#I’m surprised it took me this long to include it in a fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bishovapls · 15 days ago

Text

Our Little One - Brats Don’t Get Soft, Brats Get Used.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: You’ve never been a brat before, but after weeks with Wanda and Natasha and Natasha still holding back, a nudge from your roommate Kate sets something in motion. What starts as a simple need soon turns into a dangerous game, and you’re about to learn what happens when the consequences catch up.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, spanking/lashing with a belt, punishment, smut, overstimulation, fingering, safe word check-ins, aftercare, minor angst.

A/N: Reader and Natasha’s first-time scene kept popping up in requests, so here we are! If I’ve replied to your other asks, those fics will be coming ASAP. If you’ve sent an ask and I haven’t responded yet, I promise I’m working through everything! Thanks so much for all your patience and love. Honestly, your asks, replies, and support for this series make me all warm and fuzzy inside 🩵

P.S. In terms of the timeline, this takes place after 'It Was Fate' and before 'You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry', both can be found in my masterlist.

Word Count: 14,578

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

It had been a month since you’d stepped into the world Wanda and Natasha had so carefully, deliberately built around you, and though the shift had been gentle, almost imperceptible at first, you felt it now in everything. The change had crept in like water, soft and steady, reshaping the edges of your life without ever needing to crash through them. You hadn’t thought you needed structure. You certainly hadn’t expected to crave it. But once it was there, once their presence became a constant grounding force, you realised just how badly you’d needed to be held in place.

The rules didn’t arrive all at once. They were introduced slowly, one by one, always with a quiet firmness, never exactly forceful, but never optional either. And what surprised you most was how easily they slipped past the bedroom and settled into the rest of your life. They took root in the mundane, the overlooked, the messiest parts of your routine: your study habits, your sleep, your social outings, your tendency to forget yourself.

At first, you questioned the point of it all. Why they cared whether you skipped a meal or pulled another all-nighter. But it didn’t take long to understand. They were wholly, unflinchingly invested in you. In your well-being. In your peace. And in the simple, sacred truth that you were theirs.

It began with the essentials. Drink more water. Eat proper meals. Step outside and breathe. No more skipping breakfast or living on scraps between lectures. No more letting your body crumble under the weight of your own neglect.

They didn’t leave it to chance, either. Wanda had set you up with a nutrition tracker, and Natasha synced it to a fitness app. Between the two of them, they monitored everything.

Then came the check-ins. If you weren’t with them, you were to check in twice a day: a brief morning text including how you slept, how you felt, and what was ahead for the day, and a call at night, no exceptions. You were to talk them through your day, tell them what had gone well, what hadn’t, and whether you needed anything, emotionally, physically, or otherwise.

And college brought its own rules. You were to attend every class unless you were truly ill. And even then, they were to be informed immediately. Natasha had your entire academic schedule memorised, down to your deadlines and office hours, and if anything shifted, she expected an update.

Your social life, limited though it was since you were far from a social being, had boundaries. You could go out, in fact, you were encouraged to do so, to have fun, to be young, to live, but never at the cost of safety. Drinking to excess was forbidden. Drugs and smoking, entirely off-limits.

And you were not to be out alone after dark. If you did go out, it had to be with trusted friends. Your fitness tracker was to remain on, fully charged, and GPS active. That rule had been delivered with unflinching clarity. Natasha had stated it plainly, her tone leaving no room for argument. They needed to know where you were. That you weren’t walking alone, vulnerable and unseen. That if something happened, they’d know exactly where to find you.

To an outsider, it might’ve seemed overbearing and excessive. But to you, it was the opposite. It was everything. These rules weren’t restrictions, they were evidence, proof that someone saw you clearly enough to draw lines around your chaos and call it worth saving.

And you wanted to be good for them. You lived for the quiet praise threaded through your evening calls, the warmth in Wanda’s voice when she told you she was proud, the low, satisfied hum Natasha would let slip when every rule had been followed to the letter. You craved their approval. Their attention. Their pride. Being obedient came naturally in most ways, and you basked in it.

Except… food and water. That was the rule you just couldn’t seem to get right.

It wasn’t rebellion; not truly. Sometimes you simply didn’t want to cook, or the idea of eating twisted something unpleasant in your stomach. Sometimes coffee was just easier; it kept you upright, kept you moving. Other times, it wasn’t deliberate at all, just a blur of hours and tasks and noise. You got swept up in work, or you ate but forgot to log it, or maybe you downed nearly a litre of coffee before it even occurred to you that you hadn’t touched water.

Whatever the reason, Wanda always noticed, calling with her voice full of concern. “When was the last time you ate?” she’d ask, and it wasn’t anger, it was disappointment, that would curl tight in your gut as you searched for a defence that never felt good enough.

The punishments for this were never too much, because they knew you were trying. But they were just enough to make you pause the next time your hand hovered over another cup of coffee and nothing else.

And part of you, ashamed as it was, needed that. Needed the accountability. The structure. The safety of knowing someone would catch you before you disappeared too far into yourself.

Still, even with all of it, the structure, the gentleness, the care stitched into every rule and ritual, something felt wrong. Not glaringly, not enough to shatter the sense of safety they’d built around you, but enough to unsettle, to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts when you were alone. It wasn’t the boundaries or the expectations, not the check-ins or the rules that governed your days. It was Natasha.

She was present and reliable in that steady, composed way of hers. She enforced the routine with silent efficiency, asked the questions that mattered, and made sure you kept your promises, to them and to yourself. But when it came to punishment, to intimacy, to that deeper level of connection you craved, she held back. And it wasn’t just that she didn’t discipline you, she hadn’t touched you. Not once.

You’d given yourself to them, inch by inch, until it didn’t feel like surrender anymore, but something closer to breathing. You’d let yourself fall, and Wanda had caught you. It was always Wanda.

It was Wanda who guided you, who punished you when you slipped, who praised you so sweetly your stomach turned to honey when you hadn’t. It was Wanda who took you apart in the dark, who knew how to coax you into obedience with nothing but a look, a sound, or a breath. Natasha either watched from the sidelines or, worse, left the room entirely.

Last weekend was a perfect example. You knelt before Wanda, her voice calm and steady as she guided you through the mantras she’d been drilling into you. “I deserve to take care of myself… my body deserves fuel… my mind deserves rest…” You’d forgotten to eat again, too caught up in school, and so when you came to them, punishment was needed. But it wasn’t a punishment of pain; it was one of words and care that slowly cracked open your walls, breaking down the bad beliefs you’d carried all your life.

At first, Natasha was there, quietly watching, even encouraging with small hums and soft smiles, but when your tears began to flow and your body shook, she left without a word. You didn’t know why; she never explained. Wanda shushed your whimpers, but it wasn’t enough, not when Natasha didn’t want you…again.

After the scene, when you dared to ask about it, Wanda’s answer only deepened the ache: “You’re just not ready for Daddy, malyshka (Little One).”

Those words echoed in your mind, not ready. As if Natasha was a threshold you hadn’t yet earned the right to cross. It made the ache of being good, of meeting every expectation, sting sharper.

—

That’s why this week has been hard, with constant thoughts of Natasha swirling through your mind; each check-in only deepened your frustration. By the time Thursday arrived, your mood had darkened. The usual nightly check-in with the women went ahead, but beneath it all, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest, the heavy weight of the unspoken barrier still lingering between you and Natasha.

As always, you took the call just outside your dorm building, settling on the cold edge of the concrete steps beneath the weak glow of the overhead security light. The buzzing hum of it filled the silence between your own clipped replies and Wanda’s soothing voice, Natasha’s steadier one threading in near the end as she asked the usual questions about your meals, your steps, your classes. You answered them all. Obedient. Polite. But your tone was flatter than usual, each sentence a little shorter, and by the time you hung up, the tight coil of something unspoken was still sitting behind your ribs, refusing to unspool.

You pushed through the heavy dorm door and climbed the stairs two at a time, jaw tight, nails digging half-moons into your palms. When you opened the door to your shared room, Kate glanced up from her bed, where she sat cross-legged in an oversized hoodie, scrolling on her laptop. Her eyes caught your face instantly, her brows drew together, subtle but unmistakable, and the screen was forgotten within a heartbeat.

“Uhh… what’s up?” she asked, her voice cautious but laced with warmth, like she could sense your mood before you'd said a word.

“Nothing,” you muttered, too quickly, flinging your bag to the floor and flopping onto your bed with the kind of exaggerated indifference that only made your frustration more obvious.

Kate didn’t buy it for a second. She shifted to sit upright, her back resting against the wall. “Seriously?” she said with a small, incredulous laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave your face.

You exhaled hard through your nose and rolled your eyes, reaching for your phone just to have something to fidget with. “You’re too nosy,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

But Kate didn’t laugh this time. Her expression softened instead, concern overtaking the playfulness. “Maybe,” she said gently, “but I care, you know?”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You nodded once, a little jerk of your chin, your voice quieter when you finally said, “I know.”

“Then just talk to me?” she offered. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, but there was tension in her shoulders too, like she was trying not to push too hard, not to say the wrong thing, and watch you shut down.

You stayed silent for a moment, then sat up, legs pulled to your chest. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, not quite able to meet her eyes. “It’s… to do with the girlfriends,” you said finally.

Kate’s eyes flickered with interest, not curiosity in a nosy way, but a gentle attentiveness that said she’d been waiting for you to talk about them again. “Are you ever going to tell me who they are?” she asked, smiling just a little, trying to keep it light.

You smiled too, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Of course, you wanted to tell her. You trusted her. But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, cool and resolute, no one at college can know. Not even your roommate. She was right, of course. College gossip moved fast, and all it would take was one whisper in the wrong ear for everything to unravel.

“You know the rules,” you said, sharper than you meant to, and your jaw clenched as the anger returned, at the rule, at Natasha, at how far away she still felt even after a month.

Kate let out a quiet chuckle, raising a hand to trace a little X over her heart. “I do. But it could be our little secret. Cross my heart.”

You looked at her grin, and something in you softened, just a little.“Maybe soon,” you said, voice tight. “I don’t think it’ll be going on much longer anyway, so there will be no secret to keep.”

That hit her like a slap. Her eyes widened, her posture straightening instantly. “What? Wait, what do you mean?” she asked, voice sharp with shock, all traces of teasing gone.

You had told Kate about your situation with Wanda and Natasha pretty early on, after all, she’d pestered you half to death after your first night with them, all wide-eyed curiosity and relentless questions. You’d given her the basics: that they were your dommes, that it wasn’t just sex, not to them, not to you either. That they’d made it clear from the start that they wanted something more, something serious, something committed.

Over time, details had trickled out, mostly because they had to. The rules you lived by, the punishments you’d earned, the very explicit reasons you sometimes came home with marks so unmistakable they made Kate drop her fork.

Kate never judged, never squirmed, or got awkward. It was embarrassing sometimes, yes, but it was also a relief to have someone who understood, who didn’t flinch at the language, at the power dynamics, at the weight of it all.

But you’d been careful, too. You’d kept their names to yourself, never once letting them slip. You hadn’t said where they lived, what they did, not even how old they were. You hadn’t even referred to them by title. It wasn’t mistrust, it was the rule. And more than that, it was something you instinctively honoured. Something Natasha had asked of you, and you hadn’t questioned it. You hadn’t wanted to.

Until now. Now, when everything felt like it was fraying. Now, when you couldn’t tell if you were still wanted, or just tolerated.

And Kate was still watching you, her expression tight with worry, waiting for you to explain why you’d just said it might all be over.

“Hello? Earth to the emotionally tormented?” she teased softly when your silence stretched.

You blinked, snapping back to the moment, and let out a tired little laugh. “I’m here,” you muttered with a half-hearted shrug.

Kate raised one brow in that subtle, persistent way that said, Don’t even think about dodging this, her body leaning forward just slightly.

You sighed, pressing your fingers into your temples for a moment before finally exhaling the frustration that had been crawling under your skin. “It’s just… Domme Two, she’s got all these expectations,” you started, voice tight, like every word had to be pried out. “I try so hard. And still… she won’t touch me. She won’t see me. I’m so tired of it. I’m so tired of being good and getting nothing back.”

Kate’s expression shifted immediately. You’d mentioned Natasha’s distance once or twice before in passing, but it had never sounded quite like this. Back then, it was a curiosity, an oddity. Now, it was pain. Frustration.

“Still?” she echoed, disbelief softening into sympathy. “It’s been, what, over a month now?”

You nodded mutely, jaw tight. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with bitter emphasis. “And I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Kate. I try so fucking hard. I follow their rules, well, mostly,” you added with a dry, self-deprecating smile. “I give them everything they ask for. But when I ask…it’s always the same line: you’re not ready.” The words came out quieter, more vulnerable now, like they physically hurt to repeat.

Kate’s face twisted with something halfway between a wince and a thoughtful frown. “You know it might not be about you, right?” she said gently. “That maybe you are ready… but she isn’t?”

You scoffed, not unkindly, but with that weary kind of disbelief that comes from hoping for too long. “No, Domme One said, that I am not ready because Domme Two can be intense. That she is holding back so I don't get hurt.” You shook your head with a dry, humourless laugh. “But this hurts, too, Kate. Being held at arm’s length like I’m not worthy yet. And it’s not like I haven’t made it crystal clear that rough doesn’t scare me. Domme One and I have had scenes that I couldn’t even put into words if I tried.”

Kate stayed quiet for a moment, taking it all in. You could see the gears turning, the way she bit the inside of her cheek like she always did when she was trying to offer advice without sounding preachy.

“Well… if it’s eating at you this much, then I think you have to talk to them again,” she said eventually, voice calm but firm, the kind of tone she only used when she really meant it. “Like, properly. Not mid-scene. Not just after punishment. Really talk.”

“I have,” you snapped, your voice pitching higher than you meant it to. “I have talked. I’ve tried. I bring it up, and it’s just brushed aside like I’m being impatient.”

Kate sighed, but it wasn’t a condescending sigh; it was heavy, empathetic. You could see the careful way she was treading. She was always mature when it came to this, always level-headed when you weren’t, always calm when you were spiralling.

“I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. But if something isn’t working for you, you have to keep pushing for a change. Communication’s everything, you know that.”

You slumped back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it would answer for you. “I’m just… tired of talking. Tired of giving my all and still being told I haven’t earned hers. I just wish there was something I could do.”

Kate was quiet again, but something in her posture shifted. Her lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner before she caught herself and quickly looked down, trying to hide it.

You sat up slightly, suspicious. “What? Kate. What is that look?”

She tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “Nothing. I just… shouldn’t say this. I definitely shouldn’t encourage this.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s never stopped you before. Come on. Spit it out.”

Kate hesitated, her smile turning fond now, as if whatever memory she was about to share brought her warmth despite the topic. “It’s just… I know what Yelena would do in your shoes.”

Your stomach flipped, your curiosity piqued. “Yeah? And what would Yelena do?”

Kate let out a slow breath. “Well, okay, so our dynamic isn’t like yours. It’s not built on rules and structure 24/7. But in scene, there are rules. And sometimes, when I’ve been… off, or distracted, or distant, because life, you know? Yelena will break a rule deliberately. Just enough to make me react. It’s her way of saying notice me, see me, feel something.”

Kate looked almost sheepish after saying it, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d just offered you advice… or handed you a loaded weapon. But you heard it clearly.

A quiet rebellion. A strategic crack in obedience.

And the suggestion glittered in your mind like something dangerous and gleaming, like the glint of a match just before it hits the strike pad. It didn’t matter that it was reckless. All that mattered was that something inside you shifted, something coiled and bratty and starved for attention stirred, stretching awake for the first time.

You turned to Kate, an exaggerated gasp of mock offence on your lips. “Kate Bishop, are you suggesting I should be a brat?”

She laughed, the sound light and helpless. “I’m suggesting,” she said with careful precision, “that breaking a rule might actually get you the kind of reaction you’re craving. Especially if it’s one of Domme Two’s.”

Your brain had already taken off at a sprint, running through possibilities, rules, boundaries, hers, not Wanda’s. You grinned slowly, wickedly, a spark of something deliciously mischievous taking root. “You know,” you drawled, already shifting your weight like you were about to get up, “I’ve been thinking… a late-night stroll sounds like just the thing to clear my head.”

Kate blinked at you, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief before flattening into a line. “It’s midnight,” she said, deadpan. Her eyes narrowed a little as she sat straighter, arms folded, like she was already preparing to intervene. “Can you not pick a safer rule to break?”

You tilted your head and gave a lazy shrug, letting faux innocence smooth over your features. “It’s this, or smoking. Or, I don’t know… drugs.” You raised your eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Kate’s eyes widened in horror, her whole body recoiling like you’d just threatened to juggle knives in traffic. “Not. Funny,” she snapped, though the sharpness in her tone couldn’t quite hide the way her lips twitched at the edges.

Your grin only widened. “A little bit funny,” you said, voice dipping with smug satisfaction, because provoking her felt almost as fun as what you were planning.

Kate groaned and flopped back against the headboard, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, but what about… I don’t know, don’t go to class tomorrow. Don’t message, don’t give an excuse. It’s safe. Passive-aggressive. You get to make a point.”

You wrinkled your nose, unconvinced, and gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “Too slow. I’m supposed to be with them tomorrow night anyway, and I want it sorted before then.”

Kate sat forward again, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. Her brows lifted with genuine disbelief, and she stared hard, like she was still holding out hope this was all a bit. “You are insane.”

You gave her a sly wink as you stood up, grabbing your coat and slipping it on. “No,” you replied, with a gleam in your eye and a dangerous lilt in your voice, “I’m just impatient. And possibly very, very stupid.”

Kate stood too, suddenly tense, hovering like she wasn’t sure if she should block the door or help you open it. “Okay, but please text me. Keep me updated. And when you inevitably get dragged back to wherever they live for the punishment of your entire life, I expect details.”

You paused with your hand on the doorknob, turning back with a wicked little smirk that curled slowly across your face. “I will. And hey, thanks for the advice,” you said, voice syrupy-sweet with mischief.

Kate shook her head, muttering under her breath before sighing out loud. “God help you.”

And with that, the door clicked softly behind you, the hallway swallowing you up as you let the brat take the wheel, heart racing, nerves buzzing, a storm already forming on the horizon.

—

It took fifteen minutes of walking before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t even need to check the screen to know it was Natasha. The GPS tracker in your watch had no doubt lit up the moment you stepped beyond the perimeter she’d quietly defined.

You pulled the phone out, thumb hovering for a moment, then smiled, slow, sharp, and wicked, and let it ring out. One call. Then another. Then a third, her name flashing again and again like a warning light.

The next buzz wasn’t a call, it was your shared group chat, the one only used for schedules, check-ins, and rare moments of praise or correction outside sessions.

D2: I thought you were staying home with Kate tonight?

You didn’t answer. Just opened it and continued walking, heading deeper into the park, where the glow of streetlamps filtered softly through leafless trees. The cold bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it, anything that grounded you in the daring, dizzy satisfaction of rebellion.

D2: Why are you ignoring me? D1: Little one, are you okay?

That one gave you pause. You felt a flicker of guilt crack through the high of disobedience. This wasn’t about her. None of this was really her fault, yet you were treating her the same way, but you kept walking.

D2: You better be with Kate.

Her tone, even through text, was clipped, and you could practically feel her jaw clenched from miles away. Then another text came from Wanda, softer again.

D1: Please, let us know you are safe, Sweetheart. We’re worried.

That one stung. You hated that you’d made her worry, hated even more that it was necessary to make your point. You sighed and finally typed back, your fingers momentarily trembling from more than just the cold.

Me: I am safe. Going for a walk.

There were only a few seconds of silence before Natasha responded.

D2: Are you with Kate?

You stopped walking and stared at the message. This was it. The line you could still choose not to cross. The point of no return. You could lie. You could say yes and diffuse it all. But you didn’t want to.

You wanted to be seen. You wanted to matter. You wanted Natasha to stop treating you like a thing she could discipline from a distance but never touch.

Me: No.

You hit send before you could change your mind, before reason or fear could pull you back. Your heart was pounding, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to break free. This was what you wanted. This was the moment you’d imagined: the rule-breaking, the reckless defiance, the thrill of finally crossing a line that might force Natasha to stop keeping you at arm’s length.

But now that you were here, standing in it, the storm you’d so desperately wished for felt a lot less like a cleansing force and a lot more like a cliff edge you’d sprinted off without thinking.

Your phone buzzed.

D2: If I don’t see you turn around and walk back toward your dorm in the next five minutes, I will make sure you regret it.

You scoffed aloud, trying to laugh it off, even as a chill crawled up your spine. Just a threat, you told yourself. She wouldn’t actually do anything.

Still, your fingers trembled as you shoved your phone back into your coat pocket. You found the nearest bench and sat down, hoping she’d see it as a clear fuck you. A message through the GPS tracker. I’m not moving.

You checked the chat again. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. Then six. Then ten.

You swallowed hard. The cold had begun to seep through your coat, and your heart had gone from hammering to something slower, deeper, more sickening. It wasn’t defiance anymore. It was dread.

You kept checking your phone, over and over, willing another message to come through, anything.

But there was only that single, unanswered warning. Hanging in the chat like a blade. You shifted on the bench, suddenly too aware of the dark, too aware of the silence, and how very, very small you felt.

—

The cold had settled into your bones, your phone still lifeless in your hand as you debated if you should give up and go back. Every shadow looked like someone. Every sound made you flinch.

Then, suddenly, there was movement, footsteps crunching against the gravel path just behind you. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see the figure approaching, cloaked in shadows and the low light of the path. Hood up, head bowed, face largely obscured, their entire frame radiating purpose and rage.

A bolt of instinctive fear shot through your chest, and you shot to your feet, suddenly overcome with the sense that you were very much in danger. You began to move, your eyes flicking around for the clearest path out, but you didn't get far before the figure spoke.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

You froze. Her voice was unmistakable, that distinct, deep coolness edged with steel, though this time it came layered with something that struck you harder than the anger. It was fear.

You turned around slowly, your body betraying you with the smallest flinch. She walked straight up to you, steps tight and restrained, and you could see the way she was holding herself back, like she wanted to shake you, to shout, to do something, but instead she just looked.

Her eyes swept over you with that terrifying, clinical intensity, checking for injuries, for damage, for blood. It was so fast and automatic that for a second you forgot how to breathe, caught somewhere between guilt and the bitter thrill of being seen.

When she was satisfied you were physically fine, she spoke again, her tone a mixture of disbelief and fury. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

The tone of her voice struck something inside you. You were still afraid, very much so, but the sight of her like this, eyes stormy and jaw tight, hit a nerve, and that tiny voice inside you, the brat, the desperate girl who wanted to be noticed, punished, wanted, made itself heard again.

You swallowed, lifted your chin slightly, and gave her a tiny, deliberate shrug.

Her nostrils flared, and she stared at you like she couldn’t believe the gall of you. You could feel the shift in her posture, that subtle straightening of her spine, the way her arms folded over her chest as if to stop herself from reaching for you.

Then, slowly, her voice came again, firmer now. “I said, what…are you doing out here?”

You felt your heart hammering harder. She wasn’t yelling, but the low cadence of her voice, restrained and disappointed, pierced through your bravado like nothing else could. You knew she was giving you a chance. An opportunity to back down before this turned into something bigger. But some small, desperate part of you didn’t want to take it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chest tightening under the weight of her stare. And then, as if to keep yourself from unravelling completely, you shrugged again, a deliberately casual movement, bordering on insolent.

You didn’t look at her when you answered. “I told you, just going for a walk.” The words left your lips softer than you intended, but they carried that unmistakable edge, that deliberately sweetened defiance, like a dare dressed up in innocence.

Her gaze dropped briefly to the ground, like she was swallowing a surge of something, rage, maybe, and when she lifted it again, her eyes were dark, unreadable, and burning. Then came her voice, thick with warning, the words precise enough to cut. “You know that’s against the rules, Little Girl.”

The title landed like a stone dropped in still water. Little Girl. Not Little One, not the soft name they called you during gentle praise, check-ins, or affectionate aftercare. This one was different, used only in the lead-up to punishment.

Wanda was usually the one to wield it when you were truly in trouble. Hearing it from Natasha now made your stomach twist. Not with fear, not exactly, but with heat, with something volatile and reckless and stupidly brave.

And still, rather than shrinking under it, something inside you bloomed. The very thing you’d come out here chasing was now rising in front of you, and it made your pulse thunder.

You lifted your chin, eyes blazing with defiance, and let the words fall, slow and deliberate, each one laced with venom. “You don’t own me.”

Her hand shot out and closed around your upper arm, not harshly, but with enough weight to send your heart racing. She was close now, close enough that you could feel her body heat, the cold in her breath, the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“Move.” The word wasn’t a request. Not a suggestion. It was a command, weighted with disappointment.

She didn’t shove, instead, she stepped closer, hand still curled around your arm before it slid, slowly, deliberately to the back of your neck. Her palm was warm against your skin, firm and unyielding, fingers splaying just enough to ground you, to remind you that you now had nowhere to go.

She turned you around with that grip, directing you out of the park and towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you were hers to move.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. It barely came out. “Where are we going?” you asked, though the answer had already begun to form in your mind.

Her reply was flat. “Home. I think we need to talk. Don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. The silence pressed thick against your tongue, your mouth dry with the realisation of how far you’d taken it.

The walk was silent, but inside your head, it was anything but. Regret bloomed, not just for breaking the rule, but for how deliberately you’d done it, for how you’d baited her. But it was too late now. You could feel her eyes on you in short bursts, reading your silence, calculating what to do with you.

But underneath the guilt, the fear, the cold anticipation curling in your gut… was something else. Something reckless and alive. Something that felt horrifyingly like satisfaction. Because for the first time in weeks, Natasha was fully focused on you

She was here. She was angry. And she was going to do something about it.

—

At home, Wanda was waiting for both of you, wrapped tightly in her dressing gown, the fabric clutching her as if it could shield her from the worry etched deep across her face. Guilt hit you like a punch to the chest. She must have been asleep, or at least resting, before you’d disturbed her with your behaviour.

“Malyshka (Little One), are you okay?” Wanda’s voice was gentle, almost trembling with concern, enough to make your defiance falter for a moment.

But before you could answer, Natasha cut in sharply, her tone rougher than usual. “Don’t be soft with her. She’s fine. She’s just got an attitude.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a sharp huff, the brat inside you rising up despite the knots of fear and guilt tightening in your stomach.

Wanda stared at you, wide-eyed and clearly shocked. In all the time you’d known her, she’d never seen this side of you.

“See what I mean?” Natasha sneered, gesturing with her hand towards you.

Wanda simply nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming, her disappointment unspoken but suffocating.

“Take off your shoes and coat, then go sit down,” Natasha ordered, her voice firm and unyielding.

You obeyed, more out of habit than willingness. The house was warm, too warm for your heavy coat, and it felt like a small relief peeling it off.

You settled onto the couch, feeling the soft cushions give beneath you. Both of them followed. Natasha perched on the coffee table across from you, her eyes sharp and unreadable, while Wanda settled on the far side of the couch.

The distance stung. Wanda never sat so far away, never kept so much space between you. She was usually the one who reached out, always touching, always close. Tonight, that familiar comfort was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable void.

“You have one chance to explain yourself, Little Girl,” Natasha sneered, her voice low and sharp, each word weighted with warning.

“Why should I?” you shot back, the defiance bubbling up before you could stop it. Wanda’s eyes went wide again, her breath catching at seeing you push back like this. Natasha’s face, however, was unreadable.

Then, unexpectedly, she let out a dark chuckle and leaned in closer, her fingers curling around your jaw with a firm grip. “You know, I don’t think I like this side of you,” she murmured, her voice almost a threat.

You pulled away, pressing yourself back into the cushions, refusing to give her the satisfaction of your discomfort. “Well, you clearly don’t like the other side either,” you shot back, a sharp edge to your words. “So, two for two.”

A flicker of shock crossed Natasha’s face. “What? What the hell do you mean?” she demanded, the cool mask slipping for just a moment.

You shrugged, but this time the gesture was less about defiance and more about uncertainty. You genuinely didn’t know how to explain it, how could you say that she did everything perfectly, except for the one thing that tore at you the most, without sounding like some needy, whiny brat?

Natasha waited, her eyes locked on you. But when you stayed silent, her gaze sharpened, cutting through the heavy stillness like a whip. “Speak to me. Stop acting like a little brat,” she demanded.

You snapped back, frustration bubbling over. “Or what? You’ll just send me off to Wanda for a punishment?” Your tone rose, raw and challenging.

A guttural growl rumbled from Natasha, dark, fierce, edged with raw anger. “Is that what this is? You want punishment? You’re craving it? Is that why you’re acting like this?” Her voice sliced through the silence, thick with heat and frustration, scorching the air between you.

And that’s when it broke, because once again she was missing the point entirely. You shook your head, voice trembling under the weight of it all. “No, that’s not it!” Your breath hitched, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as your voice cracked open. “I want you to believe I’m enough. I want you to need me the way I need you. I want you to be in this, like I am.” The words came out ragged, raw, breaking free with all the desperation you’d been holding in.

Wanda shifted beside you, her worry carved deep into her face, but your world had shrunk to Natasha’s gaze, searching, pleading, trying to find any flicker of softness beneath the armour she wore like a shield.

And then, something shifted. Natasha’s hard edges softened ever so slightly. Her hand reached out, landing on your knee. You jerked back, instinct screaming to retreat, but she held you firmly, grounding you in place. “You are enough,” she said, voice lower now, rougher with unshed emotion.

She swallowed hard, steadying herself like she was forcing the words past a barricade. “Have I not shown you? When I drive you to school, and we sing like fools? When we curl up on the couch, just holding each other? When we sit and play your video game together? How is that not enough proof I’m in this?”

Her voice trembled, frustrated, wounded, desperate for you to see it.

“You don’t understand, Natasha,” you sobbed, your voice breaking under the weight of a thousand tangled feelings. “You don’t see what I mean.”

“Then tell me,” she whispered, voice cracked and almost desperate. “Please. Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to hold back the flood, but the dam finally broke. “I want more.” Your voice cracked. “I know it sounds selfish, needy, maybe even greedy. I love the tenderness, the quiet moments we share... but I want Daddy.”

Your hands clenched into fists as the words poured out, raw and urgent, laced with a pleading edge. “I want you to touch me, to punish me, to let me please you. I want you with me in the scenes, not just watching, or walking away like you have been lately.” The confession hung thick and heavy between you. Your voice dropped to a whisper, barely steady. “When you leave... it hurts.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words sinking into her with visible force, dragging something raw and unguarded to the surface. Her gaze dropped to her hands, jaw clenched tight. “I just…” she began, the words barely above a whisper, “I’m scared, Little One. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her fingers twisted in her lap, restless, unsure. “I’m not used to being careful. You’re… you’re so soft. So good. And I look at you and all I can think is… what if I break her?” She paused, breath shaky, as if the confession itself wounded her.

“And sometimes… sometimes it all gets too heavy, because I want it so badly, but I can’t push past the fear, so I pull away. That’s when I walk. It’s not about you. It’s me... I’m scared.”

You watched her closely, your own heart aching now, but not with shame or anger. Just understanding. “You told me you were done being scared,” you reminded her gently. “And I’m not scared, Nat.”

Her eyes finally met yours, glassy with hesitation.

“I know I’ve struggled to use ‘red’ before,” you admitted softly, your voice thick, “but I’m getting better. Wanda and I have had scenes way more intense than anything I could’ve handled before, and I’ve called red when I needed to. I’ve used yellow, too. I’ve communicated. I’ve grown.” You reached out, fingers brushing the back of her hand. “I need you to trust that. To trust me. The way I trust you.”

Natasha stared at your hand, at the quiet, open gesture you were offering her. For a long moment, the silence stretched between you again, thick, trembling. And then, slowly, she turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through yours with a quiet breath that sounded like surrender.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her thumb tracing a circle over your knuckles. “You’re right. You’ve been growing into exactly what we asked of you. And I’ve been too scared to meet you there.”

You nodded, breath hitching as the last of your tears clung stubbornly to your lashes. “Then meet me now,” you whispered, voice small but steady.

Natasha stilled for a heartbeat. Her eyes found yours, and in them, something shifted, slow but undeniable. The fear didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it softened around the edges, tempered by something far stronger. Resolve. Acceptance. Want.

“Alright,” she said at last, voice low and certain. “No more running.”

She leaned in, her hand rising to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding, but her eyes were lit with something far darker, deeper, a glint of control that made your pulse stutter.

“If we do this,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with warning, “we do it my way. You say you want the real me? Then that’s what you’ll get. Do you understand?”

You swallowed, nodded, lips parting as the weight of her words settled into your bones. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, the title wrapping around you like silk and steel all at once.

A flicker of a smirk ghosted across her lips then, subtle but deadly, the kind of look that promised things you’d only dared to imagine.

“Good girl,” she said, and the praise sent a shiver through your entire body.

She leaned in just slightly closer, her voice dipping into that tone that curled heat low in your belly. “Go upstairs,” she instructed. “Take off your clothes. Wait on your knees.” She paused, her smile sharpening as her eyes drank in the way your breath caught. “And then we’ll see, won’t we, just how much you want your Daddy.”

—

You nodded with a single, frantic jerk of your head, too overwhelmed to speak, and then your body was moving on instinct, quick, almost clumsy in your desperation to obey. All you could focus on was the wild drum of your heartbeat and the racing thoughts that flooded your head like a storm surge.

