#** ( Tread Carefully; Darling ) ** ___ ( NSFW. )

[4lc1na]

!NSFW! no children please 😭 #ImJustALesbian🙏🏼🙂

~Your lady is mad..tread carefully~

Alcina had answered and phone call from mother miranda, and immediately throwing her vanity across the room in anger after hanging up. Y/N heard her yelling, "URGHH! TO HELL WITH THE CEREMONY!" Alcina shouted, her voice filled with rage, her hands in tight fists. Alcina stormed out of the room. Heading straight to her wine room, where Y/N was, sorting out Alcinas wines the way she requested.

Alcina stormed inside the wine room "maiden, pour me a glass of wine, now." Her tone was stern and hard, sitting down at the table in the middle of the room, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Yes my lady" Y/N quickly got Alcinas signature wine glass, pouring Alcinas 'maidens blood', Y/N is always scared of the wine, knowing it's made of the dead maiden blood's, it just makes her shiver.. "quickly now, i dont have time for slow maidens."

"sorry my lady, I'll be quicker next time.." Y/N placed the wine glass in front of Alcina, who took a sip and settled the glass down. "Good..come here, pet." Alcina crooked a finger, beckoning Y/N to come to her. Y/N didn't hesitate, and walked over to alcina, who was sitting on her chair, her long luscious legs crossed. "Sit." Alcina said, her tone soft yet stern, she patted her lap.. seemingly telling Y/N to sit on her lap, and she did.

Once Y/N sat in Alcinas lap, Alcina stroked Y/N's soft hair, her black cold leather gloves gliding on the soft texture. "You my dear, are my favorite..and it's very rare for someone like me to have a favorite.." Alcina said, her voice was so soft, it's like a miracle..but it's so weird to hear THE lady Alcina dimitrescu, be so soft..

"r-really..i never...thought you would say that.." Y/N stumbled over some of her words, shocked that Alcina favorited her, out of all beautiful young maids!...

Alcina chuckled, the sound deep, and rich.. "you better believe it, darling.. you deserve a reward..for all the things you have done for me..." Alcina's large gloved hand slid under Y/N's maid dress, the leather cold yet soft on Y/N's skin...it sent shivers down her spine. Alcina teased the edge of Y/N's panties, her gloved fingers tracing over it.

Y/N squirmed, feeling like she's being blessed from the gods above right now..she's dripping wet, begging for more, her expression doesn't hide it..at all.

Alcina chuckled, "I think something is in the way.." Alcina looked at her gloved hands. She thought for a moment, and took them off, and slides her cold, pale hand under Y/N's dress, once again..."there now...that's better...isn't it?" She didn't even let the maid speak, and immediately TEARED Y/N's panties off! Her cold finger gliding over her wet folds..

Y/N whimpered, already trembling from the coldness and pleasure of Alcinas fingers.. "... you're mine now...nobody elses...and I'll make sure of that, I will mark you mine.." Alcina trailed kisses from her neck to her jawline, her crimson lipstick leaving marks on Y/N's skin..Y/N moaned, as she was marked..feeling alcina suckle and nibble on her soft supple skin..

Alcina's finger teased Y/N's entrance, before sliding it in.."m-my lady i-" Alcina cut her off..'shh'ing her, pumping her finger in and out of Y/N's dripping wet hole..

"there's no need for speaking, my dear...just give yourself to me, and I'll be a happy...happy woman..." Alcina pulled her finger out and got up, picking up Y/N with her. "Let's finish this..in my private..Chambers.." Alcinas heels clicked on the hard wood floor as she walked out of the wine room. Walking down the stairs to her chambers. Once she got there she pinned Y/N to the bed, her large hand holding her wrists above her head, her free hand stripping of the maids clothes.

"you will do anything I say..or just stay quiet..for now, you're my little plaything.." Alcina went down between Y/N's thighs, and looked up at her once more. "We will be here for quite a while..." her tongue darted out, licking the slick folds in front of her face, her large hands gripping the maids thigh.

Y/N jolted slightly, she hasn't felt something so...good in years, since being picked as maiden of dimitrescu castle. She felt like she was in heaven..she whimpered and squirmed, her hips moving slightly. Wanting for and more of Alcinas tongue against her..inside her...anything at this point.

Alcina's tongue glides, skilled and experienced..obviously..but then, she pulled back right when Y/N was about to have the most intense release.

Y/N whimpered as Alcina pulled away "w-what? What are you doing...i was so close...did I do something wrong!?" She said, her voice shaky from the pleasure.

Alcina then chuckled. "No no, dear ...no worries..i just don't want to waste this...moment..just using my boring old tongue..." she got up, walking over to her wardrobe. Opening it and rummaging through it, then pulling out a strap.

Y/N waited patiently, staring at the ceiling...still squirming needing the release to feel relaxed once and for all. Alcina walked back, a smirk on her crimson painted lips, and slipping the strap-on, into her hips, fitting snug. She then positioned between Y/N's legs, and spoke in a husky, yet hypnotizing tone, "I won't be so gentle...so don't expect me to be that way..." the dildo pressed against Y/N's already leaking entrance, slowly slipping inside..

Y/N whimpered, feeling the large dildo enter her. She gripped the sheets beneath her, her breath quickening. Alcina thrusted the dildo in and out of Y/N, her moves swift and rough. Each thrusts impact sending tingles in Y/N's core, she felt her orgasm nearing close, her body tensing and the touch thrust.

"my lady- im- I'm about to...cu-" she trailed off into a moan, she cried out as her orgasm hit her like a hard tidal wave..alcinas thrusts now slowed a bit, letting Y/N release.. "there you go now...cum for me..." She watched as Y/N whimpered and squirmed, her walls clamping down the the dildo..feeling like she just let off a bunch of weight from her shoulders.."w-wow....I need...I need more... please mommy..." Alcina stopped, chuckling at the name 'mommy' coming out from her mouth. "Mommy?...hmm...I think I'd rather mommy than mistress and lady...and don't worry....I'll give you so much more later...though you must calm down for now..." Alcina pulled the dildo out

And took of the strap, discarding it aside on the floor. Taking Y/N into her arms, and holding the girl close to her chest..pulling the covers over them both. Her large hand rubbing the girls bare back, the skin soft and smooth..

"rest now, you'll need it for tomorrow's..'session'" Alcina chuckled, and so did Y/N..who snuggled against Alcinas chest..*

"I...i love you, my lady..." Y/N whispered out.. Alcina kissed the top of Y/N's head, and whispered softly to her, "..I love you too, my dear...and never forget I said that."

THE END...

IF YOU READ THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH...THIS IS MY FIRST EVER POST AND STORY. LIKE IM SHAKING, IM SO SCARED NO ONE IS GONNA NOTICE, THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO THINK OF AND MAKE IDEAS! #BIGMOMMYMILF🍷

[kittyzu]

Tread carefully … ❤︎

warnings — nsfw, slightly possessive behaviour, jealousy, unprotected sex, creampie

he tries not to be too pushy. it’s obvious that you do love him and you don’t give him any real reason to be jealous but he can’t help it.

his brothers are overly affectionate when it comes to you and he wonders if it’s because they’re all still very much single and having you around is still new to them.

the problem with that is how they constantly hang off you, try to hold you or argue over your time and attention. the attention that should only be given to him. it doesn’t help that lucifer seems to be friendlier to you and that makes him nervous. did his brothers have ulterior motives? he doesn’t like to overthink.

“mammon.. wa—” you gasp, biting the pillow to hide your sounds. you weren’t supposed to be doing this right now. his brothers were right outside and they would definitely be able to hear you.

“don’t be shy now baby” he smirks, slipping his thumb into your asshole as he slowly withdraws his cock, only to slam into you harder. “i want them to know how good only i can make you feel”

you can’t even focus on anything he’s saying but you know he gets jealous, even when he denies it. you just wanted his family to like you because you really loved mammon but he obviously felt some kind of way about that. you would tease him if he wasn’t pounding you into his mattress.

“that’s it baby” he groans, “you feel so good, so good for me”

“yes” you agree, grabbing the sheets tightly, “only you”

“good girl” he says, spanking your ass, “all mine”

mammon would never intentionally hurt you. he was just a little greedier than most and you understood his insatiable desire and need to claim you as his and his alone.

sharing you was never an option for him and he would make sure everyone knew exactly who you belonged to. mammon would keep you for as long as you wanted to stay with him.

“you want it darling?” he whispers, biting your earlobe as you clench around him. he knows you’re close and he doesn’t have to do much else to have you cumming on his cock. you were always so good for him.

“please please please” you moan, louder. you fuck yourself back on his cock, eyes crossing as you feel yourself reach your own high.

he follows close behind you, filling you up just the way you like it. it’s messy and spills out the sides even as he’s still deep inside you. he wasn’t ready to pull out just yet and you could give him that for now.

“do you love me?” he asks softly.

“of course i do” you giggle, “so much”

[whumpinggrounds]

Watch Your Step

Masterpost

CW: foot whump, male whumpee, female whumper, little whumper, big whumpee, long-term captivity, creepy whumper, possessive whumper, forced relationship but no noncon/nsfw

He’s retrieving wood from the side of the house when it happens. That’s something he’s trusted to do now – the cuff removed, leaving a sickly pale band of skin beneath. It’s paler than the rest of him, but not by much. He’s been inside, kept from even the pale winter sun, for a long time.

Now he roams the yard, a poor facsimile of a free man. Delilah stands and watches him on the porch as he collects wood and hauls it in, but that doesn’t mean she’s afraid he’ll run away. More likely, she just doesn’t want to take her eyes off him.

These days, Liam does a good job pretending the same. He wears a lovesick smile like it’s his default expression, and he makes sure his eyes follow Delilah around the room. It’s not hard when she’s the biggest threat in every room he’s in, but she sure doesn’t see it that way. Liam is better at taking her hand, now, better at pressing chaste kisses to her knuckles. When her too-bright eyes make him want to shiver, all he has to do is remember the cold promise of his almost-grave, and suddenly he’s ready to do whatever she asks of him. Funny, how that works.

Stepping onto the cold grass of the front yard, Liam notes how it’s getting warmer every day. Soon, he won’t care that he’s not wearing shoes. There are more birds in the trees, and the sunlight streaming through the stick-bare branches actually has some weight to it. Maybe one of these days it’ll be warm enough that he can run for real. Maybe…

“My love?”

His head snaps up, and he fixes his widest, brightest smile at the waif waiting on the porch. “Sorry, darling. I was just thinking about spring.”

An angelic smile lights Delilah’s elfin face. “My favorite season.”

Liam knows that’s not true. Her favorite season is winter, frozen and unforgiving. He keeps his face blank, offering her a placid smile, and then turns toward the side of the house, where cords of wood that he’s chopped wait in patient stacks. He selects a few sticks, stacking them on his arms, and then turns back toward the porch. Arms piled high, he can’t see what’s below him, but that’s never been a problem before, and he’s walked this path three days a week for months. He takes sure, confident steps back to the porch, and then –

Searing pain, straight through the bottom of his foot. Liam howls, bending in half and letting the wood tumble to the ground in front of him. He collapses against the side of the house, taking weight off the foot, off the hot spike driven through the arch of his left foot.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Delilah’s voice is high and tense with alarm. It pierces Liam’s fog of confusion and pain, reminds him that it’s not just his foot at stake here. It’s his life. He needs to tread carefully – he thinks the words and then curses himself at the bitter irony.

“I-I’m so sorry, princess. I don’t mean to alarm you, I…I must’ve stepped on something…my foot...”

“Oh!”

She rushes down the stairs in a flurry of billowing fabric, arms outstretched. She throws herself at his midsection, makes him catch her in his unsteady arms. She’s always more concerned about optics than impact, and she nearly knocks him off his one foot with the force of her embrace. If Liam has to put his other foot on the ground, has to put weight on whatever it is in his foot...he may not be able to control his mouth.

Lucky for him, Delilah draws back. “Let me see.”

Leaning heavily on the whitewashed wall of the cabin, Liam turns the bottom of his foot up to face both of them, dreading what he’ll find. The sight makes him want to retch. There’s a bent nail, embedded halfway into the arch of his foot. There’s bright blood gushing from the wound, and it looks all the more macabre against his sun-deprived skin.

“Oh!”

Delilah’s fingers trace the area around the wound, and Liam fights not to flinch. She brushes over the nail, ever so gently. “Does it hurt terribly?”

He takes a deep, measured breath. “Yes, princess. It does.”

Her eyes go dreamy. “I’ll have to tend you.” There she goes. “Oh, Adam.”

Okay. It’s Beauty and the Beast then – again. It’s one of her particular favorites, probably because Belle, besides being mentally stable, is pretty much exactly like her. “No, Belle.” Liam tries to imagine what a fairytale prince would do. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

Is he imagining it or is there a self-satisfied gleam in Delilah’s eye? “Beloved, you don’t have a choice. Let me help you.”

Liam has a moment, one wild, unprepared moment, before she’s kneeling and pinching the nail between her fingers. “Belle-!”

She draws the nail out of him, in one slick pull. As it tugs at the ragged edges of Liam’s wound, he shouts, just barely managing to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“What’s that, dear?”

Delilah’s face is too innocent. She’s testing him. Anger wells up in Liam’s chest, especially when he sees her twirling the nail between her fingers. His foot still stings, and there’s an inches-deep hole in it, dripping blood. There’s nothing he wants more than to curse and complain and tell Delilah where she can shove that bloody nail.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, and forces the words she wants to hear, no matter how bitter they taste. “Thank you, love.”

 @stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @lonesome–hunter, @diyalogues, @deluxewhump, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpy-writings, @warm-my-whumpee-heart and @brutal-nemesis​!

