jewelry you used to wear so acute and strong that he knows your style even better than you do.

All of the clothing he buys for you (mostly comfortable clothing, lounging shirts and sweatpants and giant blanket ponchos) fits you perfectly, almost seeming to be tailored with the way they fit around your bust, hips, ass, shoulders, and thighs.

(He won’t buy you any formal clothing, however – he’s faked your death, and he can’t exactly take you out for a nice date now, can he? He wouldn’t mind doing a candle-lit dinner in his own apartment, maybe sprinkling a few rose petals over the table and cooking you something that he really, really needs you to like, but he knows you aren’t willing. You’d thrash and refuse, not eating his food and looking at him with those eyes, the ones that are hard and calloused and sting with pain. So, he instead purchases the pretty dresses with low tops and slits up the leg, storing them in his spare closet so that you never see them, so that you don’t feel forced into anything more than you don’t want. Kidnapping is enough – romantic dinners would be amazing, the kind of thing that Keigo thinks about with a small, sad smile on his face as he watches you sleep late at night, but certainly not a thing that could happen. Absolutely not – at least, not any time soon.)

He’s embracing each and ever artistic and creative passion you’ve ever had, buying you unfathomable amounts of supplies and instruments of the highest quality, waiting with baited breath to see if you like them, hoping with his hands clutched into fists at his side that you’ll smile at him, that you’ll look at him in anything other than hate – and perhaps, if he’s lucky enough, you’ll even thank him.

(Just the thought makes him shiver, a blush rising from his chest all the way up his neck because he can’t not immediately imagine the way you’d thank him – perhaps you’d give him a kiss, full of tongue and spit and moans, or maybe you’d even sink to your knees for him, telling him that you appreciate his thoughtfulness, his love, how he works so hard to keep me safe, won’t you let me thank you, Keigo? Please?)

It’s wishful thinking, of course, but Keigo tries to do everything humanly possible to keep you as happy as you can be given the situation. Of course, he’s still controlling, laying down rules that you’ll be too afraid to disobey, because although Keigo is soft with you and treats you like you’re made of glass, you’ve seen the televised fights, the way his knuckles are sometimes bruised after patrols, the way he snaps angrily into his phone when the Commission calls him with yet another assignment. He’s still dictating what you can eat, how much contact you get with the outside world, your limited sources of entertainment, anything and everything. But he tries his absolute hardest to respect you in every other way, if only to perhaps plant the seeds of you one day growing to tolerate him, of you one day even perhaps loving him.

And so, Keigo forces himself to do the hardest thing of all – not physically crowd you. He’s always wanted to be touchy with you, the years of not having anyone to hold or even give platonic physical affection causing him to be touch-starved, and so once you come into the picture?

Well, he’s only a man – he can’t help but imagine the way your hand would feel in his, fingers intertwined and your soft skin pressed against his own rougher hands.

He can’t help but imagine kissing you, feeling how soft and gentle your lips would be against his, how you taste, how you’d make little sighs and whines when he starts kissing you harder, deeper, letting even just the smallest sliver of his desperation for you shine through.

He can’t help but imagine pulling your body against his own, keeping every inch of you flush with him while you watch a movie together, his fingers toying absentmindedly with your hair, deep exhales sounding from behind you each time he leans in to catch a whiff of you.

He can’t not imagine the way you’d get all shy and bashful when the hand that’s been running up and down your sides suddenly dips lower, cupping at your ass while he lowly mumbles your name, telling you that he can’t hold back anymore, angel, can’t I have a taste?

He’s being good – he’s forcing all those urges and fantasies to the side, not putting you in a position where you feel forced into physical contact of any kind, sexual or otherwise. He’s respecting you, prioritizing you, even if it slowly destroys him. Having you right there, stuck with him, permanently bound to his side makes him want to grab onto you and never let go, to latch onto you like some sort of leech and take everything you have to offer and then some. It drives him fucking crazy, but he knows he’ll get nowhere by forcing anything onto you.