Upstairs, you fired off a quick text to Kate, fingers barely steady, then moved as if pulled by some invisible thread. Each piece of clothing came off with shaking hands, your breath catching as cool air kissed your skin. You folded everything neatly, placing the stack on the chair in the corner like a silent offering; a small, desperate proof that even if you’d slipped today, even if you'd been bad, you still wanted, needed to be good for them.

And then you dropped to your knees. The position was second nature by now, knees pressed into the carpet, thighs spread just enough, spine long and straight, shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Hands rested lightly on your thighs, palms down, fingers splayed slightly. Your head bowed low in submission.

You didn’t dare fidget, didn’t shift or speak. You simply waited, every nerve on fire, every breath shallow, until finally the door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t lift your head.

“She’s very well trained, my love,” Natasha said eventually, her tone cool and measured, discussing you rather than addressing you. “But she still made the choice to disobey.”

Silence followed, thick and weighted until Wanda finally spoke. Her voice was softer, edged with sorrow rather than anger, but the pain in it was unmistakable. “She scared me.”

The words sliced through the room like a knife, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. Yet you didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare interrupt.

“I know,” Natasha murmured, taking a slow step forward. The sound of her boots was almost echoing in the quiet. “She scared me, too.”

Then her hand was in your hair, threading through it from crown to nape in a way that was far from comforting. She gripped you just tightly enough to tilt your head upward, to force your eyes to meet hers. “Look at me.”

You did. You had no choice. Her eyes were fire and stone, and though the fury had dimmed, the disappointment was still there, etched into every line of her face. You felt like you might fall apart just from looking at her.

“We gave you rules,” she said, slowly, carefully, as if daring you to pretend otherwise. “And you broke them.”

Your voice caught in your throat, and all you could do was nod, shame coursing through you like poison.

“And now,” she said, as her presence shifted into something sharper, more commanding, “you’re going to show us exactly how sorry you are.”

Then came the sound, it was unmistakable, the low slide of leather slipping free from its loops. Natasha’s belt.

Your heart stuttered, catching mid-beat. The room was still, that single sound landing like thunder between the three of you. Her footsteps moved again, coming to a stop in front of you.

“I’m not like Wanda,” Natasha said evenly, her gaze steady. “I don’t often give out spankings or lashings... but after today, I think you need that, don’t you?”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

“I’ll be using my belt,” she went on, tone clipped, precise. “You will count each strike. And you will thank me for it.”

Your mouth felt dry as dust; your hands trembled faintly where they rested, but when your voice came, it was steady, quiet, and certain.“Yes, Daddy.”

Natasha stood before you, quiet for a moment, the belt coiled in her hand like a promise. Her eyes searched your face. You could feel her gaze digging through the layers of your submission, past the trembling anticipation and the guilt still curling tight in your chest, looking for anything that might signal hesitation or fear you hadn’t voiced.

Then she knelt, and that alone made your breath hitch. You never expected her to kneel, not when she was in control. But tonight, she needed you to see her. Not as the distant, unreadable force you'd grown so used to. Not as someone just watching from the sidelines. She needed you to understand that she was here, fully and completely.

One hand lifted to cup your jaw, thumb brushing just under your eye where the dried tracks of earlier tears lingered. You leaned into it instinctively.

“Colour,” she asked quietly, voice low and deliberate. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind. “Right now. Speak it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice small but certain. “Green.”

“Good girl,” she said softly, but the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. “You tell me if that changes. Understood?”

You nodded, then corrected yourself immediately. “Yes, Daddy.”

She rose in one smooth movement, the belt now unfurling in her hand as she stepped back around behind you. “You’ll take ten,” Natasha said, voice firmer again now. “Five for the disobedience. Five for the attitude.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your thighs, nails biting into your skin just enough to focus you.“Yes, Daddy.”

“Up,” Natasha said, and your body obeyed before your mind caught up. As you rose, Natasha glanced over at Wanda, giving the smallest nod. It was permission, an invitation to let her join in.

Wanda stepped forward, her touch gentle as she guided you to the edge of the bed. “Hands on the mattress, knees apart, back straight,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet firm.

You positioned yourself carefully, muscles taut beneath your bare skin, vulnerable and exposed as you bent forward at the hips. Your bottom lifted just enough for Natasha to take aim. The air between you thickened, every breath heavy with a charged expectation that made your pulse race.

Natasha gave a few slow, deliberate practice swings through the air, the belt hissing softly as it cut through the quiet.

Then she stepped closer, her hand gliding over your bare skin with a touch so gentle it nearly undid you, a final stroke of calm before the storm. “You ready?” she murmured, her voice low and controlled.

You nodded, already breathless. “Yes, Daddy.”

She hummed, almost in approval, and then the belt struck.

A sharp, clean crack shattered the stillness, the leather snapping against the curve of your right cheek with devastating accuracy. The pain bloomed instantly: white-hot, searing, a jolt that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with fire. It rippled through you, lighting your nerves with something that felt just a hair’s breadth from too much.

You gasped, muscles tightening reflexively, heart pounding wildly. “One,” you whispered, breath trembling, cheeks flushed with a warmth deeper than the sting alone. “Thank you, Daddy.”

The belt snapped down again, landing clean against your left cheek with a cruel crack that made your whole body jump. This time, a soft whimper caught in your throat, the sensation sharper, deeper. But an involuntary shiver rippled through your body as pain began to mingle with an unexpected, tantalising pleasure.

“Two. Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed, voice breathy, almost lost beneath the rush of sensations flooding through you.

Three. Four. The belt traced searing lines of fire across your skin, each lash both agony and ecstasy, sending sparks through your muscles and igniting a blaze deep inside you. The heat spread, radiating outward, consuming and thrilling, your senses alive with every crack.

By the fifth strike, tears welled unbidden in your eyes. The pain was intensifying with every lash over the already tender skin; the pleasure was threatened, pushed to the edge. You were just about to call yellow when Natasha paused, pulling back slightly.

“You’re halfway there, Kotenok (kitten),” she said, her voice thick with pride and heat. “You’re doing so well.”

The brief reprieve and her gentle praise dulled the sting, and suddenly the ache softened. You felt steady again, caught between resistance and surrender, pain and delight, a heady cocktail that left you dizzy, breathless, desperate for more.

After a moment, the final lashes came faster, harder, each one a burning punctuation searing deeper into your flesh and soul. Your breath hitched in ragged gasps, low moans slipping free on the ninth and tenth strikes, before you finally whispered, “Ten, thank you, Daddy,” voice cracking as a shudder rippled through your body. Tears streamed freely now, pain fierce and unrelenting, skin flushed hot and humming with fire.

Behind you, Wanda’s hands were gentle and steady, soothing your trembling back with tender caresses that gradually melted the blaze to warmth. “Good girl, you did so well, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with affection.

You remained bent forward, breath shallow and ragged, every nerve alive and buzzing with a fierce, aching bliss. The pain had broken you open, cracked you wide, and beneath it all burned an exhilarating, desperate hunger.

Natasha lifted you carefully, mindful not to touch your sensitive skin, and eased you face down onto the bed, a soft pillow cushioning your head. Her fingers stroked the side of your face, warm and steady, before she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look exquisite, Kotenok (kitten). Your ass is such a beautiful shade of purple and red,” she praised softly.

“That was the first time you’ve taken a belt, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” Wanda’s voice was filled with pride, gentle and amazed.

You hummed softly in response.

Natasha’s chuckle was low and indulgent, her eyes glinting with something between adoration and pride. “You knew you wouldn’t get off with just a normal spanking from me,” she murmured, tracing the outline of the belt’s work. “But you took it beautifully, Printessa (princess). You were perfect.”

You let out a breathy, dreamy little giggle, face half-buried in the pillow. Your body felt loose, heavy, but warm all over, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “Didn’t break,” you whispered, the words lilting with smugness even as your voice slurred just a little. “Told you, Daddy.”

Natasha smiled, slow and fond, brushing her knuckles along your cheek. “No, you didn’t. Tough little thing, aren’t you?” Before her hand drifted back down to gently stroke the heated swell of your ass. The touch still made you flinch, the burn raw and aching, but it was grounding, anchoring, laced with something that made your stomach flutter again.

Wanda returned with some lotion, her steps soft and measured. “Nat, you take the edge off, I’ve got this,” she said, nodding toward the bed. Natasha climbed up beside you, cradling your head in her lap, one hand carding through your hair while the other cupped your jaw.

“Lotion’s coming, baby,” Wanda murmured as she settled behind you, warming it in her hands. “Ready?”

“Mhm, yeah…” You breathed. Your hips twitched when the first touch landed, cool and tender, Wanda’s fingers expertly massaging the sting away. Your thighs parted instinctively, knees shifting wider for no reason at all, just a gesture of pure submission. Wanda said nothing, just smiled behind you, pleased by the automatic surrender.

Meanwhile, Natasha was stroking her fingers through your hair, whispering soft reassurances about how good you were. It made you smile, you felt held, so safe. “You can be soft,” you murmured, nuzzling into Natasha’s thigh with a sleepy grin. “You try to be scary, but you’re soft, Daddy. So soft.”

Natasha chuckled darkly. “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone still trembling and glowing red, Printessa (princess),” she murmured, her voice silky but edged with warning, clearly not thrilled that you were seeing her as soft after she’d just whipped your ass with a belt. “Maybe you need more, huh?”

You let out a soft, drowsy little laugh. “Nooo,” you groaned dramatically, drawing out the syllable with petulant flair. “I’ll be good now. Promise. My butt’s on fire…”

“Oh, you definitely earned that fire, Little One,” Wanda said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve never seen you act out like that,” she added, continuing to smooth the lotion over your skin with slow, practiced care. Each gentle stroke sent a fresh, cooling wave over your burning flesh, only to leave behind a new warmth, softer, deeper, impossible to ignore, and your body gave a faint, involuntary shiver.

You turned your head slightly, cheek pressing against Natasha’s thigh, blinking at her through heavy lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice syrupy and slow, thick with the weight of submission. “Didn’t mean to…” You trailed off with a pout, though your tone made it clear the apology wasn’t entirely sincere.

Natasha snorted quietly, amused, and her fingers slid through your hair, combing gently. “Don’t give us that act,” she said with that wicked little twist to her voice. “You absolutely meant to. You were poking the bear on purpose.”

You giggled again, dreamy and far too pleased with yourself, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten drunk on affection. “Okay… yeah, I did,” you admitted, cheek pressed to the sheets. “But I got what I wanted, sooo… clearly I should be a brat more often.”

Wanda let out a soft gasp of mock outrage and landed a light, open-palmed swat to your thigh, her skin still slick with lotion. The sensation made you jump, but not from pain. Your breath caught on a whine, your hips giving the smallest, shameless wiggle.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Wanda teased, palm pausing to stroke along the back of your thigh in lazy arcs. “You be our good girl, or you’ll be wearing welts like these every day of the week.”

“Mmm…” You squirmed again, an indulgent little sound escaping you, high and heady. “Maybe I liked it,” you whispered with a hazy smile, too dazed and floaty to even try masking the way your voice trembled at her touch. “Felt…good.”

Natasha leaned down slowly, her body brushing yours just enough to feel the weight of her attention, and you stilled completely, lips parting as her breath ghosted against your ear. “You’re lucky you’re adorable when you’re like this,” she murmured, voice a velvet growl. “Otherwise, I’d start again.”

The words slid down your spine like warm honey, thick and sinful, and before you could stop it, your toes curled tight and a soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, small and accidental, but full of exposed, aching need.

Wanda chuckled behind you, one hand still resting low across your backside, her thumb now stroking gently just under the curve. “Thought you said you didn’t want more, Little One,” she teased lightly, though her voice was already laced with something warmer, deeper.

“I don’t…” You mumbled, your face flushed, trying not to squirm beneath both their eyes. “No more hits anyway…”

Natasha tilted her head, her fingers slipping down to trace over your jaw with a feather-light touch. “Is there something you do want?”

You nodded, once, shy and breathless.

“Words,” Natasha said, her tone still wrapped in that low, velvety timbre, but sharpened with command. “Tell us what’s happening in that pretty little head of yours.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to gather your scattered thoughts as Natasha’s voice curled around you, turning everything inside into a slow, smouldering fire, and Wanda’s fingers traced their deliberate, torturous path across your skin, the soft pads gliding slowly over the raised, welted ridges.

“Mommy’s hands…” You breathed, barely able to get the words out, your voice catching and cracking as your thighs trembled, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the weight of their attention, “they’re making me… everything’s so sensitive, feels good, Daddy… I wanna be touched…wanna cum…”

The last word left you on a broken whimper, fragile and pleading, not even a full breath of sound, but it was enough.

“Who do you want, Little One?” Natasha asked, her voice was still on the gentle side, and you could feel her thumb brushing deliberately against your temple, grounding you, holding you, even as the rest of her loomed like a storm waiting to strike. “Me? Wanda? Or both of us?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, the way she already knew the answer.

Your lashes fluttered, and your face burned, and you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your lips even through the haze, cheeky and unrepentant. “Both,” you mumbled, your voice thick with need, your whole body thrumming with it. “Wanna feel both of you…”

Behind you, Wanda chuckled, the sound low and indulgent as she let her nail trail with sudden, shocking pressure along one of the rawer welts across your ass. “Greedy little thing,” she purred. “Didn’t we just finish punishing you?”

“Mhmm,” Natasha murmured, her voice dark with amusement, and her grin only widened as she let your head slip from her lap and lowered it gently onto the pillow. “And now she’s begging for her reward like the little brat she clearly is.” She rose smoothly, her body uncoiling behind you with slow, predatory grace.

Wanda climbed fully onto the bed, her body close, her thigh pressing warmly against yours as she knelt beside you, a steady presence at your side.

Natasha moved behind you, lowering herself until she could pry your legs open further. Her breath hitched as her gaze fell between them, and any lingering restraint she had vanished in an instant.

You were drenched, unmistakably aroused despite the punishment, and the sight of it lit something deep and primal in her. “Look at you,” she said, her voice cold and amused, “So wet from being hurt.”

Her fingers finally made contact, just the barest drag of her fingers between your slick folds, slow and cruelly restrained. Your breath hitched hard, your body pushing backwards into her before her hand slammed down against your thigh with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the room and left your skin burning.

“Beg,” she ordered, and you whimpered, already on the edge of falling apart.

“Please…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.

Another slap came down, sharper this time. “Louder,” she demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasped, your voice hoarse and broken, tears stinging your eyes already. I want your fingers, need you so bad, please—”

“Better,” Natasha growled, and then she gave you exactly what you’d asked for, two fingers plunging into you with no warning, a raw yelp tearing from your throat as she pushed into you. Wanda’s nails raked down your spine again in long, devastating lines that made your whole body twist and writhe, pleasure and pain tangling so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Brats don’t get soft,” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your skin. There was no gentleness, just her fingers working you over, every thrust designed to split you open. “Brats get used.”

“And you love it, don’t you?” Wanda whispered against your ear, her lips brushing the shell of it as she slipped a hand beneath you, and to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with her thumb.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Natasha’s fingers were hitting deep inside of you and the mattress below you was just slightly stimulating your clit with each thrust, every nerve in your body was screaming, burning, begging for release already.

Clearly, Natasha could tell, too. “Hold still,” she barked, voice sharp and unforgiving. “Don’t move a fucking inch until I say. And don’t even think about cumming.”

Wanda’s hand was soft against your chest, a twisted counterpoint to the violence behind you, her touch gentle and slow, grounding you as your whole body trembled violently beneath them both.

You tried to obey her, to stay still, to keep your hips steady even as your body screamed with the effort, but you were falling apart, unravelling beneath their hands, beneath her voice, beneath the hot, wet drag of your own tears against your cheek where your face pressed into the sheets.

The moans slipped out, soft and broken, catching in your throat like sobs, and your fingers clawed uselessly at the bedding, trying to anchor yourself to something while Natasha kept fucking you with those unrelenting, merciless strokes that hit so perfectly deep you could hardly remember what breathing felt like.

“Daddy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and shaking, “Please, Daddy. Fuck! Please—” You weren't exactly sure what you wanted, you think it was for her to never stop, to live inside you, but you couldn't be sure, considering your body was begging for release at the same time.

Her grip on your hip only tightened, holding you exactly where she wanted you, making sure you couldn’t squirm away, couldn’t fuck yourself down harder to chase what she was refusing to give, and her other hand kept moving, curling inside you just right.

Wanda’s hand moved to your jaw, cradling it gently, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free, her voice achingly soft by contrast, a warm thread through the storm. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple, “Let her hear it. Show her how much you need her.”

Your mouth opened again, but the words caught on a sob this time, raw and full of surrender, your chest heaving beneath the weight of everything you felt, need, shame, longing, adoration, so thick and tangled inside you it made your throat ache to speak.

Wanda watched carefully, ensuring you were both safe in this intense moment. Her fingers tightened around your jaw, holding your head still as she kissed your temple, again and again, whispering encouragement against your skin in a voice like balm, gentle, grounding, loving, everything Natasha was not in that moment, and it made the contrast all the more unbearable.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her lips brushing your ear as Natasha’s rhythm grew more punishing. She knew you physically couldn't last much longer, after all, she had more experience with your body than Natasha did. So she gave you the permission you needed. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

And you did. You released around Natasha’s fingers with a raw, keening cry that spilled from your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it, the orgasm tearing through you like a wave too big to fight.

Your whole body trembled under the weight of it, hips jerking, legs shaking, tears spilling freely now as Natasha held you steady and fucked you through it, relentless until your sobs turned into whimpers, until your cries dissolved into breathless, broken moans.

Even then, she didn’t stop.

You cried out, high and sharp, your thighs trying to close instinctively, but she forced them open with her legs, her breath hissing between her teeth as she leaned into you like a predator cornering its prey.

“Oh no,” she murmured, almost laughing, her voice husky and low, thick with dark delight. “You don’t get to run from it now. You begged for this, remember?”

And then Natasha leaned forward, her body pressing flush against your back, and the pace of her fingers changed again, faster, harder, brutal in their precision as they fucked into you with relentless, single-minded force, every thrust driving the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back. “So now you’re gonna take it, shlyukha (slut). You’re gonna take everything I give you until I say you’ve had enough.”

You sobbed, unable to help it, your voice catching in your throat as your whole body jerked with the sensitivity. It burned, every nerve raw and open, as her fingers were working that throbbing spot deep inside you, dragging more pleasure out of you than your body could handle, pushing you toward a second high before the first had even finished crashing over you.

“I c…can’t,” you gasped, words broken by ragged breath, your hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets as the pressure built again with terrifying speed. “It’s too much, Daddy! Please…please I can’t—”

“You can,” she snarled, cutting you off with a vicious curl of her fingers that made you scream into the mattress, your legs kicking uselessly as she pinned you down. “You will. If I want more, you will take more. Don’t care if you’re crying. Don’t care if you’re shaking. You either safe word, or you take it like the whore you begged to be.”

Her voice was steel, but Wanda’s hands remained soft where they cupped your face, her fingers stroking your cheeks, catching your tears as they kept falling, her thumbs brushing them away with unbearable gentleness. She kissed your brow, your temple, the tip of your nose, her voice a slow, steady rhythm of quiet reassurance in your ear.

“You’re okay,” Wanda murmured, again and again, her lips barely moving against your skin. “You’re safe. You can do this, darling.”

You were trembling violently now, sobbing openly, but you didn’t ask her to stop. You didn’t want her to stop. Not really. Somewhere deep beneath the overwhelm, beneath the overstimulation and the ache spreading through your thighs and belly and chest, was the desperate part of you that needed to be taken apart, to be used and ruined until there was nothing left.

Natasha added another finger, her fingers soaking wet as they filled you again and again, her palm slapping wetly against you with every thrust.

“Pathetic,” she growled, mouth against your ear, teeth scraping your skin. “Fucking sobbing. Crying like you hate it, but you’re clenching around me like you’d die if I stopped.”

And she was right, you were so close again it hurt, so full of her, so overstimulated and desperate that every thrust felt like fire, like drowning, like you couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began anymore.

You screamed her title, a ragged, half-broken wail into the mattress, but Wanda’s voice answered yours like a balm. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Let it break you. Let her take you all the way down.”

Natasha’s fingers continued moving, curling and thrusting deep inside you, each movement sharper, harder, more demanding than the last, her grip on your hip like iron as she drove you closer to that edge where everything blurred and shattered at once.

Your breath hitched, short and desperate, your body trembling so violently that your fists clenched the sheets until your nails bit into the fabric, white-knuckled and raw. “Please… please, Daddy…” you gasped, voice fading at the edges, “Please!”

Wanda kissed the crown of your head, her hands drifting over your back, tracing slow, tantalising paths along the scratches she’d left behind earlier.

“Hmm,” Natasha murmured, voice thick with amused cruelty. “You think you deserve a second, brat? After what you did today?”

You tried to steady yourself, to keep control, but your hips jerked involuntarily against her hand. Your voice was strained, trembling with a shameful desperation. “Please…”

Natasha’s voice was low, husky, with that unmistakable edge of command laced in every syllable. “Not good enough,” she said, her tone rough, dark with expectation. “Beg like you mean it. Like you’re begging for your life.”

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning with humiliation and want, eyes closing as the heat swirling through you turned into a frantic ache. Your voice broke, ragged and raw, spilling out all the trembling need you’d been holding inside. “Please, Daddy… Please let me come. I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I need you. Please…”

Natasha just chuckled, clearly not quite ready to relent just yet. Your body continued to tremble violently, every muscle pulled so tight it felt like you might shatter from the strain, every inch of you writhing under the pressure that had been building, aching, begging for release for what felt like hours.

Your voice broke free again, hoarse and raw, a sob ripped straight from your chest, laced with helpless surrender. “I’m gonna…I can’t, Daddy, I can’t hold it, I’m sorry, I can’t, please—”

It had stopped being a plea altogether. It was more like a confession, you were going to cum whether you were given permission or not; you just desperately hoped that permission would arrive before you lost control.

The air went still, like the world itself was holding its breath. Then she leaned in again, breath hot and steady against your ear, her voice low and terrifyingly gentle. “Okay. Cum for me, good girl.”

The words struck like lightning. It was immediate, devastating; the second her permission registered in your mind, your body detonated. You shattered with a scream that tore straight through your throat, every muscle seizing in violent spasms as the orgasm ripped through you, too intense, too much, more than you’d ever felt or imagined. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Your vision went white, then grey, then black around the edges as the release overwhelmed you completely.

Your eyes rolled back, your mouth open in a silent cry, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you felt yourself slipping under, deep and dark, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light before it vanished altogether.

Your limbs were limp and twitching in the aftermath, your face buried in the sheets as tremors rocked you. You were barely conscious, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven gasps. Your skin was flushed and fever-hot, soaked in sweat and tears, but your mind had gone blissfully quiet.

Natasha didn’t speak for a long moment; she just stayed with you, her fingers gentle now, drawing back from your trembling body with care, her presence still heavy and grounding. When her voice came, it was thick with pride, yet soft enough to make your chest ache.

“That’s it, krasivaya devushka (pretty girl),” she murmured, brushing damp hair from your face with slow, reverent fingers. “You did so fucking well.”

You couldn’t respond. You barely had the strength to breathe, let alone form words. Your body twitched again, the aftershocks still pulsing in deep, involuntary waves, and even those were almost too much. You whimpered softly, tears streaking anew from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from relief. From the sheer vulnerability of what had just passed between you.

Wanda’s hand found yours, her touch warm and steady, and you clung to it without even realising, your fingers weakly curling into hers as she whispered something soft in a language you didn’t understand, her lips brushing the crown of your head.

The room around you was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The tension had faded. The storm had passed. Natasha moved first, slow and deliberate, every gesture measured as if the wrong angle might break you. She eased her hands beneath your slack body and gently coaxed you upright, murmuring soft nothings as she guided you with infinite patience into her lap.

She avoided the welts with careful skill, her fingers splaying wide to support your back as she shifted you until you were curled against her, your thighs folded over hers, your cheek resting against the firm plane of her chest.

Wanda was already there beside you, moving in tandem with Natasha, like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Her hand brushed gently along your jaw, the backs of her fingers featherlight against your cheekbone, and her voice was barely more than a breath. “Little One… you’re so quiet,” she whispered. “Can you look at me, hm? Just a little?”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed half-lidded, unfocused, your mouth parted slightly as if words might try to come, but nothing did. You were weightless, full of warmth and pressure, and not a single coherent thought. You didn’t even know whose hands were where anymore, only that you were held, and the world outside their bodies didn’t matter.

Natasha shifted behind you, her arms curling around your middle, and she leaned in close, her voice low, coaxing. “You with me?” she murmured against your temple, her breath warm and even. “Need you to give me something, yeah? Nod. Blink. Anything.”

Silence. You blinked once, but it was slow, lazy, so drawn-out it almost didn’t count. Your body was limp in her arms, small twitches still ghosting down your thighs, but there was no tension, no fear. Just exhaustion. Deep, beautiful, bone-heavy exhaustion, the kind that only came when you’d given everything and there was nothing left but this.

Wanda’s hand paused, just briefly, her eyes flicking up to meet Natasha’s. Her tone stayed soft, but there was the barest note of surprise in it, and something warmer beneath that, something almost admiring. “I’ve never seen her this far gone before,” she said gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face with careful fingers. “Not like this.”

That made Natasha pause. You felt it in her breath, the faint hitch against your neck, the subtle stiffening of her muscles where they cradled your back. Her grip didn’t tighten, but her stillness said enough, that flicker of something sharp and anxious just beneath her skin.

“She’s too quiet,” Natasha murmured, and for the first time her voice held a sliver of unease, something she couldn’t quite mask. “She usually… I mean, even when she’s out of it with you, she—”

Wanda cut her off with a look, her voice calm and even, as grounding as the touch she kept smoothing along your jaw. “You know she’s okay,” she said, not a question, but a gentle reminder. “Look at her. She’s breathing slow, she’s not flinching, her body’s soft. She’s not gone. Just… deep.”

Still, Natasha looked down at you, searching for something, anything behind your eyes. “She didn’t even flinch when I moved her. Not even a wince.”

“She trusts you,” Wanda said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not a problem. That’s a gift.”

Natasha let out a slow, quiet breath, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you more tightly now, tucking your face into the crook of her neck as if the closeness might coax you back into the light a little faster. “She gave me everything,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I didn’t mean to take too much.”

“You didn’t,” Wanda said gently, but with absolute certainty, her voice calm and grounding. “She’s fine, Nat. I promise. You’ve seen me drop just as deep, you know this space, don’t start second-guessing yourself now. I was watching the whole time, making sure you both stayed tethered. No one went too far. It’s alright. Just breathe and be with her, yeah?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders softening just a fraction, but not all the way. Her arms tightened around you instinctively, protective and quiet, holding you as if her steadiness alone could pull you back to shore. And then your fingers curled in the fabric of her shirt. A barely-there twitch, not even deliberate, but enough. Natasha’s breath caught, and something melted in her expression as she leaned down, pressing a kiss into your hair like a prayer.

“That’s our girl,” she murmured, voice low and rough, barely more than a breath, but full of fierce, aching relief.

You didn’t answer. But your cheek nudged against her collarbone, just a little, a lazy, dazed nuzzle, and Natasha exhaled fully, like she could finally breathe again.

Wanda leaned forward, tucking herself in against your other side, her hand now holding one of yours, thumb brushing rhythmically along your knuckles. “Let’s let her drift a bit longer,” she whispered. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

And so they stayed like that, holding you between them. You didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been an hour, the soft thrum of Wanda’s thumb on your knuckles and the slow rise and fall of Natasha’s chest beneath your cheek made everything blur, timeless and quiet, like the world had narrowed to the exact point where their bodies cradled yours.

Then, at last, something shifted. It started in your chest, a quiet ache of emotion that bloomed outward like warmth returning to numb skin. You blinked slowly, the world still soft and blurry at the edges. You made a small noise, mostly a whimper, and Natasha’s arms instinctively tightened around you, the motion firm but soothing.

“Hey,” she whispered, and the relief in her voice wasn’t masked. It wasn’t even tried. “There she is. That’s it, Detka (babe)”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. You swallowed hard and tried again, your voice barely more than a rasp, a breath caught on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry…”

Natasha shushed you immediately, her hand smoothing down the back of your head, her other arm tightening at your waist, still careful not to touch the angry red welts across your backside. “You don’t need to talk yet,” she murmured. “You just rest. You’re safe, I promise.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your brow, her hand never letting go of yours. Her voice was warm and low, like the first glow of a fire in a quiet room. “You came back really slowly, darling. Gave us both a scare, hm?” There was no edge to it, no reprimand. Only concern, soft and absolute. “I’ve never seen you drift that far before.”

A tiny breath escaped your lips, almost a laugh, though too fragile to shape itself. “Didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice brittle and fading.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit out of it,” Natasha said quietly, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “Daddy and Mommy have you, baby. You’re so good for us.”

You whimpered, barely a sound, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. You’d been bad before, you remembered just how far you’d pushed. The guilt still pulsed inside you, raw and unsteady. You wanted to apologise, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, but somehow… they were already offering it.

Being told you were still good, hit you like a balm, cool and sweet and stinging all at once. Your lip trembled, your voice breaking the silence in a small, uncertain whisper. “Still… Little One?”

Even to your own ears, the question sounded fragile, wavering with that desperate need for reassurance that only they could offer. It wasn’t the first time you had asked that question, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Natasha’s breath caught faintly, and then she kissed your temple with aching gentleness. “Our Little One. Forever.”

Wanda’s voice joined hers, soothing and rich as she stroked her fingers through your hair. “You’re stuck with us now, malyshka. No escaping.”

You nodded faintly, eyes sliding shut again. The fog still clung to you; you hadn’t fully come back yet, but it didn’t feel frightening now. You were floating just beneath the surface, not lost, just… surrendered. And their voices tethered you. Their hands held you. You didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to earn this.

A small silence followed, warm and deep, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the weight of being kept. Then Wanda stirred with a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m just going to get something for her,” she murmured gently. “Some water, maybe a snack.”

Natasha gave a small nod, her cheek still pressed to your hair, as if she couldn’t bear to lift her head. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice raw with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Wanda rose slowly, her fingers brushing over yours one last time before she left, a silent promise not to be long. Then the room was quiet again, just you and Natasha in the hush, her touch steady, grounding as she pulled a blanket over you.

When Wanda returned, it was quiet and swift, a bottle of water in one hand, a small biscuit wrapped in a napkin in the other. She knelt beside the bed, watching your face like she was reading something in the way your lashes fluttered.

Natasha adjusted you gently, raising you just enough to coax. “Alright, Detka (babe),” she whispered into your temple. “Time to try. Just a little something, and then you can rest again.”

You blinked slowly, the world still foggy and distant. But you let her guide you, let her bring the straw to your lips. Your lips parted slowly around the straw, the cool water slipping in like a balm against your dry throat.

You sipped tentatively, eyes fluttering as the water trickled down. Natasha’s fingers never left you, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a softness that made your heart ache and your eyelids flutter heavier.

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with pride and relief. “Such a good girl, taking care of yourself. I’m so proud of you.” Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, steady and unshakable, grounding you further into this moment. “You’re doing so well. You don’t have to rush.”

From beside you, Wanda’s hand slipped to your face, fingers tracing gentle circles over your cheek, cradling your jaw like you were the most precious thing she’d ever held. “Look at you, malyshka (Little One),” she breathed softly, voice low and filled with awe. “Such a perfect girl.”

You blinked again, the fuzziness lingering but softening, your chest rising and falling a little more evenly with each soothing stroke of Wanda’s hand. The biscuit was pressed lightly into your palm, warm from her touch, and with gentle encouragement, your fingers curled weakly around it.

“Try a little bite,” Wanda coaxed, her smile tender and patient. “Just a small one.”

Your jaw worked slowly, the crumbly biscuit breaking apart in your mouth, sweetness blooming faintly against your tongue. Natasha’s voice was a steady hum in your ear, praise threading through every word. “That’s it, just like that.”

You swallowed, the taste grounding you more than you expected. Your eyes drifted closed again briefly, your body sinking deeper into Natasha’s embrace, Wanda’s hand never leaving your face, their presence a constant soft anchor in the swirling haze.

Wanda offered the water again, and you took it without hesitation, the coolness soothing the ache in your throat and the exhaustion in your limbs.

“You’re doing so well,” Natasha whispered, voice soft and full of wonder.

It took a little while to come back down, the world around you slow to settle. But once your limbs stopped trembling and your head stopped spinning, you turned into Natasha’s arms and curled there without hesitation, your voice quiet but full of truth as you murmured, “Thank you.”

She smiled, her fingers trailing lazy patterns across your back. “For what? The belt, or the orgasms that nearly killed you?”

You gave a tired, breathy laugh, hiding your face in her neck. “For listening. For wanting me.” You paused, then added with a grin. “And… maybe a little bit for the orgasms.”

Wanda chuckled behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Natasha huffed a laugh of her own, sounding more relaxed than she had all night. “Not too much?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone, though the question beneath was genuine.

You shook your head, smiling. “It was a lot,” you admitted softly, “but not too much. Just… I think I might need soft, sometimes, though?”