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive

[eclecticmiasma]

Yandere Genshin MBTI: Childe

Welcome to a series of my Yan!Genshin headcanons using the Yandere MBTI indicator conceptualized by the lovely @ddarker-dreams! It's redheaded bastard hours.

NSFW

[Warnings: general yandere scariness, childe is his own warning, mentions of violence, psychological/emotional abuse, mindbreak, stockholm syndrome]

CRUEL VS. REVERENT

What drives Childe's cruelty is the rush of ecstasy he feels when presented with a challenge, and darling is an endless battery of highs. From gathering information about her, to working up scenarios to be in her presence, to slowly earning her trust- coming to own her had been electrifying in every sense of the word.

But physical ownership is child's play.

Mind, body, soul. That's what it will take to sate the eleventh harbinger's lust for dominion.

Childe will do anything to push darling closer and closer to breaking completely. He isn't even above dangling his Foul Legacy over her head just to torment her into submission.

His goal is to keep her on her toes. In one moment he's dressing darling in beautiful clothing, gently kissing her skin, waxing poetic about their love, though he himself isn't convinced he can call it that.

The next he's squeezing her so hard by the wrist it nearly snaps, threatening to let Dottore have his way with her, using his delusion to mark her skin as a reminder of her transgressions.

Childe's dream is a darling that lives only for him. That beams even as his hands are wrapped around her neck. Then, only then, will he have succeeded.

AWARE VS. DELUSIONAL

Though he carries a delusion, Childe is anything but delusional. He knows exactly the role he plays in this game, and delights that darling has no idea of hers. He will call what he has for darling "love" in name only. What he loves is the chase, the destruction, the utter dominion over another human being.

However, if darling is to truly become his Childe might begin to tread the line between aware and delusional. There are rare moments when darling cries out Childe's real name in an attempt to subdue him, and every time it works. Something in his heart stirs, something long forgotten, and he feels himself gazing at the woman before him with something akin to real affection. Before long, he might actually come to love the monster he's created.

MANIPULATIVE VS. HONEST

Childe spends a great deal of time mastering all forms of weaponry, charisma among them. Even if darling herself doesn't necessarily buy into it, there's no denying the eleventh harbinger carries a certain charm. Despite the nature of the Fatui and rumors of Childe's seedy dealings, the women of Liuye can't help but fall at his feet and he's very aware of it.

Honesty has never even entered Childe's thought process. After all, what good would it do to tell his darling that he knows exactly why the body of her handsome coworker ended up strung about a hilichurl camp ten miles from the city gates? Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

Princess, sweetheart, milaya**. Sweet words serve to lull darling into a sense of complacency at Childe's ever-increasing presence. They serve as apologies for frightening her as she walks home alone, as distraction from the fact that the light of his smile never reaches his eyes. To her surprise, darling even begins to find the man endearing.

Even after darling is carefully swept away to Snezhnaya, Childe manages to worm his way under her skin. She can't help but feel a pang of guilt at the hurt her captor feigns when she beats against his chest in desperation.

Childe knows exactly when to punish, when to isolate, and when to shower darling with gifts and affection the moment she comes crawling back to him.

STRICT VS. LENIENT

Darling is well aware that Childe has eyes everywhere. Even if she were able to get as far as Inazuma she knows she'd be hauled back in no time at all.

Therefore, Childe has little care for what darling does during her days. Though he is keenly aware of where she goes and to whom she speaks. Every once in a while he uses these facts against her, accuses her of trying to leave or of loving another when he knows she's completely bewildered. It makes him giddy just to think about.

Though he often takes darling with him on business, especially when he really wants to cement her homesickness for Liuye, one of Childe's favorite things to do is leave her in the hands of the other harbingers for a few weeks so she can get a sense of how lucky she is to be his.

**darling

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

[galacticgraffiti]

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Veman'alor (24) ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

credit for the beautiful moodboard to @thefact0rygirl ✨

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Rating: Mature (Allusions to heavy themes, some explicit language) Wordcount: 5.8k CW: vague verbal allusions to non-con/r*pe, softness, hurt/comfort of sorts, hashing out feelings and resolving some matters

A/N: So many thanks to my beloveds @baba-fett and @thebitchformerlyknownaskenobi - I appreciate both your input so much ❥ And to my wonderful, wonderful readers: Thank you for sticking with me, my darlings! I know the chapters are few and far between, but I am slowly moving along. This story means a lot to me and I want to give it the ending it deserves. I appreciate each and every little comment, ask, and nice tag!

Series Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ Taglist Signup

🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦

Chapter 24 - Talks, Renewals

Weeks pass. You have stopped asking about Kuat. You don’t want to know where he is or what he is doing. If he is still doing anything, or if he is dead in a ditch somewhere. Boba asked you what you wanted to know, and you have quickly decided that after those first bouts of rage and burning hatred, the images of violence behind your eyelids don’t satisfy you anymore. They don’t help. They just make you crave something you will never get the chance to have – to forget the memory of Kuat’s fingers digging into your neck, and the sound of his voice as he tells you that you should have been his property.

You throw yourself into work – into finding a ship to send after Din as a gift for all he has done, even though he is gone now. Into preparations for Boonta Eve, so you can set a date for the race. You look for pilots, for ships, for mechanics. For old friends who might be interested. It keeps you busy during the days when Boba is not there. He has things to do, you know that, knew it from the start.

It is a strange line to walk - this need to have him around you all the time so you feel safe, but not to let it go too far. At some point, you have to function without him, and you cannot always expect him to be there whenever you need him - he has a planet to run after all. So, you try to keep as busy as you can, to talk to Fennec when you feel lonely, and to work your way through the trauma that has nothing to do with Boba but whom the fallout affects so much.

He holds you through the nightmares, and he never presses you. One time you ask him if it’s a bad thing you don’t talk to him about what happened. The guilt has been gnawing at you every day since you came back - that you are being selfish, that you are taking more than you are giving back. That you may be asking too much of him.

“No,” he simply says. “No, it’s not a bad thing. You should talk to someone about it when you are ready, but that someone does not have to be me, princess. I’m here for whatever you need, but you don’t owe me anything. Tell me what I can do to make you feel comfortable, and I’ll do it. If there is nothing I can do, I shall wait until the day when there is something for me to do.”

He reassures you in every way he can - his husky voice soft and gentle as he talks to you after nightmares, his hands carefully asking for your permission every time he touches you. Sometimes, it makes you cry, to see this man that you have fallen for so hard and loved so much ever since being so careful. Treading on eggshells around you. But even then, he is there to remind you that you deserve to be taken care of, and that he does not mind.

“I’ll always take care of you, alor’ika, for as long as you want me.” You are sitting on his bed when he says it, staring at the shrine of his father’s helmet. “I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you.”

But even Boba cannot be everything you need, as much as you wish he could. You need a friend, someone rational enough to be able to deal with your delicate emotions, but understanding enough that they won’t judge you for them. And Din is gone.

So, you talk to Fennec. Fennec, who radiates more comfort than you have ever given her credit for. Who finds you someone professional to talk to after a few weeks of processing the events of the yards. Fennec, who guards your every step when you ask her to, because even though you are in the palace, the dark corners scare you at first. The hunger in Kuat’s eyes follows you everywhere you go, and only the quiet clicking of Fennec’s boots, or the clangor of Boba’s spurs can make that feeling go away. You know Kuat is not in the palace anymore – whatever Boba is doing to him, whatever he has done to him, it’s not happening here. That was the only thing you asked for when you and Boba talked about how involved you wanted to be in the solution of this… situation.

You are sitting in your apartment, swiping through a catalogue of spare parts for your pod without really looking at anything as you ponder the memories of the last weeks.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“…no.” Boba stops to look at you with serious eyes. “You can be as involved in this as you want to be. As you need to be and feel able to be. I know you did not grow up like Din and I, you are not Mandalorian – you are not a warrior, or a bounty hunter. I’ll give you whatever you need to process this, to find closure. But I won’t ask anything of you. If you never want to see that man again, I would not blame you. I would tell you only as much as you want to know about the… process.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Your voice sounds small, but there is that burning touch of red anger that makes you sound like a stranger to your own ears. 

Boba smiles, but it is not like any smile you have ever seen from him. Not reserved, or deeply affectionate, not the one with the dimples that only you get to see, or even the cold smile he shows to guests that see him without his helmet.

No, this smile is something else entirely – so full of hatred and cruelty that it is hard to look at him. It transforms his face, and suddenly you can imagine that younger Boba from the stories, the ruthless bounty hunter who worked for the Empire. Who disintegrated people out of pure spite and disregard for life, who is still feared across the galaxy. You can imagine him smiling like this, face younger, without the scars and lines that have come with age – smiling like this when his bounty begs for mercy and Boba tells them there will be none. It scares you, that smile, but what scares you more is that you like it. Because now it feels like you can know for sure that Kuat will get what he deserves. That Boba’s rage will know no bounds. 

The cruel smile fades when Boba’s eyes return from empty space back to you.

“Do you really want to know? If you do, we can talk more about it. If you don’t… I’ll take care of it. You won’t have to ever think about that scum again. I can make it be as if he never existed, if that is what you want. I can display him as an example of what happens to the people that cross me or what is mine. Whatever you want, alor’ika, it is your decision.”

You nod quietly. What is there to say? 

‘Boba, I want to watch as you slowly and agonisingly torture this man to find out who would have paid for me? As you wring the confession from him that he would have- that he would have-’ Stop. You can not think about that right now. All you want to think about is how good it feels to be back in Boba’s arms, and you will not have that ruined for you.

“I just want him gone,” you finally manage. Boba’s hand slips into yours, a gentle pressure reminding you that he is here, he is real, and you are safe. You squeeze his hand, relish the feeling of the scar tissue that covers the back of his hand. Real. He’s real. Boba doesn’t smile when he looks at you.

“I can make that happen.”

The bell of the elevator rips you from your thoughts, and you smile when Fennec comes into view, a smile on her lips as she steps into the room.

“Whatcha up to, tinker girl?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Looking at wedding dresses?”

That thought throws you off for a second. You have not even thought about starting to plan the wedding ever since you got home. Out of all the things you busied yourself with, the wedding is the last thing you would have prioritised. Even though there is nothing in the world that feels more important, you just cannot seem to bring yourself to talk to Boba about it, and he has not asked, has not suggested setting a date, or any of the things you should be doing to prepare. He has patiently taken care of you, let you process your trauma. Sometimes you wish he would bring up the wedding so you would have a starting point.

You realise you are still staring at Fennec, your mouth slightly agape as a million thoughts rush through your head. Sitting up straighter, you narrow your eyes and try to think of some response to her well-meaning teasing.

“I… no, actually. I want to finally finish my racer-“

“Seriously?” Fennec plops down on the chair beside you and swivels around until her knees bump against yours. “You are engaged to be married. To Boba Fett. Of all people, fucking Boba, who I was sure would never even look at someone for fear they could stab him in the back if he blinked. And all you can think about is finishing your kriffing podracer?”

You grin, but her words hit harder than she intended them to. You know Fennec doesn’t mean to be insensitive – she has nothing to do with what all went down, nothing but as your friend you get to talk to. You are not even sure she knows about the misunderstanding with Boba’s proposal. How could she? Not even Boba knows. You haven’t mentioned it, and the only other person who would know is gone.

Din. Gods, you miss him. His calming presence, his quiet, strong voice. The way he would lean against the doorframe decked out in his full armour and nearly blind you when the suns stood at a specific angle.

Not all of the tears you cry at night are for yourself. Some of them are for him; and sometimes you wonder if you should tell Boba that. Would it make him jealous? Would he understand it, this pain of losing a friend so dear it feels like you lost a small part of yourself?

You shake your head and focus back on the present, picking up your search through the holonet once again. Your racer is nearly done, but the last few parts are the most important - and the hardest to track down.

Fennec leans back in her chair, clearly settling in to watch you work. You talk about nothing and everything- how is the race coming along? Will she go out of town again for another job? A part of her starship has been causing problems, could you take a look at that? You’ll need to repeat the trip to town soon, that lingerie seller wants to take Fennec out and she needs something to wear for their date.

It’s chatter between friends: not meaningless, but mindless; both of you updating each other on your lives. You cannot bring yourself to talk about the one thing you need to talk to her about though: The miscommunication of the proposal. Three times you take a deep breath and set out to tell her about it, and three times you stumble and talk about something else.

You want her opinion though, the opinion of a best friend - and of someone who knows Boba, in some ways maybe even better than you do. It’ll be practice for bringing it up to Boba. At least that is what you are telling yourself.

That thought stings, so openly looked at. You still haven’t talked to him about it. There just always seems… so much to do. More important things. You are engaged, you know that, and it is what you want. Is it really so important how you found out?

“Uh-oh,” Fennec furrows her brow. “You’re making that face. The face of unpleasant things.”

“No, I’m not,” you absently mumble, swiping through parts without really looking at any of them.

“Yes, you are,” she insists. Her hand on your knee is warm and gentle, and you bear the sudden touch nearly without flinching. Her voice goes soft as she speaks on. “Do you… want to talk about it? Is it about… the incident?”

“No!” You answer quickly. Her eyebrow raises even further, and you sigh deeply. “No, it’s really not. I’m… we’re working on that. I’m okay. Boba and I… we’re okay. It’s just… something else happened on that trip. I’ve not… I don’t know how to bring it up to Boba now. It’s been so long. Kinda feels like I missed my chance.”

“Not a good reason, tinker girl.” Fennec grabs a handful of Jawaese fire crisps and stuffs them in her mouth. “If you wanna talk about it, if it bothers you… you gotta. Don’t marry someone without talking everything through. If there’s something you need to talk about, something that’s important to you- Gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I’m sure Boba would want to know. He loves you. Don’t keep secrets from him if it’ll make you unhappy in the long run.”

“I’m not!” You know your face is guilt-ridden even without looking in the mirror. “There’s just… one small matter we haven’t talked about. And it feels unfair not to tell him.”

