#blackmail for ts

[wri0thesley]

legally binding - neuvillette x reader (8.4k)

monsieur neuvillette will ensure that he finds your brother not guilty at trial. for a price.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. DARK CONTENT. extremely dubious consent/non-consent. clothed neuvillette, naked reader. cunnilingus, threats of caning, blackmail, fingering, piv sex, coming inside. neuvillette refers to reader as "little one". reader is afab and is described using language such as 'breasts' and 'cunt'.

���If the terms of our arrangement are not agreeable to you,” the honorary Iudex says to you, his gloved hands steepled before him as he sits calmly behind his desk, “you do, of course, have the right to say ‘no’ at any time. I shan’t hold it against you. It merely means that the particulars of our little entente need not be fulfilled on my end, either.” 

You press your lips together as frustration and anger war within you. You would like to explode at him; you would like to pull the books lining his office walls down and use them as projectiles to hit him straight in his infuriatingly calm and peaceful face. 

That he has the nerve to keep talking to you like this - his voice perfectly even, almost calm, his tone soothing and bordering on paternal (like you’re a little child who he’s telling the ways of the world to), when his proffered ‘agreement’ is so heinous . . .

“You’re utterly abhorrent,” you seethe to him, but the Iudex does not react to being called such a thing - merely tilts his head to one side.

“So you’ve said,” he agrees mildly. “But it does not change your position, does it?”

He is right in that. You stand there awkwardly for one moment more, debating if this is really the hill you are willing to die on; if you are indeed ready to trade away your dignity for the price of your brother’s freedom.

He seems to take pity on your floundering. 

“You agreed to this,” he reminds you, his tone unerringly gentle and patient. “But it does not mean you have to go through with it. I will keep the terms of our pact, my dear, as long as you uphold your own - but I will not hold it against you if you decide you are not . . . brave enough to follow through.”

You wince despite yourself at the deliberate emphasis of the word. You know that this is not bravery; you know, too, that what Monsieur Neuvillette is asking you to do is nothing short of corruption of the highest order. 

And too you know that the only person ranked higher than him you could conceivably go to is Lady Furina herself. 

“I’m sure that a guilty verdict for your brother would not be so bad,” Monsieur Neuvillette continues, and despite the mild tone he uses he must know that he is hitting you exactly where it hurts. “Incarceration is not the be-all and end-all, nowadays - why, many enjoy the Fortress so much they choose not to leave even once their sentence has been finished--”

“Don’t,” you squeak out, and Neuvillette stops speaking. You take a slow breath to steady yourself, and when your voice comes out this time it sounds far more certain than before. You’re proud of yourself, even, for the way that it quavers for only an instant at the end of your next sentence. “I’ll follow through on our agreement.”

“Lovely,” Neuvillette lowers his chin so that it rests atop of the steeple of his gloved fingertips. “I’m glad that you understand the position we’re both in. Well, then, shall we begin?”

You give him a jerky little nod, and he smiles at you like an Archon receiving a prayer of benediction. You stand there awkwardly for a moment more, before Neuvillette lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you? Let me make it easier for you. Why don’t you disrobe and show me what you have on under your clothing, hmm?” 

You take a slow, calming breath. This is not so bad; you had known you would have to take off your clothes for this bargain. You suppose, if you had been a different kind of person, you might even have felt a thrill at the thought that it would be Monsieur Neuvillette who would be the first man to see you bared - but instead, there is just a cold thumping terror as you work at the buttons and catches of your outfit. 

You are dressed smartly but not prettily. You have never had much time for the fripperies that many Fontaine citizens prefer to indulge in - and especially for your meetings as a desperate petitioner with the Iudex, you had thought sombre was the way to go. This has carried through even to your undergarments - the chemise you wear is plain, without even a trimming of lace. Your brassiere is equally simple, as are the plain cotton bloomers that hide your most intimate place from his inquisitive eyes. 

You swallow as your thumb and forefingers fasten about the hem of your chemise - and then, thinking it better to rip off the bandage from the wound rather than pussyfoot about it, you pull it off and drop it in an unruly pile with the rest of your outer clothes by the Iudex’s desk. 

He sits there in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out for an hour.

“Not much for decoration, hmm?” He asks, after what seems like forever. You shift there awkwardly from foot to foot. You have never been looked at before like this by a man - and though you do not want him to find you attractive, the idea that he’s disappointed in what’s before him is equally horrible. He chuckles softly beneath your breath at the expression that must flit across your face. “Ah, please don’t mistake me as unappreciative. There is very little as lovely as simplicity, I find.” Your cheeks heat. “On that note - I think we ought to lose this layer too. Let me see you as nature intended, my dear.” 

You had thought that once the first layer of your clothing had been stripped, it would get easier, but you find now that it is much the opposite. Your hands tremble as you reach behind you for the clasp of your brassiere. It is cool in his office, but a bead of sweat rolls down the nape of your neck and sets your palm sticky and wet, and it takes you three attempts to unclip. 

You have never been shy before - you had certainly not been shy when you had barrelled up to the Iudex in public and demanded an audience with him, much to the distaste of all around him - but this is enough to make you feel awkward. 

The fabric falls away from the swell of your chest, and Monsieur Neuvillette makes a pleased little noise almost like a purr in the back of his throat.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice. The underwear too, if you please.” 

Your nipples stiffen in the cool air of his office, the buds puckering and hardening under the twin problems of the temperature and Neuvillette’s stare. It is even harder to convince yourself to hook your thumbs into your underwear, but eventually your body agrees to your demands and you find yourself rolling the plain cotton down past your thighs and your knees and down to your ankles--

You fuss for a moment, putting them with the rest of your clothes, if only to delay the inevitable for a moment longer - that time when you will have to stand and display yourself in your full nakedness for the Iudex. But there is only so long you can conceivably push his patience, and sooner than you like you straighten your spine and try and jut your chin out and pretend that there isn’t a wash of humiliation drowning you as you wait for his next pronouncement. 

You’re surprised when he stands, leaving his cane leaning against his desk, and strides towards you with purpose writ clear in his eyes. Surprised enough that a soft, startled noise falls from your mouth as he reaches for you, and suddenly his gloved hands are palming the weight of your breasts. He lets out a slow, measured breath as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh there. You squeak again as his thumbs brush over the hard nubs of your nipples, and this time he laughs.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmurs. “Our agreement involved touching, did it not?”

“I-it involved more than touching,” you whisper, as poisonously as you can manage - but his thumbs are still slowly swirling about your nipples and the sensation of it is making you feel dizzy, little electric shocks of surprise zapping through your synapses. 

“Mm,” Neuvillette agrees. “But I am not so much of a villain that I would simply have my way with you without ensuring you were properly prepared, my dear.” 

You don’t know if this is worse, actually. If he had chosen the latter option, perhaps it would have been easier to close your eyes and grit your teeth and pretend to be somewhere else. But the way he is looking at you, the way he is touching you . . . those things make it far more difficult to separate what is going on from yourself. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Neuvillette says to you - and you almost protest, until you remember the terms of the agreement once more. 

(“You will give yourself to me intimately,” Neuvillette had said. “I will have my fill of your body, and in return I will find your brother not guilty in court. Is this agreeable to you, little one?”

You had wanted to scream and shout and spit. It was certainly not agreeable to you; Neuvillette was a corrupt pervert, taking advantage of his position. How many other desperate petitioners had done this for him? 

“Oh,” Neuvillette had said, when you’d been unable to stop yourself biting out the last thing. “None at all. I’ve never been quite so intrigued by any of them or wanted to have any of them bent over my desk quite so much. I suppose that makes you special - and isn’t that nice?”)

You feel at his mercy like this, bare in his office, when he hasn’t so much as taken off his gloves - and indeed, the cool silk of those gloves against your heated cheek as he pulls you up into a kiss reminds you of who exactly has the power. He sighs softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip. They’re sharp, and you gasp in surprise and win a low growl from Neuvillette himself. His kiss is wet and messy, and he seems almost disappointed when he pulls back from you with his eyes half-lidded. 

“Mm,” he says, “How many others have kissed you like that, little one?”

You press your lips together in a show of defiance, and he chuckles.

“As I thought,” he murmurs, lowering his head again - this time, the kiss he gives you is pressed to the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, carefully, peppered down your jawline. “Ah, don’t worry - you did perfectly well.”

You let out a noise of wordless disbelief and embarrassment that he could tell, which is quickly cut off when he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth instead. It is his canines that are sharp; you give a hot intake of breath at the scratch of them on your sensitive lobe that in turn makes him shudder. 

You hate the shivery feeling of pleasure that the bite sends zipping down your spine; a heat that settles firmly between your thighs, that mixes with the pounding of your heart. 

“Give in,” Neuvillette says softly. “You have no choice if you want me to uphold my word; you may as well enjoy it. I have no wish to be cruel to you, little one. If you like it too, so much the better.”

“I--I won’t--”

Your voice is reedy; it wobbles and shakes in the air. Both you and Neuvillette know that it is a stubborn and hopeless task, when his kisses and his tugging at your nipples and his soft nipping bites against your most vulnerable parts have already made a slick drip between your thighs you do not want to admit to. 

“A pity.” Neuvillette pulls back, and your body misses him - you find yourself making a soft noise of displeasure as his weight moves from in front of you and beside you, before he goes to stand beside his desk and takes his cane back into his hands, leaning on it almost casually. “Come here, little one. Bend over my desk.”

You flounder there, unsure now if you really are willing to go through with things the way that you had agreed to. Your throat feels dry. Disrobing had all been very well, letting him touch your chest had all been very well, but . . .

He taps his cane gently on the ground and makes a soft chiding noise with his tongue. 

“Come now, little one,” he murmurs, his voice perfectly agreeable. “It’s not so large a thing, is it? For the price of your brother’s reputation?”

You shake your head and take a slow, nervous step towards his desk - a large, terrifying presence in the room. How many people has he held the fates of in his hand as he sat here in the Palais Mermonia and read their files?

The reminder that you are indeed in the Palais Mermonia - that only down a hallway is a whole group of gestionnaires utterly unknowing of what their honourable Iudex is doing with the young citizen he has an appointment with - makes your heart beat faster, nervousness rise up in your throat like a tidal wave. One foot in front of the other.

You wish the walk to his desk was shorter at the same time as you wish that you would never make it to the end. 

It is not to be. Your bare hip bumps against the desk’s edge and you let out a slow, steadying breath. 

“That’s it,” Neuvillette says agreeably, and his cane taps on the ground as he comes to stand behind you. “Brace yourself on the table now; palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. Bend over and show me what I shall have the pleasure of conquering, hmm?”

You burn with humiliation as you do exactly what he asks; place your hot palms down directly upon the table and bend at the waist. Neuvillette sighs as if he’s terribly pleased with what he’s seeing. You start as you feel a gentle nudge against your bare ankle, and you realise that he’s touching you with his cane.

“Spread these apart a bit further,” he murmurs, and you comply despite the way you feel utterly debased by the treatment. “Ah. Very nice. Lovely, in fact.”

If you have one thing to be grateful for, it is that he does not mention what you both know; you are wet. The way he had touched and palmed at your chest, the kisses . . . you can feel the beads of slick on your inner thighs, the dampness of the folds of your cunt. The position he has put you in means, too, that you can feel the cool air on your exposed clit - the little button swollen and standing to attention. 

Neuvillette’s gloved hand gently comes to rest upon the back of your thigh. Slowly, slowly, he maps a path over your bared skin; the round curve of your ass where it’s presented to him, down and--

A hiccup of surprise escapes you and you almost rock back into him, but manage to stop yourself at the last moment, as those silken gloved fingers brush feather-light over the soft mound of your cunt. He does not press down yet; merely lets himself get accustomed to the shape of you. Your hips cant forward against your will as his fingertip brushes against the sensitive bud of your clit, a whimpering gasp falling from your lips. 

You have never been touched by anyone before - and the fact it is Monsieur Neuvillette doing it, under these circumstances--

You squeeze your eyes closed, willing yourself not to cry. You are grateful at least that he cannot see you; in fact, he seems rather preoccupied now, those long silken fingers spreading the plump lips of your labia further apart so that he can see your entrance.

“My,” he says, a smile apparent in his voice. “We’re going to have to do rather a lot of preparation, aren’t we? Sweet little thing, you look tight as a vice.” 

“I don’t . . .” You don’t understand quite what he means by preparation, but the soft rustle of his clothing still sets your teeth on edge. You’d known that he would disrobe too, of course you had, but it somehow all seems to be happening so quickly--

A strangled gasp escapes you.

The rustling was not him disrobing. Instead, he has knelt down - and his mouth is hot when he presses it to the sensitive places on the backs of your knees, his tongue wet as he trails it up the back of your thighs.

“Th-this isn’t what we agreed!” You say, panicked, as his mouth inches ever closer to the place between your thighs. Despite the heat of his tongue, the puffs of breath that escape him with his dry little laugh are cool. 

“Isn’t it, little one?” He murmurs, in between the wet kisses; you keen softly as he digs teeth into sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, fangs sending confused shockwaves of both pain and pleasure directly to your sex. “Let me see . . . Did I not use the terms ‘have my fill’? Why, little one - whyever did you think that would begin and end with my cock?” 

It’s too intimate. You have to be too present for it all, and the tears that have been threatening to spill out do so at the same time as his tongue oh-so-gently prods against your folds in interest. If Neuvillette notices that you’re crying, he doesn’t say anything - and you are grateful for that, as he presses his mouth fully against your cunt with a horrifically wanton wet noise and you realise that you are crying in no small part because his mouth against your heated core feels good. 

He merely mouths against you for a moment, his tongue delicate as it travels across your folds and drinks in your wetness. You shudder as he finds your clit, and his tongue flicks against it playfully. Despite what he had said about not having done this to any other desperate citizens, the way he works his mouth against you belies that he has at least some experience--

You know absolutely nothing about the Iudex’s private life, much like the rest of Fontaine. 

He pulls back from you to murmur against your thigh.

“You’re so wet, little one. It’s very charming. I think I shall use my mouth on you until you are glad to have the desk to keep you standing. It would be a hard-hearted creature indeed who would not want to feel you come on his face, under his tongue--”

You whimper out some kind of horribly embarrassing noise, as he returns hungrily to his former task; he licks at you and suckles at you like a man starved, and your body reacts with hot little shivers and shudders and jolts of pleasure. You make an attempt to curtail the pleasure - try to tell your body that it ought not to be enjoying this - but pure animal instinct wins out, and you are bent double over the desk whimpering helplessly, tilting your ass up to give him more room, and grinding your cunt into Neuvillette’s face despite all of it.