And so, he holds his tongue, forcing his hand to not reach out and touch, forcing himself to not say the compliment on the tip of his tongue that’ll likely make you more uncomfortable than flattered. He’s good, and eventually you’ll end up slowly coming to tolerate him. Sure, he’s kidnapped you and sure, you’re still understandably upset at him, but isn’t he right? You’d seen the man that approached you before Keigo stole you away – if he’d attacked you, what would you have done? You’d have hoped and prayed that Hawks would have shown up, that you’d been saved because you were too weak and incapable of doing it yourself.

So maybe he’s right – maybe you do need him, like he tells you late at night when he thinks you’re asleep. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, sounding more and more sure of himself as the night wears on and he repeats aloud that he’s keeping you safe, I’m keeping you safe, I know you don’t understand it now but someday you’ll realize that I only took you to keep you out of harm’s way.

And once you get past that barrier of hatred and animosity, it’s disturbingly easy to let Keigo take full control, to give into him in every possible way.

You’ll stop fighting his diet planning, you’ll gladly thank him for any book he gives you as entertainment, you’ll eagerly listen when he tells you about his patrol and how he encountered so many villains who’d done horrible things. And Keigo will notice this change in your attitude – it’s too early to tell and he’s always been too pessimistic to be hopeful, but you almost seem to be liking him. You’re starting to revert back to the woman he first became obsessed with – all smiles and laughter and snarky comments that left him choking on his drink.

And he can’t believe it – he has to pinch himself, staring at you in shock with a flushed face as you make some comment alluding to him being ‘too handsome for his own good’, the fork in his hand clattering down onto the plate. From there, it’s a steady trajectory up – you’ll start getting even more little knick-knacks, shiny things and expensive things that he leaves in pretty, bow-wrapped boxes for you, a card written in his best handwriting that says something along the lines of for my angel.

It’s cheesy and makes you laugh a bit, but Keigo keeps doing because god, please laugh like that again, say his name while you do it and maybe even reach out to touch his shoulder…

He jumps at the opportunity to further your changing opinion of him, determined to make you like him, determined to let him love you like he knows he can – like he’ll do anything to prove to you.

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, getting Keigo upset with you is kind of difficult. He views you as his own personal slice of heaven, the only thing that he truly has. You’re the only thing that belongs to Keigo Takami, not Hawks, not the Commission, only him, and because of that he tends to idolize you.

You’re his first real romantic partner, his first real romantic experience, and the combination of that plus his intense, pitifully strong desire to please you makes it hard for him to stay angry at you for any significant period of time. And so, while he’s far from the ideal captor (too clingy, too controlling, too awed when he looks at you), Keigo will avoid punishing you at all costs.

He just doesn’t see the point – he doesn’t want you to hate him any more than you already do, and the thought of purposefully hurting you makes him feel physically ill. He hates seeing you in pain – it’s part of what drove him to steal you away, after all, the terror he felt at knowingly putting you in harm’s way. He’s protective and frankly anal about your health, and so to purposefully bruise your pretty skin or make you cry makes him angry enough to want to hit something, angry enough to literally writhe in his own rage.

And so, Keigo swears off any sort of physical altercations with you – he’s just too strong and you’re just too weak, and it would break him to know that he was the source of your pain and misery.

(He knows he is, already, but he can’t be the source of it physically, too, otherwise he might just shatter, feeling entirely numb and carrying out his missions like a robot, utterly unaffected by the world because he hurt you, and can he even call himself a decent hero, a decent man after that?)

However, while causing you physical harm is off the table, Keigo is realistic enough about your situation to know that punishing you entirely is something he can’t avoid. You will act out, he’s sure of it – he’d be concerned if you didn’t, really, and so he’s expecting you to lash out at him and try to hurt him. If he were you, he’d do it too.

But as much as he expects this behavior and wouldn’t fault you for it, Keigo knows that if he wants to make any progress, if he wants to give you even a chance at eventually growing complacent (it’s a selfish desire, really, but it’s the only route he can see to where you’ll be even remotely happy, or at least not fighting tooth and nail at all costs), he has to establish repercussions for when you’re throwing tantrums or acting poorly.