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… soft. I’ll need a manual for that one.”

You grinned. “You’ve got Wanda. She’s an expert.”

Wanda kissed your cheek and hummed, “Lucky for her, I take apprentices.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, warm and open in a way that made your chest flutter. “Well then,” she murmured, “I guess I’m all in.”

And that, more than anything, made you melt, safe and certain in the arms you’d craved for so long.

Eventually, Natasha and Wanda gently helped you up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom where they cleaned you with tender patience, every touch considerate of the welts on your skin.

Once you were freshened, they dressed you in a soft, oversized T-shirt that hung loosely, deliberately leaving you without underwear or trousers to avoid anything rubbing or irritating your tender backside. They took extra time to apply more soothing lotion, their fingers slow and careful, lingering on every sensitive spot with quiet affection.

Afterwards, one by one, they each prepared for bed, never once leaving you alone, both silently ensuring you felt safe and held. Before long, the three of you were curled together, you nestled snugly in the middle, wrapped in a warm, protective cocoon of love and care. Your eyes drifted closed, sinking into a peaceful sleep, tired, a little sore, but deeply content and completely fulfilled.

—

Taglist: @angelicbrats @chansawrelier, @brooklyn-r-dawson (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda #daddy natasha #wlw smut #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #Bishovapls Fics #kate bishop #yelena belova #our little one

830 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 6 months ago

Text

unadulterated loathing (pt 2)

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: sprinkling anthony bridgerton references in this because wreck my plans that's my man!! anyways this is actually going to be 3 parts because i have zero self control and ended up writing 15k words in total and im trying to see whether i like posting parts or doing one whole one shot more so there's going to be a third part. but for once in my writer life i have the whole thing written so it will be out in a couple days! have no idea how this fic became this long out of nowhere but i hope you all enjoy lol. stressed reader x calm bf will always be famous on this blog

wc: 4.9k

warning(s): almost cheating? fiyero is still w/ galinda for most of this so the line is very blurred but they dont cross it lmao. the slightest bit of angst but basically all fluff

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero spread his arms out as you took a seat in the grass. Idly, you wondered about getting grass stains out before he started talking again. “Fresh air, actual sunlight, and things to look at other than words on a page.”

“I do go outside,” you said wryly. “You act like I’m some hermit.”

He shrugged. “I only ever see you in class or at the library.”

“I’m just there most of the time,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m not this smart by slacking off.”

Fiyero said your name with surprise. “Was that a joke?”

You laughed again. “Hardly.”

“I think it was,” he nodded. “You really are learning how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun!” you exclaimed. “We just have different ideas of fun!”

“And what is your idea of fun?” Fiyero asked pointedly. “Studying? Attending class? Going through the intricacies of various languages?”

“That last one is very fun,” you defended.

“How did you decide on linguistics anyways?” he asked. “You’re incredibly passionate about something I didn’t even know was a major here.”

“It’s not, technically.” You shrugged. “I’m a history major. I just convinced Doctor Dillamond to let me be his teacher’s assistant so I could include more linguistics lessons in the syllabus.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Oz— why do you do it? You’re stressed all the time. Surely taking one less class or not being a TA wouldn’t kill you. All of this seems like it is.”

“I’m not like you, Fiyero,” you said. “I can’t get kicked out of a hundred schools and still be fine. I’ve got one chance, and if I squander it, then I’ve also squandered my dream. And that’s unacceptable to me.”

“There’s always second chances,” he said. “And third ones, too. Sometimes even fourth.”

“Maybe for a prince,” you laughed. “But not for somebody like me.”

“And just who are you?” Fiyero asked as he sat down next to you. “I know you’re Gillikinese and I know you’re probably going to succeed in whatever you attempt. But I still feel like I don’t know anything about who you are without the school uniform.”

“Why does that matter?” you asked defensively. “We’re project partners, not friends.”

“Because I’d very much like us to be friends,” he answered simply.

That might have been the most shocking thing he’d said all day. Fiyero Tigelaar, Winkie prince and self-declared slacker and desired paramour of nearly every Shiz student, said he wanted to be your friend.

Again, that warmth bloomed inside you. You tried to ignore it—tried to fully banish it.

“Don’t do this,” you said, looking away from him.

“Do what?”

“Act like you like me,” you said, stronger this time. “You— you do it with everyone, and that’s fine, but don’t do it with me.”

“I’m not following,” Fiyero said.

You glared at him. “I know you aren’t this daft.”

“Apologies,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you figured I don’t genuinely like you.”

You blinked. “Because you’re you. You flirt with everybody so you can dance through life.”

“Of course,” Fiyero agreed. “It just so happens that I genuinely like you in addition.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His laugh was nothing but shocked. “Are you asking me why I like you?”

“Well,” you glanced away with a huff, “when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’ll bite anyways,” Fiyero said. “I like you because you know what you want. You never really stop talking about it, honestly.”

“Are you trying to compliment me?”

“You’re intelligent and driven and you don’t shy away from anything you want,” he continued. “And you thoroughly vex me in near every encounter we have, most joyously.”

“…So you like me because I’m stubborn and confusing,” you said.

Fiyero sighed. “You‘ve got some serious self esteem issues.”

“I do not!” you exclaimed.

“You’ve tied your worth to your academic achievement,” he said. “You can’t see all the good you’ve already done, how smart you truly are, because you only stress about the next thing you need to do. You’d rather lose your mind over what’s to come than realize all you’ve got in the moment.”

Your mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, like a fish out of water, before it snapped shut.

“I thought you were supposed to be brainless,” you settled on.

“I am,” Fiyero agreed with a chuckle. “But I also know people better than most, and our study sessions have given me ample time to study you.”

Great Oz, why was your face so hot? You felt like you were burning up from the inside out. Fiyero Tigelaar was killing you, and slowly at that.

“Why are you studying me?” you asked pointedly.

“Because you’re interesting,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

“Well, I’m— I’m glad we’ve finally reached a truce.” You tried to sound as casual as possible—you couldn’t let Fiyero know the full effect he was beginning to have on you. You didn’t think he would ever shut up about that, and Galinda certainly wouldn’t either. You didn’t want to make an enemy of her. “It’ll make this project much easier.”

“Yes,” Fiyero mused. “I believe it will.”

Amusement, and maybe something warmer, danced in his irises. A very small part of you wanted to let yourself fall, freely and uncaring, just as every other student did.

You had to lock that part of you away, never to be seen again. You didn’t like Fiyero. He was still a nuisance in every single sense of the word.

You swallowed, trying to cure your cottonmouth. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

You needed to finish this essay immediately.

You sighed when you heard a knock on your door. Coralie, for how smart she was, had a habit of forgetting her room key—so much so that you’d stopped bothering to lock the door on the days she went to class before you.

“It’s unlocked, Cora!” you called out. You didn’t want to get up from your desk, not when you were in the middle of writing. You were worried that you would lose the thread of inspiration you’d finally caught the moment you got out of your chair.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a familiar voice said. “All sorts of miscreants could get in.”

Your hand slipped in your shock, but you couldn’t even be annoyed about smearing the fresh ink on the page or getting it on your shirt cuffs because you had more important things to worry about. Namely, your surprise visitor.

“Fiyero?”

“Present,” he affirmed as he leaned against your doorframe. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“Much less pink than Galinda’s,” he continued. “I think it’s the only color she owns, honestly. A bit absurd but—”

“What are you doing here?” you repeated.

“I should be asking you that question,” Fiyero said, eyes narrowing in on you. “I went to the library and you weren’t there.”

You cleared your throat. “I was giving you the day off.”

He frowned and stood up from the doorframe. “Who said I wanted the day off?”

“You,” you said. “When you didn’t show up to Doctor Dillamond’s class today.”

Fiyero brushed his hand through the air. “That’s different.”

You looked at him expectantly. “So you skipped the class this project is for, but you don’t want to skip the actual project.”

“That sounds about right, yes.”

“You don’t even do anything whenever we’re together,” you said. “You just stare at me and complain about doing work and ask me about my life and take an hour to write one page of notes.”

“That also sounds about right,” Fiyero said. “I enjoy your presence. Do you not enjoy mine?”

If only he knew the way he’d been making you feel for the past week. He could never know that he appeared in your dream last night.

“...Your presence is fine,” you said. “I just figured I would give you the day off, seeing as we only have one week left until it’s due.”

“How much have you written already without me?” he asked.

“Five pages, but that—”

“You’ve nearly done half of the project without me?” Fiyero interrupted.

“...Yes?” Why did you actually feel bad about this?

Fiyero got closer so he could look over your shoulder at your work, and you found yourself holding your breath at his proximity.

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor?”

“Clearly,” you said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over, and the sooner you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” You shrugged. “You said you wanted to ride my coattails anyways, so I figured I would make it easier for you.”

“Just a few days ago you were chastising me for not doing my part,” Fiyero said. “Now you’re not even letting me try?”

“I—” the words stuck in your throat, and again you felt your face heat.

I don’t want to have to think about any of this more than I have to because I’m worried what I’ll realize.

I don’t want to give you any more chances to take me off course because I know I’ll say yes.

I don’t want to be around you longer than I have to because I think I’m starting to like you.

“Yes?”

“I am doing you a favor,” you finally decided. “You don’t have to worry about it. Go ride that horse of yours, or bother other students, or spend time with Galinda. You’ve earned it.”

“Hardly,” Fiyero said. “I’m doing my part, whether you like it or not. We’ll meet at the library tomorrow morning before class like we’ve been doing.”

“I have class at 8 in the morning tomorrow.”

“...Then we’ll do it after class,” he reneged. “I do need my beauty sleep.”

That got a smile out of you, which spurned one from Fiyero in turn. “I think that is one of the only genuine smiles you’ve given me since we started working together.”

“I smile plenty,” you insisted.

“At your books,” Fiyero said. “Not at me.”

“That’s because my books are oh-so-beautiful,” you said. “And they don’t even need beauty sleep.”

He placed his hand on his heart. “You wound me.”

Your smile grew and you set your pen down. “The library after class?”

Fiyero nodded and tapped on your desk as he stood up. “Library after class.”

He was about to go to the door when Coralie poked her head in. “Why is the door— oh! Fiyero!” She straightened up, plastering on a pretty smile as she stepped inside. “What brings you to our corner of Shiz?”

“Doctor Dillamond’s midterm,” he said. “Your roommate here is trying to save all of the fun for herself.”

“That sounds like her,” Cora nodded sagely. “You’re very good to try and keep her from that fate.”

Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest. “I consider it my duty. But I apologize for the intrusion—I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Oh, stay as long as you want,” she spoke up. “I’m sure your partner wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s got things to do,” you interceded. “You’ve got things to do, Fiyero.”

He smiled knowingly. “I certainly do. You lovely ladies have a fine rest of your day.” He looked at you and said your name. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“How could I?” you said weakly.

Fiyero chuckled and bowed his head in lieu of more parting words. The second he left, Cora turned to you with wide eyes.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“He came here to talk to you!” she exclaimed. “He found out your room number because he wanted to talk to you!”

“Be quiet!” you exclaimed. “The door is still open—he can probably hear your screeching!”

Coralie shut the door and squealed. “He likes you!”

“We are project partners,” you enunciated. “Nothing more.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you think,” she said. “Just like I’m sure that he wants to be more.”

“You’re acting like he isn’t with Galinda,” you said. “She controls this whole school—do you remember what happened to Elphaba when she didn’t like her?”

Cora shrugged. “Sure. But I’ve been hearing there’s trouble in paradise.”

That got you paying attention. “What?”

“I knew it!” Coralie exclaimed—nearly yelled, honestly. “I knew you liked him!”

“Be quiet!” you whisper-yelled. “Oz, what is wrong with you?”

“I knew you liked him!” she repeated. “And he likes you— oh, it is too perfect!”

“He does not like me,” you insisted, “and you are crazy.”

“You didn’t say that you didn’t like him,” Coralie sung, and you screwed your eyes shut.

“Fine!” you finally said. “Fine— I like him. Will you stop now?”

“Of course not,” she said, and you sighed. “How bad do you have it?”

“I don’t have it bad,” you scoffed. “I just— I enjoy spending time with him. And I think he’s kind of cute.”

“Oh, you are full on head over heels,” she mused. “You just don’t know it. It’s okay.”

You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. “I hate you.”

She laughed. “And you like Fiyero.”

“Shut up.” Your words were muffled, but you meant them all the same.

You were comically doomed.

The next day went… shockingly smooth.

Fiyero was in the library when he said he’d be—he was even there before you, much to your surprise and he still had the notebook and pen you’d given him, much to his surprise. He made sure to bring an extra canteen of water for you, because he noticed you never had any with you. You were probably concerningly dehydrated.

He tried to be a more attentive student to you than he’d ever been at any of his classes—not that that was difficult. You explained your outline and all the work you’d already done, what he could do on the last five pages and how to make his writing voice match yours to make a consistent paper.

He wrote notes both on what you knew about Ilara Mayfair (a ridiculous amount, in his opinion) and anything else you thought he needed to know (also a ridiculous amount).

He was impressed most of all, though. No wonder you’d isolated yourself from near the entire student body and stressed over every letter in every sentence in every assignment. You were incredibly intelligent, but you were also able to explain everything in a way that even he understood. Fiyero had never really cared about… well, anything relating to school before he ended up partners with you.

But now, Fiyero found himself surprisingly entranced by it all. He’d always liked your voice, and he had a permanent smile on his lips watching you talk so easily about your passions. It put a spark in your eye and a brightness about you that was usually bogged down by everything else that you stressed about.

You were beautiful, especially when you were happy. And Fiyero had discovered over the past week that you were happiest when you got to talk about what you cared about to an interested audience. He only regretted acting like he wasn’t interested for so long.

Finally, when Fiyero called a break on account of his hands aching (he’d never written this much in his life, and it still was only half of what you did basically every day), and you were eating an apple (that he also brought, because you really didn’t take care of yourself when you were doing work, which was always), he smiled at you.

“You know, we really do make a good team,” Fiyero said.

You swallowed the bite of apple you had in your mouth and cocked your head as you looked at him. “You think?”

“I know,” he nodded. “You’ve done the impossible, darling. You’ve actually made me care about school.”

“Well, I think you’ve done the impossible too.” You lifted the apple up. “You made me care about my health during midterms season.”

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. “You kind of took it all kicking and screaming.”

You shrugged. “I’m not top of our class for nothing.”

“Do you have to stress yourself into misery to be top of the class?” he asked.

“I’m not miserable,” you retorted.

It was when you said things like that that Fiyero really began to worry about you. It was part of the reason he was so intent on staying by your side through this whole project—no matter how dull he found the material—after the first session. He sometimes saw you around campus, usually carrying a stack of books or talking with your roommate.

After Fiyero was paired with you, he wondered why he didn’t see you more before it all, considering how active you were with literally everything school-wise. Then he realized you were likely always in the library, and the only time he’d visited the library was on Galinda’s tour. You were there, well enough, but you took your leave as soon as things started getting rowdy.

A shame, he realized. He wondered what your relationship could have been had Galinda not staked her claim on him so soon.

You weren’t going to take care of yourself, clearly enough, so Fiyero decided—at least for the duration of this project—that he would. It didn’t really matter if you were top of the class if you passed out from stress, exhaustion, annoyance, or a mix of all three. Likely a mix of all three.

He didn’t really anticipate those feelings morphing into genuine affection.

“I seem to recall you saying you dream of your future assignments,” Fiyero said, coming out of his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like the habit of a happy person.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Everybody has stress dreams.”

“You know, I really don’t think they do,” Fiyero said.

You rolled your eyes as you picked your pen up with your free hand and jotted down a few more sentences. “Sure.”

“On that note,” he said, “why don’t we call it a day?”

“We can’t call it a day,” you said. You took another bite from your apple and swallowed, continuing to write all the while without looking at him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“That is the most casually you’ve said that so far,” Fiyero mused. “I really am making progress.”

You laughed, finally paying him mind. “Progress with what?”

“I’ve been tracking your smiles and laughs this whole time,” he said. “See, this essay was your project, but that was mine—trying to make you enjoy your life.”

“This essay is both of our projects, Fiyero,” you said. “Besides, I don’t think Doctor Dillamond will accept your bar graph of all the times I laughed at you making a fool of yourself.” You frowned. “Or would it be a line graph because it’s over time? Or maybe it could be—”

“Alright,” he interrupted. “You’re going into hypotheticals on my joke. That’s clearly the sign that we need to call it a day.”

“…Fine,” you reneged. “But it’s just a break, not calling it a day. And I get to finish proofreading the rest of the essay when we get back.”

“A compromise,” Fiyero said. “Love it.”

You rolled your eyes as you started gathering your things. “You love everything.”

“Eh,” he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes on you. “Most things.”

You couldn’t help your smile, much as you tried to bite it back. “Whatever.”

Soon enough, you and Fiyero were sitting together by the dock. You let your legs dangle over as you watched the scenery around campus—the ripple of the water, the gentle brush of the wind, the chirping birds that flew around without a care.

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero asked. He also had his legs over the edge, but he’d laid down against the stone.

“You don’t have to push your relaxation propaganda so hard anymore,” you said wryly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“And I’m grateful for it,” he said. “Someone that works as hard as you do deserves to relax the same amount.”

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He turned his head to smile at you. “I just have to hope that some of it sticks.”

You rolled your eyes, once again unable to hide your smile. “And I have to hope for the same with this paper. Do you think you’ll remember any of this once we turn it in?”

“Oh, but of course. You were the one to teach it to me, after all. I could hardly forget it all.”

“Good,” you said. “Everyone should know about Ilara Mayfair.”

Fiyero chuckled, and you once again fell into comfortable silence.

That was the thing that shocked you the most, you think. Not that you were beginning to like Fiyero, or that you actually liked Fiyero, or that you actually looked forward to spending time with him. It was that you were so comfortable just sitting with him in silence.

It was very difficult to get to the silence, though. Fiyero couldn’t really stay quiet, and you didn’t know if he liked talking or the sound of his own voice. But you found it didn’t really annoy you like it used to.

Great Oz. You really were into him. How embarrassing.

Eventually, when the strain in your wrists and fingers from writing had finally faded, you turned your head to look at Fiyero. “I think it’s time we go back.”

He sighed. “Already?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” you said. “Far longer than the breaks I usually take.”

He opened his mouth, likely to say something of the same ‘you need to relax’ ilk, but you held up your hand. “Don’t. Just be thankful you got me away for this long.”

Fiyero smiled, and he pulled himself up off the ground. “I always am.”

He held his hand out, and you stared at him for a moment. “Why do you always do that?”

“Help you up?”

You nodded. “I can do it myself.”

He shrugged. “I told you it was my project to make your life easier.”

“You said it was your project to track my happiness,” you said.

“And they go hand in hand,” he said. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“It happened thirty minutes ago, Fiyero,” you said wryly. “Besides, I remember everything. It’s a gift.”

Fiyero laughed, and you finally took his hand. He pulled you up and once again, you tumbled a bit too close—and again, his hand fell to your waist. He had to be doing this on purpose by now.

“We keep finding ourselves in this position,” Fiyero mused.

Heat flooded your cheeks like usual. “And whose fault is that?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re not exactly pulling away.”

Your mouth opened, trying to think of what words to say when your head was reeling from his mere presence. But then you saw a flash of pink in the background, and your eyes darted away from Fiyero.

Galinda. She was distracted, talking with Pfannee and Shenshen as she went down the stairs. Oz, how did she slip your mind so easily whenever Fiyero was in your proximity? Why did you let him get this close when he was spoken for?

You panicked—nothing less. You tore out of Fiyero’s grasp with a bit too much gumption, and then you stumbled, then you slipped, and then you fell. Fiyero called your name in shock, reaching his hand out, but it was too late. You’d plunged into the water before you could save yourself.

The cold water instantly shocked all your senses, your eyes widening as you gasped out on instinct. Your mouth filled with water and your muscles seized up from the change in temperature—it was so much deeper than you’d imagined, and all your layers of clothing weighing you down were of no use.

You tried your damnedest to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head as you fought against yourself, finally gathering the sense to swim. You kicked your way up to the top, gasping for air once when you breached the surface.

You heard Fiyero yell your name again and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from your eyes. When everything finally came into focus, you saw him on his knees, his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up.

His eyes were wide as he reached his hand out, once again saying your name—this time with a certain desperation. “Are you alright?”

You tried to respond but all you could do was cough, trying to expel the water from your lungs. You took his hand and he helped pull you up onto the dock, where an exhale shuddered out of you.

“I— I am so sorry,” he stammered. It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered, and you were too busy hacking up a lung to point it out. “Obviously I didn’t think—”

You held up your hand in lieu of saying something, as you didn’t think you could say something.

This was so stupid, and it was something that never would have happened before you and Fiyero started working together. Your paper was due in two days, you’d only just finished the draft, you still had so much proofreading and rewriting to do, and instead, you were here on the docks soaked to the bone.

And you found yourself laughing.

“Oh, Oz,” Fiyero said. “You’ve lost it.”

You couldn’t refute it, because you kept laughing. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, could hear them whispering to each other—likely making fun of you—and it only made you laugh harder.

“Are—” Fiyero chuckled nervously as he said your name, “are you okay?”

“I’m soaked,” you got out through your laughs. “And everyone saw me fall into the water. I’m a fool, Fiyero!”

He was still staring at you in that careful way, as if you were made of glass. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.”

“Oh, Fiyero.” You wiped the trailing water off of your face and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him freeze beneath you for the slightest moment—it had to have been the last thing he expected you to do. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero returned the hug, his movements still unsure. He didn’t seem to care that you were getting him wet, just about your wellbeing. “What— what for, exactly?”

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. His blue eyes were meant to enrapture, his soft lips typically an invitation sealed with a smirk. But for once, Fiyero looked genuine—he wasn’t putting on a performance, or trying to seduce anyone who looked at him. He was genuinely sorry, genuinely confused. It only made you laugh again.

“What for, indeed.” A higher voice pierced through the air, and you separated from Fiyero immediately. Galinda, to no surprise, had found her way over to the chaos you’d created, her compatriots flanking her on either side. She smiled at you brightly, but her whole demeanor was like a violin string pulled taut.

“Galinda,” Fiyero said. “Lovely to see you.” He didn’t seem half as shocked as you at her appearance, but his words fell flat.

“And you as well, dearest.” Her smile turned sickly sweet as she shifted her attention to Fiyero momentarily, taking the opportunity to lace her fingers with his and pull him into a kiss. He pulled away first, but if it affected Galinda, she didn’t let it show when she looked back at you. She batted her eyelashes as she said your name incorrectly. “What was it you were saying?”

The sudden combination of cottonmouth and sour guilt creeping up your throat didn’t really help your already flustered state. She knew what she was doing—but you did too, didn’t you?

She was with Fiyero. You knew that. And though Fiyero danced across the line, you took his hand every time he offered.

“I—” you cleared your throat, attempting a casual smile of your own. “Just that I know why Doctor Dillamond put us together.”

“Excellent,” Fiyero said. “Off-topic, but excellent— are you sure you didn’t hit your head down there?”

“Perhaps you should go to the nurse,” Galinda said. “I’m sure Shenshen could—”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted, your smile tightening ever so slightly. You looked at Fiyero. “Meet me at the library tonight, and bring coffee. We’re finishing this project tonight.

“Of course,” he nodded.

You nodded as well, and you started to go. Galinda’s gaze was sugary sweet poison, and you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore.

“Wait,” Fiyero spoke up.

You stopped against your better judgment, and he let go of Galinda’s hand to take his jacket off. He moved closer to you and wrapped it around you. His touch, light but certain, lingered on your shoulders once he’d finished adjusting it, and his gaze stayed on yours

“Until you can change,” he said.

“...Thank you,” you said.

Galinda cleared her throat extremely loudly, her taut smile back. You remembered yourself and stepped away from Fiyero.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you said, already starting on your way. You wouldn’t let him stop you again.

“Tonight,” he agreed, bowing his head in parting.

You only glanced back once you were by the stairs. When you did, you saw Galinda speaking rapidly to Fiyero—you were too far away to hear anything, but she didn’t look happy. When your gaze drifted to him, you found he was already looking at you. Almost subconsciously, you tugged his jacket tighter around you. When you realized what you were doing, you stopped. You averted your eyes immediately and hurried up the stairs.

You weren’t out of breath from exertion.

#fiyero tigelaar x reader #fiyero x reader #wicked x reader #fiyero x you #fiyero tigelaar x you #fiyero movie x reader #wicked movie x reader

1K notes · View notes

crybaby-bkg · 4 months ago

Text

SACRIFICES & WICKED VICES

Izuku doesn't need you to know that he's the boss of one of the most infamous Yakuza groups. Too bad he's pretty shit at hiding it.

Warnings: yakuza boss Izuku x civilian reader, lots of cunnilingus, vaginal fingering mentions of tattoos, non graphic mentions of violence, Izuku picks reader up twice, pet names include princess baby and love, blowjobs, and very soft and emotional sex Word Count: 6.6k Notes: as many of you know, this fic is based on a Drabble I created back in June 2023!! I can't believe it took me this long to write it, but this is for Kitten and Kitten only!!! <3 Also available on Ao3! Minors and ageless blogs DNI.

“Excuse me!” A deep voice yells out, catching your attention as your head turns to look over your shoulder. There’s a green haired man a couple feet behind you, bent over, grabbing something from the ground that you can’t make out from around his fingers. When he stands, you’re slightly taken aback by his looks and his size, more focused on the overwhelming smattering of freckles that dot his face than what you had dropped. He’s handsome, the man, with eyes to match his hair of a deep verdant color, a scar across his nose and through his eyebrow, his smile big and kind, his frame wider than what you’d expect from a face like his.

Finally, do you manage to pry your eyes from his own to look down at his hands. You discover that your favorite lipgloss had somehow fallen from your bag, and you briskly pad over to the man who holds it out to you.

“Oh, thank you so much!” You bow to him as you grab the tube from his hand, your fingers grazing over his rough and scarred palms. “I would’ve been pissed to have to kick out another twenty bucks for a lipgloss.” You roll your eyes at the price, smiling at the man who gives you a kind one in return. His eyes drink you in, almost respectfully so, as he tries to gather the right thing to say.

“With or without it, you’re very beautiful, you know.” The stranger says, his words soft as they carry over the nights howling wind. He straightens when your eyebrows raise in surprise, his freckled face becoming pinker by the minute as he laughs awkwardly to himself.

“That was—that was creepy, I’m—”

“No,” you cut him off with a wave of your hands, unable to stop grinning from the compliment. “That wasn’t creepy at all, I promise. If it was, I would’ve maced you by now.” You shrug halfheartedly, a playful look on your face. The stranger laughs, his smile wide and genuine, makes you damn near swoon at the dimples in his cheeks.

“And I would’ve very much deserved it.” He smiles at you, his head tilting to the side, a curl of emerald hair shadowing his eyes for a split second. This man is handsome, and the longer he looks at you like that, the weaker you can feel your knees getting. When too much time passes without either of you saying anything, he opens his mouth, thumb hooked behind him as if poised to leave. You take a step in his direction quickly, your eyebrows raised in question as you rush out your words.

“Can I ask you out to dinner sometime?” You spit out, surprising yourself at your boldness to make the first move, nerves immediately hitting you in the gut. What if he says no? What if he’s already taken and was just being polite?

“As a way to thank you for saving me twenty bucks?” You tack on quickly when his mouth closes and opens again, cutting him off once more. He only smiles though, shaking his head at you as he scratches at the scruff on his chin.

“Please, you don’t have to repay me.” He tells you, but doesn’t offer up any other reason that screams for you to back off. He doesn’t walk off either, and doesn’t look like he wants to any moment now. So you bite the bullet again, and hope that you’re not embarrassing yourself too much in front of the handsome, well dressed stranger.

“Well can I just ask you out to dinner then? Just for the fun of it?” You ask him, shoulders raised, smile strained, hopeful. The man considers you for a long moment, before his eyes wander off down the street, over your shoulder, over his own, his hands scratching incessantly at his scruff. You can feel your excitement dying down by the second, the sinking feeling of rejection hitting you right in the belly as you slowly start to deflate. You open your mouth to rescind your offer and apologize, ready to walk away with your tail tucked between your legs, when he speaks.

“Sure.” He says with a small smile before it brightens at the surprised look on your face, chuckling under his breath. “Sure, I’d like that.” He repeats, grin matching your own as he sticks his large hand out to you.

“My name is Izuku, by the way.” He tells you, fitting your palm in his own. You wonder how he’s gotten so many scars on the backs of them, how many freckles you could count on just his right hand, as you introduce yourself to him. You exchange numbers with Izuku, promising to text him the details when you find the perfect place to dine at.

“I don’t always answer in the most timeliest of manners, but please don’t take that as my disinterest. I just have a pretty packed schedule.” He tells you, his face suddenly going serious as he tilts his head down until you’re forced eye to eye with him. Slightly taken aback, you pause before nodding profusely, smiling a little as you wave his worries away.

“That’s totally fine.” You promise him, checking the time as you realize you need to be home in a few minutes (your cat gets very finicky about dinner time, and you do not want to face her wrath today). “I’ll text you!” You call over your shoulder as you start to jog down the street, smiling at this mystery man who you can’t wait to know more about. Especially those tattoos on his wrist that you got just the tiniest glimpse of when he shook your hand.

…

The night of your date takes place exactly one week after running into Izuku. You don’t text him first until three days after meeting, and he replied just last night to confirm meeting today. You’ve been nervous since the moment your eyes opened this morning, trying to figure out what you’re gonna wear, how you’ll do your makeup, what time you’ll have to get off work to make it home to shower and shave (thinking very far ahead, if you’re lucky), feed your cat, catch the train—

It’s a lot. But you’re here now, dressed in something soft and flowing for the summer night, sandals adorning your feet, makeup painted pretty and delicate, your cat at home and fed, and right on time. But Izuku is nowhere to be found, as you stand outside the restaurant for a few minutes, tote bag held in front of you to ward off the attention from anybody that’s not him. After a while, do you finally go inside so that you don’t miss your reservation.

The hostess’ eyes damn near bulge out of her head when you tell her who the reservation is for, under his name, and she escorts you to the furthest most booth in the back. Its dimly lit there, but you notice a few eyes lingering on you as you make yourself comfortable. It must be because you don’t fit in much with the others and their attires, who mainly wear suits or traditional wear, so you brush off the looks and hope that Izuku doesn’t keep you waiting too long.

He shows up twenty minutes after your agreed time, in a rush, huffing and panting as he loosens his tie on his way over to the table with an apologetic look on his face. You stand as he finally makes his way to the table, smiling at him and his flushed cheeks.

“My apologies,” he starts, ruffling his hair into place as he tries to look more put together. “A business meeting ran a little longer than usual, and then my driver scraped somebody’s car, and,”

Izuku stops abruptly mid sentence when he finally, actually, looks at you for the first time that night. His eyes go round, his mouth falling just the tiniest bit, his gaze drinking in every single inch of you from head to toe. His mouth snaps shut audibly, which makes you laugh behind your palm, and he finally looks you in the eye almost shyly.

“I must be a blind idiot to not have first noticed how beautiful you look tonight.” The compliment rolls almost smoothly off of his tongue, his voice coated in velvet. It makes your face warm as you halfheartedly fix your hair, your eyes taking in his own outfit for the night. He wears a simple black suit, but its carved to the exact shape of his body, molded onto his thick biceps and muscled thighs. He slips off his tie smoothly before tucking it into his back pocket, popping open the first few buttons of his white shirt, revealing just the tiniest slither of pale, freckled skin.

“You also look very beautiful,” you tell him with a smile before it drops in horror at the slight cock of his eyebrow, his inching grin. “Well, not beautiful, but—but handsome? Very handsome and polished and, I don’t know.” Izuku only laughs at your babbling, and you shake your head at your motor mouth.

“I’ll take beautiful as a compliment any day if its coming from your mouth.” He says softly, his eyes an emerald green that seem to shine a bit brighter, even in the dull light of the restaurant. You only smile at him, thanking him softly as he holds out your chair for you to sit in.

After that, the date goes smoothly. You two sit and talk for what feels like hours, ordering course after course that Izuku ensures will be fine on his credit card. You share a bottle of sake, and the restaurant is close to empty by the time the night begins to dwindle down for the two of you.

So far, you’ve learned that Izuku is a businessman—he doesn’t specific what business exactly, but he mentioned something about numbers and finances. He runs his own company, one that he says isn’t too successful, but you’re not sure just how true that is when he doesn’t even gawk at the bill once its laid between you on the table. He’s twenty-eight, and lives by himself, his favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, and he loves his best friend very much, despite the fact that said best friend is very much so against that idea.

All in all, Izuku is kind, and sweet, and seems so attentive and caring. He hangs onto your every word, and actually shows interest in the things that you talk about. He asks you on another date, this time, as he walks you to the train station, and of course, you agree.

The next couple of weeks go by relatively smooth when it comes to Izuku. He’s gentlemanly, despite the fact that he shows up late to a majority of your dates. He always makes it up by bringing flowers and your favorite snacks, offering you more and more lavish desserts and even a pair of diamond earrings by the fourth date.

It’s a lot, at first, getting used to being spoiled by him. But Izuku makes it so easy with his charming smile and easygoing attitude. That makes it even easier to let him spoil you in other, nonmaterial ways.