Neuvillette does not seem to mind at all. He groans into you instead, using the flat of his tongue to stroke as much of your cunt as possible, to work through your folds and suckle on your clit until your entire body feels aflame with strange new feelings. Every so often, he teases his tongue over your entrance, the tip circling the ring of muscle - but he does not push into it yet. 

His grip on your thighs is iron-tight. You don’t know when he let go of his cane, but both hands dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs now, keeping you spread for him despite how the twists of pleasure make you want to squeeze your thighs together. 

You don’t know how you’re still breathing, as Neuvillette’s tongue continues to lay claim to you. You can feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing; slick accumulating around your entrance, just begging for something to be inside of you (though, in truth, you’ve never had anything more than your own finger and even then had felt hot and unsure of it). He growls, tongue flicking out against your clit in a rhythmic drumming that makes you whine.

“O-oh,” you manage, through the lump in your throat. “Archons--”

He gives your inner thigh a warning pinch, just enough to make you stutter, as he pulls his soaking wet mouth away from you and murmurs;

“No, little one. No archons here. Remember who it is, who's here with you.”

You are almost tempted to throw his own words back into his face; to tell him that you’d made no such bargain that you had to acknowledge that he was there. That, according to the legalities of the agreement you’d both made, you only had to let him use your body - not your voice, not your head, not your heart. But the lack of his mouth on you now feels like a peculiar kind of torture. You want him to stop. You want him to carry on. The whimper falls out of your mouth to a groaning purr of satisfaction from Neuvillette himself;

“M-monsieur--”

“That’s better.”

His mouth is back on you, hungrily working his tongue between your folds. Hungrily suckling and stroking and working you over until you feel hot and boneless, trembling on the edge of something - your entire body is a taut string, pulled to the point of snapping. Your cunt is wet and messy with drool and fluid and slick, sliding down your thighs - you cannot see Monsieur Neuvillette, but you’d wager that his cheeks are wet and shiny with the same, if only due to the utter eagerness he was still displaying. 

It’s too much. 

With a whine and pitiful jerk of your hips, you feel yourself slide down into some dark abyss; the thread that’s been threatening to snap finally does exactly as it was always going to do, and a wash of shameful pleasure crashes over you like a stormy sea. Neuvillette lets out a pleased groan as you feel yourself let another gush of arousal out, hungrily drinking you in with lewd, wet noises that have your face as hot as any Natlan springs. 

He carries on using his tongue on you; licking, sucking, lapping like a man parched for water - just to the point where your over-sensitive body begins to complain that you are still too raw for such hunger, and then he pulls his mouth off of you. You stay there, bent double over his table, wheezing softly as you hear him dust off his clothes and the click of his reclaimed cane as he comes around to the other side of the desk so that he can look you in the eye. 

He really hasn’t disrobed at all. 

It’s a callback to the power imbalance between you both; a reminder that, no matter what, you are entirely at Neuvillette’s mercy. You are glad, at least, that he has a reputation for being honourable in his agreements - you have only the very vaguest flutter of a fear that giving him your body will be for naught and he will go back on his word. Everybody knows that the Chief Justice values that same standard he is entitled to embody. 

“You were crying,” he says, leaning forward and cupping his hand about your cheek, a thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. “It suits you. I’ve never quite understood this human urge not to cry - you look terribly pretty with those diamonds on your cheeks.”

He leans in closer and closer, closing his eyes - and you go stock-still as he kisses the tears from your cheeks and pulls back, licking his lips as if he is savouring the taste of something special. 

“I-is that all?” You ask, a hopeful tone to your voice - but Neuvillette simply smiles at you kindly, as if you’re silly for even asking. 

“Of course not, little one,” he murmurs. “That was merely a precursor to the main event, to ensure you’re . . . sufficiently ready. As I have already said; I am no villain, and I have no desire to hurt you physically. I want to ensure your body is primed to accept me, for the sake of both of our pleasure. And it was pleasurable, wasn’t it?” 

You press your lips together, hot shame rising up your neck.

“No need to get shy,” he says to you, that soft, kind smile not leaving his face. “By the way you were grinding against my face, and how prettily you came for me . . . Mm, I’d wager you enjoyed it very much. But it’s alright if you are not ready to admit it; your body doesn’t lie, sweet one, and I know it will accept my fingers and my cock far more readily than you’d like it to.”

. . . You had enjoyed it. You had felt that pleasure that he was so willing to give to you, and the thought that you were actually deriving some enjoyment from this thing that was supposed to merely be about procuring assistance for your brother . . . You don’t quite know how to feel, as Neuvillette presses a paternal kiss to your forehead and you hear the slow click of his footsteps as he returns to the other side of the desk, where your nakedness and your readiness for him are far more pronounced.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” he murmurs, letting his gloved fingers slide down the arch of your back, from the nape of your neck and down your spine. “Ordinarily, I’m not too fond of ostentation - but ah, you . . . You could benefit from a little more ornamentation.”

A palm, cupping your ass - giving it a slow, considering squeeze, almost too hard to be painful but not quite. 

“This, for example,” he murmurs, “would be lovely with some discipline. Imagine; how pretty you would be with welts from my cane.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette--!” It comes out in a panicked little gasp, but Neuvillette merely chuckles.

“Now, now, little one - settle down. As sweet as it would be - I am still aware of the legal terms of our arrangement. I won’t force you to give me any extra - and whilst caning you would be terribly satisfying for me . . . it doesn’t count as satiating my desire in that legal sense that is so important to us both.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Somewhere inside of you, your heart pounds at the thought of letting him do as he wishes with you - but you squash it down, holding to the comforting lie that you are getting absolutely nothing out of the arrangement you had made with Neuvillette. 

His hand curves over your ass and slips between your thighs.

“A-aren’t you even going to take your gloves off?” You seethe at him, through clenched teeth, as a fingertip slides between the plump lips of your sex once more, to find the wet mess that he had left there earlier. 

“I fear it would be most unprofessional of me to undress in my office,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Forgive me, little one. I think I will stay as entirely clothed as I am able.”

His tone does not broker any argument, and you bite your tongue as he - slowly, maddeningly slowly - slides his finger through the valley of your cunt, approaching your clit with a near-torturous pace. Your breath stutters in your chest as his silk-gloved finger finally brushes over the delicate nub, and he increases his pressure from feather-light to something firmer as he begins to make slow, small circles on the pleasure point.

Your hips don’t know whether to shy away from the certainty of his manipulations or to lean into them, so you do the only thing you can think of and let loose a soft whine into the charged air of his office. 

After he has played with your swollen clit for a few more agonising moments, his fingers drag back through the soaking wet valley to toy with your entrance. You feel yourself flex as he comes near, as if your cunt is begging him to finally put something inside of you - and though he gives a soft chuckle, he does not tease you any further.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of you now,” he murmurs - again, you are not sure if it would be worse if he had not told you. With this knowledge, you have just enough time to catch your breath before he slides his finger into you with one quick movement.

It punches the air out of you. If you had not been bent over the desk already, you’re sure you would have lost your footing - but as it is, Neuvillette goes about opening you up with a kind of determined certainty. The finger inside of you gives a few lone pumps, working your tight insides open - you are wet and pliable enough that it does not hurt near as much as you had thought it would. 

“Good,” Neuvillette murmurs, “Are you ready for me to add another?”

Again, you want to whimper and scream and bite - but as he continues to pump his finger in and out of you, you realise with that same shame that the feeling of him inside of you is good and could only be improved if he filled you more thoroughly.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, your throat dry - and you are rewarded with another low murmur of praise, and the feel of a finger joining the first at your entrance. You take another steady breath, but you do not need to; two fingers fit inside of you with only the barest modicum of resistance, your body silky wet and tight and welcoming. The silk of his gloves rubs against your inner walls curiously, making you feel utterly dizzy with sensation. 

There is a purpose to this that there hadn’t seemed to be when he was using his mouth on you. When he was using his mouth, though he had said it was in order to make the final result easier on you both, you had gotten the distinct impression he had rather enjoyed the process - the sucking, the wet noises, the lewd sound of his tongue against your soaking cunt. But here, Neuvillette crooks his fingers inside of you and pumps them in and out and scissors them slightly in a way that leaves no doubt that he is ensuring you will be able to take something even bigger and wider than his fingers when we have done. 

He still does it all with a trademark thoroughness; he rests his other hand on the small of your back to keep you still as those digits plunge in and out of you. You dread to think how soaked through with your slick his gloves will be when he is done--

But he does not use his fingers upon you to completion. 

You feel it building up inside of you with the way he curls them just so, rubbing against a spongy spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble - but he doesn’t follow through on the promise that begins to build, dizzying, between your legs. 

He pulls out his fingers with a slick pop and a wet clicking noise, giving your cunt a gentle pat on his way out.

“There, my dear,” he says. “It will still be a tight fit, of course . . . but I should cause you no undue pain. And, if I may be so bold, little one - I’m absolutely certain you’ll feel exquisite.”

This time, there is no question that the rustling noise you hear behind you is him partly undressing; that the soft pop is the sound of buttons being freed from the confines of his placket. He lets out a pleased sigh - you assume at the feel of his hand on his own cock. 

“I’ve been longing to touch you,” he murmurs, as he slots himself between your hips. “I had to prepare you, naturally - oh, but little one, I’ve been hard since the moment you walked all trembling and righteous into my office.” 

“D-do you say that to all of the poor hopeful people who come into your office hoping you’ll grant them justice, Monsieur?” You manage, and he chuckles. His hips fit neatly in between your own spread thighs, and you feel the heavy, silky, hot weight of something as it slaps against the meat of your inner thigh and leaves a sticky wet trail upon the skin there. His cock. His pre-come, on you--

“As I’ve said before, little one,” he murmurs, and he readjusts himself and you hiss yourself as his cock presses softly against the pudge of your outer lips. He doesn’t move it yet; merely lets it rest there, letting you get used to the size of him and the knowledge that he is going to put it inside you. “I have never been so intrigued by any of them to want to. But you . . . ah, this human quality of resilience! You’re utterly darling. There’s even still fire in you now, when I have you naked and at my mercy. Tell me, little one . . . what would you do if I went back on our agreement now and still fucked you?”

You half rear up, and the way your body moves has his cock nudging at your clit, against you - you find yourself half-enveloping the thick shaft of his cock with your labia. It makes you breathless that it doesn’t even come close to disappearing inside you; indeed, the stretch of it reminds you of just how big he is.

“You wouldn’t!” You say, a tone of petulant fury edging your words - Neuvillette makes a hum of agreement even as his gloved hands travel up, over the curve of your hips and then your waist, until he is cupping the weight of your breasts in them and your nipples are once more trapped between the silken pinch of of his thumbs.

“You’re right,” he says, calmly. “I value justice too much for that - but oh, you’re quite something when you’re full of moral fury, aren’t you? Justice . . . a funny thing, isn’t it? One might say that having you right here, in my office, naked and hot and wet and exactly where I want you is a just reward for my years of service, wouldn’t they?”

You don’t respond, and he chuckles; nips a bite into the sensitive part of your throat where the curve of shoulder and neck meet that sends another electric zip down your spine.

“I’m going to put it inside of you now,” he says, still as calm as a placid lake. “And then I’m going to fuck you, little one. Are you quite ready?”

He tilts his hips forward as an urge for you to do the same; to lower yourself back down over the desk. You hiss as his cock slips and slides between the folds of your cunt, but it is nothing compared to how it feels when he pulls back and the wet head of his cock nudges almost impatiently against your entrance. He does not let go of where he is still pinching and rolling at the buds of your nipples, sending light-headed little thrills right down to between your legs - your sex clenching at the emptiness, missing his fingers.

“As ready as I think I’ll be, Monsieur,” you manage, hoping the title comes out as barbed as you want it to - but then he is pressing inside of you, his cock opening you up, and you bump against the table and go utterly blank of thought at the sensation of being claimed.

It feels like all of the air inside of you deflates as Neuvillette pushes himself into you. He had been correct on one count - he had prepared you well enough that there is only a light sting, the feeling that is to be expected when something large fits itself into a tight hole. You wheeze over his desk, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, as he seems to keep pushing and pushing and pushing--

You don’t think you’ll possibly take all of him, and then he stops and you feel his pelvis pressing against your ass, and you realise he is fully inside of you now.

“There,” even Neuvillette sounds a touch breathless. “Didn’t you do well, little one? Are you ready for me to begin moving?”

His only answer from you is a huff, as he pinches your nipples again and you feel yourself clench around the cock buried inside of you. He laughs softly, and with a wet drag you feel him pull out of you - and then drive back inside again with a wet pap, the sound indecently loud in the quiet office. Neuvillette had already established when he had made it clear he expected you to fulfil this arrangement in his work chambers that the walls were thick enough no gestionnaires would come running no matter what, but you still have a vision of it happening.

Some poor underpaid Palais Mermonia worker, coming in to ask the Honourable Chief Justice some question or another, only to find him bent over a shivering whining citizen, naked on his desk. The thought of someone seeing you, at such a powerful man’s mercy--

You clench around Neuvillette again, whining softly into the polished wood of the desk, your body wanting to welcome his cock inside and keep it for yourself. It feels so good - you can barely stand knowing how right and full and warm you feel, how you know that if Neuvillette stopped fucking you that you would have no choice but to beg him to carry on and let you come. 

“Good,” he murmurs, as he finds himself a rhythm that makes you quake. Every drag of his hips sets your body aflame, every twitch of his cock makes you huff and whimper. You’re moaning, you realise, as if you are somewhere very far away. “There now, little one - doesn’t that feel good?”

You don’t reply, but you do not need to. The sound of him fucking in and out of you - the wet sticky slap of his cock as his hips bounce against your spread thighs, the obscene feeling of your own arousal drooling out of you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth unbidden all do that for you. Your body does not even try to push him out; merely pull him in tighter. 

He stops pinching your nipple with one hand, dragging it back down the curve of your body to curl around your thigh, sneaking between you and the wooden drawers of his desk - and you keen a high-pitched little noise as instead of your nipple, he roughly pinches at your clit instead.

The sensation of that silken fabric, sodden already with your slick, and the mean little pinch pushes you over a precipice that you didn’t realise you’d been hovering on. You cry out this time, a moan that you feel certain that everyone in the whole building must hear - but that doesn’t matter, as you spasm helplessly on Neuvillette’s cock and you give him your second orgasm of the night. 

He fucks you through it, even as you feel your cunt flex and flutter around him. You feel dizzy, panting, whining - but Neuvillette’s thrusts have more purpose now, and a low groan that sounds almost inhuman comes out of him as you weakly try and push your body back at him to hurry it along. 