It feels condescending and Keigo hates it, but he decides that where physical punishments fail, he must rely on emotional ones. It’s manipulative and it makes Keigo feel dirty, disgusting, like a poor excuse for your so-called-protector, but it’s his only choice. He has to get you into shape, both for your sake and his. It’s the only choice, he swears.

You really hadn’t meant to stumble upon something you weren’t supposed to find, really. As a general rule, you don’t snoop through Keigo’s things – he’s a clean freak, first of all, the apartment he keeps you in minimalistic with everything in its correct spot. It’s classy and pretty, sure, but it’s boring, and can you really be blamed for wanting to explore after a few weeks cooped up in this penthouse?

Certainly not – which is how you find yourself tiptoeing into Keigo’s bedroom – he’d brought up the idea of sharing a bed multiple times only to be outright refused by you, and so he kept his things in this separate room. And it wasn’t explicitly off-limits, your captor never actually telling you that you couldn’t venture in. And so here you are, opening up the tall, wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and immediately sucking in a sharp breath at what you find.

You’d known Keigo had stalked you, the confession slipping from his lips early on into your captivity and the evidence difficult to deny.

(How else could he have known all your preferences before you ever voice them, knowing the way you like your morning drink, the products you use in the shower, hell, even the way you sleep – getting the pillows you like, pajamas similar to your own, even the type of sheet you prefer.)

You’d known, sure, but this – this is something else entirely. The cabinet’s housing a variety of items that send a chill down your spine because they’re yours.

An old bottle of perfume sits on the corner, the brand name smudged off from wear, and you bite your lip as you notice it’s still got just a bit left, though not nearly the amount you remember when it’d gone missing a few months ago. Your nose scrunches at the thought of him using your perfume, and bile rises in the back of your throat as you start imagining exactly how it’d been used, for what purpose and how often for that much to be gone.

There’s a few old lip balms sitting there, organized by flavor – cherry at the right, then melon, then mint, then peach and coconut. You don’t bother looking at them closely, too nervous to find signs of usage from someone other than you. (Which is good: the mint flavored Chapstick’s missing a chunk, with  what looks like teeth marks sunken into the material.)

There’s an old hairbrush you thought you’d left at a friend’s place, still a few tufts of hair left between the bristles, though something seems to be crusted against the handle, and you wince at the thought of what that could possibly be. You’re scared, really, your heart screaming at you to stop searching, begging you to not look deeper because you don’t want to know what else he’s stolen from you, but your mind urges you to keep going, some sort of sick urge to know exactly what he’s taken, why he’s taken it.

(Though, you think you already know – the way he leans in close to smell you when he thinks he’s being subtle is telling, as is the way he has you sort out your used period products into a separate waste container, telling you that it's because the pads he gives you are compostable. You’ve seen the way the bags linger, though, staying in his bathroom, blood sometimes sitting under his nails when he emerges, eyes dilated and licking his lips at you.)

But as soon as you spot the photographs, you crumble.

Of course you’d known he was stalking you, following your every move and watching you at your most vulnerable, but somehow this is worse – there’s dozens of them, stacked neatly in piles that you can’t even begin to understand. Leafing through them with shaking fingers, they only seem to get worse and worse, images of you laying on your couch, cooking, doing your makeup, changing into your bathrobe, sleeping, and oh god, there’s even one of you on your bed, legs spread and fingers thrusting and rubbing and oh god you’re going to be sick-

The photographs fall from your fingertips as you shakily take a few steps back, the sound of the front door opening and Keigo’s call of I’m home making panic swim in your veins. He’s quick to come find you, asking you in a voice that’s edging on concerned where you are, but when he steps into his bedroom and spots you against the far wall, hands covering your mouth and the wooden door open and askew, Keigo’s clenching his teeth, jaw working.

Oh, is all he has to say, and it snaps you out of your horror.