He’s a giver, through and through. That much is obvious when you take him back to your place after the fifth date, and he picks you up as if you weigh nothing, pinning you against the door to your place. You can hear your cat scurrying away from the flurry of commotion, of flying clothes and your greedy hands. Izuku pins you with his hips, a heavy bulge that he presses against you, his mouth covering every inch of exposed skin that he can.

“My bed,” you say in between breathless kisses, but Izuku either doesn’t hear you, or straight up ignores you, as he carries you over to your couch instead. He sets you down gently, his mouth still connected with yours, a string of saliva breaking between the two of you when he finally pulls away to look at you, and you at him. His mouth is smeared with your lipgloss, panting as his pupils have blown completely out, the bright green of his eyes swallowed whole by his desire.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs under his breath, pressing another searing kiss to your mouth before he begins kissing and nipping his way down your throat. He kneels before you, one hand around your waist, the other creeping beneath the skirt you wore. Izuku mouths at your pulse point, feeling it jump under the ridges of his teeth, inhaling your scent as his thick fingers brush against the band of your panties.

“Can I?” He asks softly against your skin, tongue darting out to taste the building sweat there. “Can I lick your pussy? Can I make you cum? Please,”

You think you might’ve orgasmed already, without him even touching you. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your throat, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth as you vigorously nod your head. Izuku moans against your skin, biting softly and pulling with sharp teeth until you gasp from the pain, before soothing it over with a gentle peck of his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, kissing his way down your chest, mouthing at your nipples through your layers. He makes a promise to come back to your breasts later, his mind too busy focused on getting the taste of you forever ingrained on his tongue. Izuku pushes your skirt up until it rests on your stomach, pressing a kiss to your bellybutton, before he finally makes his way to your panty covered cunt.

He fists the material in his grip, but instead of pulling the fabric away, he pulls it up until your lips make an obscene print against the material. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight sting, the way your panties rub against your swelling clit, but Izuku only coos at the way you wriggle under his watchful gaze.

He kisses your lips with the same passion he did with the ones on your face. His head tilts this way and that, as he mouths at the outline, his lips pucker as he sucks your clit through the material, feeling it grow fat and thick under his tongue. He licks at you through the fabric until its soaked, until it sticks against your cunt, until the material is dark and soaked with his spit and your slick.

You damn near cry when Izuku finally peels the material away from you, the softness of his lips encasing your own as he kisses them so sweetly, so delicately that you can’t help but roll your hips against his face. He holds you by the waist, not to keep you still, but to encourage you to use him.

“Fuck my face,” he goads, looking at you from under his green curls, his eyes blown out with lust, his mouth dropped open as he guides your hips to roll your clit along his tongue. He pushes your cunt to his mouth, fucking your hips down as you hold eye contact, fingers grasped desperately in his hair to anchor yourself.

Izuku watches you as you use him, as you spread your knees and open yourself up to let his tongue slide inside of your wet hole. He grips your hips tightly, lips pursing to spit on your clit before catching it on his tongue as it rolls down to messy with the slick dripping from your hole. The sight is obscene, and you feel yourself orgasming before you can even warn him.

But Izuku doesn’t stop. You’re not even sure he knows whether or not you came, because he only bullies two fingers inside of you as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your back arches from the couch, your cry similar to something feline, as you squeeze your eyes shut from the overstimulation. You try to push his head away, gasping for breath, but Izuku only tilts his face so that he can swallow the entirety of your puffy clit. His fingers crook inside of you, stroking sensitive walls that clench tightly around his thick digits.

“I can’t!” You whine, despite the fact that you fuck your hips down on his hand and his hot mouth until you’re breathless.

“Please, one more. You can take it.” Izuku moans against you, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue before spitting on it once more, making your entire lower body twitch. You dig your fingers into his hair, eyes clenched shut as you plant one foot on the couch, the other against his shoulder. Izuku only holds it tenderly against him, as if his other hand isn’t pressing against that weak spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

You cum again with a hoarse cry, your hips jerking from the intensity, tears alighting your eyes as you squeeze your eyes shut. Finally, does Izuku seem to pull back from you, licking the slick drooling from your hole with sweet little laps, massaging your lips gently with the pads of his fingers. You can hear him lick your essence from his fingers, too fucked out to even be able to watch, but your hole clenches at the sound of it, nonetheless.

“Hope I didn’t push you too much,” Izuku mutters after a few moments of quiet, your arm slung over your eyes as you try to catch your breath. He moves your arm gently, his big verdant eyes blinking up at you, unsure if he did went a little too far during his first time with you. But you smile at him, still slightly breathless, before pulling him to your mouth.

You kiss him, your tongue slithering against his own, lapping at the taste of yourself. You pull gently at his roots until he moans, wrapping your arms around his neck until he falls against you, head tilted to the side as he brushes his tongue over the smoothness of your teeth, your gums. You start to sneak a hand down his front to return the favor, but Izuku quickly catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth as he kisses the pads of each and every one of your fingertips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your skin, placing his cheek in the palm of your hand as he kisses the skin there again and again. You can’t help but frown though, rubbing his nape and the tops of his strong shoulders with your free hand.

“Really? Are you sure?” You ask, not used to men turning down you putting your hands or mouth on them whatsoever. It’s strange, the way he turns away from you to hide his erection while still planting kisses on whatever exposed skin he can reach. He mouths at the softness of your belly, humming against the skin there when you scratch at his scalp soothingly.

“I’m sure.” He says softly, turning to face you as he smiles reassuringly, but you’re still not buying it. A handsome businessman as himself, surely pent up from all the late night shifts and difficult clients—and he doesn’t want you to touch him back?

“You know, I don’t mind at all.” You tell him, raking in his entire form, how gorgeous he looks on his knees before you, his mouth still wet with your cum. “Actually, I’d love to return the favor.” You whisper, cupping his cheek to pull him to you, hands reaching down to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he stops you once more. You frown.

“I’m more of a giver than a receiver, in all honesty.” Izuku says, the tops of his cheeks hinting red beneath his freckles as he blinks up at you. A small piece of you, a tiny slither, doesn’t really believe him, but you don’t argue with him anymore. Just let him kiss you quiet, his fingers slipping inside you once more as he instantly finds that spot inside that makes you see stars. He massages it, thumb pressed to your clit as he slowly works you to another orgasm as you cry against his mouth, creaming on his fingers.

Most of your encounters, after that, are pretty similar. Izuku still takes you on dates, but he’s getting better about being late. He brings you more and more gifts, pays for the meal, has his driver bring you both back to your place, and then he’s in between your legs for what feels like hours. He asks you to be his girlfriend after a few months of seeing each other, and you think the one sided pleasure will end there, but if anything, it gets even worse.

Izuku buys you toys so that he can play with you, if he gets tired of using his mouth or his fingers. But he still never lets you touch him. You’ve only ever seen his cock in passing, as he jerks himself off while he touches you, or cums in his pants after having you squirt all over his face. You understand that he likes to give, but isn’t it a little strange to never want to receive? To never even want to be seen naked in front of your girlfriend?

Was he insecure about his body? That didn’t make sense. He was jacked and muscular as hell, from what you could tell touching him through his clothing. You caught a few glances of tattoos that he had when you first met, a few more times in passing. Was he afraid that you wouldn’t like them, that you would find them unattractive? You know how Japan is when it comes to marking your body with ink, but it would never be enough to phase you to never want to see your boyfriends glorious body naked.

Every time you tried to bring it up, Izuku came up with some excuse as to why he couldn’t get naked in front of you. He’d fuck you fully clothed, which was actually kind of hot, but it still wasn’t enough for you. To have him guiding you up and down on his cock, to messy his expensively tailored pants with your slick as you scratch up his button down shirts that you were begging to rip open.

You figured he maybe had a really bad scar he wasn’t too proud of, or maybe an embarrassing tattoo he got when he was young. Either way, you’re determined to let your boyfriend know that its okay for him to be open and vulnerable with you as you are with him.

Izuku likes to be on a schedule, you’ve learned about him, in these past couple of months. So you know that he must be showering the day off at the moment, and you take that moment to FaceTime him. A little manipulative, knowing that he’ll always answer the phone for you? Maybe. But it’s been months since you started dating, a year since you met, and you still haven’t seen anything past his wrists and collarbones!

Izuku answers on the fourth ring, his eyes wide as he holds the phone up so only his chin and above are seen. He looks shifty eyed, unsure, his thick eyebrows screwed down as he forces a little smile in your direction.

“Hey, princess. What are you doing calling me so late?” He asks, eyes darting around as he tries to maintain the phone above chin level. He does a poor job at it though, with the mirror at his back that exposed a colorful shoulder blade covered in ink. You don’t say anything though, afraid that you’ll spook him.

“I just wanted to see you.” You tell him softly, angling the phone in a way that shows off your prettiness, knowing how weak it’ll make him. It does just that; Izuku softens his eyebrows, his smile melting into one that’s more genuine, his arm lowering ever so slightly. Your eyes trace the ink on his back, big and expansive, green and blue scales that curve all the way down to his ass. You’ve never wanted to bite something so bad.

“Well, I just got out of the shower, so,” he trails off, his grin a little lopsided as you pout your lip at him.

“Can you come over, actually?” You ask him, ready to get everything over it, to have it all spelled out in front of you. The hiding and the sneakiness bothers you more than the scars and the bruises on his knuckles, the little specks of blood that he forgets to clean off of his collar. Izuku’s smile dims just the slightest bit at the change of your tone, the phone lowering even more for you to see that the tattoo covers the entirety of his ass. Fuckin’ hot!

“Everything okay, baby?” Izuku asks, toweling off his hair with his free hand, his curls still damp and limp as they straggle over the roundness of his eyes.

“Yeah, just what I need to talk to you about should be in person.” You say softly, resting your head in your arms as you turn the camera to face the ceiling more, growing tired of holding your phone up. Izuku stops drying off his hair, his mouth setting in a thin line as his voice lowers,

“Are you breaking up with me?” He asks quietly. You only snort though and shake your head at him, at how the worry bleeds on his face, how he doesn’t instantly go murderous at the thought of you wanting to leave him. If anything, he looks more like a kicked puppy. How could he could be the leader of such an organization is definitely beyond you.

“No,” you chuckle. “Not at all. Just come over so we can talk.”

“Okay,” Izuku says hesitantly, his movements a lot slower this time. He tells you he’ll be at your house in thirty, but its more like fifteen with how he speeds down the empty roads so late at night.

Izuku is there in record time, knocking incessantly at your door, his anxiety levels on high. He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kill, and something about the idea of you needing to see him in person, unplanned, at the drop of a hat, makes his stomach twist more than he cares to admit. You make him wait, just to be an asshole, for a minute longer than necessary, before you open the door to him.

Izuku stands there, dressed more haphazardly than you have ever seen him. Usually polished and poised in his suits and expensive clothing, he instead stands in an old long sleeve tee shirt that says “t-shirt” and a pair of baggy sweatpants, worn running shoes adorning his feet.

“Hi, my love,” you greet him with a smile, pulling him inside your place with a grip on the front of his shirt. Izuku stumbles in, never being so unsure on his feet in years, it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again. You crush your lips to his own, carding a hand through his still damp hair as you press up on your tippy toes to kiss him. He melts into the kiss, forgetting about the anxiety fluttering in his stomach, his eyes still dazed when you pull back and look at him with such a soft smile, he wondered why he was ever nervous in the first place.

“Hey, princess.” He smiles, the soft sight dropping the moment you open your mouth.

“I know that you’re a yakuza member, and I think its fine time to admit it, now.” You say matter of factly, your smile still there, but tight, your eyes slightly narrowed in his direction. Izuku pauses. His entire body goes stiff, everything around him going dark as he tries to process your words. After a solid minute of silence, he opens and closes his mouth once, twice, before swallowing, finally spitting his words out.

“What? How did you…?” He trails off, finally remembering to close the door behind him as he takes a single step toward you, before stopping himself. He doesn’t want to get too close in case he’ll spook you, in case you’ve somehow set him up, in case he has to flee in seconds. It hurts to think that you’d ever betray him, but Izuku has been burned too many times. You look at him so softly though, your smile crooked as you slowly step back into your living space, inviting him in to get comfortable, like he’s always done.

“Took me a while, but I figured it out.” You shrug, perking up when you hear the kettle going off. You patter into the kitchen on quick feet, fixing Izuku his favorite flavor of tea, as he still stands hesitantly by the door. You frown at him, pushing the mug he’s left over your house into his thick hands, before guiding him to sit on the couch. He goes along with you, although he looks more like a ghost haunting your place than he does your boyfriend at the moment.

“The business ventures, only going out to ‘safe’ restaurants, the bruises on your knuckles, and, oh, how could I forget the big as fuck tattoo on your back?” You cock your head to him teasingly, a small smile gracing your face at the look of horror that passes over his own.

“When did you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrug, guiding him to bring the mug to his lips, his movements stiff and jerky. “When were you planning on telling me this, Izuku?” You ask him, suddenly serious, your smile falling ever so slightly as you brush a curl away from his face.

“When you inevitably got into a shootout and came to my house for me to patch you up? When some opposing yakuza member kidnapped me because he’s holding some grudge against you?” You try to laugh it off, but it comes out as strained, the gravity of the situation finally settling on your shoulders. You love him, you really do, and you understand why he didn’t tell you in the beginning. But did he not trust you enough, even now? What would have been the catalyst for him to finally be open and honest with you? When it was bordering on too late?

“I’m sorry.” Izuku says softly, setting the mug down as he reaches forward to grab your hands in his own. He physically relaxes when you don’t flinch away from him, despite the fact that you have to know what kind of carnage he’s created with his bare hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask him softly, letting him pull you into his chest as he exhales deeply. He goes quiet for a few moments, as he tucks you under his chin, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, wrapping his arms tight around your flank.

“Because I love you, and I didn’t want to scare you away.” Izuku admits quietly against your head. “I know its selfish, but you’re not like anybody I’ve ever met before, and I didn’t want our time together to ever end. I’m sorry its had to come to this.”

“To what?” You ask, pulling away from him so you can look him in the eye quizzically. “Who said we were over?”

“Huh?” Izuku asks after a few seconds of silence, his voice beamingly loud as he lets your words sink in. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you, pulling him into you so now its your turn to hold his face against your chest, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m not breaking up with you, Izuku, I already told you that. I’m just pissed that I had to put the pieces together myself. I keep you around to think for me for a reason.” You tease, pulling his face up to watch everything slowly sink in. And to think he was in charge of one of the most dangerous ‘businesses’ in all of Japan, with a face that cute and eyes that round. You can’t help the kiss that you press to the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not breaking up with me?” Izuku repeats slowly, sitting up in your arms so that you’re eye level with him, gripping you gently by the shoulders. You frown at him, knocking your forehead softly against his own.

“Baby, I just said that.” You mutter, laughing when he suddenly pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing his mouth to yours firmly.

“Gods, I love you.” Izuku says against your lips, pecking you again and again until he’s kissing your teeth from how hard you laugh. “How can I make it up to you?” He asks, rubbing up and down your shoulders, watching how your face melts from one of happiness to something darker, full of lust and excitement for your new reality of open honesty with him.

“By finally letting me see you.” You whisper, leaning in to rub your nose against his, feel his shuddering breath as he inhales the intoxicating scent of you.

“Whatever you want. I’ll give you the world, if you asked for it.” He mumbles softly, pulling you against him until you rest in his lap before rising, already taking you to the bedroom. You press a kiss against his throat, rubbing yourself against the hardness of his stomach, unable to swallow down the moan that crawls up.

“All I’m asking for is for you to fuck me the way I know you’ve been wanting it since you met me.” You whisper sultrily, tugging at the hair on his nape, grinning against his throat at the groan that escapes him.

“Fuck yes,” he whispers softly before devouring you before you could even blink.

You’re on your bed in seconds, your clothes ripped from your skin in a familiar dance that you no longer question when Izuku begins to shed his own. You watch from the center of your bed as he stands before you, his eyes glued to your own gaze as he pulls his shirt from over his head with precise movement. You feel your mouth water at the sight of his exposed stomach, the ink that curls along his breastbone, red and white and intricate.

He slides his sweats down thick thighs, even more ink decorating the skin, his cock thick and heavy where it bobs when released from its confines. He’s a work of art; gorgeously tanned skin, freckles covering more parts of him than you even thought possible, his muscles there but bulging deliciously when he flexes absentmindedly under your watchful and intent gaze. He’s gorgeous, more so than you could have ever imagined, and it makes your mouth water even more that he’s finally, finally, bared himself to you.

“Let me touch you,” you whisper, inviting him over with a crook of your finger. Izuku obeys, crawling on the bed toward you until he’s laid against your pillows, his body elongated and exposed like a statue made of some greater god. You can only salivate at the sight of him, press a kiss to his mouth until you work your way down, down, down with nips and licks, your teeth sharp and stinging, your tongue soothing and gentle. Izuku breathes a shaky moan of your name when you finally make your way to his thick cock, heavy and red at the tip, leaking precum with every breath you pass against it.

You hold his thickness in your palm, kissing the leaking head with soft lips, making him groan underneath his breath. He can only watch you, carding a hand through your hair until he cups the base of your skull, guiding his cock ever so gently into your mouth. You welcome him in, lips pursed to suck the precum from his leaking tip, mouth suckled tight over the thickness of him. He fills your mouth perfectly, your head slowly bobbing down until his tip tickles the back of your throat.

You moan at his taste, one hand holding his base as you work your spit where your mouth can’t reach, the other hand reaching up to cradle his heavy balls in your palm. Izuku’s hips jerk at that with a groan, his head tilting back, although he refuses to take his eyes off of you. The way your naked body fits so seamlessly against his inked one, how the fatness of his cock creates a lewd bulge against your cheek, how your eyes water when you try to swallow him even deeper.

You pop off of his cock with a breath, jerking him using the mixture of your saliva and his precum, ducking your head underneath his heavy length to lap at his sac. Izuku’s stomach caves in from his gasp, his eyes rolling momentarily into his head as he jerks his hips, before he finds it in himself to meet your gaze again. You smile around the fullness of one of his balls in your mouth, the other hand jerking his cock in slow, languid motions.

“Wanna cum inside you,” Izuku says in a gasp, tugging at your head to pull you off of him. You come off with a wet pop, crawling up his body with his firm yet gently grip on your skull, smiling when he drops open his mouth when you meet him. You fill his mouth with your spit and his precum, a moan bubbling up in his throat as he presses you against him, kissing you with such fervor that you feel like you’re being consumed whole. Izuku grinds his cock against the bottom half of your stomach, pulling you tight against him as he rolls the both of you to your sides.

Without breaking away from your kiss, Izuku hikes your leg over his hip until he’s slotted perfectly between you, gliding his cock between your soft lips. He presses in, pushing and pushing as you gasp and whine into his mouth, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as he holds you firm against him, your bodies slotted perfectly together. With a heavy thrust does Izuku finally bury the fullness of his cock inside of you, his pubes brushing against your clit, his thick hand resting on your lower back to keep you pressed against him.

“You never said you loved me back earlier,” he says softly against your mouth, lazily kissing you as you trace the scars on his back and shoulders. You grin against him, rolling your hips ever so slightly, gasping when Izuku can’t help the cant of his hips to press his cock even deeper inside of your slick hole.

“I love you,” you whisper, tongue lolling against his own as Izuku slowly starts to rock his hips against you, filling you up over and over again until the bed creaks minutely. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Izuku only rubs your clit with thick fingers as you repeat yourself, tucking your face into his throat as you tremble all over, reaching your climax before you can even process it. Izuku only keeps the same pace, never letting you fully come down from your high as he holds you so tight to him, that your skin melds with his own, that your sins become his, that your flesh is one. And when he cums inside of you with a shaky gasp, your walls fluttering around him from another orgasm, does he finally release the breath he’s been holding since the moment he realized he loved you. Which, frankly, was the moment he first laid eyes on you.

thank you all for reading! and a special thanks to @katsukikitten for supporting me so much over these past few years. likes/comments/reblogs are so greatly appreciated! <3

#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#Izuku treats! 🍬#deku treats! candy

327 notes · View notes

mrsjjongstby · 20 days ago

Text

"Happy Birthday, Angel" - P.SH

Pairings: bf!sunghoon x graphic designer!fem!reader Synopsis: Your bf surprises you on your birthday after a long day of work Warnings: FLUFFF, kiss, skinship. (let me know if i missed any!) WordCount: 608

A/N: this fic is for our birthday girl, @morganaawriterr !!!!! wish her happy birthday in the commentsss!!!!!! everyone say happyy birthdayyy morganaaa in the commentss!!! enjoyy stay hydrated y'all!!!!

You don’t expect much today.

Not because it's not important- no, it's your birthday after all. But things have been busy, life has been loud- new job, exhaustion catching up to you, taking a break from few things and with all this, the only thing that was keeping you sane was your boyfriend.

You get home and switch on the light as you notice a small trail of rose petals (a little dramatic but you smile anyway) leading to your hall.

And there you see Sunghoon stand awkwardly in the middle, holding a cake with slightly uneven icing, filled with sliced mangoes, a single candle flickering slightly and a wobbly “HBD my fav designer” text written with icing on the cake.

“I wanted to make it special,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “So, I made it from scratch after watching like 12 different YouTube tutorials.”

You blink and then grin, “You baked for me?”

“Though I'm not good at baking like you, I tried and... its technically edible.” he says seriously.

Your heart melts as you laugh, “That’s all I ask for.”

He smiles as he steps forward, holding out the cake for you, “Make a wish!”

You give him a smile of your own as you close your eyes, a soft orange glow on your face- the candle’s flame reflecting as Sunghoon continued to watch you like you just dropped from heaven. (maybe u did)

You make your wish as you softly blow out the candle.

“Happy birthday angel,” he says quietly.

“I know I'm not great at words or surprises but I try to. And I hope today felt a little more like you.”

You look at him, really look at him and you smile, “It did, and you are my favorite part of it”

He smiles and kisses your forehead before he sets the cake down on the coffee table. He takes the bag, which was on the ground and hands you it, avoiding your eyes.

Inside is... The Firstfruit album- Mark Lee’s first full album.

Your jaw drops, “Wait- is this-”

Sunghoon hums as he folds his hands over his chest, “Yeah, took me two whole days to find it cause apparently everyone wants it. Including you, unfortunately.”

You try not to laugh, but you’re already grinning. “Are you jealous of Mark Lee?”

“I’m not saying I fought a fourteen-year-old at the store,” he says dramatically, “but I almost did. For that album. For you.”

He pauses, then he shrugs, “You better not stare at his photo all day. I'm still the main attraction.”

You burst out laughing, already holding the album to your chest.

“Thank you.” you say warmly.

He leans in slightly, gaze soft but playful. “Next year I’m only giving you my photocard and our album. So, I don’t have to share.”

You smile and kiss him as he wraps his arm around your waist and kisses you back.

“I love you, thank you so much hoon.” You say after you pull back.

“Anything for you pretty.” He says with a soft smile looking at you and then kissed your forehead.

A/N: hope u nd morgs will like itttt!!!!!! ALSO double posting today hahaha. ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUBSSS!!!!! ILYSMMMM I wrote this with all its nd bits of info ik abt u! Also it's like 3:50 am which means its 11pm in ur country... well atleast I tried to post this at 12am !!!! Okie love uuu

155 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

Text

Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work.

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--”

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--”

“Get him.”

“Mrs.--”

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely.

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety.

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.”

“No, you will get him. No hold.”

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.”

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent.

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words.

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats.

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.”

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.”

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--”

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?”

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull.

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates.

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa.

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message.

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook.

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow.

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?”

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?”

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug.

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?”

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly.

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.”

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...”

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs.

You laugh at his joke, “do I?”

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.”

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?”

“Oh, who cares, come on.”

“Well, I mean...”

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks.

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth.

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.”

“Hooky?” You stammer.

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.”

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.”

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.”

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly.

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.”

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone.

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #code of conduct #au #bad bosses #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

579 notes · View notes

vettelsvee · 4 months ago

Text

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE | Sebastian Vettel

High School History Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is stressed because his students did pretty bad in their latest History exam, but he gets more stressed and grumpy when Y/N, the cutest Primary School teacher according to Seb, arrives to the teacher's lounge to "annoy" him, but the truth is that there's more than that ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE THE OTHER DAY!

WORD COUNT: 3099

WARNINGS: LOTS OF GRUMPY (Seb) X SUNSHINE (Reader), some bad words, cursing, nothing else but wait till the end because I assure you you're gonna love it!

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @vampsarereal @gracie23x @cutelittlefakejourneys @scopeiguess @hoziersfrancesca

VEE'S NOTES: I ABSOLUTELY adored writing this, and I hope you like it as much as I do! This goes all the way up to the top of my fave fics written by me. Also, a toast to you because you liked all this Teacher!Seb thing a lot 🥹 I'd love to read your opinions on this, so feel free to leave me a comment, an anon message or reblogging since it helps us creators a lot. Thank you so much for reading, and hope you like it! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

“How can you say that World War II ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall? My God...”

“It makes no sense at all, but if you ask whoever told you that, they’ll give you a convincing enough answer to make you pass their exam.”

Sebastian lifted his head, even though he didn't need to in order to know who was speaking.

Y/N Y/L/N, the second-grade teacher who is the pure representation of the sunshine itself. Your smile, always revealing your teeth, and your energy, isn’t exactly contagious to him, and even sometimes that'd be enough to make someone want to throw up.

You were standing in front of him, holding an absurd amount of papers. Seb couldn't avoid looking at you. No matter how much you might irritate him at times, he found you more than fascinating. He admired you in every single aspect and, somehow, that made him pretty angry with himself. You took the opportunity to silently show him some drawings of bees. Bees. Happy bees. Sad bees. Damn it, there were even bees wearing party hats and surrounded by confetti, and other baking and having coffee.

Sebastian said nothing. Instead, he ignored you and continued grading exams, but you didn't take it personally since you know how stressed he had to be with his class.

It didn't take long before a series of increasingly loud bangs started to get on his nerves.

When he looked up again, he saw you struggling with the printer, which seemed to have decided not to work.

“Why is it that every time I come here, this stupid, useless piece of junk decides to stop working?” you huffed, nearly shouting. “It’s like… like it’s out to get me!”

“Maybe it’s because you make too many copies every week,” Vettel replies.

“I have to give my students a quality education, Seb. And a quality education includes, among other things, making as many copies as I need to teach the contents properly!”

“And does your quality education include printing an entire colony of bees?”

You shrugged, offering no further explanation. Instead, you grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it until it was next to Sebastian. To his utter surprise, you sat down beside him, placing your absurdly thick stack of papers on top of the ungraded exams.

If you didn’t leave in the next few seconds, Seb swore he'd have a heart attack.

“My kids need all of this, Seb,” you said again, showing him those ridiculous drawings once more. “They’re learning about pollination, and what better way than by coloring little bees and then putting them all over the classroom to represent how they work?”

“I’m currently questioning whether I’m a complete failure as a teacher so, to be completely honest with you, the last thing I need right now is you showing me this... nonsense.”

You scoffed, knowing he didn’t mean it. He was just too stressed. His students failing with embarrassingly low grades didn’t mean his skills as a teacher were declining, but it did mean he’d have an army of parents breathing down his neck, demanding explanations for why their children’s performance was so poor.

“Stop saying things like that!” You smacked his shoulder, and his patience wore even thinner when he noticed a red pen mark on the exam he was grading. One that, knowing all too well his students and their thoughts, they’d probably say looked like a penis.

“You’re not a failure. Teenagers are just… idiots.”

“Is that your opinion as a professional in the education field?2

“Of course!” you shouted, waving your hands dramatically. “Why do you think I teach Primary school? Little kids are way cuter, and they think I’m a genius just because I can spell difficult words without getting any help.”

Seb tried not to, but a small smile started creeping onto his face. He quickly bit his lower lip and shifted in his seat, attempting to maintain his composure even though sitting next to you made him more nervous and, especially, more entertained, than he would have liked to admit.

“Look at you! I made you smile!”

“If I admit that you're almost funny, will you leave me alone?”

“Let me think about it… No.”

Sebastian didn’t even get a chance to answer before you suddenly jumped out of your chair and rushed toward the printer again.

“I just remembered why I came here! Oh my god, why do I have to be sooooooo forgetful?”

“I suppose that’s to make my life more miserable,” the German replied, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just a bonus, Seb,” you turned to him, still smiling. “So, yeah, this printer isn’t working because… Well, I don’t know why. But I really need to make these copies, so I guess I’ll have to go back to the Primary school teachers' lounge…”

Sebastian stared at you, unsure of what to say.

Was he misunderstanding things because of stress, or he understood that you had actually walked all the way to the High School section, which was not anywhere near the Primary one, just to make copies, despite having a perfectly good printer in your own area?

“Did you come all the way from the Primary section to the High School one just for… some photocopies?”

“Yes!” you nodded enthusiastically.

“You're perfectly aware that there's a much better printer over there, right?”

“Well, that’s debatable if you consider…”

“Y/N, cut the bullshit.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of how to tell him that your free period, and your desire to see him, was the real reason you had come all this way, even if it had earned you a few questioning looks and whispered comments from some of your colleagues in the upper grades.

“Well… Maybe I also decided to come here to see you,” you admitted.

Vettel had no idea how to reply to that. He tried to think of something friendly and lighthearted, but his stress seemed to take over before he could filter his words.

“I'm this close to kicking you out, Y/N.”

You only laughed, placing a dramatic hand over your chest and letting out a fake gasp. Seb loved when you acted like this, but right now, he hated it more than ever.

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t dare. I’m your favorite person out of all the people in this school.”

“Funny, because right now you happen to be exactly the opposite,” he muttered.

“You didn’t mean that. I know you didn’t.”

Seb shook his head and buried himself back in grading exams. Of course, he hadn’t meant it. No one was perfect, but somehow, you came pretty damn close without even trying.

“Stop making that weird face, or you’re going to get wrinkles ahead of time,” you teased. By now, you had sat back down beside him and were carefully cutting out flower-shaped drawings with impressive precision.

“You are insufferable, Y/N, really,” Vettel shot back as he meticulously corrected a student's answer about the causes of World War II.

“And yet, you still haven’t told me to shut up.”

Seb frowned. He wanted to do it. He should do it. But he couldn’t. You were too kind to him for him to snap at you… just like what was happening now.

He cursed himself mentally and swore that, from now on, he would grade exams at home to avoid this kind of altercation. Though, deep down, he also knew he would do it because, maybe, it would give him a little more time to spend with you.

Suddenly, you moved closer to him, too close, and took his chin. Your eyes locked, and for a few seconds, neither of you could say anything, let alone voice everything running through your minds about each other.

“You need a break, Seb.”

Your hand instinctively moved to his cheek, caressing it with a kind of affection that neither of you expected. He swallowed hard, trying to stay calm, but his heart only pounded faster and faster, and he couldn’t see it as anything other than a betrayal of his feelings for you.

“Why do you always have to be a threat to me, Y/N?”

You simply smiled before leaving a kiss on his cheek and standing up.

“You can keep pretending all you want, but you know you love it,” you said, grabbing your things and heading toward the door, though not before turning back to him.

Sebastian knew exactly what you meant by doing that. He let out a deep sigh and carefully gathered all the exams, placing them in his briefcase along with his pencil case and phone.

“If I go with you wherever you’re going, do you promise to shut up?”

“Nop, there’s no way I’m doing that,” you replied cheerfully, taking his arm the moment he was beside you and dragging him out of the teachers’ lounge with no real destination in mind.

The German was beyond exhausted. He felt his head throbbing more than usual, which he knew was a sign of an oncoming migraine. He felt drained, frustrated, and more plagued by imposter syndrome than ever. It wasn’t the first time he’d had bad results on an exam, but it was the first time they had been this awful.

He decided not to dwell on it and did his best to push his intrusive thoughts aside, focusing instead on the woman beside him.

You couldn’t stop talking. First, you told him about how your kids, as you called your second-grade students, had made Christmas cards for you and even brought you a gift after the holidays. Then, you talked about how, today, your favorite student (because, according to you, yes, teachers had favorites) had dropped a piece of her sandwich on the floor, and you had to give her your own breakfast but it was worth it since she was more than happy to be having Ms. Y/L/N handmade cheesecake.

Now, you had launched into an explanation of the biodiversity project you were preparing for your students, focusing specifically on the importance of bees in the ecosystem. You even showed him some pictures of what you had been working on at home because you wanted it to turn out so well that you couldn’t just work on it during school hours.

“So…” you said after finishing your explanation. “What do you think about my project so far?”

Sebastian kept walking, trying to process the flood of information you had just given him in such a short time. While some of the pictures looked like pure chaos, something completely opposite to him, the embodiment of perfection, he had to admit that it was good. Really good, actually.

“Well… it looked fun,” he admitted.

“Are you serious!?” you squealed, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

He gave you a shy smile.

“Yes, of course, I mean it.”

“Oh, look at him! Grumpy Seb handing out compliments so easily!” you shouted again, now bouncing on your feet, earning a few disapproving looks from the teachers passing by. “This calls for me to get you a coffee!”

“Y/N, I don’t feel like having coffee. I already had one this morning, and I don’t think it’s the best idea, considering how nervous I—”

“That’s nonsense!” you interrupted, marching toward the Primary school section. “You’re going to have coffee with me, no matter what, and you’re going to thank me because I’m convinced my coffee is way better than that vending machine garbage you drink daily.”