Fennec leans forward in her seat, her eyes twinkling with mischief, though there is genuine concern in them.

“Did you fuck Djarin on the trip?”

“I- what? No! Gods, no, of course I didn’t!”

Fennec shrugs, shoving another handful of crisps into her mouth.

“Didn’t really think you had, but damn that would have been rough, right after getting engaged-“

“…which I didn’t even know,” you mumble. Well, fuck. There it is. Fennec’s eyes go wide, destroying any and all hope you had that she did not hear you.

“You what now?”

You breathe in. You breathe out. You have to talk to someone about this, it has been eating at you for way too long. And maybe… maybe talking it out with Fennec before you go to Boba is not such a bad idea.

“I didn’t know Boba had proposed,” you admit quietly, your cheeks burning as you take in Fen’s incredulous look.

“And how in the Sith hells does that work?” she asks. When she sees the hurt look on your face, she quickly goes on. “I’m not judging you, I’m genuinely curious. How the fuck does one get proposed to without noticing it?”

Your fingers close around the necklace that Boba gave to you, Fennec’s eyes flicking down before studying your face again.

“Oh no. What did that idiot do?”

The expression on her face makes it so much easier to talk about. She seems both amused and vaguely disgusted with Boba’s lack of communication skills. And so you talk and talk and talk. You lay everything out, backtracking from the proposal-that-was-not-really-one to the strange affair between Din and you. You explain everything to her - though your words, at times, seem not enough to capture what was going on. Looking back, you don’t understand how you got into this mess, and still, when you think of Boba’s smile when he wakes up next to you in the morning, it all seems worth it. Finally, you run out of things to say, biting your lip as you look at Fennec’s unmoving face.

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, and takes a deep breath.

“That bastard,” she mumbles, raising her gaze to meet yours. You don’t know what to say, so you just shrug. Fennec bursts out laughing.

“That fucking bastard! I can’t- how- fucking hell, that man has not one singular ounce of common sense in his body, does he?”

You stare at her for a minute, processing what all you have told her, and finally, laughter bubbles up in your chest. It bursts out of you like you have been holding it in for months – and maybe that is true. The absurdity of it all, the sheer chaos. You laugh so hard you can barely breathe, clutching to Fennec’s shoulder so you don’t fall off your stool as you erupt in laughter again and again.

Someone clears their throat in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” Boba sounds a little confused, but mostly amused. When you look at him standing there, your heart melts.

“Never,” you say. Fennec giggles wildly, getting up from her seat, but not leaving without grabbing the last bit of your fire crisps.

“You’ll have to pay me back for those!” You call after her. “They’re not easy to find, you know, you’ve gotta drive a hard bargain!”

Your yelling is only met with chuckles as Fennec ducks out the door.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. You got loads to talk about.” She winks at you ambiguously, and a few seconds later you hear the elevator doors slide shut behind her.

Boba pushes away from the doorway to come stand behind you, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders as he moves his lips against your neck.

“What did she mean by that, princess?”

“Oh, I don’t…” you drift off. The nagging little voice in the back of your head is screaming at you: If not now, when? You bite your lip and gather your thoughts. “Actually, there was something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Boba pulls back and turns your stool so you are facing him, and you flinch at the terror in his eyes. He looks scared.

“It’s nothing bad,” you quickly add, but the tension that has settled in his shoulders doesn’t leave. You try a different approach.

“Come on, baby. Let’s sit down and-“

“You’re leaving me,” Boba interrupts. You barely recognise his voice, small and scared and lonely. There is nothing of the powerful leader in him now, neither in his voice nor his posture as his shoulders slump. He can’t even look at you.

“What?” The bewilderment in your voice is obvious, but Boba does not seem to notice.

“I was… waiting for this. I thought you might go with Djarin when he left, but I didn’t think- I let myself hope that-“

“Boba!” You cut him off sharply. The edge in your voice makes him look up at you, and the sight of him nearly makes you cry. You never thought he could look so defeated. So resigned to his fate. Stepping forward, you take his hands into yours, your thumbs gliding along the familiar scar tissue in an effort to soothe him.

“Boba, my love, I’m not leaving you. Of course I’m not, why would you even think that?”

“…oh.” He blinks a few times, clearly surprised. “I was- I thought- You were so sad when Din left, and things have been… different, since you came back. I thought… I thought maybe that trip made you realise you don’t love me like you love him.”

Your fingers tighten around his.

“You’re right, Boba. I don’t love you the way I love Din.” Your voice falters when Boba tries to pull his hands from yours but you just grip him tighter. “I love you infinitely more. I love you differently and I love you more than I could ever love him. You are my life, Bob’ika. I love you with my entire being, mind, body and soul. You are everything to me. How could I ever leave you if I cannot imagine a life without you in it?”

Boba looks up at you, properly looks up this time, and you swear there are tears in his eyes.

“Do you mean it?”

Of all the times you have said it, this time feels like the most meaningful.

“I mean it with all my heart, Boba. I love you. Ni… Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.”

There is a beat when neither of you moves, but then you are scrambling to climb into his lap, Boba’s hands wrapping around you to lift you up and settle on your hips as you slot into place as if that is where the universe meant you to be: Your chest pressed against his, faces so close you can feel his breath against your cheek.

You kiss him then, chastely, a mere peck on his cheek. If you let yourself kiss him now, really kiss him, you will never talk about what you need to talk about.

“I love you, Bob’ika, and… and you’re so fucking stupid,” you whisper.

Boba’s eyebrows draw together, his confusion clearly visible on his face. You grin at the expression on his face.

„I was expecting a different ending to that statement, alor’ika,” he rumbles. You did not expect his reaction to your hasty words to be so soft, and you don’t know how to respond to it. The silence is deafening, until Boba clears his throat. “Well, clearly something is wrong, princess. Is that not what you wanted to talk about?”

Oh. That hits you right in the heart, because he sounds so hurt, like his fucking heart is breaking; a tremble in his voice you never expected to hear, not after you just told him again and again that you loved him.

“What is it, alor’ika?” he mumbles. “What happened that made you pull away from me, was there something beside… beside Kuat? Something beside Djarin that made you change your mind about me?”

The name makes you flinch, and you shift uncomfortably in Boba’s lap. He looks at you, his face so serious you can nearly not bear it.

“Boba.” You can not let him go on, he is breaking your heart, carving sharp fractures into it with each word. Finally, your posture relaxes as you allow yourself to press your face into his warm chest. “Boba, that’s not at all what I meant. I would never leave you. Never. I love you, and only you, I thought I had made that clear, even before we left. Ni cuyi gar, ner kar’ta. That has not changed, no matter what has transpired in the meantime.”

Your tongue stumbles a little over the Mando’a words, but it’s all worth it when Boba looks down at you. There is a sadness that lingers in his eyes, though, an insecurity you have never seen before.

“Then why-“

You push away from him to fixate him with a stern gaze. As much as it hurts you, as much as you want to be touching him and never let go, as much as your body longs for him - as does your mind - you need to clear this up now. You can’t just forget because you want to be held by him. There is no easy way out, not this time. Not if you still want to marry him, and by the Gods you do. You do. You have never wanted anything more. Your voice is measured when you speak.

“Before we left – before Din and I left for the yards… Boba. You proposed to me.”

His confusion only seems to spread at your words, the creases in his brow deepening as he stares back at you.

“And you accepted, alor’ika. Which is why I don’t understand what-“

“You. Proposed to me. To Me, someone who did not grow up on Mandalore, who was not raised by Mandalorian parents, with Mandalorian customs. Who never really learned Mando’a. And you proposed in your mothertongue.”

“And you accepted, what-“ Boba stops himself and you can see the realisation sink in. His eyes go wide, and his hand twitches as if he wants to reach out. You take his hand once again - you can’t stop yourself, you need him to know you’re not actually mad. Not really. Not anymore.

“You didn’t know what it meant,” Boba says quietly.

“I didn’t know what it meant,” you confirm. His hand grips yours tighter.

“How do you know now?”

“Din told me.”

There is a pause. Boba’s eyes shine when he raises his voice.

“Was that before or after you asked me if you could kiss him, alor’ika? You remember, on the way to the yards?”

Oh. Oh no. You had known it was a bad idea then, you knew it, and still you were selfish enough to request it. You have never despised yourself more than you do in that moment, when Boba’s voice breaks as he looks at you, his fingers clamped around yours like it will hurt less if he just keeps holding onto you.

“It was before I asked you,” you sigh, then hurry to explain. “Boba, it’s- it’s complicated. What I wanted to talk to you about today… it has nothing to do with Din. It’s about you and me. Din is only a part of this because he told me and I was so mad. I was so mad, and I hurt him in my anger. I said some things I should not have said, some things I didn’t mean. I had to show him-“

“Show him that you love him?”

Fuck.

“Not like I love you,” you whisper.

“So you’ve said.” Boba’s expression is calm, but there is an urgency in his voice, a need to be reassured. “Explain it to me.”

“Boba-“

“I need to hear it. I need to understand it, or it will break me. Break us.” His voice is rough, and you think you see that tell-tale sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. Quickly, you look away. You can’t cry, not right now. You have to sort this out. Boba’s hand turns your chin gently until you look him in the eyes again. “You needed to talk about the proposal. I’m sorry, alor’ika, I thought you understood what I was saying, I was so sure of it when you looked at me with those beautiful eyes and told me you accepted. I was sure you knew what it meant. I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding, and if I could I would do it all over again. But… Din is interwoven in our story, whether we like it or not, and we need to talk about that too. I didn’t want to put it on you when you came back, not after everything that had happened. But if we are being honest tonight, we need to talk about all that too.”

“Okay,” you say, your voice trembling. Boba’s hand is still in yours, but it feels clammy and cold.

“Explain it to me,” he repeats, unnaturally calm. It’s a façade, you know it, he knows it. A fence, hastily erected where a thick wall used to stand. Before he met you.

“I love you more than words can say,” you begin. “You are- you are everything to me, Boba. I never thought I would feel about anyone the way I do about you. You are ingrained deep in my heart, you are a part of me, and not one I could ever bear to lose. Being apart from you hurts so much I can hardly focus, being with you is the best feeling in the galaxy. I wish I had better words to describe how you make me feel than this, but I don’t. I’m not a great poet, I don’t know what else to tell you. I love you. Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.”

You pause to collect your thoughts. Boba’s hand squeezes yours; some warmth having returned to his touch. His eyes are gentle as he looks at you, but that underlying pain is still there, and it breaks you to see him like this.

“With Din…” you continue slowly. “With Din, it’s different. He came later, but I think even if I had met him before you, I would not have loved him the way I love you. I care so deeply about him. In the beginning, I thought it was sympathy and friendship, but I think it goes deeper than that. Still… how I feel about him does not in any way compare to how I feel about you, Boba. Losing you would shatter me. But Din- he is gone, and I am fine with that. Mostly. I miss him, I miss him so much. But being away from you was infinitely worse.”

You take a deep breath and try to collect your thoughts before you go on.

“It had to happen… it was clear from the start, I knew that he would have to leave although I let myself forget it at times. We were not meant to be, and we both knew that. I have always, always belonged to you, my love. Even before we both knew it. I’m sad- I lost a friend when Din left for Mandalore, and I’m afraid I have hurt him, even though I did not mean to. But the pain is eased by you, by your presence. I would give up anyone in the world for you, ner kar’ta. I can bear anything so long as I have you. If I lost you there would be no consolation, nothing that could heal me from that pain and that loss. Nothing.”

Boba says nothing for a long time. It makes you nervous, how quiet he is, how he won’t even look at you.

“So… you kissed him as consolation?” he finally asks, some strength having returned to his raspy voice. You breathe in and pick your words carefully.

“…kind of. I had to- I felt so bad for all those things I said, and then he told me he wanted to take his helmet off in front of me, and I knew I would want to kiss him once he did, and I knew if I did that without asking you, then… that’d be cheating. I could never ever do that do you.”

“I would not have forgiven you for that.” Boba’s voice is cold as ice, cutting into you until it hurts. You hold up the shards of your heart and ask him to put them back together.

“I know. I didn’t. If you’d said No, I would never have kissed Din. I belong to you, Boba.”

There is a pause, your heart stumbling and stuttering. Finally, Boba turns to you, the hardness melting from his eyes as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap.

“That, you do,” he mutters. “And I belong to you, alor’ika.”

You can breathe again. You almost start crying in relief, but this conversation is not over. As hard as this was, you have to clear the air entirely, you know that, or you will regret it forever.

“Do you understand now?” you ask. You need to hear Boba say it. “Do you understand how it’s different, how much more you mean to me than Din ever could? And why I still had to do what I did?”

Boba’s hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking along your jaw.

“I think I do. As much as I ever could understand, at least. There is nothing that I would have had to forgive, but I am grateful you explained it to me, alor’ika. It would have festered, it would have poisoned us, this… this jealousy I harboured.”

Hearing him admit it feels like a weight lifting off your chest. So, you were right. Boba had been jealous.

“Are you still jealous?”

Boba looks at you thoughtfully, and it’s like you can feel him reach deep inside his heart so he can bare it to you.

“No. I don’t think I am.” 

You rest your forehead against Boba’s silently. The gesture holds a meaning you don’t have words to express in this moment. A beat passes, your breath finally slowing down. It is out. Boba twitches, and tension returns to your shoulders when you can feel him preparing himself to speak.

“At least…” he breaks the silence. “At least if you meant what you said.”

You lift your head to stare at him.

“I meant everything I said.”

Boba cocks his head, his hand sliding into yours again as his other wanders up your chest to gently tug at the necklace that rests between your breasts.

“I don’t mean just now, princess. I meant… before you left.” He takes a deep breath. “When you said you accepted my proposal. Even if you didn’t know what it meant back then. If I asked you again now, would you still accept?”