Oh? That’s it? That’s fucking it, Keigo? What – what is this? You’re sick, a sick freak! Why do you have my stuff? What’s wrong with you? You’re yelling, pushing yourself further against the wall, and he can only frown, irritation and worry eating away at him because god, hearing you so upset is physically hurting him but there’s nothing he can do.

You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s, uh… He trails off, mind racing and panicking as he tries to think of what to say, but you don’t let the silence sit for long.

There’s something wrong with you, you’re a fucking monster! You think you’re a hero? Stalking some poor civilian, stealing her shit, photographing her while she’s sleeping? You’re disgusting, a horrible, twisted, sick creep! Stay away from me!

You’re crawling backwards away from him as he comes towards you, his hands in front of him as a sign of peace. You’re crying, he can see, and it only makes his chest ache more, shame and self-loathing away at him because you’re right – he’s sick in the head, he knows it, but he can’t help it.

I know, I know, calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop crying, angel –

It's the wrong thing to say and he immediately knows it, because you give him a glare that makes something sharp dig into his heart, so much so that he physically clutches at his chest, wincing and averting his eyes from yours.

I hate you, Keigo, you whisper, and it makes something ugly come from his throat, a mix between a gasp and a whimper. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

He’s frozen for a moment, before swallowing, nodding his head and blinking the tears out of his eyes. I know, he starts, before turning on his heel and walking towards the doorway to the bedroom. I know you hate me, but you’re stuck with me.

And with that he walks to the front door, slamming it behind him and leaving the apartment empty. You stay curled up on the ground for a few minutes, still crying and hiccupping, the influx of emotion making your head ache. You’d been here for weeks now, and you thought you’d moved on from these crying episodes, from these emotional outbursts, but something about the photos had opened the floodgates.

After another ten minutes, you shakily get up, still rubbing at your eyes and avoiding looking at the wooden cabinet. You all but sprint to your own bed – the bed he gave you, at least – and curl up on top of it, letting your eyes shut and exhaustion fall over you. It’s not until you wake a few hours later that you notice Keigo still hasn’t returned home yet.

That was odd – he’s not on shift, and it was the middle of the night by now. Where was he? Shaking your head, flashes of the photographs race through your head, forcing you to stop thinking of Keigo. The night is quiet as you make yourself something small to eat – a piece of bread and a small amount of the low-fat butter Keigo eats, the apartment still eerily quiet.

You fall into a restless slumber soon after, your dreams filled with the sensation of something – someone – watching over your sleeping form.

When you awake, there’s still no sign of him – everything’s quiet and empty, and you bite your lip, equal parts relieved that he’s nowhere in sight but also slightly concerned. The feeling looms over you as the day slips away, his presence still gone. It’s not until two days later that Keigo finally returns home, and by that point the paranoia at his absence leaves you perking up when you hear the faint jingling of keys.

You’re immediately on your feet, practically tripping as you run to the front door, eager for him to return, eager to not be all alone and scared – something you’d realized about a day ago. You’d actually been afraid of his absence. Perhaps it was survival, wanting to make sure you had enough food and someone with the locks to all the keys that’d be able to let you out, or perhaps it was that you needed him. Maybe you needed some human contact, the total silence and your inability to contact anyone driving you stir crazy.

Regardless, you wait with eager anticipation as Keigo opens the door, those yellow eyes immediately catching yours, his expression carefully neutral though you can see something behind the practiced apathy. It’s relief, you think, and something else – something more desperate, something more vulnerable, something that makes you launch yourself into his arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he stares wildly down at you, shock written all across his face.

He’d expected that you’d be relieved that he came home, happy to have your source of food and care back, but not this excited – he swallows, frantically trying to not focus on the way your body is pressing against his and how he can feel all of you, instead letting his arms hesitantly wrap around you, not wanting to scare you.

You’re saying his name, he realizes, and he furrows his brows, closing his eyes and letting the sound ring through his ears. It’s wrong to be enjoying your clearly distraught state and he knows it, but he can’t help it – you’ve never initiated physical contact like this before, and is it really such a crime to be enjoying it?