“I’ll come when I’m ready,” he practically growls, and you whine as his teeth fasten into the meat of your shoulder so that he is utterly bent over you - the rasp of his silken clothes against you, fine fabrics and adornments. The satiny brush of his hair over your heated skin. “And you will take every drop, little one - as you agreed to do--”

You nod helplessly, and he groans - and then his cock is twitching inside of you wildly, and he’s biting at you again and huffing and groaning and the plunge of his hips seems to hit deeper inside of you with every thrust.

You had never imagined the Chief Justice like this in all of your life, but there is something animal to him now; some latent kind of primal instinct you had never realised that the kind, fatherly Monsieur Neuvillette possessed. You know now he is not as kind as you had once supposed, but it is still something else entirely to see him and feel him fuck you like a man possessed.

He snaps, his hips wildly gyrating into you, slapping against your ass so hard you fear you will bruise - and then you feel his cock jump and he comes inside of you, thick ropes of his release shooting directly into your insides and coating you, viscous and full of him.

He gives another almost animalistic growl against your skin, letting his cock judder and shoot out a few final spurts of his own seed - and then, there is a brief moment of quiet. You can hear yourself and your own shuddering breaths, your heart pounding in your ears - and then, the slick, wet noise of him pulling out of you. He catches hold of his own breath, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and kind as ever as if nothing more has transpired here than a meeting of minds.

“Marvellous, little one. You did so terribly well. Of course,” Neuvillette murmurs against your ear, his breath a cool brush against your heated skin. There’s the faintest scent of saltwater in it; you shiver despite yourself. “You do realise that the final decision does not lie with me, do you not?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You’re too breathless to speak, still - laid out across Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, on display like the most wanton of creatures. You can still feel his come rolling down your thighs, spilling out of you with every pant of your breath - you were so utterly filled and claimed by him that you fancy you can feel his come inside of you even now, in thick ropes and dripping pearls. 

“Well,” Neuvillette moves away, and you  turn your head, cheek cold on the desk, to watch as he re-fastens the placket of his trousers, the tails of his coat swishing about him. You remain utterly debased; your clothes still in a haphazard pile to the side of his desk. You do not yet think your trembling legs could even hold you up, and you have no choice but to let Neuvillette continue to drink in the sight of you akimbo over his office furniture. “Surely you understand it is the Oratrice who will make the final decision, my dear?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest. Your breath comes out in a panicked little gasp, and you rear up before you’re quite ready for it, staggering towards him to clutch at his lapels.

“But it always sides with you,” you say to him, hating that your voice rises in pitch pathetically. “You’re always in agreement--”

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees with a low hum, and you hate him as one of his thumbs gently comes up to caress your cheek like a lover. “It will be greatly novel for Lady Furina to witness the disagreement, I’m sure. Still - the Oratrice does have the final word, as it always has.”

“But you promised!” You don’t care about dignity now, as you feel the hot splash of tears across your cheeks. Neuvillette takes in a shuddering breath, far too reminiscent of the noise he’d made when he’d pressed himself inside of you. His thumb slides under a tear now, to catch it upon the pad; you watch in mute agonies as he lifts it to his mouth and his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Really, my dear,” Neuvillette says, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I thought you were better educated than this; you were so very charmingly certain when you first came to see me after accosting me in public. All of those carefully laid out little plans and charts as to why your criminal brother couldn’t possibly have committed the felony that everybody knows he did--”

“But you agreed!” You’re desperate now. He hums again, and one of his arms settles around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You said you would find him not guilty! You said he’d be freed!”

“I said one of those things,” he corrects you - and then he sees that you’re very much hovering on the edge of hysteria, and he sighs. “You poor little creature. When I asked you if you were certain and that you’d thought everything through properly . . . you hadn’t really, had you?”

“I . . . I thought . . .” You sniffle desperately, trying to grasp onto the threads of your righteous anger as the cool sting of foresight settles over you once more. Monsieur Neuvillette is correct; he promised that he would find your brother not guilty, and you had taken it for granted that the ruling of the mighty Iudex would be enough to see your brother free.

Not a word about the Oratrice had passed his lips.  

You’re shaking. It is only Monsieur Neuvillette’s arm around your waist that stops you from falling to the ground. You fear if that grounding limb left, you would drop to your knees and hug at his legs and rub your sobbing face against his knee and beg. The fact that you had . . . that you’d given yourself to him, and he must have known that he could not truly give what you were asking for . . .

“And what then?” You whisper, your throat dry. Neuvillette makes a considering noise in the back of his throat; a throaty hum. A hand gently scoops your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes.

Neuvillette’s eyes are blue-grey-violet, boring down into you. There is something ancient and terrifying that lies behind them, but as they look into your own they seem to almost flash possessive. 

“I happen to know the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” he says, after a long moment. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that it is not the most . . . welcoming of places. Your brother’s confinement will lack creature comforts. But . . . it doesn’t have to be quite so dreary.”

Against your will, hope rises like a soft flame in your chest. 

“You would do that?” You ask the Iudex. “Make sure that he’s . . . that it’s not so bad?”

“You misunderstand,” Neuvillette tells you, with a small smile. “I have fulfilled my end of our agreement now. I will find your brother not guilty. Legally, there’s nothing else that you need of me.”

“I could tell someone--” You start to say, but Neuvillette only lets out a soft little huff of laughter.

“Poor thing,” he says, “do you truly believe that anybody would take your word - the sibling of some no-good criminal, desperate to save him - over mine? You must understand that I have, as Iudex, a long history of doing only the best for Fontaine.” He lets go of your waist, and you are thankful that you manage to keep your balance even as he turns and sweeps away towards his desk. “I am also aware that I’m the subject of some . . . romantic fantasy, in the hearts of the ever-theatrical people of our homeland.” He seats himself in the great chair behind his desk, and looks back up at you with that damnable smile playing around his lips - small enough you could not call it mocking, soft enough you could argue it was an attempt at sympathy. “Why would I give that up, just to tumble some know-nothing worth-nothing young upstart in my office?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in speechless anger, before that cool foresight settles over you once more.

Because he’s right.

Why would he? Why would anyone believe you? 

“. . . How can I ask for your aid again?” You manage to grit out, through clenched teeth.

“You could fill out a form from the Palais Mermonia,” he says, rifling through the paperwork on his desk as if you have already left the room. “Talk to one of the gestionnaires about aid for those incarcerated, once your brother has officially been sentenced. The working time for a response is currently . . .” He tilts his head to the side again, as if thinking. “Ah, yes. Only a year and six months. I’m sure nothing untoward could befall your poor brother in that time--”

“Monsieur,” you step towards him imploringly. “Please--”

You remember your nakedness only when Neuvillette looks up from his desk and lets his eyes critically sweep you again. Your nipples, stiff and sore from his pinching fingers. Your thighs, wet with his release and your own slick. The bite marks from his fangs that litter your bared skin. 

His eyes narrow; the face of a man taking in something that already belongs to him. A dragon considering his latest addition to the hoard. 

You realise exactly what he is going to ask you for, in return for his continued aid, before he opens his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, with a small smile upon his generous mouth. It is a mouth many would describe as kind; at this moment in time, you cannot think of it as anything other than dangerous. “You did such a good job of convincing me to aid you today . . . why, we could make these little meetings more regular, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. 

The Fortress of Meropide. Under the sea, with no sunlight, for who knows how long. Who knows where he would sleep, or what he would eat, or what other comforts would be denied to him in his imprisonment? 

“Yes, Monsieur,” you whisper, your throat bone dry. 

“Excellent,” he smiles at you in clear dismissal. You feel . . . used. Cheated. Hollow. Utterly owned and laid claim to and conquered, your spirit deadened inside as you look at the corrupt official you had once held in such high regard. “Next week, then. Wear something prettier, please. I’m partial to blue. Now - you don’t mind, do you? I have cases to review.”

[artycakez123]

wdym this isn’t what happened in the scrapyard scene???

[sortagaysortahigh]

Taste | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Hey guysss, this is based on this req! for a sex pollen fic. NOW YALL DON'T BEAT ME UP OK THIS IS MY FIRST SEX POLLEN FIC EVER! But anyways, yall know i had to throw exes to lovers/idiots in love in the mix, I'm a plot girl what can I say! Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing ts for me, love that hoe <3

Summary: Desk duty at the Avengers compound was simple work, but throw in your obnoxious ex-boyfriend Joaquin, and a plant from a different planet, and you have a whole other problem on your hands.

Warnings: spelling and grammar errors (girl it is what it is ok), 2nd person POV, use of y/n, cursing, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOO!!!, mentions of overdose (ibuprofen/in a joking way?), implied childhood trauma, Smut: Dubcon bc sex pollen, kissing, handjobs, oral (f & m receiving), smacking/spanking, spitting, choking, hair pulling, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, hickies, joaquin is mister munch ok, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, creampies, squirting, dirty talk, praise, idk sex love confessions (i am who i am once again), switch!reader and switch!joaquin these two are UGH

Word count: 8k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Honestly guys, i just wanna kiss this man on the mouth <3

Today is simply not your day. 

You had a terrible morning, waking up late with a headache that had you contemplating overdosing on Ibuprofen—if that was even possible—and because you were so late for work, you were stuck on desk duty. 

Desk duty wasn’t inherently bad or boring, not when you worked with the Avengers themselves, even if the team was an odd mixture of clearly depressed ex-criminals and happy-go-lucky heroes that loved their job.

But desk duty meant dealing with Joaquin Torres. 

A year and a half ago you would’ve been perfectly content working out of the compound with Joaquin at your side. At that point in time, you and him were actually in a happy relationship, but following his accident and his depressed period, the relationship got worse, and he constantly pushed you away.

Eventually, you were tired of being pushed away. It wasn’t as if he was subtle about it, you two would get into fight and fight, all of which revolved around him telling you that you were ‘too much’ or that you needed to ‘stop trying to make him feel better’. So you’d broken up with him.

It’s been almost eight months, and of course, the first few were awkward and tense. However, you both chose to swallow your pride and force the facade that nothing was wrong. Well, at least whenever everyone else was around. 

Technically speaking, you weren’t an Avenger, you just worked for Sam and Bucky post-Blip. Granted, they did recruit you in Madripoor when they’d realized you were a one-way stop for any and all information. 

You didn’t have any superpowers or enhanced abilities, you just knew your way around blackmail, fighting, and information reconnaissance. It was obvious that they needed someone like you, and after questioning why you were in Madripoor, they did feel a bit bad for you.

The whole ‘childhood trauma, parental abandonment in a country with no real laws’ thing solidified their need to take you in. Although if it was anywhere but Madripoor, their method of getting you on their side would’ve been considered kidnapping, especially considering one minute you were in Madripoor at a bar, the next you were waking up on a plane flying back to the States.

But that was several years ago, and you were over it.

For the most part.

Working for Sam and Bucky wasn’t exactly difficult, you just dealt with recon, sometimes going on missions with the team, and other times you’d be in the air or at the compound. 

Desk duty typically correlated to being at the compound.

Today, things weren’t difficult, all you really had to do was hack into a few satellites, pull some information, and that was it. Then you’d be free to wander around the tower or take a trip through the city—the same things you did every day.

However, it was as if Joaquin made it his end goal to piss you off every single day or maybe that was in your head. 

The second you’d gotten down to your typical workspace—a smaller room located off of the main lab filled with different sized monitors, a few seats, and of course, your series of neatly organized pens and stationary—Joaquin was already in your usual seat with one of your pens between his teeth.

He was slightly hunched over the desk, pulling geographical data from several different sources, brows knit together with his teeth grinding against the green pen as he concentrated. He also had a set of headphones on, so he didn’t notice your presence in the room, not until you were snatching the pen out of his hands with an annoyed expression.

You waited for him to push the headphones off, he looked at you as if you were utterly insane.

“The hell was that for? What, you woke up in a pissy mood or something?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Get the hell out of my seat. And stop chewing on my damn pens! Don’t you have another room to work out of! This compound is gigantic and somehow you always end up in my space.” 

Joaquin shrugged. “It’s nicer in here. You’ve got the whole room decked out like the blonde from Criminal minds. Besides, I’m supposed to be working with you—so why would I work somewhere else? Y’know if you would’ve gotten up three hours ago, you could’ve been on the plane out of here with Buck.”

He leaned back in the chair, still looking directly at you, a smirk on his face at the sight of you clenching your jaw. You were visibly angry, that much he knew. 

Joaquin always knew how to get under your skin, he also knew almost everything about you, the perk of being your annoying ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he had it out for you, and he completely understood why you’d broken up with him in the first place. But, deep down, he did still harbor his feelings for you, so he liked being close to you.

Even if you hated it.

“You’re insufferable, Torres. Now get out of my seat!” you grabbed his arm, planting your feet firmly before practically hauling him off of the chair, the action catching him by surprise, leading to him stumbling directly into you.

The pain in your head was now in your back as you laid flat on the ground with Joaquin on top of you. He practically tackled you to the ground, you tried grabbing onto one of the large tables to brace yourself, however, you hadn’t let go of his arm.

“If you wanted me on top of you, you could’ve just asked baby.” He winked as he rolled off of you, softly laughing while he smiled, glancing over at you.

You stared at the ceiling, blinking several times as you tried not to scream at him. Plus you were in pain. Admittedly, you could take a hit, however, today wasn’t your day, and you were five minutes away from crying tears of frustration. So you opted to get off of the ground, giving him the middle finger before sitting in your usual desk chair, swivelling to face the screens, picking up directly where he’d left off.

Joaquin got off of the ground, pulling another chair beside you before plopping into it.

“You okay baby?” He placed a hand over your forearm, which you quickly shoved off.

“Fuck off Joaquin, I’m already have a shitty morning, now my back hurts and my head hurts and I’m tired. Just shut up so we can sit in silence and work.” 

He slowly nodded, except instead of scooting away, he stood up, moving behind you before lightly pushing your upper body forward. Then his hands were on your shoulders, thumbs applying the perfect amount of pressure into your tense shoulder blades. The way he always used to—except he used to do way more than just your shoulders.

You tried to shrug him off at first. Joaquin sighed, “Don’t start, just let me take care of you for five minutes. You can go back to being the Wicked Witch of the West after.”

You nodded, jaw clenched as you tried to remain annoyed with him. But it was always hard to be annoyed with Joaquin. Sure you absolutely wanted to wring his neck half the time, but following your break up, you’d gotten to see him recover in more ways than one. It’d taken time, but he was finally himself again, and he learned how to cope with the mental and emotional stress from the incident.