He smiles a little self-ironically, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

Oh. Right. There was that. The whole reason this baring of hearts even started.

You want nothing more than to relax into Boba, to finally kiss him and grant yourself the relief you have longed for for so long. But this weighs on you, this silent anger you have been carrying with you ever since you heard Din’s calm voice telling you the words: It’s a proposal.

“My love,” you sigh deeply. “If there ever was a more terrible timing for a misunderstanding because of a cultural and language barrier, I don’t remember it. This was… this was truly unfortunate.”

Boba stiffens underneath your hands, that fear creeping back into his eyes when he looks at you.

“So you do not accept?” His voice does not tremble, but you can hear how much it costs him to keep it steady.

“Oh!” you suddenly understand why he is so anxious. “Oh Boba, of course I do. Of course I accept, my love. I- I want to become your riduur, and for you to become mine. I have never wanted anything more.”

You place your hand against his chest, quietly waiting until his heartbeat calms under your fingertips. Boba opens his mouth to answer, but you shake your head.

“I never wanted to talk about this because it was not what I wanted. I just thought… Before we celebrated, we had to talk about this. None of what we talked about could ever have any influence on my decision. I’m yours for as long as you are mine. I will marry you, as long as you’ll have me, that is certain, and-”

“I will always have you,” Boba murmurs, and you don’t have it in you to scold him for interrupting you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ll have you and hold you, keep you and love you forever. As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever is a long time,” you whisper, and a small smile appears on Boba’s face before he kisses you.

“Forever is barely long enough if I get to spend it with you.”

Previous Chapter ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Next Chapter

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Mando'a translations

Ni cuyi gar, ner kar'ta - I am yours, my love. Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum - I love you. Alor'ika - Princess

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[duskholland]

letting my inner whore out and thinking about mob!tom or even regular Tom accidentally flaking on plans with you and coming home really late, so he’s just gonna jump into bed with you and finds you in bed asleep in lingerie. 🥴🙂 and he just mentally curses himself bc now he knows that he flaked on a great night and you slept in this on purpose so he KNOWS. and having him grovel for your forgiveness OOOOOOF 🙂😌😗 make him pay for it !!!

you didn’t ask for a blurb but this inspired me so i wrote something !! i changed the circumstances of this just a lil bit but the mistake/grovel concept is all still here too :’) can be read either with mob or normal tom!

wc: 2.3k || 18+ nsfw content minors dni!!!

warnings ↠ fingering, oral (f receiving) and overstimulation :’)

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but as he walks into your bedroom and finds you sprawled out across the mattress, half-naked and sleeping, he finds himself regretting his decisions. He curses--softly, so he doesn’t disturb you, but with enough bite to make it count. His fingers curl into frustrated fists at his sides as he leans back against the doorway, eyes skimming over you.

He hadn’t intentionally bailed on date night, but something had come up. He’d texted you, grovelled profusely, tacked on a series of those heart emojis you’re so fond of as he’d sprinkled his messages with Xs, promising it wouldn’t happen again, promising he’d be there next time. You’re lovely--you’re always lovely, even when Tom fucks up--but even he’d been able to tell that you’d been annoyed. This is the second date in a row that he’s cancelled, and it’s clear you’re pissed.

You’re wearing lingerie. With your sleepy lips puckered into an unassuming pout, you look almost angelic, sprawled out, asleep. But Tom knows exactly what you’re like, knows that you’d fallen asleep, wrapped up in tight red lace like this just to rub it in. He chuckles slightly as he finds himself nodding. He has to give it to you--you always know how to get to him, and you always succeed.

Pushing away from the door, Tom stifles a yawn. If you weren’t sleeping so deeply, he’d wake you up and start his grovelling right away, but he knows better than to pounce. He doesn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep when he’s already treading on thin ice.

As Tom walks through to the ensuite and strips off his clothes, he keeps the door open, both of his eyes fixed on you, admiring you, tracing you, loving you. Fuck, his heart swells as you murmur something in your sleep and turn over, frowning as you try to get comfortable. Tom’s never going to cancel on you again.

After turning off all the lights and padding over to bed, only in his boxers, Tom very carefully starts trying to move you. You’re asleep on top of the duvet, which is slightly problematic, but he’s strong, and gentle, and he manages to coax you into resting on the mattress instead. When you don’t make any obvious movements, he thinks you’re still asleep, so climbs in after you and rolls over, wrapping his arms around you and spooning you as he nestles his face into the back of your neck.

You’re so soft. You smell of peaches, and as Tom gently rolls his hand over the rise of your exposed hip, he marvels at how warm your skin is. He rolls his fingers over your side, nuzzling closer, trying to pull you as close as possible. As he starts to press gentle kisses to your shoulder, he wonders if your sleeping form can feel how fucking sorry he is, can tell in the soft nuzzles of his mouth how apologetic and guilty he feels now.

“Y’know, I am awake,” you mutter, voice tired. “You’re not good at being quiet.”

Tom pauses his movements. He wonders if you can feel him wince. Your tone is terse.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He kisses your shoulder again and, knowing you’re awake, smooths his hand down to rest over your lower abdomen. His fingertips play with the trim of your lacy panties, fiddling as he hums. “I’m a dick for cancelling, darling. I am very sorry.”

You make a tsking sound. “Are you actually sorry, or are you just trying to get back in my good books?”

Tom hums. “Both,” he admits. He kisses your cheek before sitting up on his side, digging his elbow into the pillows. You roll onto your back, darkened eyes meeting his as you stare at him, the ghost of a smile building on your lips.

Tom brings his hand up and tentatively cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, using the touch to angle your face towards him. When you hum in approval, Tom leans down, kissing you gently. He hopes that you can feel how apologetic he is through his mouth, and he feels his heart lighten when you reach up to run a hand over the side of his face before twisting it into his hair. As your lips become warm and slick with spit, Tom hums, trying to move closer only for you to stop him by pulling away and pressing the tips of your fingers to his lips.

“Oh?” you tease. “You think it’s going to be that easy?” There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, and Tom watches as you sit up straight. The duvet falls down to pool at your waist, exposing your sheer bralette. Tom swallows as he sees your nipples, hard and straining against the flimsy material.

“No?” Tom replies.

You laugh. You reach out and touch his cheek, angling his face until Tom’s eyes are back on yours. “You need to make it up to me,” you say. For the first time, hurt seeps into your eyes. Tom’s guilt reappears, overpowering all of the lust that had emerged as he’d seen you wrapped up in lace.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, and Tom means it. He moves, smiling slightly as he slides on top of you, pushing you back down onto the mattress as he cages you in with an arm on either side of your face. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “I love you, baby, and I’m sorry for letting you down. It won’t happen again.” He kisses you gently. “I know I said that last time,” he adds, whispering softly, “but I promise. Nothing is more important than you. Nothing.”

You comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he says, and it’s true. You’re everything. “Can I make it up to you now?” he murmurs. Tom draws his lips over your face, kissing in a line until he’s whispering into your ear, voice growing raspy. “Let me make you feel good.”

You hum, drawing it out as you pretend to think about it. Tom moans as you tug on his hair, your hands then skimming away to careen down the muscles of his back. You tease him, pressing your fingers into his shoulders as you slowly grind up to press your centre against Tom’s crotch. He grunts, face falling into the crook of your neck as he feels himself harden again.

“Are you alright down there?” you tease, hand drifting down to rest over his ass. Tom moans as you pull him closer, keeping his crotch against yours as you encourage him to grind against your heat.

He releases a noise of strangled enjoyment. It takes all of his self-control to pull away, kissing your chin when you raise a brow. “This is about you,” he decides. “Not me.”

You swallow. “Okay,” you agree, catching your lower lip between your teeth. “I had some fun without you,” you add, smirking when Tom raises a brow. “Can you blame me?”

He shakes his head. “‘Course not,” he says. “Love you,” he adds, then he gets to work.

Tom presses kisses to every part of your body as he gently moves down your figure, resting at your chest to lap over each one of your nipples with his tongue. As the lace of your bra gets soaked with spit, Tom picks up his pace, drawn to your low moans. When he’s not rolling his tongue around your nipples, he’s cupping your breasts in his palms and massaging your chest with his fingers, alternating between light teasing touches and more substantial grabs that make you release the prettiest groans.

By the time Tom reaches your centre, he isn’t surprised to see you quivering. He doesn’t pause to take off your lingerie, knows better than to strip you of something that you’d put on so deliberately. He enjoys watching the confidence that it gives you.

“Oh, baby…” Tom murmurs, rolling his index and middle fingers over the front of your panties. They’re soaked, and as he presses up against your covered clit, he feels your centre pulse. The whimper you release is soft and broken, and Tom is quick to settle between your legs. He parts your thighs before kissing your mound, his nose nuzzling up against the wet warmth of your front. He tenses the tip of his tongue before dragging it over your covered folds, the slickness of your panties making it easy for him to delineate the rise of your bud.

“Shit,” you whine. You bury your hands in his hair and jerk him closer, pulling Tom’s face further into your heat. “Fuck, Tom. Don’t tease me— fuck. You’re supposed to be making it up to me.”

Tom moans in agreement. He manages to wriggle away just enough so he’s able to pull your panties to the side, and after taking a moment to run both thumbs down the side of your folds, he gently coaxes them apart, exposing your cunt. He curses, looking between your centre and your eyes with lust.

“You’re so fucked already,” he murmurs. He slips his fingers down to play around with your entrance, his digits getting coated in your slick. You whimper and thrust your hips until he crooks the two fingers into you, your walls giving way and enveloping him immediately. “Have you already cum tonight?”

Briefly, guilt flickers across your face. It fades as Tom leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the bud with his tongue as his fingers start to pump into you. “Y-yeah,” you whimper, and suddenly it makes sense why you’re being so responsive.

“I can tell. Pussy’s so hot, baby, so wet… Practically gushing out over my hand, gorgeous.” Tom pulls away, shifting a thumb onto your bud as he looks down at where his fingers are opening you up. He adds a third easily, desire running hot through his body as you cry out loudly. “How many times did you cum?”

Your breathing is heavy, laborious. “Twice,” you admit. Your fingers fist the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as you arch your back and moan. “Shit, Tom… please.”

“Please?” He’s enjoying this, loves the way you squirm as he curls his fingers up and presses against your g-spot. You’re so beautiful. “Please what, lovie?”

“Make me cum,” you whine. You open your eyes again, wide and pleading. “Please, please—”

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “There you go, baby.” Tom thrusts his fingers faster, with more urgency, and speeds up the movement of his thumb on your clit. “Cum for me, darling. Let me warm you up… Let you feel really good. Always so pretty when you cum for me… so, so pretty, baby. Come on.”

You fall apart a few moments later, walls contracting around his fingers. Tom watches in awe as you cry out loudly, eyes rolling back as your chest rises and falls. He doesn’t stop, though, not even when your walls stop pulsing and your climax ends. Instead, he drops his head and puts his mouth back on your bud.

“T-Tom,” you cry out. You’re squirming again, properly now, but he knows you’d tap out if it was too much. Both of you know that you enjoy the blurring of the pain and pleasure as he overstimulates you like this. “Holy fuck… ‘m so sensitive.”

Tom’s hand is properly wet now. He can feel your arousal dripping between his fingers. You’re so slick his movements are imprecise, and so he counters that by thrusting his fingers harder, blundering up against the spongy rise of your walls until you’re crying out. As he brings you close again, he moves his mouth over your cunt, sloppily making out with your clit and your folds. Occasionally he’ll tease your rise with the bumps of his teeth, and he likes the way your moans change from shrill to intense when he runs the flat of his tongue over your bud again.

“Tommy,” you wail. You sound wrecked, and when Tom glances up, he sees you, eyes full of blurring tears, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. You gasp as he curls his fingers perfectly, and Tom watches you bury your face in your arm as you orgasm with a yell. This time, he has to move up, pressing his elbow into your thigh to keep you down as the pleasure consumes you. Your hot cunt squeezes his fingers tightly, an iron-like grip that almost immobilises his hand. Luckily, Tom’s used to you, knows how to continue to please you until you’re fucked out and crying.

Your peak stretches for a while, the air alight with the sounds of your whimpering enjoyment. Tom laps over your clit until you’re crying out and tugging at his hair, at which point he moves away from you. He smirks as he sees a trail of saliva connecting you to him, then sees the way your thighs tremble.

“How was that, darling?” Tom checks, letting his fingers slip from you. You whimper and he pulls up to you, gently kissing your cheek as his eyes skim you for any signs of damage. All he finds is bliss, then your lips on his as you peck him quickly.

“Fantastic,” you announce. You sigh as you fall back against the mattress, smiling lazily. “Fuck, I love you.”

Tom wipes his lips before kissing your nose. “Love you too,” he murmurs. “Did I make it up to you?”

You nod immediately. “Yeah. You did more than just that.” You reach down to touch his crotch, and Tom jumps. He’d been so preoccupied with you that he’d forgotten about his length, hard and straining against his boxers. You run your thumb over the patch of material, soaked with his precum. “Let me say thank you,” you say, speaking quietly but teasingly. Your tone makes Tom bite his lips. “Let me make it up to you…”

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 7- Good For You

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warning for alcoholism

Masterlist

The next month or so is pure bliss. With Hawks fully committed the weird moments of distance have stopped and with them so has the fighting. Not to say that it’s easy, task force work has meant some nights where you have to sleep in different cities or you work opposing shifts so you don’t have time to see each other. Even still, the two of you make it work.