“I’ll thank you the day not a single one of my students fails one of my exams,” he told you.

The Primary school teachers' lounge was empty when you both walked in. You didn’t say much, just offered Seb a seat and told him to make himself at home while you headed to your locker. The German pulled out the stack of exams once again, ready to continue grading them, if you didn’t annoy him again. As he kept marking the papers, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not only were you making him a cup of coffee, but you also seemed to be decorating it. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, you were writing something on a piece of paper.

When you returned, you placed the mug in front of him. It had “Bee positive” written on it, and it was decorated, of course, with a little bee making a heart with its tiny hands. As if that wasn’t enough, you had somehow managed to create an impressive amount of cream, topped with a smiley face that looked like it had been made with cinnamon.

Then, as you took a seat beside him, you slid a note his way, the one he assumed you had been writing earlier.

“Even if you’re having a gray day, remember that you can always make the sun shine! Sincerely, your very own little Miss Sunshine,” followed by a heart and, unsurprisingly, a bunch of smiley faces.

He didn’t know what to say. His eyes, however, when they met yours, seemed to say everything.

“You know, maybe all you need is just a new approach.”

Your sudden change of topic, spoken as you took another bite of your chocolate cupcake, threw him off a little. But he preferred it over the uncomfortable silence you both knew was bound to settle in.

“I’ve already tried, Y/N.”

“Have you tried bribing them?”

Seb narrowed his eyes, impressed and clearly not convinced by what you had just suggested.

“I’m not going to bribe my students, Y/N.”

“Not even by making them work in teams and offering extra credit?” You widened your eyes in surprise. “Have you considered bringing cookies and handing them out? That works incredibly great as a positive reinforcement, trust me”

“I’m not giving my students cookies or anything else,” Seb stated firmly. “I don’t know what to do with them, and that’s what worries me the most. What if I start acting like, no offense, a Primary school teacher, when they’re only two years away from university?”

You shook your head. It annoyed you that Sebastian was so… rigid, so unwilling to change. But what annoyed you even more was that you couldn’t seem to find the right way to help him.

“If you help me with the biodiversity project and actively participate in it, I promise I’ll find a way to make sure all your kids pass the remaining exams this year,” you proposed.

“And what exactly does a primary school teacher know about teenagers and History?”

“First of all, stop being so grumpy with me… I’m just trying to help you!” You huffed, crossing your arms. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and honestly, neither were you. Sebastian straightened in his seat, a bit uncomfortable. “Second, I happen to have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’m not sharing them until you agree with helping me with the project.”

“Y/N…”

“What is it? What you don’t like: bees, seven-year-olds, or me?"

“I don’t like bees that much, I love being around little kids, and I’m completely captivated by you.”

That was what Sebastian wanted to say. Instead, he stayed silent, absentmindedly playing with the coffee spoon while staring at the note you had written for him.

“You do realize how many exams I still have to grade, right?” was all he managed to reply.

“Seb, you need to relax. I’ve told you before, but I’ll keep saying it as many times as necessary until you actually listen to me.”

“I can’t relax,” Vettel muttered, furrowing his brows. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to read that…?”

You didn’t let him time to finish speaking. You approached him faster than you’d planned, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. At first, Seb was completely caught off guard, but then he placed his right hand on your neck, pulling you closer and making sure the contact between you didn’t break.

Sebastian wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner, while you were more than happy to finally have the courage to take the initiative, especially since it seemed like your work crush was responding with a lot of enthusiasm.

The lack of air forced you to pull away. You readjusted yourself in your seat and couldn’t help but laugh when you saw your lipstick smeared all over Seb’s mouth.

“Did you just…?” Seb tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again,” you kissed him once again, but this time it was shorter. “Sebastian Vettel, I need you to stop worrying about those fucking exams and take a break.”

Now, Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling, and that’s exactly when you knew you had won that battle.

“You’re so lucky you’re too cute and beautiful and you’re keeping me at my feet somehow, because I swear I wouldn’t stop talking and be annoying just for you to shut me up by kissing me.”

Your eyes lit up at his tease, and your mouth opened in surprise at what Seb had just confessed.

“Sorry, did you just call me cute and beautiful, and also say you want me to shut you up by kissing you?” you pressed him.

Seb didn’t know what to say. His cheeks started to turn red out of embarrassment.

“If I’d known this was going to happen between us, I should’ve asked you to work together waaaay sooner!” you shouted, jumping up in excitement and sitting on his lap. If he hadn’t grabbed you tightly around the waist and balanced the chair, you would’ve ended up on the floor. “Say it again, come on!”

“No way I’m repeating that, Y/N.”

“Please, Seb,” you pouted, then kissed him all over his face. “Just one more time, please…”

“No.”

“Please…”

“Y/N…”

“Seeeeeeebastian.”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Seb started, “but, somehow, you’re also my very own Little Miss Sunshine.”

You smiled brightly at his words, but you knew this wouldn’t be the end of things between you.

“I’m not your Little Miss Sunshine yet. At least, not officially,” you teased.

“Oh, really?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be when you finally have the courage to ask me on a date,” you replied cheerfully, wrapping your hands around his neck and kissing him once more. “I’ve taken the first step and kissed you not once, but twice, so now it’s your turn. We’ve got to work as a team, Seb. Haven’t you learned that all these years working as a teacher?”

380 notes · View notes

faithisyours · 11 months ago

Text

Can’t Imagine Losing You

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: Azriel’s been acting moody lately, and you've had enough.

Warnings: ANGST! but also fluff. Smut, smut, SMUT! possessive Az, whimpering whiny Az, sort of a switch dynamic between the two, P in V, coming inside, oral both receiving, some ass stuff, i think that's it, not proof read

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hey y’all! Sorry for being MIA. Here’s another fic as a peace offering. I wanted to try some angst so hopefully I did it right. This whole thing took so many turns. Hope it's comprehensible. If you have any requests for fics you'd like me to write, I'm all ears (i need ideas, please I’m begging). As always, minors go away. Majors, enjoy!

“I have some work I need to do at the House of Wind today. It shouldn't take long.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, enjoying the warm summer breeze coming in through the open window when Azriel informed you he had to leave. You were disappointed, but not at all surprised. It seemed like there was always something to do, some report needing finished or some training schedule needing tweaked. And it was always your mate who needed to do it, especially on his off days, it seemed.

“Can you stay for breakfast at least?” you asked, infusing your words with hope to mask the disappointment.

“I’m sorry, my love, I can’t. I’ll see you later.” He pressed a swift kiss to the top of your head before practically running out the door. There was no, “I’ll make it up to you later,” or, “How about breakfast tomorrow?” or even an, “I love you,” before he had disappeared.

Instances like this had been happening more frequently over the past couple years, but recently it had gotten out of hand for you. You had been mated to Azriel for over a century at this point, and had known each other far longer than that. You originally assumed that these instances were caused by Azriel being distracted by his work. Being the spymaster for the Night Court was a lot to manage. But more recently you had begun to wonder if the spark had dimmed for Azriel. If he had started to feel differently than he had when you two were first mated.

You decided that tonight you would bring up your concerns with him. You prayed to the Mother it was only because he was so busy and not because he had begun to feel differently about being mated to you. For now, though, you finished your breakfast, put away the extra food you had made for Azriel, and got ready for your day.

Since Azriel wasn’t going to be home until later, you figured you could get some errands done while he was away. Azriel had been running low on his sleep tonic for a while now, so you decided to stop by your favorite apothecary and pick him up another one. While you were out, you figured you could stop by the market and get some more wine to replenish the stash you and the other ladies of the Inner Circle had drained not too long ago. You also picked up some ingredients you would need for dinner tonight.

It was nearing noon when you decided to head back home, but as you were making your way back, you passed the shop you had gotten your favorite lingerie set from. It couldn’t hurt, you thought, to go in and look around. It had been a while since you got a new set, and you thought you should treat yourself. If you found something you liked, of course. And as soon as you walked in, a rich purple satin set caught your attention. It was perfect; simple yet sexy, and looked rather comfortable as well. It had criss-cross straps that circled around the back and waist, to connect to the bottoms, which were detailed with black lace on the hips. You didn’t have a purple set yet, and you thought maybe Azriel would like it too. Maybe if things went well tonight you would let him see it.

You made your way home, purchases in hand, including that satin set, and hoped by the time you got there that Azriel would be home. But he wasn’t. You entered an empty home, warm yet breezy from the window you had left open, and started unloading your purchases. You put the wine on the rack, the ingredients for dinner on the kitchen table, and Azriel’s sleep tonic on his bedside table. Lastly, you fished that purple satin set out of its bag and tried it on.

You didn’t bother trying it on in the store because you already knew your measurements and didn’t want to bother anyone anyway. Just like you suspected, it was incredibly comfortable, and it fit you like a glove. Exhaustion washed over you then, even though it was a little past noon. Going out to run errands always seemed to suck the energy right out of you.

You didn’t bother taking off the set, but instead rifled through Az’s shirt drawer to find your favorite one of his, a flowy black cotton button down, and threw it on. Even though Az wasn’t here right now, you still wanted to feel close to him, hence the shirt. You curled yourself up on his side of the bed, enveloped in the comfort of his scent, and closed your eyes. The last thought you had before falling asleep was hoping this whole thing was a misunderstanding.

–

You awoke to the sound of a door slamming. You sat up, wiped the sleep from your eyes, and made your way towards the kitchen, the most likely source of the noise. You saw Azriel, leaning over the kitchen sink looking out the window. You glanced at the clock above the hearth, noting you had been asleep for about 4 hours.

“Hey Az,” you said groggily, “Sorry I didn’t meet you at the door, I was taking a nap. Did you just get home?” you asked, walking closer to him. He gave you a grunt in response. You noticed his shadows swirling agitatedly around him, making you stop in your tracks. “Az, are you okay? Did something happen?” A million thoughts cycled through your head in seconds. Did something happen at work? Are Cassian and Rhys okay? Is he mad at you? Did you forget something he asked you to get at the market?

“I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” His answers were clipped, monotone. “I'll be in our room.” he pushed off from the sink and brushed right past you, not even bothering to look you in the eye, give you a kiss, or look even the slightest bit apologetic for his attitude.

“I got you more sleeping tonic. It’s on your bedside table,” you informed him. You got a closing bedroom door in response.

You had a lot of patience. You prided yourself on the amount of patience you had. But it was warring paper thin for your mate. You decided to make dinner to take your mind off it, and to hopefully give him time to calm down. It’s not like he’d never been moody before, but this was a little much. He was starting to act like a teenage son, not your mate.

–

Thirty minutes later dinner was done and on the table. You went over to your bedroom door, still closed, and knocked, then poked your head in.

“Dinner is done. I made one of your favorites,” you informed Azriel, who was just walking out of the connected bathing room when you had poked your head in. He had changed into something more comfortable since the last time you saw him.

“Be right out,” he responded, glancing at you as he said it.

You walked back out to the kitchen table and began to load up both your plates with food. Azriel joined you just as you sat down. He immediately started eating, seemingly not concerned that the food was still hot enough to burn his mouth. And it looked like you would be carrying the conversation this evening.

“Was everything alright at the House of Wind today?” you pried, hoping the question came off as inconspicuous.

“Everything is fine. It’s handled now,” he offered, still shoveling food into his mouth.

“Alright. Good. I just wanted to -”

He cut you off. “Can we just eat in silence please? It's been a long day.” The words were stern, but his tone was soft, tired. You paused at his words, letting them sink in. Maybe this was just a bad day for him. Maybe he would be better tomorrow. Maybe this conversation should wait, if he’s pretty tired already. But how long had this gone on? How long have you wanted to say something about it?

“No,” you said simply. He paused, a fork-full stopped midway between his plate and mouth. Finally, he looked at you. “No, we’re not going to sit in silence. I have something I want to talk about. And I realize you may have had a shitty day, but I also had a day. I did things I want to talk with you about. I’ve wanted to have a conversation with you since this morning. So, no, actually. I’m not going to sit here in silence. Okay?” You stayed staring into his hazel eyes until you got a nod, but you wanted his answer in words. So you kept gazing into those hazel eyes until you got one.

“Okay. Alright,” he said, lowering his fork and pushing away from the table slightly, keeping his eyes on you. “What did you want to talk about, Love?”

His use of that endearment almost makes you reconsider this conversation. Almost. “I wanted to talk about your workload. And how it’s affecting me. And your treatment of me.” He only nodded, encouraging you to continue. “I feel like your workload doesn’t leave time for us anymore. It seems like the amount of stuff you have to do on a daily basis is way more than it used to be. You barely get any time off, and even on your days off you still have to do something. Like today. And I want to know if that’s how you feel, too.” You gave him time to consider.

He cleared his throat. “I like to stay busy. You know that. I haven’t noticed an increase in my duties, but even if there has been, I’m not sure if there is anything I could do about it. Everyone’s plate is already full. I can talk to Rhys about allocating jobs, but I can’t make any promises.”

You nodded, if only to give you something to do. That was not the answer you wanted to hear, but you could work with it. You wanted to broach your next point, but you were scared he wouldn’t take it well. You took a deep breath. “This… this leads me into my next point. I feel like…I feel as though you haven't been treating me how I want to be treated recently. Like sometimes I get my mate Az, and other days I get Azriel the shadowsinger. Or I get moody, likes-to-slam-doors Az who can’t bother to answer his mate in full sentences because he's too pissed off at something he doesn’t even want to tell me, his mate, who he should be able to tell everything to, even if it “doesn’t concern me.”” Your voice had started to rise, but you couldn’t help it. You were angry. “And this was why I wanted to talk about your workload. It feels like you’re getting upset more because you have more to do, which in turn makes you unintentionally take it out on me. you regard me as a permanent fixture in this house, but I am not. I will leave if I am not treated the way I deserve. And Gods, Azriel, I hope that this is the only reason, that it is only because of you working too much, because if it’s something else, if it has to do with your feelings towards me changing, I don’t…I don’t even…” you trailed off, holding back a sob that had started climbing your throat.

Azriel was now standing, making his way over to you. He knelt down right in front of you, taking your hand in his, his eyes, full of worry and confusion, searched yours for answers. “Okay, alright, you’re right. I have been acting like a jerk to you recently. And I’m so sorry for that. Truly. Work has been a lot to deal with recently, but that’s no excuse. I'll talk to Rhys about getting more time off. So I can spend it with you, alright? But how could you think my feelings have changed? How could you even think that?” His look was incredulous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, or rather, tried to. “We’ve been mated for a century. A lot can happen in that amount of time. I thought maybe…maybe the spark was dimming for you. Maybe you changed your mind. About me. About us. And if you did, that would be alright. I would live with that, if it made you happy.” You work your confession out between sobs. “I just…I guess I just got scared. I don't want to lose you.”

His eyes were still on yours, but the emotion in them had shifted. Now they were full of anger. Not anger for you, but rather anger at himself. How could he treat you like this? In a way that made you think he did not love you anymore. He had failed, he realized. He was failing you, your relationship, your trust in him. He had to fix this, had to try harder. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said with conviction, no room left for argument. “I love you. So much. More now than I did a century ago. Every day I love you more. I didn’t even think that was possible, but with you it is. You’re not getting rid of me even if you wanted to, okay? I’m staying, and I’m going to try harder, get more days off, spend them all with you. You’re the love of my life, ya? Nothing will change that.” He pulled you into a hug, kissed away your tears, and kept kissing you until your cheeks were dry.

He kissed you one more time, hard, on the cheek, then went back to his side of the table and sat down. He thanked you for dinner, asked about your day, what all you did, and in turn told you what had happened at the House of Wind. Apparently one of the Illarian camps had started some fights with another camp over space and resources. Rhys had thought it was taken care of, but there was another fight today, which resulted in Azriel having to go over there, break it up, and be the peacekeeper longer than he wanted. Hence him coming home late and in a pissy mood.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he stated, cutting off your story of you in the market today. It wasn’t a conscious thought to cut you off. He had only just now realized you were wearing his shirt, and basically nothing else. He had been so distracted by what had happened today and you bringing up your concerns that he hadn’t even noticed. Possession coiled in his stomach like a serpent strangling its prey. Seeing you in his clothes, even though it was a rare occurrence, always made him hard. He couldn’t help it. Your strong, soft body wrapped in his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, exposing all that lickable skin. It made his knees buckle.

“Is that okay?” you asked tentatively. He was looking at you now like a starved man, which you knew he wasn't, given the finished plate of food before him. You rarely wore his clothes, mainly because you swam in them due to how big they were on you. You guessed he was just surprised to see you in something of his, but that didn’t explain the heat in his gaze. “I put it on after I got home from running errands. I wanted to take a nap and I figured you weren’t using it so…” you explained, trailing off.

“You’ve been wearing my shirt all day. Only my shirt.” It wasn’t a question. More like a repetition of the fact in order to understand. But it wasn’t just his shirt you were wearing. As he said it he noticed the purple strap poking out by your shoulder. A purple strap. You didn’t own any purple undergarments. “What is that?” he asked, his gaze burning a hole in your shoulder.

Before you could even answer him he said, “Purple. You don’t own anything purple.” His gaze was lighting you on fire, his eyes full of slow understanding, pupils blown wide with lust.

You got up from your chair, pushing your empty dinner plate slightly forward, and walked around the kitchen table to his side to stand right in front of him. “Well, while I was out,” you started, your voice low and seductive, “I passed by that shop, you know, the one I got that royal blue set from.” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about. Remembered your squirming form underneath him while you were in that set. He was starting to feel lightheaded from how much of his blood had gone to his crotch. “And I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go in and see if they had anything as good as that royal blue set.” You were teasing him now, you knew it. But it was so fun, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Please, my love. Please let me see it. Let me see you,” he begged, winned. It was music to your ears. He was so hard it looked like it hurt. He had started slipping off his chair onto his knees in front of you, his scarred hands coming up to grip your hips. He was actually begging.

“You want to see it?” you taunted. He nodded, swallowing audibly. “Alright, but no touching. Not yet.” You pushed his hands off your hips, which was more difficult than you thought it would be, and began unbuttoning the shirt. Each button you worked to undo made Azriel’s breathing heavier, until he was practically panting. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides you were sure his fingernails would leave marks on his palms.

You felt like a goddess; the man you adored more than anything knelt at your feet, completely enraptured by you, in awe of all you are. You reached the last button, undoing it achingly slowly, just to see your mate break out in a sweat. His hands were clenching his thighs hard enough to bruise, his chest heaved like a dying man, and the only thing shining in his eyes was need. Need for you, need to touch you, need to be buried in you until neither of you could tell where one ended and the next began. Azriel was a gentleman, but right now, here in front of you, he was the embodiment of pure animalistic lust. One word from you and he would snap. Just how you liked him.

You let the shirt part, giving him a nice view of the valley between your breasts, as well as the crossing straps and lower, to where those straps connected. You dragged one side of the shirt down off your shoulder, then repeated the movement on the other side. Finally, you let the shirt drop off of you, leaving you only in that purple set. You stepped closer to him, and caressed his face with your hand.

“Please.” It was barely a whisper, but you heard it, saw his lips part to form the word. His eyes were pleading with yours. He needed you. Now.

“Okay,” was all you said before he was on you, standing, gripping your hips, kissing you, running his hands over all that satin. He was everywhere all at once, biting your lips, coaxing moans from your throat, groaning over the feel of you, and you reveled in it all. His hands came around the back of your thighs, and suddenly you were being picked up and carried down the hall, towards your shared bedroom.

You were placed gently onto the bed, which was still rumpled from your nap earlier. Azriel leaned over you, taking you all in. “I love the purple, but I need you naked,” he said, peppering your jaw with kisses. You reached down to your hips and unhooked the straps from the panties. Azriel quickly figured out how to get your top off, and in a matter of seconds he was dragging the purple satin down your breasts just so his hands and lips could cover them again.

He took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolled the other between his fingers, and sucked and licked and pinched and bit till your chest was littered with marks from him. All the while, moans and whimpers poured out of you. Azriel reveled in the divine sounds you made, the sounds he made you make.

He made his way down your body, drawing closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Please, baby. Please let me taste you,” he whispered, pleaded, begged. You gave him confirmation, that one word he needed to hear, then he was dragging those purple satin panties down your legs and throwing them across the room. He parted your legs, exposing your glistening core to him. The look in his eyes was that of absolute hunger. He didn’t bother with teasing you. He put his tongue right on your cunt, giving you no time to adjust or think before he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, spreading your arousal across his tongue.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him; watch as he devoured you, drank from you, absolutely consumed you. He licked and sucked at your clit, brought it between his teeth, and eased the bite with more licks. Your head fell back as you moaned his name, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Sooner than you even thought possible, you were on the edge of release, that coil in your belly drawing tighter and tighter. Without warning, Azriel slid a finger into you, curling it in a way that had you falling apart. He added a second, and it was your undoing.

You came with Azriel’s name on your lips. He worked you through your pleasure, continued to lick and suck till you were shaking from overstimulation. You pushed his head away, but he wouldn’t budge. He kept on licking you, drinking every drop of your release straight from the source. You were boneless, soar from overstimulation, but you could feel another orgasm rising within you.

Azriel moaned from the taste of you, the vibration making your hips buck. He continued to work his fingers into you, curling perfectly to reach that spot that made you scream. Profanities and pleads and promises poured from your mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop until you were coming again, on his fingers, on his face, on his tongue. Finally, after drinking every last drop of your essence, he worked his way back up to your mouth.

He kissed you until you came back to reality, until your limbs regained function. You kissed him back, moaning from the taste of yourself on his tongue. And then you were pushing him onto his back, straddling his hips to keep him there. He struggled a bit, pointing to his pinned wings, but you only smiled at him. “Is the Illarian baby pinned?” you taunted him. He stopped struggling, but instead glared at you. So you dragged a finger down one of the veins in his wings, and a moan slipped past his lips.

“That's what I thought,” you muttered. He was still fully clothed, and the contrast of your nakedness only spurred you on further. You kissed him, long and deep and unhurried, while you unbuttoned the length of his shirt. He broke the kiss to shed his shirt, so you turned your attention to unlacing his pants. While you worked, he kissed and nipped your neck, working marks into your soft flesh. You worked his pants down his legs, aided with Azriel’s help, and eventually he was naked underneath you.

You pressed him down to lay flat on the bed, then started your journey down towards his hard length. As you worked your way down, you liked and sucked and bit until his skin was littered with marks, just like yours was. You scraped your nails down his arms, down his sides, till he was shivering from your touch.

Kneeling now between his legs, guided a hand towards his length while you kissed his hips and rolled the skin between your teeth. His hips bucked at the fist fell of your hands on him, which made you smile. “So responsive,” you purred, then licked him from base to tip. He let out a moan that had your thighs rubbing together. With your tongue, you licked up the bead of precum that had frond, then promptly took as much of him into your mouth as you could.

Azriel speared his fingers through your hair, not to control your head but to steady himself. Your mouth was a dream to him; warm and wet and perfect. Second best only to your cunt. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until he was hitting the back of your throat. Az was panting at this point, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mouth felt so good, but he needed to be inside you.

“I’m gonna…please…I need to be inside you,” he panted out. You pulled your mouth off him with a pop, then gave him one last lick before you climbed your way back up to him. You kissed him, mainly just so he could taste himself on you. Then you positioned your hips just above his, readying yourself to sink onto his length.

Using his hand, he parted you, spreading your slick on you and on his hand. He eased you onto his cock slowly, letting you adjust to him. Every time you took him, it was an adjustment. You hoped that would never change. You both made an obscene noise when he was finally, completely in you.

“You want to be filled, baby?” he asked as he ran the fingers he had parted you with down between your ass cheeks. Yes, you wanted to be full of him, wanted to be overwhelmed by him, wanted to feel him everywhere. You nodded. “Words, love,” he chided softly.

“Yes, please Az,” you wined. That was all you had to say before he worked his fingers into you, using your slick on his fingers as lube. He gripped your hips with the rest of that hand and the other, a bruising grip that was sure to leave bruises.

Azriel was sitting up slightly now, and even though you were on top of him, he set the pace. Slow rolls of your hips guided by his hands started you off. All you could think about was how full of him you were, how overwhelming the feeling of him everywhere was. Your pace quickens, spurred on by your whimpers and his moans. Your eyes were locked with eachothers, and within Azriel’s you saw his bottomless pool of love for you. His pupils were blown wide, and so were yours.

You kissed him, hard, and he returned it even harder. You’re moaning into eachothers mouths, the only goal being to guide each other to your peaks. You could feel that ache building, that need for release drawing closer and closer. Azriel could feel it too, reveling in the way your walls gripped him. He shifted his free hand around to play with your clit, and then you were coming, harder than you had in a while, cresting on a silent scream.

Azriel was right behind you, fucking sloppily into you until you were gripping him so tightly he could barely move. He came, chanting your name like a prayer, until his voice went hoarse.

You both laid there, panting and boneless, for minutes or hours or days, you couldn't tell. Eventually he guided you off of him, pulling out of you with a hiss, to lay you next to him. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before getting up to go to the bathing room. You heard the sound of water rushing into the tub, and in the next minute Azriel came back in, picked you up bridal style, and whisked you into the bathing room.

He set you down gently into the warm water then joined you, settling in right behind you. He pulled you back so your back was against his chest, then proceeded to wash you with a soapy cloth. When he was done you returned the favor, batting his hand away when he tried to protest. You finished up in the bath, dried each other off, then slipped into some sleeping clothes and then bed.

“We’re okay, right?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. Your heart melted, warmed by the idea that he wanted to make sure.

Yes, Az. We’re all good,” you replied, giving him a kiss on the nose.

“Okay. good,” was all he said before he tucked you tighter into him and you both fell asleep.

#acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #comfort #acotar fic #fanfiction #night court #azriel x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #angst #smut #azriel smut #acotar smut #azriel angst

1K notes · View notes

comicwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Note

okay this is so incredibly specific so please feel free to ignore BUT i’ve been wanting to read a fic for ages where the reader is Chase’s childhood best friend from Australia and she moves to New Jersey for a fresh start. She’s staying with Chase while she gets settled, and one day she comes to visit him at lunch at the hospital, where she ends up meeting House and he’s… intrigued by her 👀 either romantic or smut would be so very cool :^D <33 💐

YES. I LOVE THIS PROMPT IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT IM FINISHED!!!

Gregory House x Fem!Chases bsf!Reader

Warnings: None really, just cussing and tooth rotting fluff >:) 3k+ words.

Chase's POV:

“Well I was just wondering if we could go out sometime, I think you're really-” My attention shifted as y/n's call lit up my phone, interrupting the conversation. It was a more pressing matter than pursuing a one-night stand.

“Excuse me for a moment.” I say walking away, the woman having an annoyed look on her face.

I answer the phone.

“Hello, y/n? Whats up”

“Chase! Long time no talk haha.”

“You called me yesterday.”

“Learn to take a joke, anyways, I have some exciting news for you.”

“I’m moving to New Jersey!!”

“Wait what? Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell you and i'm actually at the airport right now, so I hope you aren't busy tomorrow so you can pick me up.”

“Wow, um alright, yeah I can pick you up, do you have a place to stay?"

“Um…no…” I sigh, “Just stay at mine for now.”

“Don't even with the sigh i’ve known you my whole life you can put the nightly hookups on hold for your best friend.”

I smirk and shake my head, “Yeah yeah, I’ll see ya tomorrow y/n”

Y/N’s POV:

I smile as I hang up with Chase, grabbing my luggage and pulling it along the airport. Ahh yes, crying babies, rushed parents, annoying couples and that one insanely attractive person you see for a split second, I love the airport.

Glancing at my ticket I realize I might have to hurry to make it to the gate, speed walking I see a text from chase, “Have a safe flight.” Let's hope so.

Time skip (to lazy to write all the details about fucking airports)

Relaxing on a 21-hour flight proved challenging, especially with a toddler nearby. It was unclear whether the toddler would be a source of annoyance or just be tolerable. The flight just started. So to entertain myself I decide to do some digging about Chase's job, he brags about it all the time and the infamous Dr Gregory House. To be honest I thought Chase was gay for a little while with how much he talks about him. Still speculating.

The plane lifts off and I start my look, at first just looking up Gregory House, a surprising amount of things show up. An article titled, “Gregory House, Talented Doctor? Or a lying Narcissist?” Oh well that's a good first impression.

Scrolling down I see another article, “The world's greatest doctor, and his deepest secrets”

Now that's enticing. I click on it only to find out his deepest secrets, including using 3 in one shampoo and how his leg got hurt. I guess people hardly know anything about him. I click on the photos of him, there's only a couple, most of them blurry but to be honest he's pretty good looking from the photos I can see. I’d honestly be gay for him if I was Chase.

The toddler next to me starts giggling, I glance at her and notice her staring at a picture of House. She's kicking her feet too. That's so relatable.

For the rest of the flight I find some stuff about this guy named Taub, who somehow also figured out that he cheated on his wife which is why he had to quit. How did I find that out? I took a coding class in 8th grade. (I got lucky)

Lisa Cuddy the Dean of Medicine, unfortunately only good stuff about her, boring.

Remy Hadley, oddly, can't find anything on her.

Eric Foreman, his brothers in jail, fun.

And the others are just as boring. For the remainder of the flight, the toddler proved surprisingly chill. I passed the time by binge-watching random movies I had downloaded earlier

*Another time skip to plane landing*

Finally, 21 hours on a fucking plane is horrible.

I check my phone after I take it off airplane mode, seeing a text from chase a couple minutes ago.

“I’m at the airport, is your flight done?”

“Yep, wya.”

“I’m parked in the front.”

“That's specific”

“There's no other front dumbass”

I roll my eyes at his text, and get off the plane as soon as I can. I walk out and see Chase standing outside his car waiting for me. His eyes light up as he spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. Unable to resist, I rush forward and envelop him in a bear hug.

“Man you’re a lot uglier in person”

I say jokingly, smirking.

“Oh shut up”

We climbed into his car, and he drove us back to his apartment. When we arrive he helps get my crap into the house, before he gets a call saying he had to head to work.

Eventually a week or two passes, I've gotten more comfortable in his apartment, applied for a bunch of jobs, and looked for places to stay so I’m not invading his “man” space anymore. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of options, and no jobs have replied to my applications, which is weird since im overqualified, it's almost like they aren’t even getting my applications in the first place.

I’m doing the dishes when I get a text from Chase.

“Hey, I left my wallet on the counter, so I don’t have money for food, could ya bring it for me?”

“Nah”

“See you soon”

I breathe out a laugh and grab his wallet, putting a coat on then driving to the hospital.

When I get there I walk in, looking around before I call Chase, “Where do I go this place is huge” I can hear talking in the background, actually more like arguing. “Uhm just wait at the entrance i’ll be right there.” He says in a whisper.

He hangs up so I just stand there awkwardly waiting, that was a weird ass phone call. To be fair Chase is a weird ass guy with weird ass coworkers so what do I expect at this point.

Before I see Chase I see Dr Gregory House, limping quickly towards me. And damn he’s even hotter in person than the pictures I saw of him.

“Hey, no time to explain, you need to come with me.” He grabs my arm dragging me into the elevator. Before it closes I see Chase come out of the stairway, he sprints towards the elevator but it closes. I hear him trying to say something, but it's muffled and I can’t understand it. Wait why the fuck did I even follow House?

“You're real compliant, you’d make a great hooker.”

I turn around and side eye him.

“Thanks, so would you.” I say giving a fake smile.

“Speaking of compliant, why did you drag me away from Chase? What's going on?’’

“I made a bet with Chase.”

“That's really specific and helpful thanks”

“Oh yeah no problem”

Sarcastic asshole.

“If you don’t tell me, I'll stop following you and go with Chase.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine, Mom! The bet is that I can convince you to work as my assistant here.”

“Really? That's it? I need a job. Why would Chase even bet against that?”

“He thinks you’ll fall in love with me so he doesn’t want that to happen, in his words, “She has a thing for homeless looking, narcissistic assholes with beards.” So he’s trying to prevent it, and he’s sure he can.”

Damn- I feel so called out. I stay silent before nodding.

“Well to be honest he isn’t wrong.”

I see House smirk before we get out of the elevator, he hobbles and leads me to his office, locking the door then having me sit down.

As I sit down in front of his desk, he grabs a ball and starts throwing it against the wall, while sitting down.

“So are you gonna interview me or something?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Chase to get back up here so he can watch me interview you.”

He really is an asshole…it's kinda hot though.

“Fair enough.”

We wait a bit before Chase comes jogging up to the door, out of breath, he’s clearly been running plenty. He starts banging on the glass door that House previously locked.

“House!! Y/N! Let me in! This isn’t fair!” He exclaims, House is grinning when he leans over his desk, crossing his arms.

“Okay! Let’s start this interview now.”

“Y/n! You traitor!”

Did I abandon my childhood best friend for some disabled doctor? No, I did it for the job. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Turning my attention back to House instead of the Australian cry baby outside the door, he asks me, “First question, do you want the job of being my assistant?”

“Obviously”

“Great! You have the job!”

I mean, easy enough. I smile and shake my head. This hospital really has some unique people.

House shakes my hand, grinning as Chase is sitting on the floor defeated outside.