Part of you always considered what it would be like to get back together with him. The other part, the part that was still a bit heartbroken, always shut it down. 

It was easier to be mean to Joaquin than to be his friend. Being his friend was a slippery slope that you weren’t ready for. 

Or at least, you’d convinced yourself you weren’t ready for it.

The next hour passed in a peaceful silence. Joaquin eventually sat back down, pulling up different screens, comparing his information to yours, ensuring that the both of you were actually pulling the correct satellites and getting into the right systems. He’d even had time to run a few different programs, sorting through bits and pieces of foreign software.

But the lab going into lockdown caught you both off guard. The lights flashed red for several seconds before the typical lockdown alarm went off. Typically this only happened when foreign or dangerous substances needed to be contained. 

You were the first to stand up, shushing Joaquin when he tried to protest you going into the main lab. You blinked a few times, looking around the room, trying to figure out what would’ve set the security system off.

There were several different specimens that had been brought back from multiple missions worldwide over the past two months, most of them were deemed safe enough to leave in the open, as long as they were in their own containment cubes. So you walked through the lab, taking a mental note of everything, trying to remember what was what based on the information Peter Parker had provided.

Joaquin groaned, following right behind you. “Could you not run into the face of danger every five minutes?”

You shushed him again. “Please, this is a highly secured base. The only people breaking and entering would be literal aliens, and we would’ve already known that. One of the specimens is probably in a broken container or something.” 

He nodded, following you, eyes tracing the room, until they landed on a pink glittery mist surrounding a somewhat shattered glass case which contained a very large plant. He cleared his throat, then elbowed you lightly.

“Uh—like that?” Joaquin pointed directly at the mist, which was clearly spreading through the air.

“Yeah, exactly like that. Move so I can go get a better look.” He grabbed your arm as you tried to walk past him.

“Is this really a good idea?” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Joaquin, we’re already in the room with the mist, it’s most likely already in our systems. It’s just a plant, it’s not like we’re gonna die.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as you walked across the tiled floors, humming a tune as you got closer to the mist. Joaquin grimmaced as he followed behind you, teeth clenched tightly together as if he was anticipating getting hit by something.

But the mist didn’t do much, if anything it smelled just like you—like your favorite perfume mixed with your shampoo. It was nice and soothing, before he was even processing it, he took a deep inhale of it as you stepped around the broken glass to get a better look at the plant behind it.

Your brows knit together, the smell was incredibly familiar, it didn’t take much for you to recognize it as Joaquin—which was odd. Considering a plant wouldn’t smell like him. Then you were slipping your hand into the large broken gap of the glass container—this glass was supposed to be the equivalent to bulletproof so it was strange that a plant managed to shatter it.

Then you felt the thickness in the air, as if the container was humid and the air was condensed. 

“What the hell are you?” you whispered as you got closer, getting a better look at the large vibrant plant. It was clearly not something earthly, probably one of the items found at an old Hydra base. But you couldn’t deny that the plant was beautiful, however, when it spurred a gust of pink air into your face, you inhaled deeply as you gasped, coughing from the impact.

Clearly that’s how the glass managed to shatter, a buildup of pressure from whatever the hell the plant was releasing.

You stumbled back, directly into Joaquin—who managed to steady you. His hands were on your waist while you stared ahead. Then you felt it, the heat overtaking your entire body. You were practically on fire, and incredibly uncomfortable in the confines of your clothing. 

The second you moved away from Joaquin, the heat became painful, your eyes widening at the shooting pain in your waist specifically. Then you turned to look at him, his eyes were blown with lust—you recognized that look. You’d known it well at one point. 

He bit his bottom lip as he stared at you with hooded eyes, a clear red flush to his skin, chest rapidly rising and falling as he tried to process what was happening to him. Joaquin’s entire mind was consumed by you, consumed by memories of you writhing beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer, your hands on him—his hands on you, it was as if his brain was managing to replay each and every time the both of you had sex.

Joaquin was hard, harder than he’d been in a long time, and he was sweating. His skin was on fire to the point that he was shrugging off the U-Miami hoodie he had on as he stepped away from you, and away from the slowly dissipating—or rather slowly spreading—mist. 

“Shit—baby you need to get the hell away from me. Like now.” 

You blinked a few times, looking at him, watching as he ripped his sweater off, tossing it on the ground before reaching for his belt—that’s when your eyes caught the prominent bulge. The sight sent a shock through you, then you had goosebumps. You were somehow freezing and burning simultaneously.

Then the memories started flooding in, the sight of him on top of you, below you, between your thighs, the way he’d moan in your ear, his teeth and lips against your skin. It had you taking several steps back, nearly falling after walking directly into a metal side table, knocking its contents to the ground.

Joaquin groaned, running a hand through his hair, the heat unbearable at this point. He pulled his shirt off, throwing it elsewhere as fast as possible. “Shit—don’t look at me like that baby.” He ran both hands along his face, looking up at the ceiling, hands clenching and unclenching. 

The pain that came with the heat made it difficult to breathe, Joaquin leaned against the closest table to him, letting out a few laughs, shaking his head at the circumstance.

“You mean to tell me, there’s a sex plant just sitting in the lab, and of all people to get stuck with it—it’s you and me baby? It couldn’t have been like Sam and Bucky—or John and Ava? Or really anyone else?” 

You scoffed at that, pulling your own sweatshirt off, tossing it on the table to your side. “Oh what, you wanted to get stuck in here with Ava or Yelena—or maybe even Kate?” 

He now turned to face you, blinking several times as he shook his head. “Are you trying to start a fight with me right now? As if I’m not over here dying—thinking about you and all of the things I’ve done and want to do to you? Now you choose to act jealous and mean?”

You shook your head at him, taking a few deep breaths, trying to fight the pain, but your knees were feeling wobbly, and you couldn’t stop staring at Joaquin’s chest—eyes tracing his defined abdomen and the familiar trail of hair that had you licking your lips. You did your best to lean against the metal table, both hands gripping the edges of it.

“It hurts doesn’t it? Fuck—I know it’s hurting me.” Joaquin winced as he spoke, gaze on you, watching as you struggled to hold yourself up. He knew better than to go help you, he truly did, but that didn’t stop him from walking across the area and pulling you closer to him before picking you up bridal style, practically whimpering at the feeling of you against him—then he walked away from the broken glass, scattered tables, and the plant. 

He put you down on the small sofa you’d forced him to move into your office space a year ago. Joaquin tried not to focus on the way you winced the second he let go of you.

Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you licked your lips. “Joaquin I need you to fuck me.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in your words, and that had his eyes widening.

“Are you sure this is what you want—baby I don’t think I can control myself—like once we start I just—” 

You sit up, ignoring the pain shooting through your body as you pulled him into you, smashing your lips against his.

Joaquin easily melted into the kiss, and the relief you both felt at the contact was mind-numbing. 

You pulled back first, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t give a shit about control Joaquin, I want you to fuck me—I’m in so much fucking pain.” Your words were harsh before kissing him again, hands in his hair, tugging at the strands while he leaned closer into you, lips parted, tongue against yours, moaning against your lips.

He pulled away for a few seconds, just to sit on the sofa and pull you into his lap, lips back on yours, his hands on your waist, bunching up the old t-shirt you had on. Fingers now digging into your skin as you started grinding yourself against him.

“You gotta take these off, Hermosa—” He tugged on the waistband of your sweats. You nodded at him, biting his bottom lip again before standing back up, letting him tug them off before you were kicking them to the side.

It wasn’t long before you were undoing his belt and tugging at his jeans. 

Joaquin moaned beneath you, you were like a woman possessed, and he would do anything and everything for you. 

His lips moved along your jaw, then down your throat, leaving a series of nips against your skin. Joaquin moaned against your throat as you slid your hand below his jeans, then as you grasped his cock, he bit against your shoulder—earning a loud whine from you. 

“Fuck—okay stop—shit.” His strained voice caught you off guard, you blinked a few times, pulling your hand away while he rested his forehead against your shoulder. 

Joaquin’s head was spinning at this point, all he could think about was being between your thighs. “I need to taste you—shit baby y’gonna let me taste you?” He sounded so breathy and desperate as he looked at you.

You nodded, without any hesitation and let him manhandle you back onto the couch. He was shoving you against the cushions while making his way between your thighs.

Joaquin moaned at the sight of your damp panties, a large dark spot on the grey fabric. He leaned in closer, nose against it, inhaling your scent before licking a flat stripe along the gusset of your panties. He then kissed along your inner thighs, biting into the skin a few times—leaving marks while your hands were in his hair.

“Fuck—missed you so much. Taste so good—all the time. I dream about this—about you like this.” He spoke as he kissed along your panties again, then he was pulling them to the side, moaning while taking in your glistening cunt.

Your back arched the second his tongue was on you. Joaquin licked a flat stripe along your cunt from top to bottom—over and over again. Groaning against you before sliding his tongue along your sopping entrance.

“So fuckin wet—” Then his tongue was inside of you and you were practically seeing stars. Joaquin liked it messy, that was a fact that you’d learned early on in your relationship with him. He practically pressed his entire face against your cunt, the sharp angle of his nose pressing firmly against your clit as his tongue darted in and out of you.

He was allconsuming. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your back arched even more as you tried to close your legs—attempting to push him away. 

Joaquin wasn’t having that, he held your thighs in place, practically pinning you down as he continued his motions, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you were moaning his name and creaming all over his tongue. 

He was a moaning, whimpering mess between your thighs. But he didn’t let up, making you cum somehow made him feel better—it soothed the burn throughout his entire body. He moved from your fluttering hole to your clit, tongue swirling around the swollen bundle as he finally looked up at you—your eyes squeezed shut as you bit your bottom lip, grinding your hips against his face as best as you could.

“Joaquin—fuck—fuck!” The overstimulation had all of your nerve endings on fire, or maybe it was the pollen, you didn’t know and you didn’t care. Not when he was sucking on your clit and moaning against your cunt. 

Then you felt his fingers against your entrance, two easily sliding in, the stretch was so familiar. It had your head spinning.

Joaquin alternated from sucking on your clit to swirling his tongue against it. Even taking the time to rapidly flick his tongue along it, listening to your high pitched moans as his fingers slowly curled into you. He pulled away from your clit to look at you. “Look at me baby, let me see those pretty eyes.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fluttering open as you looked down at him, his mouth back on your clit, fingers moving a bit faster inside of you. Your ears were ringing, and the heat in your body was finally dissipating, but there was a lingering pain—as if this wasn’t enough.

You shook your head at him “Joaquin—I need more.” 

He raised a single brow, fingers rapidly fucking into you as he slid in a third, the newfound stretch had you practically mewling, tugging his hair so hard his scalp was starting to sting. Then you were whimpering his name, struggling to keep your eyes open as he sucked on your clit—pushing you right over the edge.

Joaquin’s fingers kept going, fucking you through your orgasm, ushering a new wave of heat in your body.

You were shoving him away this time, shaking your head, low pleas for him to stop. 

Then he sat back on his haunches, looking up at you, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he slowly slid his fingers out of your cunt. 

“S’fuckin greedy—look at you. Just begging for more huh? Tell me what you need, baby, I’ll give you everything.” His voice was deeper than usual, he was still on fire, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your figure, still wearing the same loose t-shirt. Except now he was processing that the shirt was his.

“I need you—” 

He nodded his head, brows raised, smirking, “Yeah, what about me?” 

You rolled your eyes a bit, sitting up further before taking off the shirt and tossing it at him, fanning yourself with a hand, trying to combat the heat, wincing at the pain in your abdomen. 

“Joaquin, please I need your cock—please.” You sounded so needy and miserable as you looked at him, shaking your head slightly “It hurts—need you to make it stop hurting.”

That’s all it took for him to be up, kicking his jeans off, letting his clothes fall to the ground before he was back on the sofa, pulling you directly onto his lap without a care in the world. He took a few seconds to undo the frilly pink bra you had on, moaning at the sight of your tits in his face.

“Missed these a lot.” Then his hands were on them, massaging them before tugging on your nipples. A few high pitched gasps leaving your lips. Then his tongue was along your throat again, licking across your salty skin, letting out a low moan as he sucked a few marks against the swell of your breasts. 

Joaquin didn’t hesitate to run his tongue along your nipples, then he pulled one into his mouth, sucking on it before lightly biting into it. 

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his shoulders, to his chest. Nails scratching along his skin—the feeling had his eyes rolling back slightly.

Then you were grasping onto his cock again, hand wrapped around the thick shaft, slowly rising and falling, then your thumb was rubbing against the head of his cock, spreading his precum all around—using it to move your hand faster. 

He moaned against your chest, pulling away, resting his head against the wall, lips parted as he moaned your name. Then you leaned forward a bit, spitting directly onto his cock, moving your hand even faster before kissing along his neck, biting against his pulse point slightly—the way he liked it.

Joaquin bucked his hips up into your hand, guttural moans leaving his lips while you kissed along his exposed skin. Your open mouthed kisses cooled him down just enough, then you were practically mirroring his previous actions, licking a flat stripe along his neck, from the base of his shoulder to his ear. Then your tongue was trailing the edge of his ear before you tugged it between your teeth.

“C’mon baby—you know what I like.” His voice was strained as your hand moved faster. You let go of his ear, now inches away from his face, your free hand caressing his jaw as your thumb tugged on his bottom lip. He nodded his lead, licking his lips slightly before opening his mouth a bit wider. 

You didn’t hesitate to spit.

His tongue was against yours in seconds, the kiss was sloppy, spit practically gliding along your chin as he kissed you with his all. 

You moved the hand on his cock, gently angling it down a bit before sliding it right along your dripping cunt. He moaned into your lips at the feeling of you grinding against his length. Your hips moving back and forth against him. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, a thin string of spit connected your bottom lip to his, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. So Joaquin kissed you again.

Your hips shifted again, you whimpered against his lips the second you managed to line the head of his cock up with your hole—then you were sliding yourself onto him—moaning against his lips as he slowly stretched you out.

The burning pain was slipping away, but all you felt was want. You wanted all of Joaquin—every last part of him and then some.

He bit your bottom lip before moaning against your mouth. Joaquin practically shuddered at the feeling of you sliding down his cock, his entire head hazy now.

“Fuck—missed this pussy so much baby, feels so good wrapped around me. So fuckin’ tight, need you to move. Fuckin use me—” He moaned your name, head back against the wall as he bit down on his bottom lip. Joaquin’s eyes were shut as you started slowly rocking against him, then you were lifting up and dropping yourself back down. His hands dug into your waist, fingers bruising against the soft skin while you bounced on his cock.