Hawks is good for you. Your nightly routine used to almost always involve at least a few drinks. At first it was a way to keep nightmares away, then it was a way to cope with Monoma’s criticisms, and eventually it became a habit. Now your nightly routine has joint showers or bubble baths, music playing over speakers, gentle kisses and even gentler touches. One night, after you mentioned that your mother’s favorite song had been Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka, Hawks had insisted on putting it on and slow dancing around your kitchen. Mina had walked in on the two of you and absolutely swooned at the sight. You’d sworn her to secrecy but the minute she realized Bakugo also knew she’d begged Kirishima for Bakugo’s number so she could gush about how precious you and Hawks are. The explosive blonde doesn’t appreciate Mina’s excessive messaging but he puts up with it because in all honesty he and Midoriya are both proud of you. So proud, in fact, that they brought a cupcake with a little candle on it to work for you to celebrate one month of sobriety. You mostly certainly did not cry no matter what anyone else says.

You’re good for Hawks too. For once he’s appreciating life outside of work. He looks forward to the moment he can sneak into your apartment or you his, and just spend time together just the two of you. It’s to the point where he just doesn’t sleep the same when you’re not in his arms. He loves collecting little facts about you, like how you look first thing in the morning and what you like for breakfast and what playlist you listen to when you’re getting dressed. He wants to catalogue every tiny detail about you. He wonders if, under normal circumstances, you’d like PDA. If he didn’t work for Endeavor and you didn’t work for All Might would you love holding his hand or let him wrap his arm around you as you walked? With each passing day Hawks hates more and more the fact that he can’t announce his love for you to the world. He takes what can get and enjoys the stolen moments, but not being able to enjoy casual affection with you outside of the task force and the privacy of your own homes is difficult. Which is probably why, when he spots you walking towards All Might’s agency as he’s flying there himself, he decides another stolen moment can’t hurt.

He spots an alley a little ahead of you and decides to drop in for one last stolen moment before you shift into work mode. As he lands he sends a couple feathers to you to let you know where he is. You follow them into the alley and the moment you’re in view Hawks reaches out to grasp your forearm and pull you into him, pressing a kiss to your lips. You sink into it for a moment as Hawks wraps his arms around your waist but then you gently push him back. “What if someone sees?” you ask, looking back behind you out towards the street, but Hawks gently grasps your chin and turns you back to face him. “No one will see Dove,” he assures you before pressing you to the wall to kiss you again. You have to admit it’s hard to say no when he’s on you like this so you relax into it and let yourself just enjoy the affection and his gentle touches. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket and pull away to check it, finding a text from Midoriya letting you know he would be getting to the agency soon. “We should go,” you tell Hawks. “I don’t want to though,” he whines. You roll your eyes and push him back gently. “Come on, we’ve got hero work to do,” you laugh and Hawks relents, aware that you’re right and these stolen moments can’t last forever. But as he watches you walk out the alley he’s struck with the thought that he’s really sick of the secrecy. He’ll tell Endeavor after the meeting, he decides, and then tonight he’ll talk with you about it.

Tokoyami has finally confirmed that the group he’s been following were the culprits behind the attempted attack. He was able to link a few members to maintenance workers on shift the night in question and then cross checked their identities against security cam footage. It was still unclear who was running the whole operation so there was certainly more work to be done and you all would have to tread carefully in your surveillance from now on, but at least it’s clear who to watch. The meeting ends after all of you have hashed out a new surveillance schedule. As everyone gets ready to head out Hawks stops you. “Hey, I need to swing by Endeavor’s, but afterwards can we talk?” he asks. “Sure. Mina is having people over so I’ll meet you at your place,” you reply easily. “Great, I’ll catch you later,” Hawks says before leaving the room. He mentally prepares himself for whatever the fallout with Endeavor will be as he heads out the building and then takes off to the other side of town.

He didn’t expect to be nervous standing outside Endeavor’s office. He didn’t need Endeavor’s approval to date you and he was well aware that Endeavor was typically anything but rational when it came to All Might and all those associated. Still, a traitorously optimistic part of him wants his loyalty to Endeavor to be rewarded with acceptance of his love for you. He doesn’t need or want a new father, but he won’t deny the somewhat paternal nature of his relationship with his mentor. So maybe that’s why he has to take a deep breath to steel himself before he reaches up and knocks on Endeavor’s door.

“Come in,” comes the gruff voice from behind the door. Hawks walks in to find Endeavor sitting at his desk leafing through the day’s incident reports. “I need to talk to you about something important,” Hawks states, not bothering to beat around the bush. “What is it?” Endeavor asks, his eyes not straying from the papers in front of him. “I’m seeing someone,” Hawks says. “Your personal life is really none of my business Hawks.” “I’m glad you think that way because I’m seeing Artemis from All Might’s agency.” Endeavor freezes, placing the papers down and finally giving Hawks his attention. “I beg your pardon?” he asks. “I’m dating (y/n) (y/l/n), aka Artemis, of All Might’s agency,” Hawks repeats. “I put you on that task force to catch terrorists not flirt with our rivals.” “She and I met before the formation of the task force. Both of us being assigned to it was a coincidence.” “Really?” “Really.” “I don’t believe you Hawks.” “I can tell you the whole story if you want?” “Very well.”

And that’s exactly what Hawks does. He tells a, PG-13, version of you and his love story from that first fateful moment he talked to you at the gala to today, and all the beautiful moments in between. That optimistic part of him hopes that maybe, if Endeavor just understands how much he loves you, then maybe he won’t freak out over this. “You really love her don’t you? More than those other women?” Endeavor asks and Hawks feels a glimmer of hope as he replies “I do,” without a second thought. He doesn’t know how exactly he expected Endeavor to react. He certainly wasn’t expecting the reaction he got. “I thought you were smarter than this Hawks,” Endeavor sighs. “Excuse me?” Hawks asks. “I should have known a young, pretty upstart from his agency would pull something like this. Hawks she’s using you,” Endeavor insists. Hawks reels back as if struck and immediately he’s filled with an anger he’s never felt for his mentor before. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he warns icily. “If she’s so in love with you why all the secrecy?” Endeavor presses. “She got out of an engagement to Monoma recently and she can’t afford a bad headline,” Hawks defends. “Or is it that she doesn’t want the press to find out she’s using you. Awfully convenient isn’t it? That she didn’t leave her fiancé until after she had usurped him in the hero rankings.” “It isn’t like that, she didn’t even know who I was when we met.” “Don’t be so naive. How could she not know it was you Hawks? How many other heroes do you know with bright red wings.” Hawks doesn’t have a response for that. It’s a good point. He hates that it’s a good point. “I think she clocked you at the gala, then decided to further capitalize when she realized you were also on the task force. I know my son and his friends may have convinced you that the feud is only in my and All Might’s heads now, but I assure you it is alive and well amongst the vast majority of the heroes in our agencies. Lose the girl, Hawks,” Endeavor insists. “And if I say no?” Hawks asks, and he can feel his heart breaking because Endeavor has a point but he wants so desperately for him to be wrong. “If you say no then I’ll know you’re compromised and will have no choice but to pull you from the task force and reconsider your current position within this agency. I wouldn’t be able to trust you not to leak information to Artemis. Have I made myself clear?” “Crystal.” “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow Hawks.”

Hawks turns and leaves in a fog. Is it possible Endeavor is right? Has this been a game to you this whole time? He thought it himself that first day of the task force, the lower ranks of both agencies are still deeply entrenched in the rivalry. That had been your day-to-day up until what, a year ago? Of course you’d be more likely to believe in the rivalry and the stereotypes than Bakugo and Midoriya. And sure, it made sense that you would want to keep the relationship a secret when barely a day had passed since your broken engagement but it’s been months now. Surely if you care as deeply for him as he does you, you’d be eager to let the world know. Surely sufficient time has passed for the two of you to declare your love without you taking heat for it. Not to mention that Endeavor is right about Hawks’ identity not exactly being a secret in any scenario precisely because of his wings. There’s no way you couldn’t have known who he was, so why pretend as if you didn’t if not to take advantage of him? The questions turn over and over in Hawks’ head as he makes his way home. Even once there he paces his living room trying to find any way for all the pieces to fit together that doesn’t point to you using him. If things were different, Hawks may have played things out anyway, let himself cautiously believe in your love and wait for a betrayal. But Endeavor had made it clear that continuing his love affair with you would have dire consequences for his career and if you don’t love him all he’ll have left is his career.

There’s a knock on the door.

It’s you.

Of course it’s you....

He had almost forgotten he asked you to talk after he ran his errand at Endeavor’s agency. He was hoping for more time but he supposes now is as good a time as any to rip off the bandage. God his heart hurts. His heart hurts so goddamn much but he knows what he has to do.

He should’ve known better than to believe in fairytales.

He opens the door for you and immediately you can tell something’s wrong. “Hey I uh tried calling to double check if you were home yet but you weren’t picking up so I just swung by,” you explain sheepishly, the weird energy coming from Hawks making you anxious. “We need to talk,” Hawks says and the way he says it is ominous. You can feel your heart sinking and you hate it. What went wrong? Just this morning things were perfect. “I can sometimes treat the people that I love like jewelry,” Hawks admits, but he won’t look at you as he does so. “What does that mean Kei? What’s going on?” you ask and Hawks flinches when you reference his real name. He’s never done that before. You just want to understand what’s going on in that head of his but he’s blank in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. “I try them on and change my mind each day about them. I didn’t mean to try you on (y/n), it just happened,” he confesses. Your heart sinks even further.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It was true of the previous women he’d dated, yes, but the reason he knows that now is precisely because it was always different with you. He knows your birthday and your mother’s favorite song. You know his past and real name. God he hates this but he always does it. He runs away when things are good because he’s scared of what will happen and he always has regrets afterwards. Not this time, he reminds himself, because you’ve been faking this whole time. And of course you were. He never understood the way you laid your eyes on him in ways that no one else ever could. Never understood how you could see past the broken pieces of him. “I don’t love you anymore,” he lies and each word is ash on his tongue and he needs to see your reaction now so he can know he did the right thing. He needs the final confirmation of your betrayal. But oh how wrong he is. When he finally looks at you his heart fractures far worse than if Endeavor were right, because you look how he feels right now. God you look absolutely crushed. But it’s not like he can take anything he’s said back now. It’s too late. It’s too late and so it seems he’s broken your heart and his own. His ignorance and faith in Endeavor have struck again. He failed to see or believe that you loved him as much as you claimed and now he’s torn you open.

“I’m sorry,” he says but he doesn’t elaborate on what he’s sorry for. He knows you’ll fill in the blanks incorrectly but it’s what he deserves for having such little faith in you. You’ll think he’s sorry for falling out of love with you but that’s not it at all. He’s sorry that he can’t believe that anybody ever really falls in love with him. He’s sorry he was so blind he couldn’t see that there was no way you could ever be faking what the two of you had. He didn’t mean to leave you and all of the things the two of you had behind, but it’s too late now to take it back. “Keigo please,” you beg and you sound small and broken in a way he has never once seen you. “Someone will love you (y/n), but someone isn’t me,” he says and it’s the final nail in a coffin of his own creation. “Fuck you Hawks,” is the last thing you spit out before storming out of his apartment. Someone will love you, he assures himself. It hurts now but someday, someone will love you that deserves you. That someone just isn’t him it seems. He keeps trying to convince himself of that as he numbly goes to his empty bed.

You don’t remember anything about the walk home. You move as if through a void, nothing else around you, nothing else matters. All that you can feel and perceive is the pain in your chest. How could he just fall out of love with you? You know his love was genuine, you know it from the bottom of your heart because he wasn’t lying about no one knowing his real name. He wasn’t lying about his past being a secret. Yet he had trusted you with all of it. So why was he abandoning you now? It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. All you know is that it fucking hurts. When you finally get to your apartment, you ignore Mina and her company and head straight for your kitchen, grabbing a bottle of liquor you can’t even bother to properly identify before heading to your room and locking yourself in. You sit down on your bed and the pain is still hollowing you out so you drink.

And you drink.

And you drink...

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp

[knifefather]

KnifeFather’s Kinktober 2020, 18+ NSFW ➼ Day 6: Period sex or edging ➼ Pairing: Don!Giorno Giovanna/Reader ➼ Word count: 1.3k ➼ Reader is AFAB pronouns used are female. ➼ Also available on Ao3.

It is your time of the month and your husband helps take care of you in more ways than one.

You groaned and pressed the heating pad closer to your stomach. You were curled up in bed, still in your pajamas. You were on your period, and you were absolutely hating it. Giorno had business to attend to throughout most of the day, but he periodically texted you and called you to make sure you were feeling okay. He also instructed a member of the housekeeping staff come to your room and check on you every few hours, on the hour. Now, he was finally on his way home, and you were excited to see him.