As the days turned into weeks at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I got to know everyone. Cuddy had to actually approve of me working as House’s assistant first, but once she saw a…normal enough individual, she welcomed me into the environment.

Getting to know House better, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t really expected. The bet between House and Chase, Chase thinking I would fall for House, I took it as a joke, until that joke turned more into reality.

Despite House being a narcissistic piece of shit, there were small moments that I saw, or shared with him that made me fall for him. Ones where he seemed happy, or just easy to be around. At work he's serious but when Wilson dragged him out to bars, or other social environments, he could actually be fun. And though him being a dick is undeniably attractive sometimes, when he was…”himself” that's how I began to fall for him.

One day, after an especially tough day for the team, and being forced to go break into houses and get coffee and food, I found myself alone with House in his office. The rest of the team had left, leaving us in a rare moment alone with each other. As I glanced up from the medical chart of the most recent patient, I caught House’s gaze lingering on me, his blue eyes intense and unreadable.

“Something on your mind, House?” I asked, attempting to break the awkward silence between us.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease, “Oh just wondering why a catch like yourself doesn’t have a boyfriend, or husband?” He responds, his tone laced with flirtatiousness.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, a faint blush on my cheeks. House and I had gained an uncanny camaraderie, made from me running around doing everyone's paperwork, being the designated “you get to tell patients they are dying!!” person. And as you’d expect people didn’t respect me a lot, but if someone was blatantly mean to me, House would step in and destroy their self esteem in a second and walk away like it meant nothing. That's another thing that I think made me fall for him.

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that a lot too.” I smile, placing the medical chart on his desk.

“Do you want a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or a pet or something.” He quips, his eyes looking like they are reading me, studying my every movement and reaction to what he’s saying, it's flattering and uncomfortable at the same time.

“A boyfriend would be nice.” I say reassuringly, a laugh escaping me as I shake my head in amusement.

“Alright let's say *hypothetically* I asked you out. *hypothetically* what would your response be?”

Raising an eyebrow I ask, “Are you trying to go on a date with me?”

“I said hypothetically, now answer the question.”

A smirk plays on my lips as I roll my eyes in a mock annoyance.

“Well.” I say, “Hypothetically, I would say yes.”

“Great, meet me for dinner at (some random fancy place idk u make up a name i'm too lazy to), wear something cute.”

With that, he sauntered out of the office, leaving me to think about what just happened. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had just enough time to get ready for our “hypothetical date.”

The anticipation bubbled within me, standing outside (IDK A RESTAURANT NAME IT), waiting for House to arrive. My heart raced with nervous excitement, unsure what to expect from a…unique…guy like House. I had used all the time I had to work on my outfit, settling for a simple dress (or suit, or just anything you're comfy in :) ).

As I scanned the busy street, searching for any sign of House, I heard the obnoxiously loud sound of a motorcycle approaching. House rode in, parking his bike before getting off and walking (limping) towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him, he looked impossibly handsome, in a tailored suit that made his rugged charm come out, good god he looked fine.

“Y/n,” he greeted with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine affection. “That outfit makes your ass look nice.”

I scoff playfully, hitting his arm. “So much for acting like a gentleman, at least you look like one.”

He chuckled, offering me his arm in a more gentlemanly gesture. “Yeah yeah, shall we?”

With a nod, I looped my arm through his, savoring the warmth of his touch as we mad our way into the restaurant. The ambiance was elegant and inviting, with a soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the decor.

As we were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’m finally going out with House, damn Chase was totally right.

Throughout the evening, our conversation flowed surprisingly easily between us. I had half expected him to be rude or stuck up, but he seemed actually interested in me, in my life. He was asking questions, laughing and joking with me. Sharing stories of his own, and treating me like an actual human. Honestly it was scaring me a bit, but it was making me fall harder for him.

House raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. ‘So, tell my Y/N. What’s the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you?”

I laughed, shaking my head as I thought about the memory. “Well, there was this one time in college-”

“Let me guess,” House interrupted, a smirk playing on his lips. “It involved copious amounts of alcohol and very questionable decisions?”

I chuckle and nod in agreement. “You could say that. Long story short, I ended up streaking through the campus fountain at three in the morning. I'm pretty sure Chase might still have a video of it still.”

House raises an eyebrow, an amused laugh coming from him. “I wish I could say I was surprised, oh and also. I am finding that video.” He states, with a determined and mischievous grin.

The dinner continues and our connection just seems to get stronger, fueled by shared laughter, stories of shit Wilson and him did in college, things Chase and I did in highschool. With each passing moment, I found myself more and more under House’s spell, captivated by the complexity of himself, his character. His gaze, laughter, even his personality. Maybe it was the wine or something, but House was being nice, he had charisma, and was being attractive in general.

I don’t even realize that we’ve spent almost three hours in the restaurant just talking. I check my phone seeing that it's 9:30 already. We had got and paid the check awhile ago, but had stayed to talk longer. The restaurant closes at 10, and I felt a sudden pang of disappointment that our date was close to being over with. I didn’t want it to end, I was savoring this moment I was having, this seemingly perfect night.

When the waiter arrived to take our dessert order, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that the evening was drawing to a close. I wasn't ready for it to end—I wanted to savor every moment, to prolong the magic of our time together for as long as possible.

House notices my look of disappointment, “I’m aware how amazing I am, but if its up to me, this won’t be our last date.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks heating up as I blush. The butterflies in my stomach going absolutely insane.

So with a quick glance around the restaurant, I rose from my seat, House grabbed my hand as he led me towards the exit.

Stepping out into the cool night air, I felt a sense of happiness coursing through me. This was it, the beginning of a new relationship, a surprisingly healthy one so far.

As House’s hand tightened around mine, his touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through my veins. I knew now that maybe Chase knows me better than I know myself, in all fairness he predicted this, but right now I wasn’t afraid to admit this, to admit the undeniable attraction that I had towards Dr Gregory House.

His touch leaves mine, his hand pulling as we stand in front of the restaurant, close to each other, staring in each other's eyes. I glance at his lips before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, not sure if he expected it, but I pull back.

“Goodnight House. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that I walk away, to my car. When I get in my car, I look in the mirror, seeing House standing there with a lovestruck grin, one a child would have over some school crush. But it was cute, he was cute. And this was just the beginning of an annoyingly predicated relationship with a Vicodin addicted, asshole, who I suspect has a soft spot for me.

#gregory house #greg house #hatecrimes md #dr house #house md #gregory house x reader #greg house x reader #house md headcanons #james wilson #robert chase

630 notes · View notes

norman-fucking-reedus · 11 months ago

Note

I read something that you said Scud liked to be recorded and I’m actually foaming at the mouth at the idea of that because it’s so real. I NEED a fic for that. So glad I found someone with a Scud obsession as bad as mine

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

THE GOOD GOOD: FemDom!Reader x Sub!Scud, recording during sex, lots of teasing, and edging, bit of bondage, your much needed dose of pegging, and scud crying during sex, don't forget the hair pulling

GUYS I LOVE SCUD SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL

I'm really trying to get my drafts cleared out LOL hopefully sometime soon I'll have a big major posting spree and then I can start working on my inbox

I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AUUUGH IDK WHY I LET THEM ALL PILE UP SOMEONE KILL ME

The idea of Scud being recorded is still my favorite because I feel like he'd be so nervous under the lens, trying to hide from it and not be seen but he'd still end up looking like a slutty pornstar (my precious pornstar)

also scud in lace. its been on my mind for I don't even know how long at this point.

You sighed as you walked down your complex's dingy, dimly lit hallway, silently hoping that Scud wouldn't be too mad at you for coming home so late into the night. After all, you had told him that you would only be about ten more minutes, but that had been almost an hour ago.

Things got a little out of hand, nothing you couldn't deal with sure but it was quite an inconvenience. A short, fifteen-minute task had easily turned into a full job, one that included running around the shop looking for spare parts. With what you had learned from Blade and Scud, it didn't take long to find all the little pieces you needed, and even a reward for yourself.

"Scud! I'm back! Look at what was in the shop" You called out to him when you jingled your keys in the lock and swung the front door to your apartment open, eagerly kicking off your shoes as you toyed with the little camcorder you had come across, flipping through the random pictures on it. There was no clear indicator of who's camera exactly, but you had always loved photography, so just one day with it wouldn't hurt anyone.

There was no response to your voice, the apartment barely lit and quiet, soft thumping coming from you and Scud's shared bedroom. He was probably playing on his PS2 with his headphones in, loud music blasting at levels you’ve already scolded him for.

As you padded through the cozy living room, you pointed your camera at random things and took little cameos of them, making your way down the short and narrow hall towards the room where you could see some of the orange lighting spilling out through a crack in the door.

You approached, about to call out Scud’s name once again as the soft thumping faded into a rhythmic beat, a Lady Gaga track when you finally stopped short in front of the door, pushing it open a bit and poking your head through, combing hair out your eyes as your mind drew a blank, greedily taking in the sight in front of you.

Scud was in fact not playing on his game system, but rather prancing around the cozy room what he didn’t know was your very expensive lingerie set. An all-white, delicate full ‘angelic’ lingerie set. A satin ruffle top with a waist-high lace garter belt that clipped onto the white mesh fishnets, all paired with lacy underwear that had a large bow on the back, topped with a fair-sized opening that revealed a large portion of his dumb butt.

You had originally bought it to surprise your boyfriend a few months back, but you had both gotten so overcrowded with work that it slipped your mind, collecting a thin layer of dust somewhere you weren’t even sure where you had put it. Scud always got curious about your things when he was rocket-high, digging through things and asking a million and one questions. Now here he was, looking pretty as ever swaying his hips around in the bedroom, mumbling along to the current track playing.

You found yourself flipping the camcorder's small screen open and resting against the door frame as the device started to record, capturing Scud’s fluid movements as he obliviously danced around, brown curls falling sweetly in his face, and skin glowing orange from the multiple sources of warm light in the room.

He really did look like an angel, his broad body looking much more supple and soft, legs long and lean, hips wide and divine. A walking, talking piece of pure eye candy, reserved for your eyes and only your eyes. Guess this camera just found itself a new owner.

Scud spun around on his heels and toes, once, twice, before he stopped, eyes focusing on the small little red dot, flickering up to meet your gaze and feeling his entire exposed body heat up in embarrassment.

“W– Wha– How– How long– Hello– ” Scud sputtered, completely frozen in place as he stared at you.

You, who was now fully entering the bedroom, “Don’t stop now, I barely got any footage” placing your free hand on his small waist and dipping fingers under the fabric of the garter. A smile tugged your lips as you started taking in the entirety of your boyfriend's body up close, his skin soft and hot under the tips of your fingers. “Y– You’re re-recording me?” He knew the answer, but hearing it from you verbally just made a chill run down his spine, and his cock twitch.

“Does that make you nervous love?” Your fingers trailed up his scarred chest, brushing across the lose ruffled top and grazing his nipples, a small whine coming from Scud as he dipped down in order to hide his face, but you wouldn’t let him. “Look at me” You said as you lifted his head up by the chin, forcing his gaze onto yours.

Scud lightly whimpered, desire burning in his gut as you brushed hair out his face, fingers dancing along his skin. He felt exposed under the camera’s lens, so much of his raw and bare skin visible to the naked eye. Your gaze on his body made his cock throb.

“What do I always tell you about playing in my stuff?” You said in a condescending tone, teasing the tips of your fingers down his textured belly.

Scud shivered at your touch as goosebumps prickled his skin, a strained grunt coming from him as his face flushed. “N– not without mommy’s permission”

You slowly walk around him, taking in his full body in the set. “Don’t touch mommy’s things without permission. That’s a rule, right?” You murmur as you stop recording to take a picture of Scud’s ass, definitely filling out the panties better than you could.

“Yes…” He mumbles, and it almost comes out like a squeak. His cock aching with need and his stomach with embarrassment, heart pounding from a combination of nerves and weed.

You brush your lips against the skin of his shoulder, slipping fingers under the waistline of the lace undies. “So can you explain to me why said rule is broken?”

A whimper broke past Scud's lips as your fingers teased and explored his exposed skin, squeezing his hips and tracing scars. "I just– I just found it under the bed and didn't know what it was" Scud stumbled out, heart thumping in his chest as your hands covered more ground on his body, circling around to his back.

"Mhm?" You hummed, tracing your finger up his spine. He let out a moan as chills ran through his core, trembling under your touch as he could feel goosebumps explode across his skin. "Well, do you know what it is now?"

Scud nodded frantically at your words, "Yes! Yes– I know now" quivering as he spoke.

With one hand on his waist, the other still holding the camera, you guided him to the edge of the bed and pushed his upper half down onto the mattress, smiling softly to yourself as you eyed Scud's new position through the lens.

Click! Click!

The electric snap of the camera made Scud feel fuzzy and warm, slightly embarrassed, and very exposed. His skin was flushed a light red, some areas more blushed than the others. From where his cock was confined in the small panties, he was completely pulsing, throbbing with pure need in his gut.

"Do you also know not to break the rules?" You questioned, flipping through the few shots you had taken before moving your attention to the small walk-in closet, crouching down and reaching inside a box.

Scud whined into the soft comforter when you returned behind him, his socked feet barely reaching the rug between them. He could hear the small beep of the camera as you pressed your front to his bottom, a yelp coming from him when your palm made contact with his exposed cheek. "I asked, so answer"

"Y– Yes! Not breaking the rules is a rule" He whimpered, a shudder running through him as his skin tingled.

You smiled at his words as you caressed his side, squeezing his waist and hip slightly. "Good. Very good. So don't you think you deserve a punishment?"

Scud didn't respond, but he nodded his head, hiding his face the best he could behind his hair. You pushed the strands back and cooed at his cherry-red face, tiny whines coming from him as he squirmed under the camera's lens, jerking his hips slightly as he rutted against the edge of the bed.

Your hand made contact with his cheek again, a choked-off groan coming from his throat at your palm. "Words."

"Y– yes ma– ma'am..." He stuttered, trembling slightly with anticipation. It wasn't often that Scud got punished, even with as bratty as he was, so his cock was totally aching just thinking about whatever vile shit it was you were thinking about doing to him.

And you were thinking of doing some quite horrid things.

Teasingly, you ran your hand over the opening in his panties, prodding your finger at his puffy rim. A suppressed shudder traveled through him as his cock twitched, his hole fluttering at your air-light touch. You softly cooed at how needy he was, smiling to yourself as you single-handedly took off your shirt and tossed it on the floor somewhere to be picked up later.

From the box in your closet, you had pulled your strap set, a pair of cuffs, and a long vibrator that you had been wanting to test out for a little while.

Cuffing Scud's hands behind his back with only five fingers was a bit of a challenge, but an easy one. He squirmed a little as you did it, wiggling his fingers as his wrists adjusted to the new sensation of the cuffs.

You shuffled around behind him, cursing softly as you knocked a few things over before tossing a bottle of lube along with the rest of your toys, pressing yourself against Scud as you leaned down near his ear, breath feather-light and hair tickling his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and you could hear his pulse in his neck thumping.

“Just how should I punish you?” You murmur, trailing your lips against his ear lobe and teasing the skin with the very tip of your tongue.

“Maybe I should spank you ‘til it hurts to sit,” You run your free hand down to his ass and give it a slap for emphasis, followed by a squeeze just cause.

“Or maybe I could tie up those cute balls and see just how long it takes for you to pop” You hum, nibbling on Scud’s ear and tugging it with your teeth until you dropped it with an idea lingering in mind.

“Or," You said as you pulled away from him. "I could just leave you here by yourself” You smirked, watching Scud’s face twist in horror.

“No! No– please no” He pleaded as he squirmed on the bed, hips jerking in a desperate search for relief, cock painfully hard and throbbing. “Need a punishment, need mommy to punish me” Scud blabbed, his body trembling as his eyes darted from your face to the camera's lens, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“But how should I punish you?” You teasingly coo, combing some of a Scud’s bangs out one of his eyes as you smiled softly at him. “I could smoke our whole stash right in your face”

Scud groaned, “Please don’t” squeezing his legs as arousal burned hot in his gut. “I’m really sorry mommy, I– I’ll do anything”

“Oh, I know you will. Just stay still for me ‘kay?” You pushed yourself back up to your full height, pausing your recording to swap out the camera for the bottle of lube, shaking it slightly before uncapping it and squeezing out more than enough of the clear liquid onto Scud's puffy rim, watching the shiver that ran through him as the cold sensation rolled down to his sensitive balls.

You scooped it up with your two fingers and easily slid them inside Scud, a soft moan coming from him as he clenched around you, almost instantly pushing back in search of more. "Such a greedy little hole, you just wanna be fucked so badly don't you?"

Scud whined and squeezed his slick walls around your digits, "Yes! Want mommy to fill me up so bad, need her so bad" rubbing his face against the soft comforter as he could feel it burning hot.

"Don't worry baby boy, we're gonna get you all nice 'nd full right now" You spoke sweetly to him as you picked up the camera with one hand and the vibrator with the other, resuming your recording as the toy harshly rumbled to life after the click of a button. Without wasting a second, you watched as the buzzing wand glided into Scud with zero resistance, pressing it directly against his sweet spot and causing him to loudly sputter, blabble, and cry out nonsense as the sudden vibration traveled through his entire nervous system, cock throbbing with the uncontrollable urge to cum.

Scud sobbed around his loud moans, choking out gasps when you started to quickly thrust the toy in and out, each hard bump to his now very sensitive prostrate only sent him closer to the edge, hands twitching and pulling where they were restrained as his body spasmed, heaving as his heart started to pound in his chest the harder and harder you fucked him, hips jerking down into the mattress as he tried to pathetically chase his rapidly building orgasm, a burning pleasure coursing through the entirety of his body before–

You swiftly pulled the toy out of him right as he was about to topple over the edge, a confused, strangled whimper tearing from his throat as his poor hole needily clenched around nothing, so full and pleased just a split second ago and now suddenly empty and crashing down from the way you abruptly ruined his orgasm.

“Sorry, my hand slipped” You mumbled, obviously not sorry at all as you teased his fluttering hole with the toy, capturing all your torturous movements through the little camera lens.

The cuffs rattled as Scud whined and squirmed at the contact against his sensitive skin, trying his hardest to push back onto the vibrator while also jerking his hips away from it. He was so high, so hot and sweaty as he heaved from where he was on the bed, shaking as you tauntingly dragged the toy up from his slick balls to his drenched rim, only ever applying the slightest amount of pressure.

It made him push his hips back in desperation, letting out a surprised yelp when you smacked him with the toy, tutting your lips as you shook your head, placing the camera down and positioning it to capture Scud's hidden face, forcing his head up by roughly yanking a fistful of hair.

He whined as a shiver ran down his spine, trembling as his eyes nervously darted away from the lens, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being recorded in such an exposed state. His cock was still painfully aching, whole body throbbing uncontrollably from your early treatment.

Scud made tiny little whimpers when you started to tease his hole again with the toy, his hips twitching as he tried not to jerk them back, desperate and craving to be filled up again. His gut ached with arousal, cock leaking painfully where it was confined in the small panties.

"P– Please fuck me, please mommy" He begged as you dipped your head down and started nibbling at his bare shoulder, teasing the skin of his hip with your fingers.

You blew on his ear as you ran the length of the vibrator up his slick crack, a keen noise pulling out his throat as his hole fluttered in anticipation. "Is this what you want pretty boy? To be stuffed like a dumb slut?"

Scud whined at your words, nodding his head and hiding his face shyly behind his hair, jumping slightly when you tightly gripped his jaw, lifting his head once more and dropping it to pick up your camera.

"You're so cute when you're nervous" You said to him as you smooshed your cheek against his, pointing the lens at the both of you and snapping a few pictures, Scud's face red and embarrassed as the flash flickered, electric shutter ringing in his ears.

Scud huffed slightly as his socked toes brushed the rug beneath him, kicking his feet impatiently as need and heat burned through his veins. He whined softly when you pulled away from him entirely, leaving the camcorder pointed at him to capture his facial expressions when you suddenly shoved the entirety of the vibrator back into him, a loud and shaky moan tearing from Scud's throat as the toy easily slid into him, almost yelling when it buzzed to life against his sensitive walls.

His hands curled into one another where his arms were stretched behind his back, yet immediately scrambled to wrap around your wrist when you trailed fingers up his spine, his fingers twitching and trembling as they latched onto you, incoherent mumbles leaving Scud's lips.

As you started to properly fuck him with the toy, quickly thrusting it in and out as he tensed up at the sensation, shuddering as his jaw went slack and he started to desperately yet sloppy push back against your movements, toes curling into the carpet as you shoved the vibrator right into his sweet spot, stars dancing in his eyes and coursing through his body.

"I bet that feels so good huh pretty boy? Gonna cum aren't you?" You taunted as you fucked him quicker with the silicone toy, watching the way he had started to twitch and squirm, his whimpers and cries starting to increase in volume. Scud tried to respond to your questions, but his words only came out as a garbled mess.

It earned a small laugh from you, pressing yourself up against him and dipping your head down to attack his neck, running your tongue over his pulse, and feeling his heart race under the muscle. "Didn't quite catch that" You murmured into his ear, slowing down your movements as you searched for Scud's sweet spot, a broken sob tearing from his lips when you found it. "Yes," He gasped, trembling underneath you as he heaved for air, clumsily stuttering out his words. "Wanna cum so bad, want mommy to make me cum"

Scud tugged and pulled at his restraints as he choked back cries, clumsily pushing back against your movements desperately as he chased after his rapidly building orgasm, babbling brainlessly. He could feel the buzzing sensation in his toes, all the way up to his teeth, it made his head foggy and his jaw go slack, not sure if the high he was greedily riding was from the weed or sheer pleasure, but it had him on cloud nine either way.

Each thrust brought him closer and closer, so close he could practically taste it. A needy, broken whimper came from his chest as his body twitched against you, small pleas starting to fall from his lips as his untouched cock throbbed from his burning climax, lungs running out of air as his body started to tense up, standing right on the edge and about to fall down face first when you yanked the toy right out of him again, Scud whining and basically sobbing in protest as his hole uncontrollably clenched down around nothing, heavy groans leaving him as his body struggled to recover from the way you completely denied him again.

"Oh Please, please mommy, please" Scud sobbed as his body felt so empty and used, desperately craving the relief that he needed so badly.

You shut the toy off and tossed it down on the bed, taking hold of the camcorder and stopping your recording, snapping a few pictures of how utterly destroyed Scud was, face soaked with his tears and drool as he weakly rutted his hips in search of any type of pleasure. He whimpered softly at the flash of light, feeling exposed and nude under the lens.

"It's okay Scud, you've been doing so well for me. Momma's gonna make you feel so good" You murmured comfortingly into his ears as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, pushing your body up off his and leaving the camera on the bed. Scud still whined out in protest as your body heat left his, leaving him cold and lonely. His heart started to soar and quickly pick up speed when he heard the familiar sound of your strap buckling together, small mutters and curses coming from you as there was a slight struggle.

It wasn't long before you reappeared behind Scud, this time pressing your cock against him. Anticipation sparked to life in his tummy as you dragged the silicone through his slick, unable to help himself from pushing back against you with tiny little sounds. He needed it so bad that his body was practically begging for release, involuntarily twitching.

Scud was so close to an absolute breakdown, whimpering and mumbling incoherently as you finally started to push in at a tauntingly slow pace, the lube helping to make it an easy glide and blissful stretch. His head dropped down onto the mattress as sparks flew up his spine, so understimulated that even the slightest of touch would probably send him tipping over the edge.

You readjusted your camcorder with one hand and the tightly tangled the other in his hair, yanking his head back up to be captured in the lens, giggling at the groan that left Scud’s lips. “Come on pretty boy, keep your head up for momma”

“Need– Need it–“ Scud started to babble, head totally clouded and overworked as he desperately jerked his hips, rocking them back and forth to get any type of stimulation at all, trembling like a leaf on a branch when he felt the tip of your strap finally, finally jab right into his tender and used sweet spot, knees buckling between him as he involuntarily squeezed your wrist tightly, nails digging into the flesh as the orgasm his body had been begging for completely took over, loud and broken sobs leaving Scud’s lips as his untouched cock throbbed and pulsated, cumming right in the lace panties of the lingerie set.

The fact that you captured that on camera almost made your mouth water, and you cooed at Scud when he went ragdoll in your hold, stroking his side to give him some comfort as he slowly came back down to earth. “Oh, you poor little thing. Did I tease too much?”

Scud could barely even muster out words, breathing into the mattress as his body twitched, small grunts and whimpers coming from him your hand in his hair kept his head upright and his face vulnerable, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks.

“Or, did I not tease you enough?” You murmured the question softly in his ear, moving to grab a fist full of hair from the front and gripping his cuffed wrists, yanking both backward as you took a step forward to shove the entirety of your cock into Scud, who could almost taste the pleasure coursing through him. A choked sob tore itself from his throat, eyes darting frantically between the wall and camera lens as it felt like pure heaven burned it’s way up his spine, hands twitching and curling in on themselves under your grip.

It was arguably the best he’s ever felt in days, weeks even. When you started to relentlessly and mercilessly slam into him, each thrust going right to his core and sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head, lips glossy and slick with spit as he drooled from the mouthwatering pleasure.

“You’re just so, so cute Scud. I can’t wait to watch our little movie over and over and over again” You said as you tilted his head to the side by his hair, biting down harshly on the flesh of his already bruised and marked neck, a shriek pulling its way out his chest as all five of his senses were at a complete overload, skin flushing a deep red when he felt your teeth blissfully break skin. It was all so overwhelming, the wet glide of your cock slipping in and out against his tender velvety walls was simply too much for his mind to be able to comprehend, hips jerking as his second orgasm built up rapidly, like a can of soda that had been shaken up and was just waiting for someone to pop the tap.

He heard the sound of the cuffs clicking off before he felt the fuzzy material sliding off his wrists, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers together, pinning his hands down on the mattress to fuck him with all the womanly strength left in you, sending the silicone as deep and hard into your angelic boyfriend as your body would possibly allow for. Scud’s head involuntarily dropped right down onto the blankets, whimpers and broken moans tumbling past his lips as he tightly squeezed your fingers, so close to the edge that this time he really could taste it.

“Please momma, please, please– fuuck, please” Scud helplessly babbled, needily pushing back to meet your thrusts as he was so fucking close, so close that he’d almost do anything just to cum, not that there was much to do considering he was already crashing down the hill, just needing a few more rough thrusts of your hips before his tap was finally popped, an explosion of fizzy stickiness exploding right in his gut, his second orgasm spilling right into the already soiled underwear, seeping through and dripping down onto the floor.

Scud went totally limp where he laid face down on the bed, breathing heavily as he twitched and tried to come down from such an earth shattering high, whining softly when you pulled out.

Tiny kisses were planted all over his face, neck, and shoulders, you gently brushing his hair out his face and unsticking it from his sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

Scud nodded, with his eyes half-lidded and a content smile tugging at his lips. “Mhmm”

“Did you learn your lesson?” You asked, pulling the bra strap and letting it snap against Scud’s flesh, a small grunt leaving him as his skin burned. “Yes ma’am…” He grumbled out, feet dangling off the bed.

You smiled softly, kissing him right below his eye. “Good baby. Now let’s get you all squeaky clean and cozy for bed, then we can find a way to put our special show on the TV for only our eyes to see” You said with a hint of mischief in your tone, reaching for the camcorder and stopping your recording once and for all.

Whoa. Did Norman fucking reedus just fucking finish something. Did Normam fucking reedus just post something. Whoa. How crazy even is that.

ANYWAYS 😝 yes guys I still love Scud he's still my angel boy and be always will be I love the part of the fic where my peenar goes inside his body thats the best part hands down I love to fuck men with my lady peenar

One fic at a time guys 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I have a few others that eeerm should get posted soon… dont get your hopes up (because mine are already up and that's a problem)

IF YOU SEE TYPOS NO UOU DONNNT 😭 MY GRAMMARLY IS ON MY COMPUTER AND THE APP IS GARBAGE ON MY PHONE PLEASE STOP THIS MADNESS

I was gonna end this with the cam corder MaGiCaLlYy disappearing 👁️ but that's for another fic 🙂‍↕️ (that ill end up never writing)

253 notes · View notes

7975348473 · 1 month ago

Text

Bury Your Past.

———————————————— A Rohan Angst Fic. (Desi style) Timeline: During the Grandest Game Includes: Rohan x Savannah, Rohan and Lyra (sibling dynamic), Lyra x Grayson Slight gore. ————————————————

“Congrats fellow contestants, you have made it to the next stage of The Grandest Game!!”

Rohan tried to keep his focus on, the ever so dramatic, Alexander Hawthorne instead of a certain blonde girl.

Savannah had been throwing Rohan in and out of orbit from the very beginning of the game and saying he actually enjoyed it would be a major understatement.

“For this level, you will be paired into groups of two.” Avery Grambs continued.

Rohan’s gaze betrayed him, though, because he immediately looked to Savannah from across the room at the mention of a pair.

And, to Rohan’s pleasant surprise, her gaze also found his before quickly looking away.

Rohan almost smirked.

He knew chances of them both actually being on the same team were in the negatives, mostly because Jameson Hawthorne took a liking in tormenting him.

He was immediately proven right.

“For duo one,” Jameson began, “Brady Daniels and Savannah Grayson.”

Rohan looked to Jameson and he could swear Jameson’s eyes were alight with something that could only be described as trouble.

Is he trying to make me jealous?, Rohan thought to himself as he glanced over to Brady, who was making casual conversation with Savannah.

It’s working.

“For duo two— Rohan and Lyra.”

Now that was peculiar.

Rohan met Lyra’s gaze and they both assessed one another.

Lyra Catalina Kane. Her posture is confident, flawless almost. She’s definitely a dancer.

The game masters informed everyone of their groups before moving on to the details.

“This game is quite simple, and who passes depends on how well you entertain us.” Jameson began.

“You will find a puzzle waiting for you in a room specially designed for it. Once solved, you’ll receive a file with a specific topic.” Avery continued.

“The challenge is, you will have to put together a proper performance to showcase said topic within the given time limit.” Xander said, wiggling his fingers for effect.

A collective murmur broke out among the contestants.

A performance? Thats easy, Rohan thought. He practically put on a performance at The Mercy every other day.

The trick was to control the audience.

“But there’s a catch kids.” Said Nash, his Texas drawl on full display, “the only time you will be working together is when you are deciding on the performance.”

Silence followed.

“Which means, only one player will solve the puzzle and only one player will perform.” Nash explained.

That… actually complicated things.

The game was designed in such a way that the two players would work separately but still have to depend on each other .

If the person solving the puzzle took too long, they wouldn’t be able to put together a proper performance.

Rohan began to think out who would do what in his group.

“Of course, we have already decided who will do what.” Jameson said, making Rohan pause. He could practically hear Jameson’s smirk.

They gave everyone their roles and the teams were then dispatched to find their puzzle.

“Rohan, you have to be quick to crack the code.” Lyra said, breaking the silence once they reached the room.

“Don’t worry about it, darling. I’m good at quick.”

Lyra didn’t look so sure as Rohan stepped into the puzzle room.

They had exactly 24 hours before the stage officially ended— before they had to perform.

Rohan looked around the puzzle room, calculating his next move.

Two hours, Rohan promised himself and then he went for it.

——————————————————

One hour, twenty six minutes and thirty eight seconds.

Rohan would have felt giddy about finishing before his set time if it weren’t for the fact that it was almost too easy.

As if it wasn’t the puzzle they should have been worrying about, but the performance.

Rohan strode to the huge ballroom, where Lyra and him had agreed to meet.

Lyra jumped up off her seat when she saw him walk through the door.

“You’re done already??” She said, and Rohan could tell that she was worrying about the same thing.

Too quick. Too easy.

Rohan simply showed her the file he had obtained in reply.

Lyra raised a brow at him before plopping back down and signalling for him to sit down too.

Rohan did. Lyra snatched the file from his hand and ripped it open.

“Woah there kitty, calm down.” Rohan said.

If he was being honest, he only wanted to see how Lyra would react to the nickname he had come up with, inspired by her middle name.

Rohan was not disappointed.

The vivid glare she sent his way was plenty satisfying.

“Do not call me that.”

“Why not? I think it suits your personality quite well.”

“If you do not shut up, I will have your tongue.”

“Oof- bettered shut up then.”

Lyra rolled her eyes and Rohan gave a small smile in return.

She’s fun.

An immense sense of nostalgia suddenly hit Rohan. It was too sudden, he hadn’t seen it coming.

And he was never caught off guard.

Rohan quickly calmed his senses, focusing on the matter at hand.

“The file says we have to make a performance on the classical dance/s of India.” He said.

Lyra looked up at him, “You opened it without me?”

“Of course.”

“Bastard.”

“Kitty.”

Rohan could swear he heard a small ‘fuck you’ but he’d ignore that for now.

“Of India??” She asked, while reading the file. Rohan nodded.

“Wait— you’re half Indian right?” She looked up at him, Rohan didn’t deign that with a response.

“You have the skin tone, and the name.” She didn’t seem to stop.

“I might be genetically half Indian but I am purely British at the heart and soul. Sorry to disappoint.” He said, which was true.

Rohan remembered nothing of his childhood in India. Nothing of his family or home. Just one memory.

A memory he did not appreciate having.

Lyra shot him a skeptical look, Rohan replied with a smile that said ‘do not pry further or else.’