You’d never felt this good before, the pleasure was short circuiting you. All you could focus on was fucking yourself against Joaquin’s cock. You barely registered anything you were saying. “So fuckin big—fuck feels so good—oh my god—Joaquin.” His name slipped past your lips in a low whine.

You used his shoulders as leverage, nails digging into his skin as you kept your motions up, chasing your own high without a singular care in the world. You smiled and bit your lip, head thrown back as you bounced.

You felt as if you were simultaneously fully conscious and absolutely out of your mind.

The pleasure had you on cloud nine, in a state of pure ecstasy. 

Joaquin looked at you, moaning at the sight of your tits bouncing with each movement, then he looked down, biting his bottom lip at the ring of your cream on his cock, watching as you practically swallowed his cock. 

“Just like that Hermosa, you take it so fuckin good—so fuckin pretty. Cunt’s so fuckin wet—missed me didn’t she?” 

You nodded at his words, eyes slowly opening as you looked at him. The second you’d made eye contact his hand was around your throat, fingers pressed against your pulse point—restricting enough to make you feel light headed. 

“Joaquin—fuck I’m gonna”  You took a sharp inhale one of your hands now grasping onto his forearm, hips slightly faltering as you gushed along his cock. He thrusted up into you as you came, nodding his head, mumbling praises that you couldn’t comprehend while you made a mess of him.

“Fuck—love it when you get messy for me baby.” 

You nodded your head at him, slightly out of breath as he kept fucking up into you. 

You thought the pain would’ve been gone by now, but even for the few seconds of relief you felt, another surge of painful heat would spread throughout your entire body. 

Joaquin was still painfully hard, he’d never lasted this long in his life. Especially not with you bouncing on his cock. His hips snapped up into yours as you leaned further into him, your face resting against the crook of his neck. His hands moved now, one still on your waist, the other planting a series of firm smacks against your ass.

You were whimpering, low moans and whines directly against his skin. 

This wasn’t enough for either of you.

Joaquin was gentle as he helped you slide off of him. You two shared a look, a silent agreement that had you on your hands and knees, while he used the sofa for leverage, two hands on your waist as you slowly spread your thighs apart more. He laughed as you gave up on holding your upper body up with your hands, instead resting your face against one of the decorative cushions on the sofa. 

Then he was teasing you—gliding his cock along your glistening cunt, tapping the head against your swollen clit a few times before fully lining himself up with you. 

“Ask for it nicely, Sweetheart.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes slightly, feeling a little more like yourself now. Or at least you did until he landed another smack to your ass, then you felt it—he used one hand to spread you open, spitting directly onto your other hole, his thumb now teasing it. There were a few things that you and Joaquin hadn’t tried before—and this was one of them.

“Joaquin—please.”

You blamed the pollen, it had to have been the pollen that was making you move your hips back into his hand, practically inviting his thumb in. 

“Fuck, you’re so filthy baby, missed you so much. I’ll be nice to you today.” Then Joaquin bottomed out, cock filling you in a way that had you practically drooling. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the new angle, he was so deep—you loved every second of it.

It wasn’t long before his thumb was sliding directly into your ass, the newfound stretch made your toes curl as your cunt clenched around him. Then your hips were meeting his strokes, grinding yourself back against him—lost in the pleasure.

Joaquin was a moaning mess, muttering curses under his breath as he fucked into you, thrusting hard and deep, listening to your whines and whimpers. 

“I’m sorry baby—It’s a lot I know—but, fuck, you feel so good.” He bit his bottom lip after speaking, you whimpered in response, then he was picking up the speed of his thrusts, practically pounding into you—the couch rocking against the wall with every movement. 

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I remember how you like it.” Joaquin’s voice was low as he spoke, gaze focused on the way your cunt welcomed every single thrust, your inner thighs with a sheen wetness from your dripping center—this had to be what heaven felt like.

Then he was leaning forward, practically caging you in before sliding a hand below you, wrapping it around your neck again. The closeness sent a shiver of relief down both of your spines, he paused his movements for a brief second as you did your best to look back at him.

“What's wrong baby? You need something?” 

You nodded at him, Joaquin always knew how to read you—even during sex.

“I need you to kiss me.”

He smiled at that, nodding his head before leaning further into you, lips on yours as you struggled to kiss him back. Then Joaquin started fucking into you again, holding you in place against him—forcing you to take everything he gave you.

You loved every second of it.

You were moaning against his lips, doing your best to kiss him back, your efforts were pathetic. Joaquin was all consuming, you couldn’t think of anything else but Joaquin and the pleasure coursing through your veins, your legs shaking as another orgasm swiftly approached.

“That’s it baby, squeezing me so good—fuck you’re gonna cum huh? Cum all over my cock—give it to me. Want you creaming all over me again.” His voice was low as he spoke, a mix of moans slipping out between his words while he kept fucking into you, the pace brutal—but so fucking good.

You nodded your head, forehead resting against his slightly, the angle a bit awkward as you whined his name, cunt squeezing his cock in a way that had his head spinning.

But Joaquin still couldn’t cum—and he was getting frustrated.

He fucked you through your orgasm, trying to chase his own, but it wasn’t working—he was so close but something was missing.

“F-fuck it’s too much baby—Joaquin please—” 

He nodded, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you, moaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Something possessed him in that moment, suddenly he was on his knees, hands on your upper thighs, holding you in place as his tongue was back against you.

Joaquin licked into your cunt as if it was his last meal—he loved going down on you so maybe it made sense that he just wanted to be between your thighs again. 

You were practically shaking as he tongue fucked you, landing rough smacks to your thighs and ass every now and then, your whines only spurring him on more. 

He had you cumming again in minutes—your back arching even harder as you reached back, tugging on his dark curls, grinding yourself against his face as you were coating his chin in your nectar again.

Joaquin kissed against your cunt one last time before pulling away. You were a panting mess on the sofa, ass in the air as you gripped against the cushions with tears falling along your cheeks.

Then you finally looked at him, eyes widening at the sight of his still hard cock. “Quino you still haven't finished?” you were so breathless as you spoke, but the old nickname had him biting his bottom lip, nodding his head at you.

Joaquin watched as you slowly sat up, now looking up at him while he stood a few steps away, then your gaze dropped to his cock, a shiny layer of your juices coating him. His tip was flushed red as he grasped himself, running a hand along his shaft—moaning softly at the sense of relief.

“Let me help you—I know what you like.” 

He nodded his head as you reached forward, grabbing his hand, a silent plea for him to sit down. Then you grasped a pillow, placing it on the floor between his legs before kneeling down. 

The sight of you on your knees between his thighs was enough to have him twitching, you bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him—right into his eyes. Then you grasped his cock, leaning forward to spit on it again, spreading it with your hand as you maintained eye contact.

At this point, your pain was gone, the lingering heat still there—but manageable.

Nothing compared to Joaquin, who felt as if he was burning alive in the deepest layer of hell.

You trailed your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, slowly—deliberately. You repeated the motion a few times before swirling it around the tip of his cock, pulling it into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you harshly sucked on it. 

His hand was in your hair in seconds, then you moaned against him—and that had him bucking his hips. Joaquin’s eyes widened as you gagged against his cock. Then he gently pulled you away from him. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry baby—that was a lot.” 

You giggled, nodding your head “Yeah? You wanna fuck my face Quino?” 

Joaquin practically choked on air at your sultry tone, eyes wide as he looked down at you. “Please—fuck please.”

Then you wrapped your lips back around him, winking before taking more of his cock into your mouth and down your throat, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head. Then you grasped one of his hands in your own, a reassuring squeeze—a soft message. Joaquin nodded his head again, moaning before he started bucking his hips.

He started off slow, testing your limits, moaning every time you’d gag around him. But the pleading look in your eye—he knew that look and he knew you wanted it.

Before you knew it, Joaquin was guiding your movements and full on fucking your face, letting out strings of moans mixed with curses at the feeling. 

You were taking it, looking up at him with teary eyes, spit drooling along your chin. 

Joaquin was positive he was still in love with you—this exact moment solidified that. 

You tapped on his thigh a few times, he got the message, slowly pulling back, giving you a second to catch your breath. Your drunken giggle had him blushing—if that was even possible at this point. You looked so cockdrunk and fucked out as you stared at him.

“Joaquin” 

He nodded his head, looking at you, brows raised as he caught his breath.

“I want you to cum inside of me.” 

His jaw was practically on the floor at your words, and it wasn’t long before he had you flat against the couch again, slotted perfectly between your thighs as he looked down at you, a few loose curls slightly brushing against your forehead before you pulled him into a kiss.

As you kissed him, Joaquin lined himself up with your entrance and you locked a leg around his waist. Then he was bottoming out inside of you again, both of you moaning against one another’s lips. 

He kissed you with his all, pouring months of unspoken emotions into this as he rocked his hips into you, fucking you much slower than before. Hard, deep, and slow—the way he knew you loved it. 

Your nails dug into his back, scratching along his skin as you rolled your hips against him.

“Fuck—feels so good baby—still so fuckin tight.” He rested his head in the crook of your neck while he fucked you, his body still on fire, but this was different—he was chasing his high. He was so close, he could feel it in his bones, a numbing pleasure taking over.

“Just like that Quino, fuck, just like that! Oh my god—Oh my god!” your back was arching into him as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the coil in your abdomen so tight it hurt, you needed to cum—desperately.

So did Joaquin.

Then you grasped his hair, tugging him back slightly, he looked down at you as you looked into his eyes. “I missed you—fuck missed you so much.” Then your lips were on his gain, pulling him into another sloppy desperate kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, and he kissed you until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, feeling himself right on the edge. 

“Want you to cum Joaquin—wanna feel it—please cum for me.” Yourwords were quiet whines as you pressed a few quick kisses to his lips. But that didn’t send him over the edge.

No, what sent Joaquin over the edge was your breathless whispers, praising him, and a short, almost shallow “I love you—”

He moaned your name like a prayer as his hips stilled, warmth spreading through you as thick ropes of cum decorate your walls. You moaned against him, feeling euphoric as you came again.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, neither speaking a single word as he practically collapsed against you. Your hands tracing circles into his back while he rested his head in the crook of your neck—avoiding looking at you. 

Then you cleared your throat. 

“As much as I like the whole, post-sex cuddle. We need to talk about what the hell just happened, Joaquin.” 

He groaned, nodding his head as he slowly pulled out of you, pressing soft kisses against your neck as you winced at the feeling. 

“Sorry baby, I know—shit I’m sorry.” He spoke softly while moving back, eyes trailing your face as you clenched your jaw and hissed, back arching uncomfortably. As soon as he pulled out of you, he was up, on his feet, pulling his jeans back on for a quick second before rummaging through your drawers until he found a box of tissues and an unopened water bottle.

You sat up on your elbows, brows knit together as you watched him. Then he was sliding your legs open, a breathy “fuck—missed seeing this” leaving his lips before he was gently cleaning you up, touches featherlight as he did his best to take care of you.

“Stop staring at me like I have three heads, you know I always do this for you after we have sex.” He spoke without even looking up at you, now focused on cleaning up your thighs, tossing the used tissues into a small trash can he also dragged over. 

“Yeah but we don’t have sex anymore, and we’re not together—so you really don’t need to do this.” You spoke softly, confusion evident in your tone while you looked at him. 

Joaquin rolled his eyes, raising a single brow as he finally met your eyes. “So I’m supposed to fuck the woman I’m in love with and leave her a jumbled, fucked out mess on the couch? Over the past eight months have you just been dating assholes or something?” 

You blinked a few times, now sitting up, arms crossed over your chest—trying to cover yourself as if he hadn’t seen you before. Joaquin handed you the shirt you’d been wearing before, one of his older worn out U Miami t-shirts that you’d stolen a month into dating him. You mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before slipping it on. 

“And before you start thinking too hard, the way you always do. Yes I said I’m in love with you, I’ve never stopped loving you, and I know why you broke up with me. It was valid, and I don’t think I was ever really mad at you for it. I love you, without a single doubt in my mind, I love you. It didn’t take that weird sex plant for me to know that, I’ve known it since the day you punched me in the face.”

You blinked a few times, brows knit together. “I punched you on the plane leaving Madripoor because you scared the shit out of me!” 

“Exactly. Why the hell do you think I chased after you for so long? Because I just had a crush on you. I feel like we’ve had this talk before. What matters now is I tell you, I’m in love with you. I like to annoy you because I think you look pretty when you’re irritated with me.”

He paused, looking around for his shirt, brows knit together at the realization that it wasn’t there.

“I’m not sure if it’s safe to go back out there—but anyways. I like spending my time with you, I choose desk duty sometimes just to be around you, even if it makes you mad. I know you don’t hate me, not when you were whimpering that you loved me while we’re fucking in missionary of all positions.” 

Joaquin spoke with his hands, the sight made you laugh, then you bit your lip, trying to remain serious. He easily caught on to you laughing at him, shaking his head slightly.

“So, since we’re both on the same page—being you’re totally in love with me and I’m totally in love with you. I think we should go on a date tomorrow, give us a second shot?” 

You smiled at him, rolling your eyes. “Only if you promise not to chew on my pens anymore.” 

He scoffed. “Hell no! I can’t promise that, it’s a habit, besides, your pens are the perfect kind of plastic for it.”

“You’re such a child Joaquin!” You were full on laughing now, shaking your head at him.

“Okay, at least I can admit to having childish habits, little miss I still wear clothes I stole from my ex-boyfriend. Wait—did you ever wear my clothes around other guys?!” 

You rolled your eyes at him, now standing up and heading back into the main area of the lab, ignoring his protests as you looked around, now noticing a minor glitter in the air—but nothing as major as before. The plant itself looked calmer, as if it fulfilled its purpose and was now lying dormant again.

You were quick to collect your clothes and his, tossing it at him while he followed you around.

“Well! I need an answer baby, I’ll be heartbroken if any other losers got to see how sexy you look in my clothes!” 

You rolled your eyes, walking back into your office space as Joaquin followed suit, now pulling his shirt on.

“Joaquin Torres, do you really think I dated anyone over the time that we were broken up?” 

He shrugged as you turned to face him. “I dunno, maybe you tried the whole ‘get over one person, get under another’ thing. But you’re not really good at casual sex—I mean look at how we ended up.” 

You scoffed, shoving him. He was right though, the entire reason your relationship with Joaquin had ever started was because you were both drunk and decided to hook up on a random night, from there, casual sex quickly turned into something that wasn’t casual whatsoever.