You heard his gentle footsteps coming down the hall before he poked his blond head into the room, gazing at you on the bed. When you noticed him, you smiled wide and motioned for him to come closer. “Tesora, how are you doing?” he asked, taking the cue and entering the room. He sat next to you on the bed and immediately wrapped an arm around you, holding you close and kissing your forehead. Giorno’s vampire genes had begun to kick in a bit after his 21st birthday. At the time, it was very difficult to control himself and suppress his true nature when you began to bleed. It had been a few years since then, and now that he was older, and it was easier for him to show more restraint while you menstruated. Though the vampire don had to admit that his gums itched and his canines enlarged when he got a particularly strong smell of your scent, chock full of hormones. This smell was dancing around his nostrils as he sat so close to you, but he tried his best to dismiss them. “I’m feeling okay… My cramps are hurting me so bad, though,” you whined, rubbing your lower stomach. “You took the painkillers I left out for you, yes?” he asked. He kissed your temple and you laughed before nuzzling into his shoulder. “Yeah, I did. They only help so much, you know,” you teased. “Of course,” he responded, rolling his eyes a bit and playfully grinning. “Is there anything else I can do for you, love? Would you like some tea or a snack?” “I’m alright, thank you. What I really want is for you to take off your coat and come lay down with me, darling.” Giorno chuckled before responding. “You know once I lay down with you, I won’t want to get back up.” Being in your presence and in the warm, soft sheets always brought out the lazy side of him, and he had to tread carefully. “Well, you’re done with work for now, right? C’mon, it won’t be so bad.” You’d convinced him. He stood to strip himself of his daywear before crawling back into bed with you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close. You let your eyes slip closed and breathed deeply, the sweet floral musk of your husband making your head warm and fuzzy. You were beginning to feel warm in more places than your head, however. “Giorno? Maybe there is something you can do for me,” you piped up after a moment, biting your lip. He was quiet and waited for you to continue, all the while stroking your bare shoulder with the pads of his fingertips. “I’ve been feeling… um, pretty needy today,” you said, your words stumbling awkwardly. You took another breath before going on. Curse your shyness. You'd been with Giorno for years, and yet you always got tripped up on this.  “Could we maybe lay down a towel and…?” you trailed off. When you were met with silence, you looked up and saw an expression that was hard to place on his features. After a moment, he responded. “Of course we can. But you do know that once I get started, it’s difficult for me to stop,” he said, his hand moving from your shoulder down your arm, down to your thigh, teasing the edge of your shorts. You felt a spike of arousal shoot down your groin, taking the warning more as a promise. “Good,” you said, kissing Giorno deeply. Without further ado, Giorno parted from the kiss and excused himself to fetch a towel for the two of you and you quickly stripped yourself of your bottoms and underwear. After laying out the towel and you settle back down into your spot, Giorno perched over you, kissing from your neck down to your collar bones and breasts. You sighed quietly in approval as his tongue swirled over your nipple, wetting it nicely before bringing it to hardness. He did the same with the other before traveling down past your navel. His green eyes gazed up at you, shining inhumanly, as he spread your pussy lips carefully with his fingers. You looked back at him, confused, but had your question answered as Giorno ducked his head down to carefully lap at your already wet slit, tasting you. “G-Gio… You’re not really…” you trailed, baffled that he chose to eat you out. He chuckled against your folds and dove his tongue between them, tasting you, coating his already rosy lips red. Your legs trembled as he lapped at your sex, groaning as he did so, the vibrations moving over your pleasure spots. After a moment, you reached down to tug on his golden locks. “Caro, please, inside me,” you requested brokenly. Almost having to force himself away from your pussy, he obeyed and parted your thighs before positioning himself between them. “Will be this comfortable enough?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern. You immediately quelled his worries, nodding enthusiastically, parting your legs and encouraging him. He pressed forward and you grabbed his member, guiding him inside you. You both released a synchronized moan of delight as you made contact, Giorno sinking in deep. As soon as he was inside, he set a steady pace of fucking you, cradling your legs to his sides. His member was coated red, and he loved to see the shine around the base of his shaft. You let out a small moan with every thrust, causing him to grin at the display. When he smiled, you could see his fangs peeking out from under his plush lips. He was sinfully beautiful, his skin almost sparkling from the stray bits of dying sunlight that snuck their way into your chambers. Tresses of hair laying down his shoulders shined brighter than that of pure gold.

The head of Giorno’s cock found your favorite spot, a small bundle of nerves inside you, and you clenched down on him. The towel was wet with your essence now, and your husband growled as he watched it drip, peering down between your legs, fascinated. His lips were still stained red from going down on you earlier, now smudged down his chin. The scene was too much for the don, and as he watched your face contort while you moved through the phases of pleasure, his balls tightened threatening against your rear. He gasped quietly, his hips slowing as he released inside you. You hissed in a breath and wrapped your legs around him tighter, holding him close, and he braced himself by moving both of his arms on either side of you. Your fingers dug into his back as his semen made it inside you. Color exploded behind your eyelids, and by the time you came back to, Giorno’s lips were on yours. He kissed you passionately while he pulled out of you. He gazed down, feeling proud of himself as he watched a mixture of your blood and his cum trickle out of you and onto the towel. After a few more kisses, he moved off of you and into the bathroom before emerging with a wet washcloth for you. He cleaned your blood-stained skin, humming quietly to himself while he did so. “Did that help your cramps?” he asked, chuckling a bit at his own question. “More than you could ever know,” you sighed, giving him a kiss on the cheek as your spouse took care of you.

[tenelkadjowrites]

Tyrant - Chapter Six - batjokes

(this story has been updating regularly on my ao3 but i am uploading it here now as well.)

read on ao3 here.

Summary: Six months after a traumatic night where the Joker attacked Gotham, Bruce finds his life turned upside down once again. When a hijacking goes wrong, Bruce is brought closer to the Joker and finds himself in a game of cat and mouse with the most dangerous criminal in the city. Torn between the strange hold the Joker has over him and being Batman, Bruce grapples with what he wants and what is right.

this story deals with PTSD, depictions of violence, a lot of angst, and will have nsfw sexual content. it is a batman x joker fic.

chapter five here.

          Bruce knew he had to tread carefully. The Joker looked pleased with himself, thinking to trade the billionaire for his arch-rival. But there would be no trade. In no outcome could Bruce see this going according to Joker’s plan.

           “You think Batman is going to give himself up for me?”

           “His code of honor will leave him no choice.” The grin had left Joker’s face and he once again was leaning back against the plush seating of the limo as they glided towards Gotham. “If he doesn’t show up, I shoot you in the head. Batman wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he allowed the darling billionaire of Gotham City killed because he didn’t want to appear.” He looked self-assured.

           The worst thing was that Bruce knew he was right. If he hadn’t been the one captive, there was no way he would have stood by if the Joker wanted to make a trade. The death of someone on his watch was not something he could have let slide.

           But how could Batman show up when he was currently sharing a limo ride with the Joker?

           Even though it was freezing cold in the limo, Bruce could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. Compared to the Joker, who looked pristine, he knew his appearance was a far cry from the normally put together Bruce Wayne he presented to Gotham. That added another element of feeling out of control in the situation.

           Joker had lost interest in him again. Why would Bruce Wayne be interesting when Batman was waiting for him? His ankle throbbed painfully, and he slumped against the seats. He turned his head just enough to look out the window. They were in the city now. The thunder grew louder. Another storm. Threatening snow. His mind drifted. Instead of focusing on the nightmare unfolding around him, Bruce wondered if it would be a heavy snowfall. The weather could never seem to make up its mind here.

           The Joker didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Both men had turned inward, thinking about the same thing…the arrival of Batman. Bruce’s body was sore and sluggish. He longed to be at home. He would sleep for a week. No, two weeks. Yet even has he thought it, he knew that wasn’t true. It was an escape to daydream and pretend he could shut out Gotham City. But being Batman meant he could never fully close that door.

           Bruce wondered how Joker had made it known he wanted the trade. It wasn’t as if he had a direct line to Batman. Whatever he did, something must have happened for them to be heading to the trade point. That meant someone had gotten in touch with Joker. The police? Alfred? How long until people wondered why Batman wasn’t around?

           Questions with no answers. Bruce was dreading finding out how this was going to go. The limo began to slow as they turned down an alley. Joker was tapping his fingers impatiently against the walking cane. Bruce had never seen him dressed so nicely before. There was a twisted elegance to his appearance. Handsome in a disturbing way. He looked away from him, unsettled.

           The limo doors opened. Bruce was still handcuffed. A henchman reached in and pulled him out. He hit his head on the top of the limo, banging it painfully, the headache kicking back up. The Joker stepped out easily behind him. Droplets of rain struck against Bruce’s face as he looked up at the building they had parked by.

           “Let’s go, Mr. Wayne!” Joker trilled, pushing past him. “We don’t want to be late.”

           Surrounded by henchmen, Bruce followed the Joker into the building. It was an empty office building. His footsteps echoed across the floor. His ankle was hurting so much that Bruce was limping alongside Joker. They went into the elevator. Bruce could feel Joker’s energy pouring off him as the lift took them up.

           He thinks this is it. Everything he wanted is about to land in his lap, Bruce thought as his eyes traced the Joker’s jaw.

           He had never been this close to the Joker before and not been trying to arrest him or stop him from hurting someone or…he brushed the memory away. It was strange to be so close to him and not have the Joker care or glance twice in his direction. Bruce wasn’t sure how he felt.

           The elevator doors opened, and they were on the roof. The rain was coming down steadily and the moon was covered by clouds. The henchmen remained by the elevator as Bruce and Joker walked to the middle of the rooftop and waited.

           Bruce wasn’t sure how long they would be waiting. How long until Joker realized Batman wasn’t coming? And would he be killed then and there? If he was going to be shot, then he would have to break cover and do what he could to get away. That would raise the Joker’s interest which Bruce didn’t want. But forced in a corner…

           “He’s here.” Joker said gleefully, taking a step forward.

           Alarmed and also confused, Bruce followed the Joker’s gaze. Across the way, on the roof opposite there, stood Batman. He could just make out the silhouette. What the…

           “Batsy!” Joker crooned, extending his arms out as if he was seeing an old friend. “I knew you would come! You wouldn’t want the blood of Gotham’s favourite billionaire on your hands!”

           “Joker.” Batman said, voice modified through the mask.

           Bruce frowned, his mind flicking through the various scenarios that could be unfolding. Someone pretending to be him? No, the voice was too dead on. Spliced together audio, most likely. Alfred could have done that part easily. But he wasn’t sure how he could still be looking at Batman. He squinted, trying to figure it out, but it was difficult with no moonlight and the rain.

           “Come down here so I can turn over the billionaire!” Joker said earnestly.

           His excitement is blinding him, Bruce thought. So close to his goal, Joker was not thinking clearly.

           “I want Mr. Wayne first.” Batman said after a moment’s pause. Alfred trying to splice the audio together quickly, Bruce thought.

           The Joker chewed on his bottom lip, smearing lipstick on his teeth. The rain was soaking through his nice suit. The immaculate image the Joker had constructed was already falling apart.

           “What’s to say you don’t just take him and go?” He scowled before reaching for Bruce and tugging him forward. “It doesn’t matter if you try to take him. I can shoot him before you can leave. You’ll have his blood on your hands. Come down here and get him.”

           “No,” Batman repeated. There was a pause and then he said, “I want Bruce to cross the pathway. Once he’s on the other side, then I’ll come over.”

           The two buildings were connected by a walkway. Bruce could feel Joker weighing the situation, trying to figure out Batman’s angle. Once I cross the walkway, the police will come in, Bruce thought. Surely, the idea must have crossed the Joker’s mind as well. Even though he had Bruce, the police had Batman. The unease settled on the Joker’s shoulders. Bruce could see it flicker across his face. He isn’t going to let me walk across, he thought desperately.

           In the next second, Joker pulled out his gun and pressed it against Bruce’s head. “Do not press me on this, Batsy!” He shouted across the building, “I’ll shoot him right now!”

           Bruce went still when he felt the gun against his head. Time seemed to slow down. With death looming over him, the clouds suddenly parted. Moonlight spilled across the rooftops. The illumination only lasted a couple seconds before the moon was swallowed up again. But it was just enough light for Bruce to figure out how Batman was here. From the telltale flicker at the edge of Batman’s cape, he realized it was some sort of hologram – tech that Alfred and him had been working on. Not complete though. Still had flaws.

           The moon was once again covered by clouds. The Joker lowered the gun. Bruce thought he was going to agree and let him cross.

           But instead, he tugged Bruce back behind him.

           “Changed my mind!” He shouted at Batman before turning to look directly at Bruce.

            “I’m keeping him.”

[sugarfreecapsicle]

eager

This is smut. Heed the warnings I list as well. Do not read if you are under the age of 18.

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, ownership, dirty talk, slight emasculation if you squint hard enough

okay, this was dug up in my ancient archives - @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan was kind enough to look this old piece over for me before I tweaked it for her follower celebration post, so major proper to her for being so kind. and to be totally up front, kids, I have no clue where this came from in my head and I doubt I’ll ever find out. feedback is appreciated, encouraged, coveted. nsfw content below the cut.

(gif credit)

Your stomach tied in knots, churning bile as your parents led you into the shop. Your skin crawled with cold sweat, goosebumps. If this is the precedent to nobility, you couldn’t be sure you wanted any part of it.

The clerk had welcomed your small party of three at the large cherry door, his words humming behind the echo of your heartbeat thrumming in your head. Father’s hand guided you between where he and your mother stood. "When you see one you like, speak up so you can inspect him before you settle on any of them, darling."

Dizziness whirled in your mind, walls spinning and painting a strange jewel toned mosaic of skin, dark aubergine walls, and cold metal. Chains rattled violently in rounds upon entrance to the hall, shaking through you like driving wind in a snowstorm. Eyes screwed shut while your entire body trembled, both parents now lamely attempting to soothe you as if the entire experience should be normal. 

"Look how eager they are for you, darling," Mother purred in your ear, brushing the hair out of your paling face. "As good little toys should be."

The underlying venom in your mother's voice implied punishment if her directions were not followed exactly, so you chanced a look towards the caged men, all in various forms of undress. Only a few looked utterly miserable, uninterested at the new visitors - those more eager, more desperate for escape, couldn't take their eyes off the three nobles. A handful of the men anticipated your mother to choose for you, one or two even eyeing your father as if maybe he shopped for another to call his own.

"Show us your more desirable toys," Father said to the shopkeep. "Only the best will do for my daughter."

For your birthday, as every noble would, you were to receive your first toy. With the coronation imminent the need to find a suitable toy was pressing, and your father insisted the council allow you to choose one for yourself.

Again your family was led out of the caged room and into a minimalistic lobby. The clerk excused himself, saying he would bring out three of his most expensive "models". Your fingers wrung together, dewy sweat blending between your palms as you waited for him to return with the men, Mother's hand playing with strands of her rose-blonde hair. 

"We have faith in you, sweetheart," she said. "You'll pick a beautiful toy the others will be jealous of."