I’m here, angel, ‘m here, he tells you, petting a hand over your hair and letting you squeeze him tighter. Please never leave me again, Keigo, please!

You’re begging him, he realizes, and it forces him to hug you just a bit tighter, his wings coming down to join the hug to. Closing his eyes again, Keigo lets out a slow, deep sigh, relishing in the way you’re clinging to him for comfort, begging him to never leave you for a moment.

And as he whispers a small I’m yours, I’ll never leave you again, you can only nod against his chest, disgusted with yourself for this display of your dependence on him. Because really, when had you become so fond of your captor? The photographs are still on the ground in his bedroom, all the things he's stolen from you sitting in that damned cabinet, but you find yourself not caring.

As you breathe in the now familiar smell of his cologne, hear his heart pounding away in his chest, you find that you don’t care about anything, really – because perhaps what he’s been saying along is really true.

Maybe you are in need of protection, needing him to provide for you. Because you’d been left alone for three days, and what do you have to show for it? Panic, loneliness, fear that he’d left you behind? Maybe you really are just as weak as he makes you out to be – and as you slowly pull back from the hug, you find yourself ever so briefly being thankful for him.

Thankful that you’ve finally, finally found where you belong: by Keigo’s side, letting him fawn over you and keep you locked up like some prized pet.

OVERALL DANGER:

6/10

Keigo is less dangerous and more paranoid. He has so many alter egos and warring identities that once you come along, encouraging him to just be Keigo around you rather than Pro Hero Hawks or PLF Hawks, he can’t let you slip away.

There’s something about you that doesn’t leave his mind – perhaps it’s your mannerisms, your looks, the way you speak, how you walk and how you smell and how you think. Maybe it’s some twisted form of fate, or some long-repressed part of his quirk that’s beginning him to finally find a companion, a mate, someone to share himself with.

Regardless, once Keigo’s obsession forms, he’s a lost cause – he’s thinking of you constantly, unable to stop his mind from wandering into idle thoughts of what you’re doing or how you’re feeling. He finds himself unconsciously trailing behind you, watching over you from above with those sharp eyes of his narrowed in on your form, studying and memorizing the curves of your body underneath your clothing, the way you walk ingrained into him so deeply that when he closes his eyes all he sees is you.

His paranoia grows as his obsession does, too, the worrying realization that you’re weak making it difficult for him to ever part from you, anxiety swimming in his gut because what if you get hurt and he isn’t there to help you? What if you get into trouble and he isn’t there to swoop and be your savior?

(Some sick, twisted part of him almost wishes you would run into trouble, just so he could put himself into the position of being your knight in shining armor, of making you swoon for him, feeling the way you’d be so very grateful and want to make it up to him in any way you could. He forces the thought down, disgusted with himself for fantasizing about you being in danger, but during long nights where he tosses and turns in his too-empty and too-cold bed, the thought of you looking at him in such awe and gratitude makes something warm, wet, and shameful throb to life between his legs.)

He does eventually kidnap you, yes, but as time passes you’ll find that slowly you’ll stop caring about how he keeps you trapped by his side, how he controls your every day life, how he forces you into all sorts of loungey, comfortable clothing that always smells like him. Because really, Keigo is awfully pathetic – he thinks he’s good at hiding just how badly you affect him, but you can see the way he perks up when you enter a room, looking so hopefully and lovesick as he gazes at you that it almost hurts.

You’ll be able to tell how his heart is racing in his chest when you get close to him, his breath turning ragged and his palms so sweaty that when he wipes them on his pants they leave wet marks. It’s pathetic, sad, cute, and as time passes with Keigo as the only person in your life, slowly you’ll begin wondering if being loved by him isn’t bad.

Is what Keigo can give you – protection, adoration, reliability, devotion – really so bad? Is it so bad to just be loved?

And Keigo will be there waiting for you once you finally come around, his hands trembling as he hugs you, burying his face into your neck and you swear you feel something wet against your skin, his tears tickling you as his shoulders shake. He just loves you, and how cruel can you be to reject him, to leave him without the only person he’s ever cared for?

How could you be such a monster?