“So that’s a no then? Good because I thought I was a desperate loser for holding onto the hope that I’d be able to win you back.” He pulled you against him, hands on your waist as he looked at you, a wide smile on his face. “You’re it for me baby.”

You rolled your eyes again, smiling before kissing him.

Then a loud shout caught your attention, both of you pulling away from one another at the sound of Sam and Bucky arguing over the mess in the lab.

“What the hell happened here?!” 

A scoff followed by, “Well Buck, maybe if you listened to me instead of leaving all of the weird shit we find on missions out in the open, there wouldn’t be glass all over the ground and that freaky ass plant sitting there.”

When Sam and Bucky came into sight, both of them paused, eyes wide as they noticed you and Joaquin’s disheveled appearance, the pile of clothing on the small coffee table in your usual office, and the very evident bruises along Joaquin’s throat.

“I told you it was a damn sex plant! Bruce said to burn it! Now look, those two were getting freaky on camera! Jesus Christ—” Sam turned his gaze from Bucky to you and Joaquin, voice louder now “You two, pull the last few hours of footage from in here and burn it! I don’t need to be traumatized tonight.”

Bucky sighed, patting Sam on the back as they started walking out.

“I’m glad you two made up!” was the last thing you heard before the lab doors shut again.

“If those two ever got stuck in a situation like this, who would break first? Sam or Bucky?” Joaquin glanced in their direction, then back at you while wiggling his brows.

“I’d say Bucky definitely, he’s touch starved—he’d be all over Sam. Now onto important subjects, where are you taking me for our date?”

Joaquin smiled, kissing you again. “Wherever you want.”

[sunaluv]

'IS SHE TAKEN?'

in which someone asks your man if you're single

feat: ran, gojo

RAN

the club setting was filled with more excitement tonight. don't get it twisted, any club or event hosted by the haitanis was guaranteed to be the event of the day, good vibes, hot people, and lots of money to be made. but when one of the brothers was actually present at the club? something about their aura seemed to bring out the vibes in people.

ran's hooded gaze watched adoringly at you across the club, the setting bringing nostalgia to the first time you met. ever the social butterfly you were, accepting another phone number from one of the girlfriends you made tonight. the other members of the roundtable looked at one another, wondering if the haitani brother was even present.

"no wonder you're so distracted, boss," the man next to him nudged him with his elbow, to which ran side-eyed him. "she's a looker, d'ya think she's single?"

your boyfriend appeared neutral as he let the guy ramble on about how hot you were, and what he would do to you given the chance. he missed the harsh roll of ran's eyes. if he didn't know you were spoken for, he would make sure this guy knew by the end of the night.

as if on queue, you waved bye to your new friends and started to make your way to the table. eyes followed your figure as you passed, but that was to be expected when the prettiest girl at the club walked past.

"hey, sweetheart," his soft lips pressed against the crown of your head. "you alright?"

"i'm good! a little tired though," you let out a deep sigh, melting into his arms. "these heels have been killing me..."

wordlessly, his large hands had your ankles in his lap, undoing the buckles on your heels and rubbing tender circles into the irritated skin.

he smirked at the relieved sigh that left your lips. "my buddy here has something to ask you, sweets."

the man next to you seemed to go silent since your arrival at the table, the consequences of his actions just hitting. a deep breath followed by a gulp as he wiped his damp hands against his slacks. he almost flinched when your hooded, yet dominating gaze met his own eyes, but after remembering who and where he was, he gained his composure almost as quickly as it left.

"nah 'ts nothin'," he waved his hand. "just a passing thought, is all..."

others both around the roundtable and those dancing near it tried not to make it obvious that they were watching the exchange going down. they found themselves pitying a character who would not deserve it, under different circumstances. but, as discussed, the haitani aura seems to throw things off of balance.

if he didn't want to talk, ran would do it for him. "he wants to know if your single, claims he could give you a lay better than your man could,"

your eyes left the man, instead looking over your boyfriends face in silent communication.

'you and i both know he can't'

'...i know, my love, just humor me every once in a while?'

'you're such a character sometimes, haitani'

'you love it though'

eyes darted between you, awaiting your response, thus his sentence in anticipation. he didn't know what telepathic language you were communicating in, but he was glad to not hear his fate get discussed right in front of him.

"i'm very flattered, but i have a boyfriend, sorry." your response was dry towards him, but the gaze you held with ran was anything but.

catching wind of what was about to happen, you excused yourself from the table, leaving a kiss on the corner of rans mouth, whispering a 'be good' in his ear before leaving.

whatever happened after your departure was not your business, after all.

GOJO

"hey man," a hand belonging to an unfamiliar man clasped on satorus shoulder. "do you know if the girl you came here with has a boyfriend?"

you had dragged your boyfriend to one of your friend's parties, much to his dismay. he's sworn off drinking after geto's blackmail folder started getting a bit thick, meaning there was nothing fun to do other than socialise, but he didn't want to after people flocked to him for the wrong reasons.

so now he was maybe the only sober one in this lively scene, which leads to the current events.

he spoke your name for clarity. "uhh, I'm not sure. you can go ask her if you want. ill even put in a good word for you."

has this man been a fraction more sober, he would've questioned why the blindfolded man's smile was so wide, or why he was so willing to help, but alas, this was a party and alcohol was supplied.

"thanks, dude! you're such a lifesaver."

satoru almost felt bad for the guy. he was practically buzzing whilst traversing through the sweaty bodies in search of you. he felt bad until he remembered how bored he was before this happened, he has to put himself first sometimes.

after a couple stumbles, reroutes and a rest break, they had finally found you in your angelic beauty, laughing with a group of girls he didn't know.

he thought it was quite cute how the guy seemed to become more shy at the sight of you, and satoru couldn't blame him. had he been someone more normal, he would act the same in your presence.

one of the girls caught sight of the pair by the entry and gestured you towards them. your face softened slightly at the sight of your six-foot-something boyfriend and his... friend?

"hey toru," you smiled, before looking at the other man. "who’s this?"

satoru said nothing, slapping the guy a little too harshly on the back before stepping back. the floor was his.

"hey," he breathed out, before introducing himself. "i saw you come in with your friend earlier, and just wanted to know if you were seeing anyone?"

your heart rate picked up, but not for the reason the guy was hoping. why was gojo like this? did he enjoy seeing you suffer?

he obviously did as when you looked over your shoulder to the said man, he gave you a big, encouraging grin with both thumbs up. the audacity.

he had thrown you to the wolves and left you to fend for yourself.

"uhm..." you breathed, trying not to shatter the poor guy's heart. "i have a boyfriend, unfortunately. sorry."

"what do you mean, unfortunately!" satoru mocked you from behind the guy. "I'm a total catch, right?" he turned to the guy. "right??"

though delayed, the guy had finally come to the realisation he had been punked by the man who egged him on the whole time. his face burst into a deep shade of red, apologising profusely before rushing back into the crowd.

"you're such an ass, gojo."

"the last name huh?" he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm in for it arent i?"

[icarus-wrote-the-other51]

they told me i was made to entertain ✮

and that my heart was made to bleed.

CALL ME ICARUS! I am in fact, the creator of Blacklane's little ecosystem, and of all the characters in the series, most elder to me. But are they still basically all my children? Absolutely. @/localburntoutkid is my main feel free to ask about my characters. please ask about them. PLEASE. genderfluid (any prns) ; bisexual; indian ; adhd ; procrastinator. I have Absolutely Horrible Humour ™️ and I will not apologise for it <3

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Vesper Locke is a British-Indian detective at Scotland Yard by day and a cardsharp casino operator by night. She’s made a career out of walking the edges of knives and being on the wrong sides of guns —between the law and the underworld, between her own ambition and the city’s prejudices. When a government ledger goes missing—one with enough dirt to topple half of the government cabinet —Vesper is officially assigned to “investigate” the theft. Officially, it might boost her career to something other than just a woman of color with a minimal pay. Unofficially, she recognizes an opportunity for leverage too good to pass up. Of course, she can’t do it alone. She busts Silas—erstwhile pickpocket, old friend —out of jail three years ahead of schedule, using “totally legal” (Yeah,, right, ves..) funds and paperwork that would pass a seasoned officer. Silas, a native Londoner with a knack for trouble is just the start. Vesper collects an assorted group of outlaws for her purpose. The target? The Seven Dials Mob, a new breed of Soho gangster with a taste for blackmail and a flair for Cold War drama. The ledger they’re selling could bring down governments or make Vesper untouchable—if she can get her hands on it first. Heists are planned , then promptly derailed by MI5 stings, old circus rivals, and the inconvenient revelation that Vesper is keeping a secret about the job from the crew. Trust frays, tempers flare. Meanwhile, Vesper’s double life is on the verge of collapse. She’s called in to investigate her own crimes, feeding false leads to the Yard while orchestrating break-ins and blackouts on the side. The pressure mounts, and the cracks start to show: sleepless nights, hallucinations of her long-dead mentor, and a mind fraying at the edges. The only thing more dangerous than Blacklane's criminal empire, is the woman who knows all it's secrets.

ABOUT THE CHARACTERS:

Vesper Locke, queen of the double life, connections everywhere, detective at the Scotland Yard.

Silas Vane, master thief, lockpick, ex-convict with a dark past.

Elizabeth Lauren, sharpshooter, fighting her family’s decline and the city’s violence.

Felix Marlowe , an American circus runaway whose flexibility is matched only by his rent troubles, with a knack for acoustic guitar.

Theo Alekseev, a Russian blacksmith’s apprentice and former underground brawler, wrestling with Cold War paranoia and his own heart.

Isabella Moretti, British-Italian, and an ex-brothel survivor that holds the place of the casino queen to the public.

POSTS TO LOOK AT:

places: - BLACKLANE - CASINO: CRIMSON ROYALE characters: worldbuilding: the little things (small collection of random incidents): #1 #icarus writes - ......obvious #anything but writing ts - other rants related to the characters and their backgrounds #questions and muddled answers: asks #icarus who? - character posting character tags: # a magician reveals his secrets - felix # humiliation worse than death - theo # performer in a world of bystanders - isa # they called me a bastard - silas # they called me a queen - vesper # sharpshooter with sharper words - elizabeth

TAGLIST: @dreamboyinthedarkvoid @lovely-writes-alot @st4rrylavendersk1es @blackcherriestxox! !!!

[novankenn]

Double Barreled MFK

(A/N - I've seen these around, and I enjoy reading them. Check out @arc-misadventures and Master Posts of Posts V and V.V for some really interesting and entertaining combinations. This is inspired by their collection of much better written posts.)

Jaune Arc and Coco Adel were seated on the edge of Beacon's fountain, examining and discussing the various apparel that was being worn by Beacon Academy's "Hottest Huntress/Huntsman" poll.

For reasons unbeknownst to them they were neither on the list, nor had they been allowed to participate in the judging.

Nora: Jaune-Jaune!

Jaune: (Without looking up from his Coco's scroll) No.

Nora: But...

Jaune: (Looks up at Nora) I'm not...

Coco: Is she doing MFK with you again?

Jaune: Probably... (Looks at Nora) No... definitely.

Nora: Please? Last one... I promise!

Jaune: You said that the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and...

Nora: Okay. Sheesh beating a dead-horse there Fearless Leader.

Coco: Who were the choices?

Jaune: Coco?

Coco: Don't look at me like that. I'm curious on who she was going to try and temp you with.

Jaune: You know she's only going to try and rope you into this frustration if you pry.

Coco: I'm still curious. Who are the choices?

Nora: Yeah! Okay... Mr Arc. Ms Adel... Marry Fuck Kill...

Jaune: I never agr...

Coco: Shush!

Nora: Bachelorette number one! Fearless Leader's one and only partner, the mascot of Pumpkin Pete's... Pyrrha Nikos!

Pyrrha: Hi?

Jaune: What is she blackmailing you with... this time?

Pyrrha: Nothing?

Jaune: Nora?

Nora: Bachelorette number two! She is the fantasy MILF for tens of thousands! Her origins are shadowed in Mystery... the Tarnished Spartan!

TS!Pyrrha: Ah... hello?

Coco: OMG!

Jaune: How?

TS!Pyrrha: Nora asked me?

Jaune: But...

Nora: Jaune-Jaune... I. Have. My. Ways.

Jaune: But...

Nora: Don't. Question. Just. Accept. Understood?

Jaune: ...

Coco: Can I ask?

Nora: No.

Coco: Okay then.

Nora: And finally Bachelor number one...

Jaune / Coco: KILL!

Nora: Huh? But? I didn't get to...

Jaune: You said bachelor. That means it's a guy. I'm not into guys. Kill.

Coco: I'm not either. Kill.

Nora: Should have seen that one coming. Oh well. Jaune?

Jaune: I'd fuck the Tarnished Spartan and Marry Pyrrha.

Nora / TS!Pyrrha / Pyrrha: Why!?!

Jaune: (Sighs) The Tarnished Spartan... has always been a fantasy and I'd like to see if what I dreamt up matches reality, but in the end I want to have a family and live out my life with the one person here who has lifted me up and given me everything of themselves. So I'd marry Pyrrha.

Pyrrha: YES! I'll call my mom and get the preparations started!

Jaune: Huh?

Coco: Looks like you're off the market! Congratulations!

Nora: Okay, so... Coco... who are you going to Marry, and who are you going to Fuck?

Coco: I'm not a homewrecker so I'd have to get my brother from another mother's permission to give his waifu the time of her life at her Hen Party, and then I'd marry the Tarnished Spartan... preferably at the same ceremony as the man who would be my best man! Besides, as much fun as Nikos looks like she'll be... I want someone a little more mature.

TS!Pyrrha: I accept!

Coco: YES!

Nora: So... hmmmm....

Jaune: Nora?

Nora: So you both want to fuck the other's would-be wife. Sounds like you both are into partner swapping! NICE!

Jaune: I am n...

Coco: I'm game if you are.

Jaune: What???

Coco: Ladies, what say you? You up for some consensual fun before the nuptials?

Pyrrha and TS!Pyrrha look at each other...

Pyrrha/ TS!Pyrrha: YES!

Jaune: WHAT???

(A/N 2 - The third choices was Pyrros Nikos a character from @arc-misadventures' Swap Au which can be found here IV. A very talented writer with some awesome ideas/stories. If you haven't give them a look.)

[st2r-b0y]

I have so much freak degenerate art stored away and part of me thinks tumblr should see it but the other part of me is like oh hell no y’all can’t see ts I’m cooked </3

Also people ik irl follow me and they don’t deserve to see it (they might blackmail me.)