As per custom, your parents kept their ranks secret from their children. You preferred to keep it that way,  rather not know which of your parents would've been sold off like this to a royal. There was a possibility, of course, that both were dominant and had toys on the side since many of your friends couldn't help but let their curiosity flourish into investigation. Their findings more often than not completely altered their familial relationship, one even ruining their claim to land and wealth.

The clerk returned with a proud grin, leading one shackled man into the room. Shirtless with a sheen of sweat to his light skin, fitted brown pants and military fatigue boots accented by golden handcuffs keeping his hands together. His eyes made him seem more like a trapped god than a toy. Blue - not quite sky and not quite ocean, but certainly rivaled any imagining of Poseidon. His jaw set into a firm clench, a defiant nature masked by protocol. Your dizziness popped into a tingling high. 

Oh. 

Your father’s smile bloomed as he  nodded at the clerk and stepped away to take care of payment while your mother's hand stilled on your back and gently patted your shoulders. 

"Well done, darling."

--------

"What's your name?" you asked softly, arms wrapped around your middle as you looked at the man purchased by your parents. “Your given one.”

He appeared solid and powerful, something not often seen in other toys. No wonder he was worth so much to the clerk - most preferred their toys to be purchased weak then improved upon in private however each noble saw fit. Sandy blonde hair, strong shoulders, rippling muscles as far as the eye could see. 

"Steven," he answered in a hushed tone. Given names weren't allowed once a toy was bought. Under more traditional circumstances a new name would be deemed by the master, but you could tell this - or whatever this could be - was different. You wanted to know him as is, not the person anyone else decided he should be.

"Steve," you echoed with a small smile, finding confidence and introducing yourself by given name. He nodded mutely and fought back a smile, memories of impenetrable metal cracking against his body in his transition. He held his hands together as if the cuffs still bound him, though now tossed away somewhere in your wardrobe. Steve’s eyes didn't meet yours, keeping them focused on the floor as he'd been taught. You stepped over to him and lifted his chin, forcing his pale blue eyes to meet yours. 

How could you expect to train him to do your bidding in every possible way when he loomed over you? The echoes of your lessons sang in the back of your mind as you held his chin in place and searched his eyes. Steve wasn't afraid or angry disorienting your logical path of thought. Everything you'd prepared for comprised of a rigid, stubborn man with no desire for you whatsoever. Steve's presence and power couldn’t hide behind any veil or mask - he actively chose to be putty in your hands.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure how to be a good master," you murmur with a flutter of eyelashes. "But I'll try my best. If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me. I don't want to hurt you."

Steve pursed his lips together and swallowed hard. "Yes, master."

The name shot through your core like lightning. "In private, you can call me by my name, not... that."

Steve nodded, raised your open palm to his lips and kissed a vague promise of honor to your hand. A somewhat bold move, being affectionate without your express permission or command, but you allowed it. His kisses warmed embers through your veins.

Carnal want pooled between your legs, but without specific instruction from you, Steve couldn’t satisfy if compulsory lessons could be trusted. With shaking hands, you felt across the expanse his shoulders, chest and torso moving slowly and deliberately to feel his breath hitch in particular spots. 

"I'm sure you've heard this from other...people," you tread carefully, hands resting at the waistband of his pants. "You're absolutely breath-taking."

He hummed and his balance wavered. "Thank you...m-may I have permission to speak?" 

You concede and lean into his body heat, feeling his tension radiate into you. 

"I don't ever want to take my eyes off you," he purred, vacillating closer to your touch as fingertips dipped behind linen. "I can hardly breathe when-"

Commentary interrupted by your hands pushing past his hips and thighs, a groan flows from his chest. You stopped, looking up at your with pants pooled at his ankles.

"When what, Stevie?"

Your hands pressed upwards again, pressing up his broad thighs and resting breaths away from where he pulsed, throbbed, ached. Thoughts of your lips, plump and soft surrounding his cock distracted him long enough to earn a bite at his hip.

"Tell me."

"When you look at me like that," he rushed. You lave the precum off him, twitching heartily under your tongue. Steve’s hands instinctively reached out for your hair, but he hesitates. Permission, he reminded himself.

You stood up, hands caressing with gentle persuasion, reassuring the trembling man of your permission. You pulled away long enough to give him verbal permission to touch you where he liked - and Steve wasted no time cocooning you in his arms. Calloused hands traveled down your back and rested just above your ass, the smallest finger skimming plump cheeks as you swayed towards the bed.

Pushed onto the mattress, he perches on his elbows, watching as you undress before him. His chest heaving breaths in frantic rhythm signaled his extensive use of self-control, limits pushed to a breaking point. Your thighs quivered beneath his survey, a predator locked in unspoken chains.

"I want you to fuck me," you assert firmly, "until our legs are so sore we can't walk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master.” Steve’s answer is gruff, without hesitation and full of impending fire. "May I make a request?"

"You may.” You hovered over his curved muscles, your hungry gaze insatiable.

"May I taste you?"

You smirked and bit your lip, relishing in the way he shivered beneath you. "Look at you, already such a good pet." 

A soft hand dragged down his chest, raking your nails as you went - his body curls towards the touch, searing a tattooed lust where you roamed.

"Please," he begged, a strained moan elongating the word. Steve whines when your form glides sinfully over his, your lips tickling the shell of his ear.

"Would you like me to sit on your face?"

"Yes, please," he prayed, hands eagerly at your hips as your thighs framed his ears.

Steve’s mouth works pure magic, licking at the softest parts of you. His tongue is warm velvet, teasing and prodding inside only to pull away and flick at your clit until your only hope of balance remained in your arms bracing against bedposts.

The bedframe squeaked outside of your pants and moans and his voracious hums of pleasure. Steve’s hold on you - purely for contact - awarded no resistance to your hips rocking downward, fucking yourself on his tongue. 

"Make me cum, Stevie," you moaned, finding a rhythm you knew would provide enough speed and pressure to give you what you wanted without hurting him. "Oh, god, Steve, make me cum."

His neck strains further, a vein prodding against his damp skin as he measured your keening hips. You shrieked when he dared use his teeth against your outer lips, letting them slide between the bones gently. The knots in your stomach snapped as he sucked you fully between his lips, your back bowing so far you nearly collapsed on top of him. Wobbly arms on the headboard, you crooned out gentle moans as tides waned.

Steve rubbed the backs of your thighs, resisting kisses to the inside knowing he could bring you to another climax too soon and risk angering you. All night wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you, and at this rate Steve doubted he could last more than three rounds. He'd anticipated an elderly noble whose funding would easily acquire a ready courtesan, not a youthful beauty the other captives had convinced him would be impossible.

"Fuck me, Steve," you panted, kissing your way from the top of his head down to his neck. The jolts of heat from your lips steadied him briefly, though he hadn't noticed your hand traveling down his waist to his sensitive, aching cock until you gripped him. A fingertip grazed the sensitive precipice just under the head, along a vein that made him see stars behind his screwed shut lids. "But I want you to keep your eyes on me."

Steve let out a guttural wail as you drew a nipple into your mouth and lapped your way down the length of his pert muscles. How he'd managed to last this long, he couldn’t decipher - not while you bathed him in languid trails of lust. He began to plead in whispers as you teased his lower half, hands stroking his thighs and hips, urging him to rock back and forth with you. 

"So obedient," you murmured, taking the tip into your mouth and suckling gently enough to gather more precum. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?"

Steve barely shook his head, arms unable to hold their station as he flopped and arched against the mattress. "P-please, inside y-you," he panted heavily. 

You sat up on your knees and brought his hand to the apex of your thighs. "Here?"

All he could manage was a strangled groan, tossing his head back into the pillow. You shift quickly over him, now at eye level with breath teasing his parted lips.

"Eyes on me," you bid firmly, watching him as you gently move his cock against your lower lips before inching your way down. You cried out at the initial entrance, his hips barely shifting upwards with restraint to keep from sheathing himself until you bid it.

You moved agonizingly slow - Steve began to worry about how much more he could take without completely losing control. The thought of punishment didn’t help matters, how hard you'd smack him with a whip or a crop, or the scratches you'd leave around his body too much to bear. Barely uttering coherent pleas for release, for speed, for more pressure, anything to bring you both to release.

"Please," he cried, "please let me fuck you."

An answering moan from you, legs wrapped around his hips providing the permission he needed. With a growl, he thrusts powerfully in and out, your heat and softness both building and melting tension. As directed, his eyes never left yours - a thrill rushing over him as he discovered a pleasure point within you that wrenched your gaze away. Hips rutted against his build innately, lifting to meet his compelling pace. Steve kissed your lips as he rockets forward, settling his cock deep inside you - slowly grinding your hips together, altering the speed and urgency into something dangerously intimate.

Steve bellows from his chest when you flutter around him, nearing something explosive. To his relief, you pushed against him and urged him on faster and harder, loving the way skin smacked together and sounds harmonized in echoes around the room. 

"Cum, Steve," you shrieked, "oh, fuck."

He shuddered over you, all strain in his body finally released within scream of pleasure. Almost painful after holding back for so long, but your answering pulse surrounding him was more than worth the wait. Your instructions thread like candy floss in his mind - until you couldn't walk; Steve couldn’t be sure in the midst of his unabashed pleasure he could achieve a breath on his own. Lazily he exits you, a chill zips up his spine at the sound of your whine at his absence. 

"Have I pleased you, master?" he panted out, sweat beading on the hair at his chest, over his skin. 

"Very much.” You’re breathless, sated, limp. "I will reward you in the morning. You may stay here with me tonight, if you want."

Steve pushed himself onto his side with a hushed hum, his hand warming just under your breast. Your shoulder kissed tenderly as you played with his sweaty hair, the two of you blinking yourselves to sleep.

[kewltie]

YEAR END FIC REVIEW

This year I wrote: 

biological imperative 

wings of icarus

war of the roses

sugar, we’re going down

you are cordially invited...

garden of eden

your kiss tastes so red

hana to ryuu 

a demolition boy & his cryptid bf

the fox’s bride

when dandelion roars

hope is a four letter word

butterfly pinned under glass

the devil and the deep blue sea

vol 1: goodbye halcyon days

papa said to knock you out

my boy builds coffin

love meme, hate meme

interlude: paper darling

in rouge

at the feet of the world

that’s 21 stories (124k words!!!) and that’s discounting all the random fic snippets that i wrote only on tumblr so far. 

Overall thoughts

My actual writing year didn’t really start until like in May which mean the bulk of my writing was in the last half of the year. I spent most of the first half reposting and moving my eunhae fic over to ao3 so I didn’t actually have any new fic to post (even tho i was prob still writing away with random fic ideas anyway but no actual completed fic to post) until I wrote BI for bakudeku and that pretty much sealed the deal for me. New fandom, new pairing, and new obsession. Honestly coming in I was worry how slow I was writing and how I didn’t get much done but looking at my fic list and my wordcounts and HOW I DID IT ALL IN HALF A YEAR... im pretty impress with myself :D.

Also, I think it’s a good time as any to finally realize and accept when you finally  move on to a new fandom. So thank you v v v v much to my old fandom for nurturing me and helping me grow as i writer these past five years. You made every eunhae fic worth it, thank you again!!!!

My best story of the year

“A demolition boy & his cryptid bf” if all the kudoes that keep on coming tell me. Here’s a random tidbit about it: i wrote it all in like 2-3 days in some sort of mad spur. social media style fic was something i did for eunhae before so it wasn’t new to me so i guess that’s why it came easy enough LOL but this was little more intensive just bc i wanted it look even better but im sooooo glad ppl were so accepting of it despite the style of the fic and the way it was format. you guys rock!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gave me enough confident to start “love meme, hate meme” even tho im pretty sure i was going to do it anyway lol. 

My favorite story of the year

“love meme, hate meme,” only bc it is my masterpiece in term of how fucking damn pretty it is and how much blood, sweat, and tears i poured into it just to get that damn FONT COLOR RIGHT. 

Most fun story to write

“papa said to knock you out” aka kasumi ‘verse only bc she literally wrote herself. her voice come clear and true to me and i had such a fun time writing in her pov!! it also plays into my dumb romcom trope that i always love bc royalty au? CHECK? single parents? CHECK CHECK? past secret love affair? CHEEEEEEEECK. it’s just all so damn cliche and it’s me to T and i fucking love it. 

Story with the single sexiest moment

“In Rouge” played with a lot of things i love where it borders on sexy/intimate without crossing the line. like im 90% sure bakudeku were going to bang in the restroom but the fact that it’s THE RESTROOM IN THEIR SCHOOL and katsuki is damn good bf and wouldn’t want their first time in that shitty place so yea hands to themselves. but honestly i don’t do smut/nsfw but i always tread the water with it lol with my kink fics bc i am kinky v v v much so but i do in a way that is comfortable with me without dealing with explicit sex and im really glad i get to show off that in my fic bc sexy doesn’t alway have to lead up to sex ya know???? 

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story

"my boy builds coffin” a katsuki that kill sends shiver down to spine but man writing it and thinking what push him over the edge was exciting only bc i love my fluff in general but i highkey love dark and edgy stuff too esp super dysfunctional relationship, yo. 

Story that shifted my own perception of the characters

"My boy builds coffin” for sure. Only because I wanted to stretch how Katsuki would fall and understand the length he would go to ensure a future where izuku is alive and thriving and I THOUGHT man if your future bf who is this scarred and traumatized individual person come back in time to protect you by killing every fucking thing that hurt you and instead of freaking the fuck out you’re like “um, IM SO JEALOUS OF MY FUTURE SELF TO HAVE THIS PERSON DEDICATE THEIR LIFE TO THEM” and im like fuck bc that’s the kind of fucked upness that i love. 