Either Lyra didn’t take the hint or she didn’t care.

“Still, you must know something about the topic??” She said.

Rohan took one mini second to calm himself before replying, “Unfortunately, I don't. I'm guessing you don't know much either then?”

A smug expression broke out on Lyra's face as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her hands, “Now, I didn't say that did I?”

As it turns out, Lyra was a dancer. A ballerina, to be more specific. But she had pursued many different dance styles before she settled for ballet. And they were in luck that Kathak just happened to be one of them.

“Kathak?” He asked.

“Kathak.” She affirmed.

Rohan flipped the word over in his head when Lyra spoke up, “Um- wait. There's something else written in the file-”

Rohan waited for her to read it aloud. When she didn't, he simply took the file from her hands.

Oh.

No wonder Lyra didn't read it, the phrase was written in a different script- a different language.

घर मोरे परदेसिया

Rohan knew that text. He knew that language.

He ran his fingers over the words as he closed his eyes, skimming through his memories- trying to find something useful.

“Do you have a pen? Or anything to write with.” Rohan asked, as a memory began to surface. She pulled a pen out and handed it to him.

Rohan wrote on his hand.

Ghar More Pardesiya

He stared at what he had written for a few moments.

Rohan had been taught from the moment he'd joined The Mercy to learn to let go. Let go of his attachments, and most importantly, to let go of his past.

To act as if his Indian nationality didn't exist.

The last thing he was expecting was to remember something of it.

“So, do we know what... this means?” Rohan asked, pushing away his thoughts habitually.

Lyra stared at his hand for a second before her eyes turned alight, “Oh my gosh! Ghar More Pardesiya! Its a song!”

Rohan couldn't help but smile at her pronunciation. Lyra glared at him.

“As if you could pronounce it any better, British bastard.”

She had a point. Rohan could not pronounce it properly. But it still sounded funny for some reason. As if some part of him still remembered how to properly say it.

That was when a tile suddenly disappeared, leaving an opening in the floor. Out of it came a seemingly ancient music player, a music disc, a dress and some weird rope with a lot of... bells on it?

Rohan eyed the weird things as Lyra went to grab it, mumbling something like, “Leave it to the Hawthornes to have a removable tile in their floor.”

They took the appliances and set them on a table.

“So, the game plan is for me to make up a choreography with what little I remember of Kathak and for you to?” Lyra asked.

“For me to watch and criticize you” Rohan replied with a smile.

Lyra rolled her eyes.

“Do you know what that rope-thing is? An instrument?” It was Rohan's turn to ask this time.

Lyra gave him an unimpressed look, “They're called ghungaroo, kind of like anklets but for dancers only.” She explained.

Rohan had no idea how she would wear that... ghungaroo, without it falling off or something but Lyra didn't seem worried.

Rohan inserted the disc in the music player and the music began to play, he took a seat while Lyra walked on over to the middle of the room.

She stood in one place, oddly still as the music played.

Rohan had seen many people through out his life in The Mercy, many people who were going through possibly the shittiest moments in their lives.

So he knew immediately the expression Lyra had on her face. He recognized it out of habit.

She's hesitating.

Rohan could tell Lyra was a dancer, anybody with two eyes could, actually. It was in the way she moved, so why was she hesitating to dance now? To let go like her body wanted to?

Rohan knew they didn't have time for this, "Lyra."

He said it as a reminder, to drag her back to the present.

Lyra met his eyes and for the first time since Rohan had met her, she looked slightly vulnerable.

"You know what's at stake here." Rohan said, his voice grave.

Lyra's gaze did not waver for even a moment as she levelled him with her eyes alone, "That I do, bastard."

She turned away from him and closed her eyes, seemingly isolating herself. Just her and the music.

Suddenly she smacked her feet hard against the ground, but it didn't produce a pounding sound. No, it sounded sharp, tight- like a slap to the ground.

Incredibly satisfying.

Rohan watched as she began to twirl- once, twice, then faster. She pushed off the ground with one feet and spun on the heel of the other.

Something about the scene felt all to familiar to Rohan, almost like coming home. And that threw him off.

He had no home.

Rohan took a deep breath in order to try and steady his thoughts.

You are in control. He said mentally, an order.

Yet he couldn't help but lose himself to the music, to the familiar pattern of the way Lyra was twirling and moving. It was almost like the memory demanded its presence be known.

"Goddammit." Lyra whispered, which broke Rohan's train of thoughts.

Lyra had been trying to spin on beat for the last few minutes but couldn't get it right.

Rohan observed as she tried again, ever so relentless.

The pattern she was following was quite simple- one half spin and then two full turns. But it didn't sit right with the beat.

"Try two half-spins, take one second to catch your breathe, and then do the two full spins." Rohan spoke before he could process his words himself. Lyra froze too before turning to him.

Lyra's eyes seemed to ask the same question he had in mind.

How do you know, Rohan?

She saved him the trouble of thinking up an answer. The music began to play again and this time she tried his way.

Half-spin, half-spin, pause. Spin, spin, stop.

It fit perfectly and Lyra met his eyes looking down right delirious. Her smile was surprisingly contagious, because Rohan caught himself giving her a small smile to.

And then the immense sense of nostalgia hit him again.

Get a grip. He gave himself a mental warning.

And so Rohan watched as Lyra danced, repeating the choreography over and over again until she looked like a seasoned Kathak dancer.

By the end of it all, Rohan reached a singular conclusion.

We are not going to lose.

————————————————————

Rohan was now seated in the other huge dance room, where all the contestants were expected to meet once the time was up.

Lyra was changing into her costume while he waited. And, of course, he passed his time in the new way he found quite appealing.

Staring at Savannah Grayson.

It seemed Brady was going to do the performing for the two and judging by the way Savannah looked just about read to commit genocide, Rohan concluded that they were not prepared.

I'm afraid I cannot relate, Savvy.

That was when Grayson Hawthorne approached him.

"Rohan." He greeted.

“Grayson Hawthorne, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rohan asked.

“I was wondering where Lyra might be?” Grayson replied, his tone giving nothing away.

Oh? Well, this is certainly interesting.

“And why are you worried about my partner?” Rohan asked, exaggerating the last bit.

He took quite a liking to testing people’s patience.

“Why I’m looking for a contestant is none of your business .” Grayson replied coldly, noticeably replacing the ‘my partner’ phase.

Rohan was beyond entertained.

That was when Lyra chose to walk in and all eyes turned to her.

She was now wearing the dress she had received earlier. It nearly touched her ankles and moved at the lightest sway of her body.

But if her gaze met Grayson’s, Rohan didn’t realize.

No, Rohan was now too focused on something else. A sound.

With every step Lyra took, a soft jingling sound followed.

The ghungaroo.

Rohan didn’t like how that sound seemed to reach deep into his soul and tug. He took a steadying breath.

Get a grip. Now. Rohan was beyond frustrated with himself, he had been out of it since the start of this stage.

If he kept this up, The Mercy would slip from his hands as well as his life.

“Hi asshole.” Lyra greeted Grayson first, he took a second before replying.

“You look nice.”

Lyra looked slightly taken aback but Rohan was not about to third wheel.

“Hello to you too, kitty-”

“Stupid British Bastard. If you call me that one more time, I swear to the heavens above, I will commit murder.”

The look Lyra was giving him only seemed to further tell Rohan that she would do just that. With no hesitation.

But it was the weird face Grayson was making that Rohan found amusing.

“Good evening everyone!! I believe all the contestants are here now, so lets begin.” Declared Avery.

And so the show began. It started with Savannah and Brandy, he was performing a comedy show of some sort.

No one was laughing though. Rohan wasn't sure if it was because the comedian was humorless or the audience was.

The performances kept going until, alas, it was their turn.

“You’ll do well.” Said Rohan, his own way of saying good luck. Not giving them the choice of going wrong.

Lyra glanced back at him, “I don’t do well with orders.” Before walking to stage.

The ghungaroo sounded again. Steady and sharp.

The music, so familiar to the both of them now, began to play and Lyra immediately lost herself to it.

But this time there was something different, something off-putting. The more he stared at Lyra's dance, the more he felt it.

Breathe.

Rohan felt the ground beneath his feet disappear as he quickly took a seat on a nearby chair. He tried to steady his breathe.

What is this? A panic attack?

He fought to gain control of himself before everything blacked out.

————————————————————

“Rohan!”

A woman shouted from somewhere behind him. Her accent was slightly different, though. She called him ‘Ro-hun’ instead of ‘Row-haan’.

It felt comforting.

“What is it, maiya?”

That wasn’t English, not even close. And what, rather who, is ‘maiya’?

“Come here quickly, your janak will be home soon!” The ‘Maiya’ character replied.

What in the world did ‘janak’ mean?

Little Rohan raced towards the voice and there stood a beautiful woman. She shared Rohan’s features from the jet black hair to the deep brown eyes.

Rohan was a stunning copy of her.

“Janak is coming home?! Really??” Asked the little boy, sounding far too enthusiastic.

The woman smiled in response, “Yes. He is.”

Rohan’s mood suddenly changed, “But maiya, janak said I should have learned English by the time he returns—”

The rest of the sentence was left unspoken.

It seemed that little Rohan still couldn’t speak any other language apart from the foreign one he was speaking in.

“Don’t worry, Rohan. He will be perfectly happy just to see you and your sister, but if you want to satisfy his wishes then… just call him father.” She replied.

Rohan’s brows scrunched up, “F-father?”

Maiya smiled, “Yes, father.”

————————————————————

“Oh my god, would you hurry bhaiya??” Screeched a little girl.

Rohan recognised that endearment. ‘Bhaiya’, in other words, elder brother.

“Shut up Rukmini, I’m ready.” Rohan snapped. Snapping at the girl came so easily to young Rohan, one would think it was his hobby.

Rukmini, with her curly black hair and brown eyes, beamed at her brother before taking his hand and pulling him along.

“Why are you so excited?? It’s literally just Durga Puja.” Rohan asked, though he sounded more pissed than curious.

“Exactly. Its Durga Puja. We get to pray to the holy mother,” Rukmini turned to Rohan before continuing.

“That, andddddd maiya is going to be performing.”

Rohan’s entire demeanour changed with that one statement, “What?! Maiya’s performing?” He practically screamed.

Rukmini nodded excitedly.

And soon, it was Rohan that was dragging the two towards the mandir.

(A/N: Mandir means temple :D, where the puja/praying happens.)

————————————————————

Rohan had never been enamored by anything excluding two moments of his life. Meeting his father for the first time and when his little sister was born.

But watching his mother wear her ghungaroo for the first time was an other worldly experience in its own.

“Maiya, will you show me how you dance today?” Rohan asked, looking up to his mother with glowing eyes.

The woman gave him a soft smile, “Yes I will.”

Rohan quickly fled to the side of the room and took a seat, bracing himself for the beauty he was sure he’d see soon.

And he was immediately proven right.

Rohan’s mother was a Kathak dancer, and she moved like the wind itself.

It was as if the world fell into her control as she danced, with her dress moving only when she wanted and the air somehow making the dance more enchanting.

But it wasn’t just the dance that mesmerized Rohan, it was the beautiful jingling noise that followed. The sharp tinkling of her ghungaroo.

He stared at her feet as she spun over and over again.

Her hands conveyed their own story as she moved while her expressions changed every time the music did.

When she finally stopped, Rohan asked, “Maiya, are you an apsara? Do you dance in Indra’s court?”

Apsaras, celestial dancers who dance in god’s court.

Rohan’s mother laughed heartily, “No Rohan, of course not. Though, your sister might be~” She teased.

It seems she knew how Rukmini always managed to annoy Rohan.

“Rukmini?? No way!”

——————————————————

Rohan sat on the floor with Rukmini in his arms, sobbing.

He was glaring at the door, or rather the voices coming from the other side.

“You cannot do this to us. We are family, Krish!” Rohan recognised that voice as his mothers.

She, too, sounded like she had been crying. That only made Rohan’s anger bubble up more.

“I have to do this, Lakshmi. Please. You have to understand.” The unknown man reasoned with her.

“Understand?! Understand what? You have went and put our children’s lives on the line! You’re their janak for heavens sake!!” A broken sob escaped her lips as she finished the sentence.

Rukmini only seemed to cry more after that and Rohan tightened his hold on her.

He wouldn’t cry. Not for the likes of that man.

“Its for the better good, Lakshmi, please.” The man said, but this time he wasn’t pleading.

He sounded more demanding this time, as if he was tired of explaining to her. As if he was tired of her.

A cold silence followed before Lakshmi, Rohan’s mother, met Krish’s eyes.

“Get out.” She said.

The man stood there looking blankly at her, “Lakshmi, wha-”

“I SAID GET OUT!!” She yelled, her tone so sharp it could cut stones.

Rukmini turned her head to Rohan’s chest and held onto him for dear life. Rohan felt his own eyes burning.

There was silence and then the smashing of glass.

Rohan’s blood ran cold and Rukmini went numb in his arms.

“You dare try to throw me out of my own house?! The audacity-”

Rohan didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He couldn’t.

All he remembered was the emotion he was feeling, the rush that was flowing through his veins for the first time.

Real, raw bloodlust.

The memory was extremely vague and blurry.

All he could remember was snapping out of his trance on top of his ‘janak’. Rohan held a bloodied glass bottle in one hand and his other rested on his father’s neck.

He had murdered a man.

Rukmini had taken hold of his hand and was begging him to stop while his mother stood on the other side.

A trail of blood ran down the side of her face and she looked shocked, destroyed.

It was that look on his mother’s face that finally got him crying.

‘I killed my own father. My mother’s hurt. Rukmini’s crying.’ He thought over and over again until finally one theory prevailed.

‘I’m a monster.’

And then Rukmini was hugging him.

—————————————————————

“Maiya? What are you doing up?” Asked Rohan, who was half asleep.

His mother’s eyes looked blank. Emotionless. Her normal comforting spark gone.

“This is for the better, Rohan.” She said finally. Her gaze finding his before landing on Rukmini.

“Its better for you, beta.” She repeated.

‘Beta’, son.

Rohan rubbed his half closed eyes and yawned, “What do you mean, maiya?”

She simply wrapped him up in her arms and gave him a soft smile. Lulling him back to sleep, gently.

“Maa~” Said Rohan, his eyes closed.

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

There was no reply.

———————————————————

Rohan remembered feeling a rhythmic rocking while he was asleep. As if someone was walking with him in their arms.

Then he heard the humming, the familiar tune his mother always hummed.

His mother was there. He was safe.

Right?

She walked slowly, almost too lightly on her feet. He heard her ghungaroo then.

Why was she wearing them now? Where was Rukmini?

The humming never seized.

Not while she walked with him in her arms, not when they came to an abrupt stop, not when he touched the water, not when everything seemed too dark.

Not when he sunk lower and lower, not when his chest constricted, not when he tried to cry for help.

Not when he stopped breathing.

Despite it all, Rohan remembered only one thing.

'I'm a monster. A devil.'

And some part of him whispered.

"You deserve this."

——————————————————

“Rohan?”

Ro-hun.

“Rohan!!”

Ro-hun,

“ROHAN!!”

Row-haan.

Rohan jolted awake, his eyes wide open as he quickly sat up. He was breathing hard, and his gaze was unfocused.

What was that? What the fuck?

He felt like he was drowning all over again.

“Eyes on me, British.” Savannah Grayson. Rohan's eyes met her beautiful grey ones and he felt some air return to his lungs.

His brain finally caught up with his surroundings, his current situation.

All eyes were on him. The Game Masters all stood to one side, slightly shocked by Rohan's sudden awakening. Savannah stood on the other, she held his hand in hers and her eyes looked... glassy almost?

Grayson stood not too far from Savannah, assessing Rohan's state and Lyra stood at the end of the bed he was laying in, looking worried.

Rohan mentally cursed himself. If the proprietor saw him like this- so vulnerable, in front of an entire crowd, he could kiss The Devil's Mercy goodbye.

Time to get my head back in the game.

He turned to Savannah, “Savvy, love, I understand you like me, but you're strangling my hand.”

Everybody looked absolutely dumbfounded. What was wrong with this guy??

Savannah immediately let go of his hand and stomped out of, what he could now tell was, his room.

Lyra sent him a glare of her own before exiting the room as well. Everyone gave their condolences and asked their questions before following suit.

The moment everyone was gone Rohan collapsed on his bed again, laying on his back with his hands spread out beside him.

He tried to sort out his thoughts.

Krish. Lakshmi, and most of all, Rukmini.

Are they still alive? Is Rukmini alright? Does she even remember me? Does mai- no. Does Lakshmi miss me?

Rohan took a deep breath as the words of the proprietor repeated in his mind, “Bury the past, Rohan.”

He calls me Row-haan. No. Bury the past. Bury it.

Rohan took a sharp breath. He would bury the past as he had done from the age of five.

He would remain in control, he would win this game, and he would have The Mercy.

Yet, as he turned off the light in his room and closed his eyes, he could hear the faint sound of somebody humming and the jingling of ghungaroos.

Rohan silenced his mind, putting a stop to the delusional noises he was hearing, but one thought remained.

Why, why, why?

————————————————— OKAY. Honestly, I kind of went overboard with the whole thing- I didn't plan on this much lore. ToT (does this count as a cliffhanger??-) Idk where the plot went either?? But, I think its a good read. (PLS TELL ME IT WAS GOOD AH- I WORKED LIT DAYS ON THIS.)

The original plot was just abt Rohan- Lyra's sibling dynamic, and Kathak awakening smth in him. The lore? Completely additional- just came with the flow.

ANYWAYS, PLS READ - @lyrakanefanatic @inkstainsonmyfingertips @musiwashere @alwaysthefangirl etc.

PS If any of u are interested in Kathak, heres a Kathak choreo on the song mentioned in the fic :DD (The song is a banger btw, do listen.)

((The dance is not mine ofc, credits to Ankita di)

70 notes · View notes

mothhball · 2 months ago

Note

Raymond Leon

Vodka

Melon

Tabasco sauce to Cranberry Juice (🧍‍♀️)

Cocktail onions (I think the only way he can die is ran out of time idk?)

thanks!!

Occupational Hazard

Raymond Leon x fem Reader

summary short fic + smut + angry sex to confessing feelings + ❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

warnings SMUT!!! semi-clothed sex, sex on top of a car lmao, handcuffed Reader, one (1) spank, Ray is worried and that pisses him off, unprotected PiV sex, cursing, light choking, a little bit of a condescending attitude towards Reader

notes i- i meant to write like 500 words, but this got out of HAND and I'm terribly sorry for taking so long. :( i'm still working through all the requests!!!! they WILL get done!!! also I haven't written smut in a hot minute, so 🫠

! MINORS DNI !

event masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 2.6k

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you spat as soon as you were released from the interior of Raymond’s car which had been your metal prison for the past 45 minutes.

45 agonizingly slow minutes during which he didn’t say a single word to you. No explanations as to why he suddenly showed up to pick a fight and arrest you, no apology for slamming you onto the hood of his First Gen Dodge Challenger in front of the people you were supposed to blend in with. You never expected much from him to begin with, but this had been a new low.

You were supposed to be coworkers, for fuck’s sake.

Now, he had parked both of you in the middle of nowhere, almost making you think that he did it so you could finally curse at him at full volume.

“I’m gonna kill you, Leon, I swear –”

“You? Kill me? That's funny.”

His first sentence in almost an hour, and you were already fuming. Maybe you really were going to do it. Your grumbling was cut short when he got out of the car and stepped around to the back seat to pull you along with him. Back to the hood it was, this time face up so you could properly glare at him.

“You’re off the case,” he said, staring down at you with a storm raging behind his eyes. There was a tension in his shoulders, one that he usually lacked. Even in stressful situations, he usually had everything under strict control, including himself. But right now, his jaw was tight. You, on the other hand, were an open book compared to him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hissed. “I just gained their trust! A few more weeks and they’d tell me the location of the stolen time capsules!”

A scoff was your only reply, prompting you to aim a kick at Raymond’s shoulder. Which, to your surprise, he seemed to have been anticipating. His fingers closed around your ankle, hiking your leg up along with it while he planted his other hand on the hood of the car — effectively caging you in.

Suddenly, he was close. So close that you could catch a whiff of his delicious cologne, and he only leaned in further.

“You won’t be going back to those thieves,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your hairline which caused an exquisite shiver to run down the length of your spine. “You’re not tough enough to be undercover for this long.”

You bristled, tongue swiping over your teeth as you met his challenge head-on.

“Then take off the handcuffs and I’ll show you just how feisty I really am.”

Raymond’s brow twitched upwards and his grip tightened around your ankle. He almost took the bait. Almost let himself be drawn in and scorched whole by the fire in your eyes. But this was his game and you’d play by his rules. At least for now.

“I don’t think I will.”

His free hand wandered over to your waist, pulling you up a little higher to let you rest more comfortably on the car. Well, as comfortable as you could be with your hands linked together behind your back.

Looming over you, his touch trailed up your stomach and came to rest on your cheek, palm cupping your burning skin.

“In fact, I think this is for your own good,” he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip as his gaze met yours again. “Trust me, I’ve seen enough of your type. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed until they show up with a bullet between their pretty eyes.”

The proximity between your bodies felt electric, stealing the breath from your lungs as you tried to concentrate on his words and not the feeling of him nudging his hips against yours ever so slightly.

“You haven’t seen all of me yet,” you replied, and his eyes narrowed as his lips pulled up into a smile.

“Fair point.”

Raymond leaned back, flicking his fingers against the zipper of your jacket before he slowly pulled it down. Letting the garment fall open, he trailed his fingertips down your sternum, and even though there was a layer of fabric separating skin from skin, you could feel the sparks he left behind on your flesh. Sparks that traveled lower along with his hand until they settled in the pit of your body like burning coals.

As he grasped the hem of your shirt, he paused to look back up at your face, and you were confused for a moment before it clicked. He was asking for permission. You didn’t need to think much about it.

Parting your legs a little more, you silently allowed him to go further. And he did.

Raymond was on you in the next second, capturing your lips in a heated, feverish kiss that bordered on furious. Something deeper was bothering him, and he expressed it through his tongue and teeth, mapping out your mouth and luring sweet little sighs and moans from your throat. He kissed you like he only had minutes left on his clock, like he was trying to savor every second of your lush body beneath his own.

Pulling back only to yank up your shirt, Ray cursed under his breath at the sight of your pretty tits almost spilling out of the bra you wore. It was strange to see him lose his composure like that, especially since said piece was nothing to write home about. You opted for comfort and functionality during your time undercover, so a ratty sports bra had to do. The glint in his eyes and the way he white-knuckled the fabric as he pulled it up said enough about his level of enthusiasm, however.

As soon as your boobs were free, Raymond bent over you to lick and nip at your soft skin while his hands eagerly tugged off your sweatpants to finally get to your pussy. Groaning in approval at the wetness between your thighs, he trailed his fingers up your slit, slicking them up before he sank two of them into you.

Your moan trailed off into a squeak as he immediately set a quick pace, aiming to prep you as quickly as possible to grant both of you the relief you so desperately needed. You arched beneath him, cuffed hands curling into fists in search of something to hold on to while he worked his fingers in and out of your dripping core.

Fuck, you could hear how much you needed him, and he could too, visibly reveling in the effect he had on you. Raymond’s brows were furrowed, his pupils blown out as he stared down at you, watching every twitch in your expression with a keen laser focus to find all of your weak points.

And he was a fast learner.

A gasp hitched in your throat as his fingers scoped out that deliciously sweet spot that had your face twisting with pleasure.

“Right there?” he scoffed against your skin, pulling out of your pussy.

Your attempted protest was cut short when he pressed his wet fingers down on your tongue, making you taste yourself as he unzipped his pants to free his already leaking cock. How he could keep the tremble out of his voice while in this state was beyond you.

Feeling testy and impatient, you lightly bit down on his fingers, earning yourself a swift spank to your cunt. Your muffled moan vibrated against his fingers in your mouth, and he used his grip on your head to keep you still.

“Behave,” he groaned, already grinding his length against you to lube himself up. “Behave and look at me.”

The ache melted away with every inch of his cock that he shoved into your cunt, and the growl that slipped past his clenched teeth ran across your heated skin like silk. Slipping his fingers free from between your lips, Raymond wrapped his hand around your throat instead, feeling the thump of your pulse against his palm as your eyes met his again.

Once he bottomed out inside of you, the two of you shared a sigh of relief, and Raymond’s other hand settled on your hip to pull you closer against him. It was already hard to concentrate on your end. Not only was this man pretty and way too smug, his dick was perfect as well.

“Not so feisty now, are you?” His chuckle made you frown, and you grit your teeth, wrapping your leg around his hip to kick the back of his knee with the heel of your foot. Stumbling forward, he caught himself on top of you, his cock still buried inside of you.

“Fuck you,” you spat, delighted by the way his nostrils flared and his fingers twitched around your neck.

“Gladly.”

The first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs. Immediately, you could tell that you bit off way more than you could chew. Raymond’s pace was relentless, fueled by the needy moans and mindless babble he fucked out of you every time he slammed his cock back into your weeping cunt. His hips collided with yours again and again, sending the impact through your entire body as his fingers sank into the plush flesh of your hip.

His hand around your neck also didn’t relent, occasionally tightening its grip to reduce the flow of blood to your brain. You felt like you were floating, helplessly bouncing under him as he fucked into you.

“That’s it, huh? Look at you,” he growled low in his throat, tipping his head back as his eyes fell shut. “You’re helpless like this. Already fucked stupid and we barely even started—”

Even with heavy, half-lidded eyes, you could see the grimace that suddenly settled on his face, and his thrusts became even rougher. He was absolutely livid all of a sudden, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t your fault this time.

“Raymond— Wait, fuck— Ray!” you gasped, trying to get your braincells to cooperate with one another. A tearless sob shot out from between your lips as he picked up your legs to fold them towards your chest instead, and your mind blanked for a few delicious seconds as he hit even deeper.

“Helpless. A target. A bleeding-hearted rookie,” he continued, his frown deepening. “They’ll eat you alive and spit you back out once they’re done with you.”

His choking grip tightened, and you let out a breathless squeal as the tension in your core wound tighter and tighter and—

His hips suddenly stilled against yours as he released your throat, and you whined at the loss off the exquisite friction that almost dragged you over the edge just seconds ago. About to complain, you opened your mouth, only for the words to die on your tongue when you saw Raymond’s expression. Blown out pupils, messy hair, but his eyes were softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him. For the first time, the high and mighty Raymond Leon looked truly hapless.

“I want you off the streets. Immediately.”

His voice was breathy, labored from fucking you and the maelstrom of emotions clashing within him.

You could only blink up at him, confused and a little suspicious at his sudden switch. Raymond sighed, lowering himself to gently press his forehead against yours. As you both stayed quiet and started to catch your breath again, he traced gentle circles into your hip with his thumb. After a heavy moment of silence, he attempted to speak up.

“It’s too dangerous. What if you –“ He swallowed hard, cutting himself off and abandoning this first attempt.

“What if I..?” you softly urged, afraid that speaking too loudly might’ve shattered this fragile bubble of vulnerability that he was allowing himself to exist in.

“I can’t lose you.”

“Lose me?”

He sighed, turning his head away to stare off into the distance. Alright, keep your secrets, then.

But then, he forced himself to elaborate.

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me,” he admitted, still refusing to look at you. “You’re the only one who’s not just a badge or a file on my desk.”

Oh. Ohh. That certainly explained it.

“Ray,” you started, silently cursing the fact that your hands were still cuffed because you wanted to reach out to him, to touch him and pull him out of his worries. “You’re not going to lose me. I know what I’m doing.”

“You might. But the others don’t.”

He groaned and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth.

“You might get into a shootout or a car crash because one of those criminals,” he huffed, his grip tightening on your hip once more. “Or the group you’re scoping out suddenly gets into trouble with another. There are too many risks and very few rewards. We’re only looking for a few missing years, after all.”

“Ray,” you said, but he was still ranting about it. “Hey, Raymond.”

Still nothing. Change of strategy.

Lifting your hips, you began to move against him, fucking yourself on his cock in an effort to coax him closer again. And it worked. Like a magnet, he was drawn to you, meeting your eyes once more and softening at the sight of you. With a sigh, he leaned over you, wrapping his arms around your body to hold you close and keep the pressure off your hands.

“Trust me,” you breathed against his lips. “Please, trust me, Ray.”

“I do,” he promised, stealing another kiss from you that lit your insides on fire. He was softer this time, less frantic and hurried as he held you with a reverence you’ve never seen from him before. This was him beneath the coat and badge. The Raymond beneath the Timekeeper title.

With his lips still moving against yours, his hips picked up in rhythm again, working together with you to get you back up to the edge you craved. His tongue licked against yours, exploring playfully until the lack of oxygen caused you to flutter and clench around him, and he pulled back to kiss and bite up your throat.

“There you go. Take what you need,” he murmured into your ear, pressing one of his hands between both your bodies to draw circles around your clit. The noise that you made in response had him gritting his teeth in an attempt to reign himself in.

“Ray,” you gasped, and he nodded in response, feeling it to. How beautifully you shuddered, how your thighs around his hips urged him to go faster, harder.

“Let go. I’ve got you.”

And those were the magic words. With another press of his thumb against your clit, you came undone for him, unraveling under the warm wave of a blissful climax. Raymond cursed and groaned under his breath, fucking you through your peak until he felt [] He pulled out of you, frantically thrusting into his fist until he spilled his cum between your thighs and over the sleek black paintjob of his vehicle. Oh, well.

Panting, he released your legs, to dig a set of keys out of the pocket of his coat, and he helped you to sit up so he could finally free you again. With a careless motion, he tossed the cuffs aside and pulled you close, kissing your hairline before he took your hands in his.

For a blissful moment, neither of you spoke. Even though he didn’t outright say anything about the fundamental shift in the dynamic between you, his actions and the look in his eyes were proof enough.

“I’ll get you a nice desk job at the agency,” he murmured, gently massaging your wrists to get the circulation back.

“Ray—" you groaned, definitely not excited at the thought of sitting around all day, but as you turned your head away, he gently nudged your chin to bring your gaze back to his face.

“And a nice raise.”

“… I’m listening.”

#cillian murphy x reader #raymond leon x reader #in time #cillian murphy #x reader #.moth writes #mothh500

87 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 1 year ago

Note

i just read your sae fic and it was absolutely amazing, gorgeous, life-changjng! and when i went on to check your masterlist for bllk, i was shocked when you were the one who wrote the nagi x reader x kira fic bc I've been following it for a while and then i immediately tapped the follow button :x but if you can (only when you have the time and energy), can you write rin whose family is a host for exchange student! reader from another country? it could be hs or college, depending on whichever you're comfortable with. thank you <33

Synopsis: You are one hundred percent convinced that Rin Itoshi hates you — and he does, but not exactly in the way you think.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Rin x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: cheesy and cliched asf, otoya and KARASU <3 make brief appearances, rin is rude ngl but reader is as well, rin does not know what a “crush” is, he’s probably ooc as well atp i should just include that on all of my works jic

A/N: i can’t believe i started bllk because of a rin edit and yet i’ve never written for him…also i’m glad you liked seabird and peregrine anon!! thank you for following 💖 sorry it took me a min to respond to this

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

If you didn’t know that your parents would probably put you in an early grave for wasting their money, you would’ve caught the next flight back home from Japan in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, you were far too afraid of their ire, which meant you were stuck in this hostile environment until the end of the semester — assuming, of course, that you managed to survive for so long.

Over the summer, applying to your university’s special first-semester-abroad program had seemed like a good idea. You were already going to be traveling far from home to stay on campus regardless, so your reasoning was that you might as well experience a different culture while you were at it. Besides, the program claimed to pair participants with a host family that would be good fits for their personalities and needs — based on a survey, which in hindsight you really should’ve lied on — so you would be living in relative comfort, at least compared to the ancient dorms on the main campus that probably had thirty different species of mold growing on their walls.

Or, well, that had been the plan. Maybe it was even a reality for the rest of the people in the program, who had no doubt been placed in normal homes, with normal people, who had normal children and normal lives. For you, though, it could not be further from the truth — because you had had the great misfortune of being chosen to live in the same house as Rin Itoshi for the duration of your stay in Japan.

To put it simply, he hated you. He had started hating you from the moment you stepped foot into his house and put your things in his brother’s old room, and he had not stopped since. If you happened to cross paths with him, he’d scoff at you, and considering the fact that the two of you lived in the same house, this was a frequent occurrence. Whenever you tried speaking to him in Japanese, he’d wrinkle his nose and respond in English, telling you that you were so terrible at the language, you might as well give up now and move back to your country early. Once, his mother had suggested he take you to hang out with his friends, as you were all roughly the same age, and he had rolled his eyes so hard that it was a surprise they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head.

There was no doubt about it: your mere existence was a burden to Rin. You couldn’t explain it in any other way; after all, how could he have decided he disliked you before you had even spoken? So you did your best to be as helpful and kind as possible, keeping the house neat, cooking food whenever the elder Itoshis had to work late, staying silent if he happened to enter the same room as you, and offering nothing but slight smiles if you were forced into an interaction with him.

“You know,” Mrs. Itoshi began one day, as you were eating the dinner she had made for all of you. Rin was on your right, and Mr. Itoshi was across from him, his jovial face such a contrast to his son’s dour look. “Rin’s on the Japanese soccer team.”