[spade-riddles]

Spade wake up! Time to check out Karlie’s instagram story and the fire trucks the kids are playing with 🚒

“Hess” trucks for both kids. Seems she is saying they are Jerk’s and Mikey’s kids. Which furthers my theory that KK and TS have at least one girl. And also explains why convicted felon and blackmailer Charles Kushner was holding one of the boys at the street ceremony.

[hamiltonconfessions-but-better]

WHY ARE PEOPLE SUDDENLY HATING ON BLACKMAIL

icl, ts pmo

.

[mechs-headcanons]

I'm gonna be honest, I absolutely love any and all polymechs stuff, but there's a few that I love more than others, and one section I just personally can't see.

Okay so first, I can't see TS being involved. Sure, it likes being involved with stuff, but it doesn't think it exists, why would it be in a relationship? Plus, I personally think that after how badly the first time it fell in love went? It wouldn't want to be with anyone else. It's not aro/ace or anything, though I used to be very firm on that my stance has changed. I just think it doesn't want to have something go wrong. After all, they could just as easily leave it somewhere for a few centuries, or just never pick it back up if they wanted. It wants to be a part of it, yes. And the others do occasionally encourage it so it's gotten semi-okay with like- cuddles and stuff. It just won't do anything more unless ordered to, which no one wants to force it into that if it doesn't want it.

Now, as for the stuff I am very biased on? Lesbians. I absolutely love the dynamic of Nastya/Aurora and Raph/Ivy, but I also lean more heavily into the Tim/Brian dynamic, but listen.

For whatever reason, I absolutely love the dynamic of Marius and Ashes. I don't know, those two just seem like they'd absolutely love cuddles from each other. Ashes feels like the kind of person to seem really tough on the outside, but then when they're alone with someone like Marius? All the cuddles. They are the most cuddly person ever, and Marius fucking loves it. They will sit together, cuddled up for hours, and ashes would just let Marius rant about whatever it is that comes to mind, and they'd just happily listen as long as he doesn't get up. They don't do this with anyone else either. It is only with Marius because they trust that he won't tell anyone or use it as blackmail.

Also, why is there no one talking about the fact that Aurora seems perfect for everyone to cuddle? She will make you as comfortable as possible, no matter what, and might even force you into cuddles if you seem like you need it. Like if Tim gets into a fight with someone, and is really pissed, she'll just kinda grab him, bundle him up in blankets in a colder room and force him into cuddles until he's calm. She'd do this for everyone, really, and I feel like she'd actively try and stop them from doing anything stupid, because she loved them and doesn't want to see them hurt even if they can't die.

Also Nastya was secretly trying to build her a semi-human form pre-out but never actually finished, being halfway done when she went out, but the goal was even better cuddles.

i agree on the ts thing, i personally see it as more of a qpr addition/honorary best friend.

ashes and marius<33

aurora and all of them is so under explored in the fandom like AGH

[agentnico]

Carry-On (2024) review

I absolutely adore users’ reactions on Letterboxd. Here’s one for this movie by user ‘matthacunda’ - “TS-motherfuckin'-A. They handle shit. That's what they do. Consider this situation fuckin’ handled.” Love that.

Plot: A mysterious traveler blackmails a young TSA agent into letting a dangerous package slip through security and onto a Christmas Day flight.Some directors should be left to doing what they do best. Jaume Collet-Serra has made a living off establishing himself as a bonafide auteur of better than they have any right to be suspense thrillers about decent people (majority of the times played by Liam Neeson with a particular set of skills) trapped in compromising positions. Yet in recent years he has been offered the big pay-checks from major studios to direct big Hollywood blockbusters the likes of Jungle Cruise and Black Adam, and they ended up not that good. Look, those movies are the kind of forgettable Hollywood content that could be made by literally anyone, and as such leave directors to await their chance for a streamer to then give them another chance, and then they can go back to basics and make a name for themselves again. In cometh Netflix, a pioneer of endless algorithmic content, who have allowed Serra to make another silly action thriller, now involving airports and planes again, which is great, as his best in my eyes is still Non-Stop - that movie was a whopper! But how does Carry-On hold up against it?

There’s something really fun about setting a dumb action flick during the holiday season. Die Hard is prime example of this, using the holidays as a backdrop for pointless violence and action. Carry-On plays up to this genre, even if it is a tad predictable. I do wish it leaned more into the Christmas vibe, as aside from a couple of festive song cues (the film opens with Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as we pan down the winter sky, and a notable car crash/fight sequence is accompanied by “Last Christmas”) there wasn’t actually that much Christmas fluff to this, unlike the trailers promised. Furthermore, there was a lack of action for an action film. Don’t get me wrong, when the action happens Serra brings his signature style, with the aforementioned car fight in particular being a visually popping and exciting piece, evoking the opening of the first Deadpool movie. But otherwise this is mostly Bateman’s terrorist monologuing in Everton’s early for most of the runtime, which did become a tad repetitive and made the pacing a bit slow.

That being said, Jason Bateman as the baddie really is the best part of this film. For those surprised that Bateman can play a genuinely intimidating and unnerving villain instead of his regular awkward mess characters, you evidently haven’t seen his work in the Ozark series, and more notably the thriller The Gift, that really makes you re-assess Jason Bateman as am actor. The guy plays evil well. His calculated menace provides the perfect foil to Egerton’s everyman hero, creating a dynamic that keeps viewers guessing about his true motives. Bateman is both relatable and terrifying, with his banter throughout much of the film adding a mix of unease and levity. Taron Egerton is fine, however aside from those two the other cast performances leave much to be desired. Sofia Carson especially provides a bland performance as Egerton’s pregnant wife (which by the way her pregnancy being her only character trait), as she delivers all her dialogue in such monotone and lifeless fashion that one wonders if she’s talking to a tree. She lacks any kind of chemistry with Egerton, and in fact I was shipping Egerton more with Bateman.

Carry-On is enjoyable and fits right at home in Netflix infinite library of content. You’ll get a kick out of Bateman’s evil doings, as well as the unrealistic silly happenstances that occur within the narrative, but aside from that this is the type of movie that will be long forgotten after the holiday season is over. That being said, for Christmas 2024 this is a perfectly fine and entertaining enough palette cleanser for a year that has overall being a misfire for cinema.

Overall score: 5/10

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

I want TS to make a cameo and so Richie gets her to sign an autograph and take a selfie for Eva. I want Cousin to fangirl hard at TS and TS to love it and tell him "Awww you're soooo cute!". I want Carm to get the footage of that whole sequence on his phone and then try to blackmail Richie. I want Cousin to tell him: YOU KNOW WHAT?! IDC! DO WHATEVER YOU WANT WITH THAT VIDEO, I LOVE HER AND OWN IT, UNLIKE YOU! And then I want Carmy to crawl under a rock and die bc he knows exactly what Richie meant.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

ArShi TS: Open Secret [2/3]

Word Count: ~2000 words

Prompt by @ruminationsofaraven​

What if all the secrets are revealed during the Holi segment? Can you write about the dynamic shift in the characters and how this would affect the Raizada parivaar in this phase of their lives.

Read part 1

Shyam had intended to color Khushi all along. If only Arnav hadn’t come in between… but for how long? What if the next time Arnav wasn’t around? Then? 

The thought sobered Payal up more than the lemon pickles. Them hiding Shyam’s true colors was a mistake. That man had no intention of changing, his disgust on Khushi being married was evident and so was his desperation to get to Khushi one way or the other.

Oh what had they done! For Payal’s marriage they had all put Khushi’s safety at stake. What if Khushi wasn’t married into the family, what if he had blackmailed Khushi to ensure the safety of Payal’s marriage? 

Khushi’s marriage, more of an elopement, was a blessing in disguise because Payal’s marriage to Akash had just been the leverage Shyam could have used against the Guptas. Especially Khushi.

No, Akash had to know the truth. 

Payal composed herself and head to her bedroom to find a stony faced Akash, a devastated Nani and an enraged Manohar. 

What was going on? 

– – – – – – – – – – –

“What is going on!” Manohar yelled, quieting Manorama with his rare rage as the rest of the family flinched in the living room. Shyam sweated profusely, Khushi blinked in confusion and Arnav was just sobering up. 

“Mama ji-” Shyam began but Manohar stopped him in his place with a look. 

What the hell… 

Anjali sat next to Khushi, holding her hand tightly. Khushi’s attention was diverted to the quivering pregnant woman. 

“Bitwa, please calm down. Anjali bitiya-” Nani began, trying to reign in her son’s temper. Anjali was expecting and she was of faint heart. God forbid if she followed her mother’s footsteps then Devyani would have no will to live at all. 

“How long has this been going on?” Akash asked Shyam, his anger barely in check. When Shyam feigned innocence, Akash rolled his eyes and took Khushi’s phone from Mama ji. 

“Di, I’m really sorry. But you should read the texts that your husband sends out to your sister in law.” Arnav stood up, realizing Akash had figured out what he had. He grabbed the phone from Akash’s hands, stopping him from handing it over to Anjali.

Anjali wouldn’t be able to bear the truth. 

“Akash, leave it.” Arnav warned. Akash froze, Arnav knew. 

“Bhai… how can I leave it? The whole house has a right to know, especially Di-” Shyam paled at the conflict between the cousins. Shit. They knew. But how much? And what perspective? 

If Akash thought what Arnav thought, then Khushi and Payal would be kicked out from the house and everything would work in his favor. 

But Anjali looked strangely calm. Perhaps she wouldn’t believe her cousins. Shyam formulated a plan, he would beg for forgiveness and talk about the way Khushi came onto him. That’s how the Gupta sisters are. Payal grabbed Akash at the first chance and when Khushi couldn’t get Arnav, she and her family latched onto the very married Shyam. 

This would make perfect sense. 

And Garima would never speak to the family - he knew it by her fear of Payal’s broken wedding! 

Anjali stood up and grabbed the phone from her brothers, reading aloud the text message from Shyam. 

“Dear Khushi ji, it’s time to bury the hatchet at this wonderful festival, isn’t it? I miss you, and I still love you. Trust me, Rani Saheba means nothing to me. Yours, Shyam” Anjali’s voice shook. Khushi panicked, disgusted at the text message. She should’ve never given the man another chance. Rather, she should have buried him alive the minute she had got to know the truth. 

He wouldn’t stop. He never would. It was her biggest mistake to have kept it quiet for the sake of Payal’s marriage. But speaking of Payal, where was she? 

Arnav yanked Khushi by the arms, his eyes bloodshot in rage. 

“How dare you-”

“Chote!” Anjali pulled Khushi away from Arnav’s grip - which left bruises on Khushi’s arms, as always. 

“Di?” Arnav asked in disbelief. 

“This is a lie…” She pointed to the text, “or half of the truth. We don’t know everything. I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.” Anjali begged her brother. 

Oh Anjali and her false hopes.

“Exactly Rani Saheba, this is not what you think it is.” Shyam, finally, opened his mouth. The whole family glared at him except Anjali. Phew, that meant his lottery ticket still believed in him. 

“No Di, I know her. She’s a disgusting gold digger woman with no character-” Khushi stared at Arnav in disbelief. That is what he thought about her? Is that why he married her? But what about their heartbeats? How was he able to give her so much happiness and so much pain at once? The ground slipped beyond her feet as vicious, vile words spilled out of Arnav’s mouth. 

“Bhai-”, “Bitwa-” Akash and Manohar tried to stop Arnav but in fail. 

“ENOUGH!” Payal screamed, her family in tow. 

This was worse than she had imagined. Akash, Manohar and Devyani gave her a chance to tell the truth and she rushed home to bring back Garima and Madhumati to corroborate their version of events. But all they walked into was Khushi’s character assassination. 

How did this happen? It was Shyam who sinned, correct? 

“You’re happy hiding the truth na Amma?” Payal accused Garima, tears pricking her eyes. Madhumati on the hand just stormed off into the living room, her blood pressure rising through the roof. 

Shyam remained quiet, the situation was incredibly volatile and he needed to assess everyone’s tonality before he could give a fitting reply to save his place. But his demeanor slipped looking at Madhumati raging like a bull towards him. 

She paused, switching glares between him and Arnav. Interesting, who would she hit first? By the looks of it… Arnav was the target. 

Instead she grabbed Khushi’s wrist and pulled her away. 

“What are you doing?” Devyani asked. 

“Well this house does not respect my niece, so I’m taking her away from here.” Madhumati announced, pulling a frozen Khushi along.

“Respectwa? Hello hi bye bye, since when have we started respecting these kind of women?” Manorama sneered. 

“Enough!” Payal snapped, tearfully she looked at Akash, “Akash, when I thought you, Papa ji and Dadi ji gave me a chance to bring my family along I thought you were giving the truth a chance. But I see you’ve all already laid judgment - especially jethji.” Arnav frowned. 

“There is no other truth, Payal,” Arnav warned her, holding his sister tight. 

“How do you know that Arnav?” Arnav stiffened as Anjali’s soft, yet firm voice broke through the tension. 

“How do you know everything?” Anjali whispered.

“Exactly saale sahab-” Shyam agreed, “No one’s talking to you Shyam ji,” Anjali said, freezing Shyam. What did that mean? Did Anjali know the truth? How? 

“All you have is Shyam ji telling he loves Khushi, what do you know about what she feels?” Anjali questioned. Arnav balked at his sister’s calm questioning. Where was the anger? Where was the rage? This was her life!

“I’ve not seen anyone ask Khushi what the truth is.” Anjali left Arnav and held Khushi. Madhumati let her go, stunned that out of all people to show rationality it was Anjali. 

“What is the truth Khushi ji, tell me? You’ve already tried telling me once, haina?” Khushi finally broke out of her thoughts, staring at Anjali in confusion. 

Anjali smiled amidst her tears, holding Khushi’s cheeks gingerly, “It’s ok, this time I wouldn’t pretend to fear for my husband’s life.” The whole house fell quiet as Khushi broke into sobs, hugging the other woman tightly. 

– – – – – – – – – –

Anjali had laughed at everyone when they learned Khushi’s fiance was Shyam too. But the laughter quickly faded when she saw the ring on Khushi’s hand to be exceedingly similar to Shyam’s taste and the engagement ring he had selected for Anjali. 

Or when Motilal met Anjali again, laughing how Shyam was buying two rings for Anjali - he must be making up for a crime! 

Anjali’s suspicions solidified when the day she formally introduced Shyam and Khushi, Khushi’s engagement broke and she had come over the next day, tearfully trying to tell her the truth.

She thought all was well with Shyam paying attention to her, Arnav and Khushi’s growing attraction to each other, and Shyam’s joy over her safety when she returned from the accident. 

But one look at Holi and she knew her husband hadn’t stopped chasing Khushi, in fact he had only grown bolder, more dangerous. 