Hardest story to write

if it isn’t “love meme, hate meme” than THIS IS YEAR IS FUCKING CANCEL. the formatting,juggling a gazillion of usernames, the font color and text, THE FANFIC ARCHIVE etc everything i have to carefully format and code even tho i have extremely and bullshit knowledge of it. 

Biggest disappointment

nothing???? i love ALL MY BABIES. but no really that fucking mad max au im writing and was supposed to be posted yest.... DAMN YOU. 

Biggest surprise

Uh, “demolition boy” and probably “kasumi verse” only bc i never intend for either of them to happen :P. 

Most unintentionally telling story

the vampire fic my entire reason for writing it is so I CAN PROCRASTINATE ON THE ACTUAL FI IM SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING. i wrote it all in one sitting passed waaaay into the AMs. that’s... some dedication to my procrastination. 

Story I haven't written yet, but intend to

the age gap abo childhood friends au i have been working on the side :S.

Goals for this year: 

Finished all my major projects (kasumi ‘verse, wedding verse, social media au, stepbro au)

hopefully i can get started on gasoline verse aka the post zombie fest where bakudeku tried to survived it by building the most codependent fucked up relationship possible :D; it’s letting your bf become a ‘zombie’ just bc you can’t live without him 

WRITE AT LEAST ONE TODODEKUBAKU FIC!!!!!

thank you soooooo much for putting up with this year!!!! i know im really bad at replying/commenting and interacting with you guys but i want you to all know i feel incredibly blessed and humble by all your kindness and support. you all treated me so well last year and this year I hope to return your kind gesture by giving you more stories to read in 2019!!! :D

[wcrthlxss]

Tag Dump

[social-deception]

Anonymous said: :D In Call Of The Void is Waylon good at footjobs? My life will be complete when someone writes about that..

Ask Box

Hey there! Call of the Void is pretty much already done, and I’m not sure where I’d put that in. That being said, I did go ahead and write it for you and I hope you’ll enjoy it :)

NSFW fanfic under the cut.

When Waylon entered, Eddie could tell he was nervous.

His hair was disheveled from the wind, but it did nothing to hide the doe-like quality of his eyes as they darted around the room and the towel Eddie had folded around his belt. His shoulders were poised uncomfortably up towards himself, like he was trying to hide.

Eddie had placed candles around the back portion of his shop, with a chair and a stool in the middle of the room. With the small basin of water placed between the two seats, it seemed clear to Eddie what his intentions were, but Waylon suddenly seemed nervous. Well, more nervous than he usually was. He was a skittish little thing, after all.

“Come,” Eddie murmured, and stretched his hand out to Waylon, who, after a brief moment of hesitation, accepted his hand. Eddie’s chest swelled by the way Waylon’s fingers curled around his, and how he so readily allowed Eddie to guide him into the chair.

“Uh, what do you-?”

“I want to wash your feet,” Eddie answered matter of factly, and in front of him Waylon stiffened a little in his seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Right before the last passover, Jesus washed the feet of his disciples,” Eddie didn’t wait for Waylon to say anything before he carefully slipped the shoes off his feet and placed them carefully by the side of the chair. “Jesus did this as one of His last acts on earth as a message of how we’re suppose to act towards our fellow man.”

“But why do you want to?”

Eddie didn’t answer, just hummed as he pulled Waylon’s socks off, marveling in the sight of his feet. After folding the socks carefully on top of the shoes, he then folded Waylon’s pants up until about mid-calf and arranged Waylon’s legs against his own thigh.

“We are to serve our neighbors, even when we have to do things we might think beneath us,” Eddie finally murmured, and stroked his fingers down the delicate bones of Waylon’s ankle. He pressed harder once he reached the top of Waylon’s foot, and let his fingers trail all the way down to the base of Waylon’s toes, watching as they curled at his touch. He wasn’t sure if they curled out of embarrassment, pleasure or even the ticklish nature of his caress, but he didn’t ask.

Instead he quietly lowered Waylon’s feet into the basin, enveloping them in slick heat. The thought of it had his pulse speed up. He had made sure the temperature was just right, warm, almost to the point of hot, but comfortably so. With a generous helping of scented oils, he imagined it to feel quite nice, and he gazed up at Waylon’s face.

Waylon was studying him intently, eyes still with that slight twinge of fear, but Eddie didn’t much mind that. Because this time there was something else there as well, something Eddie did want to pay attention to, that slight relaxed curve of his upper lip, and how his shoulders had gone back to a more natural position.

“Relax, darling,” Eddie murmured, and let his hands dip into the water as well. His fingers ghosted over Waylon’s toes, brushing carefully along the top of his feet, before doing a gentle sweep down the curve of his heels. Waylon’s breath hitched a little when Eddie dug his fingers into the arch of his feet, kneading the flesh there.

This time Waylon squirmed a little and a soft laugh escaped his lips. Ah, so he was ticklish. Eddie found he didn't mind that at all.

He really did have beautiful feet. Delicate in a way most feet weren’t, just slick, smooth skin and beautiful dips and curves. Eddie pressed his thumb at the balls of Waylon’s feet, and this time Waylon’s head lolled back to the chair with a groan. Eddie glanced up at him, a small smile playing at his lips. He knew he liked it, but that Waylon did as well? The thought made his blood thrum a little wilder.

“We should all be willing to serve others,” Eddie said, and he knew he did little to hide the arousal in his voice. Waylon seemed to notice it as well, his feet jolting slightly in Eddie’s strong hands.

“What if I’d said no?” Waylon breathed, his own tone not that dissimilar from Eddie’s.

“Then I could have said what Jesus said to Peter when he refused him.” Eddie rubbed in slow circles from the heel of Waylon’s foot to the base of his toes, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure Waylon seemed unable to hide. “'If I don't wash you,' Jesus told him, 'you don't really belong to me.'”

“And do I?” Waylon asked quietly. “Belong to you?”

“Oh yes,” Eddie pressed his head against Waylon’s knees. “You belong to me, darling.”

It took only a brief moment before Waylon’s hands were on the top of his head, threading slim fingers carefully through Eddie hair. His hands were as delicate as his feet; Smooth skin and small bones and more nerve endings than Eddie knew what to do with. He wanted to bite and lick and take every last inch of him, but he tried to keep that feeling buried. He was here to teach Waylon a valuable lesson, not to succumb to his own perversions.

But still; Waylon felt so beautiful beneath his fingers, so right stroking his hair. Eddie had to contain a groan of pleasure. Sometimes he almost forgot how good it felt to be touched.

He brushed his thumb between each of Waylon’s toes, moving up to the tip of each toe before moving on to the next.

“We have this ceremony at the church,” Eddie murmured. “As a reminder that we are of the Body of Christ. To serve others in the spirit of humility.” Eddie’s lips brushed against the rough fabric of Waylon’s pants before he raised his head to look at him. “It’s our duty.”

The look on Waylon’s face had changed in the short time Eddie had spent in his lap, his pupils blown up to inky pools of arousal, just a slight sliver of grey around them. When Eddie looked at him, Waylon bit his teeth into his plump bottom lip.

It was unfair, really, Eddie thought, creasing his brow as he stared down at the feet in his hands. It was unfair that beauty like this was just out of his reach, unfair that God had placed something as beautiful as his Waylon on this earth, when he was forbidden to enjoy it. Waylon was like the apple in Eden, and all Eddie wanted to do was to sink his teeth into plump flesh.

Sometimes he hated Waylon. Sometimes he hated himself for indulging in what he knew to be sins. Sometimes, and he hated himself for this more than anything else, sometimes he even hated God.

The water was starting to cool, so Eddie took the towel from around his waist and draped it across his lap before placing Waylon’s feet on top of it. He took his time, wiping his feet dry, before reaching for the scented oil he had placed next to the stool. He rubbed the fragrant oil between his hands, before gently massaging it into the arch of Waylon’s foot, around his heels and between his toes. It smelled strongly of myrrh and rose, that scent that for Eddie treaded carefully between the sacred and the profane.

“You have such beautiful skin,” he heard himself say, although it sounded very far away.

“Thank you,” Waylon whispered and squirmed a little in Eddie’s hold.

Eddie didn’t put Waylon’s feet back on the floor, but resumed his gentle rubbing of the soles of Waylon’s feet, while keeping his eyes fixed on Waylon’s. He loved seeing the various emotions play across his face. Fear. Arousal. Happiness. Waylon was so expressive, every single emotion displayed so readily on his features. Eddie wondered what it must be like going through life that way, as if he had nothing to hide and no one to hide them from.

Waylon shifted a little in his hold, and his toes brushed gently against the buttons on Eddie’s slacks, the motion getting more than a little interest from Eddie’s cock.

At first Eddie thought he had imagined it. Or that Waylon just hadn’t done it intentionally. Until he did it again.

"You'll be the death of me, darling," Eddie said darkly when Waylon pressed his heel carefully against the bulge in Eddie's pants.

“Mmm,” Waylon hummed, and pressed a foot on each side of Eddie’s cock. The oil would no doubt leave grease stains on Eddie’s pants, but at the moment Eddie didn’t much care. Instead he watched the rosy flush across Waylon’s cheeks as he rubbed his feet against Eddie’s crotch.

“Darling,” Eddie groaned and wrapped his hands around Waylon’s feet and pressed them harder around himself.

Waylon really was a minx, wasn’t he? Coming here, with his innocent face and innocent mind, and then like a snake he went straight for Eddie’s innermost feelings, corrupting them. He’d blush and let things spill from his lips. More than anything he liked to imagine those lips around his cock, like it had been in the darkness of the confessional.

Eddie kept eye-contact and unbuttoned his pants quickly, pulling his cock from its confines. He liked the look on Waylon’s face whenever he saw it. His eyes widened, but this time it was but a moment before they went dark again, and he rubbed his oiled feet experimentally down Eddie’s thick shaft. And this time it was Eddie who had to lean his head back with a groan.

Encouraged, Waylon rolled his feet a little, and the pleasure had Eddie tense his body up and thrust against Waylon’s feet with a low growl. Waylon’s feet felt slick and warm, and when he rubbed his feet across Eddie’s erection he could feel the subtle shifts in tendons and bones.

“Minx,” Eddie snarled and quickly yanked Waylon closer. Waylon actually seemed worried then, yet he kept on biting his lower lip. Eddie wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

Eddie liked the sight of Waylon’s ass posed right at the edge of the seat, but he tore his eyes away and focused on the slick feet in his lap instead. He grabbed them and pressed them tightly around himself, thrusting into the tight opening he had created.

Waylon made a strangled sound when he did, and when Eddie looked up at him, he was leaned all the way back with his eyes on Eddie’s cock moving between his feet.

Eddie had meant this as something pure, he really had, but once again Waylon had corrupted his actions and intentions. He tightened his hold on Waylon’s feet and felt his now slick erection move with ease between them. He wasn’t gonna last long, not with Waylon looking at him like that, and not with how wrong this was.

Not only was this masturbation, it was spilling of his seed and a physical expression of- Eddie cut the thought short. This was a selfish action for selfish pleasure, perverting what the act was supposed to signify. Eddie groaned. He just wished it didn’t feel so good. That Waylon didn’t feel so good beneath his fingers and mouth. His thought kept circling back to whether or not Waylon was a blessing from God, or a curse.

With a soft smile, Waylon trailed a hand down to his own erection and palmed it through the fabric of his pants, an equally soft gasp escaping his lips and his cheeks flushing redder. If he was a curse, then he was the prettiest one Eddie had ever seen. Just the thought of Waylon’s cock in the palm of his hand, the taste of it as he had taken it into his mouth, had Eddie force God and sin and corruption at the back of his mind. Eddie changed his grip so he could gradle Waylon’s feet with one hand, while he wrapped the other around Waylon’s hand as he worked his own cock.

“You slut,” he murmured and chuckled when the words had Waylon buck into his hand.

At the look on Waylon’s face, Eddie sped up, thrusting harder and faster and just more, more, more. Waylon seemed to match his enthusiasm, and he moved into to each thrust and each caress with soft little moans. Eddie felt his orgasm building, and he thought he could tell Waylon was close as well; his eyes narrowed and his brows scrunched in beautiful agony.

With a deep grunt and a firm hold around Waylon’s feet, he came in spurts that spilled through Waylon’s toes and coated his feet. Eddie rode through the orgasm with his head tilted back, his free hand working Waylon’s cock until he could feel it pulse with his own release.

They watched each other in silence, their harsh breaths the only sound in the room.

“This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I asked you here,” Eddie finally drawled, and in front of him Waylon chuckled.

“This isn’t in the spirit of serving others?” Eddie felt hot anger pierce through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, and he was about to say something biting until he saw the playful look on Waylon’s face. It was maddening, for Waylon probably didn’t understand how offensive he was being.

“Not quite, no,” Eddie said, and wiped Waylon’s feet clean. He probably should have given them another wash, but somehow he liked the idea of a piece of him left behind for Waylon to carry with him.

“I should go,” Waylon grimaced and squirmed a little. “Will I see you later?”

Eddie considered saying no, he really did, but his lips formed around the “yes,” before he even realized it.

Waylon gave him a soft smile, his eyes trailing down to Eddie’s lips for a moment before refocusing on his eyes. God, Eddie wanted to kiss him. Wanted to pour everything into a single searing kiss, but that was a line he was not ready to cross.

Waylon sighed, his lips quirking on one side, like he could see that line as well. Like he understood.

“Later, then,” he said gently, stroking Eddie’s hand.

“Yes.”

Eddie kept his position on the stool, and he watched Waylon go with a detached sense of melancholy. All he wanted was to scoop Waylon back into his arms and carry him upstairs. He wanted to make love to him. Yet more boundaries he dared not break.

So instead he sat there, alone, staring at the door even after Waylon had left. Maybe he’d be able to cross the boundary eventually.

He liked to think he would.