“Wow,” you said noncommittally. You hadn’t known that; you had assumed that Rin’s hobbies involved throwing stones at unsuspecting children and tripping old ladies as they crossed the street. Soccer had been the last thing you expected, though it did explain his admittedly splendid physique. “Very impressive.”

“Not really,” Rin said.

“Why don’t you take her to watch your practice over the weekend?” Mrs. Itoshi pressed.

“She’s not interested,” Rin said. Of course, you really weren’t — why would you want to watch Rin and his friends kick around a ball for a few hours? It would be a waste of time, time that you could spend working on homework or clearing your ‘to-be-read’ list. But you also weren’t fond of people speaking for you, especially not him. He was the last person who could claim to know anything about you, so by what right could he say that you weren’t interested?

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind going,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him innocently when he glared at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression one of utter disgust and incredulity.

“There you have it! Be sure to introduce her to your teammates. I’m sure they would love to show her around,” Mrs. Itoshi said. Rin snorted.

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” he said, though when he did, it sounded different than what Mrs. Itoshi had surely meant. But you were obviously the only one who picked up on it, and you didn’t want to make dinner unpleasant, so you could only ponder what he might’ve meant in your head instead of asking him outright, as you really wanted to.

Although it was the weekend, Rin’s practice was early in the morning, before the day could really heat up and make exercising unbearable. That meant it was before even the sun’s rise that you were following after him, your books clutched in your arms as you waited at the bus stop.

“Why’re you bringing all of that?” he said when the awkward silence grew to be too much for either of you to bear.

“I’m planning on getting some homework done while I’m there,” you said.

“Why didn’t you just stay home if you wanted to do homework?” he said as the bus pulled to a stop in front of you and the doors flew open. Due to the early hour, there was almost no one else on the bus, but given your unfamiliarity with the route, you still followed after Rin, sitting across the aisle from him and putting your things on the seat beside you.

“I dunno,” you said. “I guess I wanted to meet your teammates. Since they would just love to show me around.”

“Stay away from them,” he said. “They’re a bunch of NPCs. All of them are probably the worst people you could ask to show you anywhere.”

“NPCs?” you said. “That’s pretty harsh to say about your own peers.”

“It’s not like we’re friends or anything,” he muttered, crossing his arms petulantly. “I’ll call them what I want.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” you said, massaging circles into your forehead to ward off your impending migraine. Rin raised his eyebrows.

“Got a headache?” he said, in that same clinical, detached voice he always used.

“Yeah,” you said. And you’re making it worse. You wanted to add that, but you thought it probably wouldn’t be prudent, so you kept your mouth shut.

“Don’t stay up so late on your phone, then,” he said.

“It’s the only time I can call my friends and family. They’re in a different time zone,” you explained before pausing. Why did you feel the need to justify yourself? It wasn’t like Rin particularly cared either way. He was just giving you that advice because he wanted to boss you around and be rude to you. It was a symptom of dislike, not worry.

You had imagined Rin to be an obsessively punctual person, but to your surprise, it seemed like you both were actually some of the later ones to show up. Perhaps the rest of the team was even more concerned with earliness than him, or maybe you had somehow caused him to be later than he typically was, but either way, by the time you walked onto the field, the others had already gathered, chatting amongst themselves while they waited for their coach to arrive and start the practice.

“There he is! We were beginning to think the world might’ve ended,” a boy with dark, styled hair and a beauty mark beneath his left eye said with a grin. “Nothing less could get you to miss practice, eh, Rin?”

“It still might have,” another boy said. His pale hair was streaked through with green, and he wore an inviting smirk as he pointed at you. “Yo, girl. What kind of blackmail does he have on you? Blink twice if you need help. We’ll get you out of there.”

“Um, he’s not blackmailing me or anything…” you said, glancing at Rin for aid before remembering that he would probably rather jump off of a cliff, backwards and into the jaws of a dozen waiting sharks, than help you out.

“So you’re hanging out with him willingly?” the pale-haired boy said. “Yikes. You can do much better.”

“I kind of have to hang out with him,” you said. “I’m staying with his family for the semester.”

“Oh, you’re the exchange student!” a third boy, this one with icy blue hair and wide, pretty eyes said. “We’ve heard a lot—”

“All of you, be quiet and leave her alone,” Rin said, finally, thankfully speaking up. “Otoya, don’t even look at her, or I’ll make sure you’re benched for the rest of the season.”

The pale-haired boy — Otoya? — held his hands up in the air and whistled innocently, shooting you a wink when Rin turned to address the rest of his team. You raised your eyebrows but suppressed your giggle, not wanting to condemn him to further rebuke from Rin.

“This is Y/N L/N. She’s the exchange student my family is hosting. She wanted to come watch our practice because…actually, I don’t really know why,” Rin said shortly. “But she’s just going to be doing homework on the bench, so if any of you were planning on showing off to impress her, then you can give up on that idea now.”

Otoya noticeably wilted at this, but the others didn’t seem to mind. The first boy, the one with the beauty mark and the strange hairstyle, gave Rin a thumbs up.

“Don’t worry, Rin, we’ll leave the showing off to you. It’s about time you—”

“Shut up!”

They must’ve begun practicing at some point, but you hardly took notice, too busy typing up the outline for an essay you had due in a couple of weeks to care much about what they were doing. Occasionally, someone would shout out a particularly creative insult, and you would have to pause your work to identify the trash talker in order to be able to congratulate them later, but for the most part, you were lost in your own world.

“Hey.” Just the sound of Rin’s cool voice was enough to send shivers of fear down your spine, and you hastily closed your laptop as you looked up at him. “Practice is over.”

“Okay,” you said. “Will you introduce your teammates to me now? I know you told them who I was, but I’d like to at least meet some people my own age.”

“Nope,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on, I only even came because I wanted to meet them!” you said. “Outside of school, you’re the only one I know. I get that you don’t want me infiltrating your friend group or whatever, but you literally said you don’t like these guys, so why’s it a problem if I become friends with them?”

“They’re so dull and half-baked that your opinion of this country will actually fall if you interact with them further,” he said. “This is just my national pride talking. Come on.”

You stomped after him. What was his problem? He didn’t want to be nice to you, but he also didn’t want anyone else to, either. Was he that determined to make you miserable? Why couldn’t you have been placed in a family with children who weren’t so weird and annoying? Which question had you answered incorrectly on the survey that had resulted in your match-up with the Itoshis? You wished you could retake that stupid quiz and end up somewhere else. You wished that Rin had been the one sent to Spain instead of his older brother, who was certainly more well-adjusted. You wished that you hadn’t chosen to study abroad at all, that you had instead stayed at home with your friends and had a typical first semester like everyone else.

After that day, you stopped even pretending to be polite to Rin. Both of you were cold, hissing insults whenever you passed in the hallways of the home, leaving the room if the other happened to enter, and generally doing what you could to make each other’s lives difficult. It was only in front of Rin’s parents that you maintained some semblance of civility; after all, making Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi choose sides in your silent war would be unethical and wrong.

“I really don’t get it,” you said to your best friend one night, the covers pulled up over your head, your phone screen dimmed so that you were not blinded by its light. “He’s such a jerk, and for what?”

“Boys suck,” she said, hunched over a calculus problem set. The time difference meant that sun streamed in through her window as she wrote, illuminating the shining graphite of her neatly penciled answers. “Did his teammates mention anything suspicious the one time you met them? They’d probably know better than you or I why he’s acting the way he is. Maybe this is just how he is with everyone — if that’s the case, then you can be reassured that it’s not something you’re doing wrong.”

“Not really,” you said. “He forbade all of them from talking to me. Which, by the way, is a real tragedy, because some of them were super cute.”

“Really?” she said.

“Want descriptions?” you said.

“As much as I would like to say yes, I need to focus on this problem set, and anyways, it’ll just make me jealous, so no,” she said.

“Jealous? Let’s trade places, because at the moment, I’m jealous of you. Maybe all of the guys at your school are ugly, but at least you don’t have to deal with Rin!” you said.

“Is Rin attractive?” she said.

“No — actually, yeah, I can see why a person would think he is,” you said. Personal biases aside, Rin really was very handsome, and that combined with his aloof arrogance afforded him the aura of a YA novel’s male lead. There was no doubt in your mind that he was popular with girls; however, you doubted he himself was aware of this fact. “He’s such a dick that it cancels out, though.”

“Personality is important,” your best friend said. “Oh, fuck!”

“What?” you said.

“I’ve been forgetting to add the integration constant to my answers. Easy fix, no worries. You can keep talking,” she said.

“Thanks,” you said. “There isn’t really much else to say.”

“Well, if you couldn’t get anything out of his teammates, why don’t you try talking to him?” she suggested. “Ask him to his face why he doesn’t like you.”

“Isn’t that kind of uncomfortable?” you said.

“Not like things can get much worse than they already are,” she said.

“True,” you said. “But the thought of confronting him is actually sickening. I’ll pass. This is character building, isn’t it? I’m going to come back home as an entirely new woman. You won’t recognize my mental strength and fortitude.”

“Sure, looking forward to it. I miss you,” she said.

“Miss you more, but it’s pretty late here, so I’m going to have to hang up,” you said, yawning.

“Goodnight, Y/N, and sleep tight. Don’t let Rin Itoshi bite!” she said.

“Oh my god. Go do your homework,” you said, hanging up before she could respond and almost immediately passing out as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky.

Things between you and Rin continued on in that tense manner for the next few weeks, until you became convinced that your heart might give out from the stress. You couldn’t continue to live in this way. You were supposed to be enjoying your time abroad, not counting down the days until you could finally go home.

Rin was watching a horror movie on the computer when you barged into his room. A woman screamed in sync with your entrance, and you jumped at the jarring sound. Rin did not react, clicking on the mouse to pause the film and then turning in his chair to face you.

“What?” he said.

“What? What? What do you think?” you said.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I had the faintest clue why you were storming into my room in the middle of the night,” he said coolly, crossing his arms. “The movie was finally getting exciting, too. So, what do you want? Hurry up and say it.”

Your eye twitched. “I want to know what your problem is.”

“Huh?” he said.

“Why do you hate me? What have I ever done to you that’s made you so determined to ruin my life? I could even understand if you didn’t want to hang out with me, but you brought me to your practice and then refused to let me talk to just about anyone! What’s the big idea? I just want to enjoy my semester!” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s easy. You’re ruining my soccer career.”

“I’m ruining your soccer career,” you repeated dubiously.

“Yes,” he said.

“Care to elaborate on how I am accomplishing that, exactly?” you said, your hands on your hips. “I went to one practice, and I didn’t even speak the entire time. If your career can be ruined so easily, then it isn’t much of a career in the first place.”

He huffed in aggravation. “I keep thinking about you. It’s messing with my head. I need to focus on soccer and getting better, but for some reason, I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering to places they shouldn’t. It’s worse because I can’t escape you. If I could have just one day to clear my mind, I could forget about you and get back to considering more important things, but you’re always there, worming your way back in.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What?”

“I don’t get it, either. You’re not that special, so why can I quit it? Even my teammates have begun to notice. The other day, Isagi told me to go home early because I was ‘bringing nothing to the team.’ Isagi said that! Yoichi Isagi said that I was useless!” he said.

“That would be a lot more impactful if I knew who that was,” you muttered.

“You’re only here for a few more months, right?” he said. “After that, I can get back to my earlier performance and things will return to usual. Just leave me alone until then.”

Confronting Rin had the opposite effect that it should have. Instead of making things better, they actually became worse. What did he mean by saying that you were ruining his soccer career because he couldn’t stop thinking about you? What a stupid excuse! You weren’t that tiresome, so for him to claim that you were taking over his mind because of that was an offense.

“Y/N, Rin, will you be alright by yourselves for the week?” Mrs. Itoshi said when, once again, you all were gathered to eat dinner. The Itoshi parents had thankfully not yet noticed the enmity between you and their son, so family meals were a regular occurrence — meals in which you and Rin were made to sit by one another and act kindly, lest you make things awkward for Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi, too.

“It’ll be fine,” Rin said, answering for the both of you, the downturn of his mouth daring you to argue. “You guys should have fun in Spain.”

Apparently, Sae had invited his family to visit him in Madrid for the week that he had off from training, but unfortunately for the both of you, Rin was unable to go due to his practice schedule. It was unfortunate for Rin because it meant he couldn’t see his older brother, who he had the world’s most complicated relationship with, and it was unfortunate for you because it meant you couldn’t get a break from Rin’s dramatics.

The week started off normally enough, which meant that you and Rin did not speak, leading your lives with as much separation as was possible. It was actually easier than you were expecting, mainly because Mrs. Itoshi had left you both enough food to last the week, so you could eat when you wanted to instead of having to sit with one another. Gone were the days of turbulent coexistence at meals; now, you could finally enjoy eating without worrying about the boy beside you! You almost wished his parents would never come back, just because of that rare peace.

The fourth night was when it all went wrong. You were video calling your best friend as a storm raged outside, ranting to her about your professors and the heaps of homework you received every day, when the lights flickered.

“Is something wrong with your wifi?” she said. “You’re breaking up.

“It’s raining,” you said. “Pretty hard. The power’s kinda spotty, but I’m hoping it holds—”

The universe must’ve heard your words and decided to play a joke on you, because in that moment, the lights turned off and your call disconnected with a sad beeping sound, alerting you that your poor connection was what did you in. Pouting, you set your phone aside and stared up at the ceiling of the room, deciding you might as well try to fall asleep, given the late hour. Even if the power was out, you wouldn’t be able to tell with your eyes shut, so it was really the best option.

There was a scratching sound on your window, causing you to jolt into a sitting position once more. Rin had watched a horror movie just like this the other day. You remembered it clearly because you had turned on a rom-com once it had finished, and he had called it lukewarm, which made you so mad that you had turned the TV off and gone to take a shower instead.

What had been the plot, again? Oh, right. The power had gone out, and the victim thought that it had been because of a storm, but it had actually been a serial killer taking advantage of the weather to mess with her house’s fuse box. He had done it so that the cameras didn’t catch him as he climbed into her house through her unlocked window and stabbed her in her sleep. The resolution was that her neighbors saw him and called the police right before he killed them, too — yeah, it was a pretty gory film. Lots of blood and knife wounds. You weren’t sure what enjoyment Rin derived from watching it, but you figured it was another one of his irrational attributes that defied explanation.

Another scratching sound. Had you locked the window? What if the power outage wasn’t due to the storm at all? What if Rin had accidentally manifested the same ending for you as that stupid movie? And you were home alone, too, the scenario was just so similar…

This time, the scratching sound was more like an eerie drag of fingernails against the glass, and you couldn’t help yourself. Squealing, you turned the flashlight of your phone on to guide your way as you sprinted out of your room, racing towards the only other inhabited place in the entire lonely house.

“Rin!” you shrieked, convinced that the shadows were actually ghosts come to haunt you and strangle you and bury you alive. “Rin, wake up! We’re both going to die!”

The door to his bedroom banged open, and you pointed your phone at him, the harsh white glow sharpening the angles of his features, the awkward hang of his pajamas off his body, the way his normally neat hair stuck up in every direction.

“What are you talking about?” he groaned, using his hand to shield his vision from the blinding radiance of your flashlight.

“Do you remember that movie you were watching the other day? The scary one, with the fuse box?” you said.

“Yeah?” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. “Point your flashlight at the ground, stupid, or you’ll blind me.”

You did as he directed, belatedly remembering that the two of you very much did not like each other. But beggars could not be choosers, and it remained that at the moment, Rin was your best chance at survival, so you had to stick close to him.

“It’s happening,” you whispered. “It’s literally happening to us right now, as we speak. The serial killer already cut our power, and now he’s trying to break in through my bedroom window, and then — and then he’s going to kill us!”

“I cannot believe you woke me up for this,” he said.

“I’m serious!” you said.

“Seriously dumb,” he said. “Why would somebody try to kill us?”

“Don’t you have any rivals that hate you? Maybe they’re taking advantage of the storm to do you in while they have the chance!” you said, creeping closer to him.

“I play soccer. I’m not in a gang,” he said dryly. “No one’s going to come murder me for being better than them, trust me. Or else I’d already be dead.”

“Go see for yourself, then!” you said. “Wait. But I’ll go with you. People who split up in horror movies always die. There’s real merit to the ‘safety-in-numbers’ theory.”

“How many horror movies have you watched, to make you such an expert on them?” he said.

“You always have them playing, so of course I’ve learnt by osmosis!” you said, inching along behind him as he trudged towards your room. He gave no response bar a click of his tongue as he yanked open the door you had slammed shut in your haste, striding in authoritatively, grabbing your phone and lighting his own way with it instead of relying on your shaky hands.

He pulled the curtains open with a flourish, and you cringed, using his broad back to hide yourself, expecting to see some grotesque face and keeping your eyes screwed shut so you didn’t have to be met with the visage that would spell your death.

“Hey. Y/N. Open your eyes, dumbass. You made me get up because of a damn tree,” Rin said, shaking you by the shoulder.

“A what?” you said, opening your eyes against your will and then blinking properly when you saw there was nothing there but the boughs of the cherry tree planted in front of Sae’s room. The frenzied wind caused the branches to rub against the window, and this, you realized, was the source of the sound you had been so afraid of. “Oh. A tree.”

“I’m going back to bed,” he informed you. “Wake me up again and you really will be dead, but it’ll be at my hands, not some imaginary serial killer’s.”

You tried. You really tried to stay asleep — you were an independent woman, weren’t you? You had gotten full marks on all of your midterms. You had flown to a different country and learned to live there without much trouble. You had shared a house with Rin Itoshi for the past couple of months, and he was more like a creature out of a nightmare than anything else ever could be. Sleeping alone when the power was out was a piece of cake. You could do it.

It was not, in fact, a piece of cake, and you could not, in fact, do it. Tip-toeing to Rin’s room, you knocked as lightly as you could, half-hoping that he did not hear. You doubted he had made his earlier threat lightly, after all, and there was a real chance that this action would be your last.

“What now?” Rin said, answering the door a few seconds later. You crossed your arms and stared at the floor obstinately, your pride not allowing you to say anything. He waited for a moment, and then he pinched your upper arm. “Are you sleepwalking? Hello? Wake up if you are, so that I can get to bed myself. I have practice tomorrow, and I need to be well-rested!”

“I’m not sleepwalking!” you said. “I can’t.”

“You can’t sleepwalk? Okay,” he said. “I didn’t really care either way, so there was no need for you to tell me.”

“I can’t sleep at all!” you said. “It’s because of those dumb movies you always watch and those creepy games you play. I keep thinking that something’s going to happen, even though I know that those things aren’t real.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, like he was trying to discern whether you were telling the truth, and then he ran a hand through his hair.

“You have problems,” he said. “They aren’t real, but whatever. Come in.”

“Uh, what?” you said.

“I’ll take the floor, and you can sleep in my bed,” he said, rolling his eyes like you were the ridiculous one for being taken aback by the offer. “That way you can be less nervous.”

It was the kindest thing he had ever done for you, and you almost called him out for it, but then there was another crack of lightning, so you opted not to argue, darting into the room after him and diving into his bed without a second thought.

“Hand me a pillow,” he said, settling on the ground with a blanket he pulled down from the top shelf of his closet. You were about to throw it at him before wavering, considering what he was truly doing for you. Rin Itoshi, who was so careful with his body, who was a pro athlete that required an exact amount of sleep and the perfect balance of nutrients, had woken up in the middle of the night twice and was now offering to sleep on the floor, all because you were afraid of a power outage.

If only there was electricity! You needed to call your best friend and get her opinion on this. You had avoided telling her the results of your confrontation with him, believing that she would just make fun of you, but for some reason, you thought she might be interested in this development. You thought that she might be the only one who would understand it, because obviously, neither you nor Rin did.

“Um, you can have the bed, if you’d like,” you said, pushing the blankets away reluctantly, your neck protesting at the mere prospect of spending the night on the hardwood. “It’ll be bad for your back if you’re on the floor.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “At least, it won’t be, if you give me that pillow.”

You caved, giving him the pillow and rolling to the opposite side of his bed, which was even larger than the one you were used to. He grunted out a thank you, and then both of you were silent, but it was obvious that neither of you were asleep.

“Rin.”

“Yes?”

“We could share. Your bed is pretty big, so if we put pillows between us, it won’t be weird. Anyways, it’s only until the power comes back, and then I’ll go to my room, so it won’t even be for that long,” you said. The suggestion was met with sputtering from the ground.

“You — me — what — share? No way! No way, terrible idea, why would you suggest that?” he said.

“I just feel bad that you have to be on the floor, that’s all,” you said. “Especially because it’s your room and you’re doing me a favor.”

He didn’t say anything for so long that you were certain he must’ve fallen asleep. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor for you.”

“Really? I thought you hated me, though,” you said. The bed creaked from an unexpected weight dropping on it, and when you shifted, you saw that he had settled beside you, fluffing up a pillow to serve as a barrier, his face a light pink as he lay on his side to face you. You did the same, peering up at him over the pillow and swallowing when he did not avoid your gaze.

“I do,” he said. “A lot. But I also don’t.”

You furrowed your brow. “I don’t get it.”

“I’ve never been distracted by anyone or anything before,” he said. “That’s why I hate you. I hate things I don’t understand, and I don’t understand why you’re constantly on my mind.”

“Am I that annoying?” you said.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “You’re annoying every time you smile or laugh or say something — say anything, and you’re especially annoying when you act friendly towards my shitty teammates, especially that ninja bastard Otoya. You’re annoying whenever you talk to me, and you’re annoying when you do your homework instead of watching me at the practice you asked to go to. Your lukewarm movies are annoying, and so is your hatred of anything horror-related. It’s annoying that you’re nice to my parents, and it’s even more annoying that you’re better at coming up with insults than I am. You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

You didn’t need your best friend to translate this for you. Despite what Rin liked to say, you weren’t that stupid — you had been selected to study abroad out of hundreds of applicants, after all, and for the first time, you were so grateful for that fact. Because the thought of somebody else being here, in this bed, hearing these things from rude, haughty Rin Itoshi, was unbearable.

“Do you have a crush on me?” you said. He immediately stiffened, his eyebrows drawing together, low and heavy over his half-lidded eyes.

“No,” he said.

“Sure,” you said. “That’s good, because I’m going to leave soon. It would be problematic if either of us liked one another.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“You’re annoying, too, just to be clear,” you said. “The most annoying guy I’ve ever met in my life. Super annoying.”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“I’m telling the truth. Once I go back home, I’ll be incredibly bored. No one back there could ever hope to irritate me even half as much as you do,” you said.

“Good,” he said, and at that you smiled into the softness of his sheets, hiding the expression from him. “They’re not allowed to. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this, so the reverse should also be true.”

“I won’t be able to come here again for a while,” you said after a bit. “Likely years. I’ll be busy with school and work and my friends and family, so it’ll probably be goodbye forever when I go.”

Rin’s voice was sleepy when he spoke, reminding you of the late hour and how early he had to wake up daily.

“Then I can finally focus on soccer again,” he mumbled. “That’s a relief.”

You reached across the pillow to pat him on the cheek. “Yes, you can.”

“After I retire, I’ll come and find you,” he said.

“That long?” you said. “What if I forget about you by then? Because I might.”

“Don’t,” he commanded. “Wait for me. Let me win the next World Cup, and then…and then…”

His words trailed off into a soft exhale as he finally succumbed to sleep. You allowed your hand, which still lay against his face, to trace his jawline before retracting it and holding it close to your heart.

He was definitely still a jerk, but maybe you did not hate him quite as much as you had thought You did. Actually, maybe he wasn’t that bad at all, and maybe you could not imagine what an existence without him, which you had craved so desperately only days earlier, might be like.

You weren’t sure what would happen if that day he spoke of came, if he did fly across the world to find you after the next World Cup. Would he still be himself, or would he be some gentler version? And what of you? Would Rin Itoshi still be someone you paid any mind to, or, by then, would he just be a not-so-fond memory? The strange boy who may or may not have had a crush on you, who was obsessed with soccer and horror movies, who argued with you constantly and made you more infuriated than you had ever been…well, if you thought about it, then there really was no chance of you forgetting him at all. Not so quickly.

So you sighed, turned away from him and let your own eyes shut as well. The house was dark and still, the familiar hum of the refrigerator silenced, the crushing of the ice-maker temporarily halted. Only Rin’s steady inhales and exhales cut through the blackness, lulling you to sleep despite the atmosphere you had previously found sinister.

“I guess I have no choice, huh?” you said as you, too, drifted off. “Brainless, rude, pesky Rin Itoshi. Fine, then. If that’s how you want it…I’ll wait. Just until the next World Cup, I’ll wait for you.”

#rin x reader #rin x y/n #rin x you #itoshi rin #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #canon au #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

236 notes · View notes

darkfalcone · 7 months ago

Text

Far Too Long

Pairing: Dark!Sofia Falcone x Reader

Warnings: Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Noncon, Allusions to being drugged but it’s not stated, Fingering, Strap-On, Slight Breeding Kink, Oral Sex, Drinking, Mommy kink.

Summary: After weeks of being patient, Sofia can’t do it anymore.

Request: can you pls write a fic including somnophilia? like sofia gets home and finds reader splayed out and asleep and just can’t help herself, it can be darker or have corruption vibes too

ao3 link

You sat on the couch next to Sofia as she went on and on about something that had to do with Oz. You were too busy focusing on her hands and how they looked gripping her own wine glass. Taking a deep breath, you took another sip of your wine she had poured for you just a few minutes ago. Although you had expressed that you weren’t that big of a wine fan, she insisted you have some from a bottle that was at least ten years old. It tasted like any other wine you had ever tasted - nasty - but you wanted to be kind and finish the glass. But instead of finishing it quickly, you drank it as slowly as you could. You flinched as she placed her hand on your thigh, instinctively, you grabbed it and took it off you. You did enjoy spending time with Sofia, but you weren’t sure if you liked her enough to allow her to have you in that way. Normally, she would respect your wishes to wait, but tonight was completely different. You chalked it up to Sofia having four glasses of wine, so you tried not to get too upset over her advances.

You finished off your second glass, and when you sat the glass down on her coffee table, she jumped up. Sofia grabbed your glass with a smile on her face.

“Would you like another glass of wine, darling?” she asked, making her way into the kitchen.

You shook your head, “No, thank you, would it be okay if I have some water instead, Sof?”

You weren’t sure if she had heard you, but when she came back with a glass of water you gave her a soft smile. You chugged it, not noticing the way she was staring at you as she stayed on her feet.

“Do you want to watch something? We can put on a movie while we wait for our food to get here, yeah?” she suggested.

Without a word, you took her hand and allowed her to help you to your feet. Sofia led you up the stairs to her master bedroom. To your surprise, this was the first time you had ever been upstairs and in her bedroom. It was larger than her living room with paintings decorating every wall. Black curtains with black silk bed sheets and pillowcases, you smiled to yourself at how much it fit her.

She sat on the bed, kicking off her house shoes before bringing her legs up onto the bed. You stood there awkwardly, unsure if you were able to go onto the bed before she patted the spot next to her.

You took it as a sign for you to join her, so you got onto the bed, laying so your back was against the headboard. Sofia turned her TV on, putting on some random movie that you hadn’t ever heard of, but thirty minutes into it, you began to feel tired. Just as you realized that the food she had apparently ordered never showed, you fell asleep.

You groaned, slowly waking up a little as your pants were being pulled down. You were still so tired, closing your eyes once more as you fell back to sleep, unable to get any words out to question what was going on. You felt two fingers slip into you, but you were unsure if you were dreaming or it was actually happening. You whimpered, feeling the fingers fucking in and out you.

“What- What’s-“ you began, but a slap to your thigh cut you off. Realizing that this was far from a dream, you panicked.

“You’re finally awake, Princess,” Sofia hummed, rubbing your clit harder than before. “I couldn't wait any longer, you being at my house in this pretty skirt yours… you were teasing me. I’ve been way too patient and I’m done with it.”

“Sofia, I wasn't teasing- teasing you.” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your head felt full. You flinched as Sofia spat on your pussy, rubbing it in as she curled her fingers inside of you. You tried to bring your hands down to your pussy, but they were tied to the bed frame. “Please, stop.”

“No.” she snapped, pulling her fingers out of your pussy. She brought her hand down hard against you, causing you to cry out. “Why would I stop when you’re all mine now?”

You tried to close your legs, but Sofia held them open, bringing her hand down against your pussy three more times.

“Fuckin’ stop that, I’m not above hurting you and I know you know what I’m capable of doing.” Sofia threatened. “Keep your legs open and I won’t have to hurt ya.”

You whimpered, trying your best to keep them open as you felt Sofia move down and in between your legs. You knew she wasn’t going to stop, but you were definitely going to try to get her to or the very least prolong it.

“Can- Can you turn on the light so I can see you?” you asked, voice just above a whisper.

“Of course,” she hummed. Getting off the bed, you were surprised that she was agreeing to do it. When she turned on the light, your eyes widened once you realized that she was only wearing a strapon that looked way too big for you. “Whatever you want you’ll get now that you’re mine.”

Sofia climbed back onto the bed and in between your legs. You watched as she got comfortable, laying down on her stomach completely before kissing your thigh. She moved to the other one, kissing your skin softly before sucking on it. You whimpered, trying to pull away from her. Sofia pulled her mouth away from your thigh, replacing it with her nails before scratching your thigh hard.

“Stop, stop! Sofia, stop!” You cried out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Please just… I want to go home.”

Sofia smiled softly, pulling her hand away before leaning in and kissing the scratches. She kept eye contact with you as she trailed her tongue against the marks she made on you.

“You are home now,” Sofia commented. “Where I can take care of you, get you all the things you’ve ever wanted… you’d be so much better off in here than that hellhole apartment you live in. I’ll have a few of my men go and pack your things up to bring here after we’re done.”

“No!” you cried. “I- I told you I wasn’t sure if I liked you in any way other than a friend. I wasn’t trying to tease you or give you false hope. I like my apartment and my job, please just stop this and- and we can forget about this.”

Sofia shook her head, “That’s not how this is going to go down. I’m going to eat this pretty pussy of yours and then I’m going to fuck it. Afterwards, I’m going to actually order food for us and we’re going to eat and then watch a movie and sleep for the rest of the night. Got it?”

Before you could respond, Sofia dove in, sucking on your clit softly as she wrapped her arms around your thighs. You cried out, hating how good her mouth felt.

She continued to eat you out, making you cum embarrassingly quick before she pulled away. Sofia crawled up your body, leaning down and forcing you to kiss her, wanting you to taste yourself.

You yawned, earning a laugh from Sofia. “Didn’t realize it made you so sleepy, baby. Should have done this a long time ago.” she commented. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would question what she meant by that.

Sofia moved down a bit, taking one of your nipples into her mouth. She sucked on it roughly, occasionally biting it as she pinched and pulled on your other one. You bit your lip, pulling at your restraints as you tried to fight the urge to grind against her. You hated how good her mouth felt on your nipple, feeling yourself get closer to another orgasm.

“Please just stop- stop-“ you stuttered, but Sofia ignored you.

“If you wanted me to stop you wouldn’t be so wet.” Sofia pointed out, sitting between your legs on her knees. She spat in her hand, rubbing it on the strapon as if it were a real cock. “Can’t wait to breed this tight little cunt.”

You shook your head, pulling at your restraints as hard as you could but it was no use. You were weak and the binds were too tight for you to even do any damage to it. You watched as she lined up the toy with your entrance, pushing in harshly before she began to move. Sofia pulled all the way out so just the tip was still inside of you.

“Aw, you’re still so sleepy, huh?” she teased, watching as you began shutting your eyes again. You weren’t sure as to why you were still so tired, but as you began to drift off to sleep once more you heard her voice again. “That’s okay, Mommy’s going to fuck you so good, you’re going to feel it for days.”

You weren’t fully asleep, trying your best to fight it off as Sofia began to fuck you. Her pace was surprisingly slow, taking her time so you could get used to the length. You shook your head, trying to fight the sleep away. You couldn’t think of the words to say as she started to fuck you harder.

“Such a good girl for your Mommy,” Sofia moaned, reaching up and pinching your nipples. She pulled on them as hard as she could, causing you to whimper. “Mm, maybe I should keep you like this, could play with you however I want and you would never fight me back.”

“S- Stop.” you whispered, only able to say one word.

Sofia untied your hands from the bed, realizing that there was no way you could successfully fight her off. Once you realized she untied your hands you tried to push her off you - Sofia couldn’t help but laugh. You felt weak and the more you tried to defend yourself, the less strength you had. You gave up, realizing it was no use as she began to rub your clit in hard circles.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” she announced, her thrusts grew stronger and she came with a groan. Sofia stopped fucking you - laying on top of you as she caught her breath.

She sucked on your skin on the places she could reach, before holding herself up with her hands. Sofia smiled to herself, realizing that you fell back asleep. She kissed your cheek and then your forehead before pulling out of you.

You were hers for good now and she was going to make sure you could never leave. Whatever it took, she would do it.

#dark sofia falcone #sofia falcone x reader #sofia falcone #sofia gigante x reader #sofia gigante #the penguin #my writing #mine

144 notes · View notes

darsynia · 6 months ago

Text

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while.

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view.

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek.

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you).

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.”

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly.

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

96 notes · View notes