– – – – – – 

The house was quiet as Khushi was done with her version of events - from Lucknow to Delhi. 

“She’s lying!” Shyam cried, but this time Madhumati held his wrist in a menacing grip to let this man escape. 

“Lying? We have the whole of Lakshminagar to confirm your dalliance in our house!” Payal seethed. Garima closed her eyes, the errors of her judgment clear.  

“Hello hi bye bye, actions so down yet voice so louds?” Manorama scoffed at Shyam. Unbelievable! Any emotion, any tears, anything she felt for her beloved damaad disappeared in an instant. Manohar consoled the distraught Devyani but Manorama sought strength from Anjali’s strength. 

If her darling niece didn’t break down from the truth - she would not either. She slipped away from the crowd, calling her police contacts to file an FIR for everything Shyam had done. Attempted bigamy to stalking, siphoning funds off Anjali’s account to continuous harassment of Khushi.

Someone over here had to be practical.

“If you had only asked me,” Khushi asked Arnav, distraught that he hadn’t even liked her enough to ask. Not even asked. He had simply believed the worst of her in the blink of an eye. 

And even if he had believed the truth, did he think he had no right to yell at her? To demand her side of the story? To demand justifications for what all they felt? 

“So everyone knew some part of the truth anyways?” Akash laughed bitterly, settling on the sofa. Arnav could not respond, his heart soaring at the thought that Khushi was innocent but his mind calculating the damage of his actions. 

“And nobody, nobody told me.” Akash sighed. Payal reached out to him, attempting to hold his hand but he shrugged it off.

“You know Payal, I understand Bhai not telling me because if I heard only his version of events I might have not been able to marry you. I get it that he tried to preserve our family as much as he could. I understand Di not telling me because she herself was not sure if what she suspected was true or not. But you? Your family? You all literally did not tell me the truth just so you could marry me?” Akash was hurt, that despite all of his mother’s warnings that the Guptas would like to secure this marriage - a part of her was right. 

“Nahi Bitwa, Payal already had a broken marriage-” Garima began but Akash raised his hand, unable to hear anything else. 

“I know she had, and to be honest I’d understand if you had hidden that from me. But a truth concerning my sister’s wellbeing? I mean don’t tell me you all actually thought Di would be happy with Shyam-” Akash questioned the Guptas, their shame faces telling everything. 

Shyam, meanwhile, had nothing apart from silence to offer. The family spoke as if he didn’t exist, and pretended to not see when the police picked him up and carried him off to jail. This was the heights?! His yells to Anjali, curses to the Raizadas and threats to the Guptas only helped the police further to lock him up. Manorama only bid him a happy bye bye from the doorway. 

“I’m sorry Di,” Khushi whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. Anjali had not left Khushi’s side at all. She had played complicit to Khushi’s harassment. 

“It’s ok, you’re young. People make mistakes,” Anjali paused and looked at a stricken Arnav, “don’t they?” 

Arnav swayed on his feet, collapsing by Anjali and unable to meet Khushi’s eyes. 

What had he done? 

“You are right Akash. My family acted purely out of selfishness for my marriage to happen. As such I have violated the sanctity of truth of our marriage.” Payal whispered, wiping her tears away. 

“Hence, the only way to repair this, is for me to walk out of your life.”

A/N: Finally I've updated this! Last part left! Let me know how you think this would transpire???

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

These are the BSD ocs I drew a while back in these posts here, here, and here. I'm finally going to introduce them - they are both named for famous haiku poets (two of the 4 Ts!).

Takajo Mitsuhashi

Ability: Fern Hell/Shida Jigoku - A passive ability with an active component. Passively, she has a connection to what may or may not be a kind of life force - she can sense the presence of every individual, making her near impossible to sneak up on. Throttling the connection between person and life force either denotes a strange effect on their ability, or can shut down their life functions and kill them.

Age: 17

Birth Date: January 24th

Height: 162 cm

Weight: 116 lb

Blood Type: AB

Likes: Abstract art, meditation, cicadas

Dislikes: Restrictions, too much noise

Additional notes: Unused to feeling strong emotions, but is far from expressionless in intonation - she tends to be polite yet laid back and mildly cocky, especially when poking holes at authority/She was formerly an assassin/She also has the capacity to barely feel any pain and keep moving, even from deep injuries. This is not an ability. It's implied she trained to be able to do this./Becomes fascinated by Yosano and regularly observes her and her choices/Cannot understand why Takako doesn't think she's cool and then feels frustrated that this upsets her.

Takako Hashimoto

Ability: The Red Thread/Beniito - Allows the creation of a thin red thread, which, when connected with an object or person, acts as a rope to allow her to pull objects closer or drag them. Connections to people sometimes involve her gaining flashes of their emotional state and core desires.

Age: 16

Birth Date: January 15th

Height: 166 cm

Weight: 130 lb

Blood Type: B

Likes: Snow, yubari melon, dancing

Dislikes: Loneliness, feeling left behind

Additional notes: Born to comfortable wealth but has since given that up for unknown reasons/Sociable and empathetic but rarely talks about herself/Has an unfortunate tendency to throw herself into danger without thinking it through, much to Takajo's frustration/Tends to fangirl over people she thinks are cool, like Agent Hisajo/Thinks Takajo is one of the coolest people she's met but pretends she doesn't think so out of embarrassment of admitting that. This leads to childish spats.

They are part of a story involving Takajo attempting to find a powerful ability user-made artifact. Takako is the only one who can locate it, and therefore, they strike a deal to work together. They conflict with an offshoot of the Special Division, which essentially blackmails the girls into helping them find it and store it securely - but both girls are in agreement that the artifact needs to be destroyed (the one thing they do reliably agree on).

Though at first they are only working together out of a shared goal, they eventually come to care about one another deeply.

...ok. Running off now byeee

[zyxoxox]

bestie, I HAVE COME AGAIN AFTER WALKING AROUND THE ROOM WITH YOUR ANSWER TO MY Ask!!

Ts gonna be so long cause I prob can't come to Tumblr for a whole week cause I am gonna go on eid vacation! woohoo!

ahem, I hope your reqs are not overworking you! (does that even make sense lmao) I wanted to wait a few days b4 rushing to ur inbox but gooddd you know that RAGBROS with a sibling reader lives rent free like a parasite in my brain😞😞🙏🙏

Anyways ahem, so I wanted to know abt sth why did crepus die bcs of the Fatui again? Bcs they gave him a delusion? Cause I wanted to make readers backstory lie this that to protect his daughter from Fatui maybe bcs they threatened her and even though he knew that they actually wouldn't and he could protect reader he still felt inclined to take the delusion? Idk basically I want to link crepus death to reader(heh more angst and possible kaeyas childish hate resurfacing and diluc also starting to blame reader??? Angst song edits???) somehow but 8 forgor the lore HELP😭🙏

Okay aalso how tf do u read my mind cause I was also thinking abt reader being a ragnvindr princess or prince LIKE NAVIA AND SPINA DI ROSULA it would so amusing to have reader order the dawn winery when maybe diluc was busy while wearing the most ruffled and pretty af princess type fit (diluc bought the dress and kaeya braided her hair) and the little friend group with Bennet, fiscl and Barbara bcs technically their the readers first friends bcs she grew up mostly alone

Remember when u said paralogism fed u the idea at the first place and that one scene with the best sibling duo of mondstat in a frame. So imagine they were fighting and a huge lawachurl or the largest monster of that type is about to attack them and THEN reader just jumps from the top off the stone gate with amber and Mika trying to stop her as she uses a bow (or any other weapon to throw) and shooting an arrow headshot at the monsters weak spot before landing elegantly in front of them with a smug smirk "need a third hand, bros? 😉

I feel like diluc would geniuenly be concerned as to what their doing here and kaeya would be like "THAT'S MY GIRL!!!"

Sorry for yapping sm it's just that if there's 10000 fans of your au I am one of them, if there's 1000 I am one of them if there's 100 I am still one of them if there's 10 then I am one of them and if there's only 1 fan I am that fan and if there's one then joined crepus 🙏anyways take care💋

HELLOOO I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!! i feel like i say this every time but it’s SO fun to have someone in love with the same niche au as i. hehehe

i wanted to reply to this right away so you could see it before your vacation! have fun bestie, happy eid!! dw, my requests aren’t overworking me, i’m just a lazy bum who says they’ll do them and then doesn’t on time 🤡 i’m on vacation so i’ll be pumping out stuff for a while haha

NOW ONTO OUR LORE. RAGBROS BRAINROT SO REAL.

ok so if i’m not mistaken we don’t actually know why crepus had the delusion. delusions are originally made by the fatui, somehow crepus got his hands on one- one of the reasons diluc took his three-year sojourn was to find out why his dad had it. on diluc’s coming of age, while the two were on the way to the city, a dragon attacked their carriage and the knights couldn’t defend against it. crepus used the delusion and managed to drive it away, but the delusion’s powers cost him his life.

it is possible that crepus had something to do with the fatui- blackmailed, or forced to strike a bargain like zhongli, perhaps- but we don’t know for sure. if anyone can correct me on this i’d be glad!!

but, it is true that the dragon attacked the carriage that day with the fatui’s influence, it’s in the manga somewhere. i think, even if reader was directly the cause of his death, neither diluc nor kaeya would hate them for it. diluc blames his own weakness and the knight’s incompetence, and kaeya feels guilt for the relief he felt when crepus died, given the whole khan’reah spy thing.

both of them cope with their trauma in a very self-sabotaging way, so i think their sibling is in the clear for the most part. that doesn’t mean they’re unscathed- they probably feel responsible for the rift between the brothers :( imagine how they’d feel when diluc just left for three years afterwards :((

NO BC IMAGINE DILUC AND KAEYA FOLLOWING HER AROUND LIKE SILVER AND MELUS HAHA. they’re victims of her whims fr. kaeya braiding her hair is so adorable,,,, imagine she refuses to take it off at first because she doesn’t know when she’ll see him next, since him and diluc fought so much. and then he promised her they’d always meet once every three days, someway or the other.

she and her little friend group defending mondstadt during paralogism!! i somehow missed this last ask but yeah, anemo vision for her works so well!! she tries to help barbara with the healing and accidentally swirls someone. resorts to following benny instead lol. she’s so hyped to join her brothers!! it had been so long since she saw them fight together, and it was finally happening!! she’d completely forget a war was happening. no, the whole situation was just a brotherly bonding event.

overprotective diluc and they-learn-with-experience kaeya is so real. i’m sure kaeya taught her most of what she knows, so in a way he’s showing off to diluc. like, look at what i did when you were away!! she knows more stuff from me than you now, ha!!

HELLOO your so sweet. MY BIGGEST FAN FR 🫶 we say reader, but she’s truly our oc at this point, i’m so glad i can share her with you diluc lil sis anon!! it’s funny how u didn’t say hi for a few days not to overwork me, but i was here wondering where you’d went. YOUR YAPPING MAKES MY DAY!! love youuu!!

[buckingseason]

Obligatory Pinned post!

We decided to not make individual blogs for every single alter beceause that would take FOREVVERRR so here's our collective blog. You can call us collectively Buck, or individual alter tags work.

People participating here arent even CLOSE to our total, we're a polyfragmented DID system. Bodily 28, collectively a trans man and we use he/him for the most part but some alters might use others/have other genders. Generally bisexual generally switches.

We are TAKEN but happy to character RP and make friends, we dont send pics or sext.

Kinks here will include: CNC, stalking, freeuse, breeding, monsterfucking, weapons, pain, bondage, petplay, dehumanization, blackmail, sensory deprivation, intox including forced, somno, and more.

Not into: scat/piss/vom, incest/fauxcest, raceplay, ageplay, ddlg and variants

Active alters under the cut! Not everyone will be listed obviously, just whoever actively wants to post. If a post isn't tagged, assume its collective.

Arc (he/it)- Enjoyer of blackmail, stalking, kidnapping, impregnation, and more. More likely to post from the "main" blog we interact from, @voyeursfavourite Nonhuman in a slightly divine way.

J (he/it)- enjoyer of violence, blood, snuff and more! also has an individual blog at @capnbloodfreak. Pain enjoyer for ever and ever.

JJ (he/it)- Knifeplay enjoyer, sexually objectum, with his own blog at @biomechanicalslut. arguably more attracted to things than people, and also considers himself a thing.

B (he/him) - Likes gunplay, probably the most out of all of us. The guy who bit the bullet and made this damn thing.

TS (it/its)- Nonhuman, nonperson, enjoyer of dressing up pretty and being played with like a toy. Also enjoyer of beating the hell out of its partners.

R-(he/him)- Into CNC as the bottom exclusively, blackmail, and looooves praise. Blatantly nonhuman.

O (she/her) - Violent girl and probably a murderer. NOT into hard cnc as dom, but intox is fine. Coming around to theoretical CNC as the sub.

FM (he/it)- Dead guy into obsessive love and stalking, as well as somno and body worship.

K (he/him)- autoandrophila, hand and glove kink, #1 sad bear enjoyer of all time.

Ra (she/her) - medical, gore, monsterfucker and more. Prone to drug her partners "for science".

Six (he/him) - Way more tame than the bulk of the others so far, REPRESSED AS HELL! It takes him a lot of nerves or being destructively horny to post anything that's anything extensive. seems to be into hucow stuff, lactation and hypnosis, and openly is into sciencefet, breeding on either end of the deal, and has a praise kink. MONSTERFUCKER, and toying with the idea of snuff but he literally won't admit it.

Kon (he/him) - Enjoyer of swords, beating the shit out of each other, and bugs. Gunplay is a win, and he WILL stick his dick in brain matter given the opportunity. Holds the opinion that a bar fight is sex.

GFM (he/him)- hucow king and nerd loser. Monsterfucker, ovipo, and getting studied like a bug. Intox + somno as well

A (she/her)- Exploring more about what she enjoys, only real limit right now is hard cnc, and breeding is really touchy. Likes blondes. UPDATE: Light dumbification w objectification, intox, and being a known slut are good ones! Doubly so if photos or pay is involved.

Ax (he/she/it)- Werewolf fucker #1 of all time, gender play, body mods, intox and waxplay. Considers itself a former living weapon turned slut. Into hunger play hardcore as well, but likely won't post here bc of tumblrs tos.

Z- (he/him)- not sure at ALL what he likes yet ngl. Predprey and intox seem like top faves?

Des- (he/it/whatever) free use, intox and CNC overall, can be whatever you need it to be as long as you don't mind him being a bastard about it. Vampire-adjacent and doesn't feel much aside from Horny