#but I can't just walk away from misogyny

[hazbinbabbles]

So basically the authority is punishing the tiger because she wAsTeD his time (egocentric much, this lion), told the ass he can keep being an ass and do harm to other people with his ignorance, meanwhile the only being that tried to oppose the ass is punished into silence??? What a wonderful metaphor for the state of our world right now! I really hope this is a metaphor that only concerns actual trivial matters*, because if this is the approach to people spreading harmful misinformation, this is literally the worst approach authority can employ: ignore the only person pointing out the problem and silencing them, so the harmful belief (manosphere, anti wokeness etc.) spreads until it’s too late and now you have a society that was shaped by hatred and ignorance, and the only voices who tried to oppose it were silenced and ridiculed (blm, feminists, etc.).  

*and you know what? Even the matters that seem trivial at first can morph into an actual problem later. For ex., women arguing that they hate sexist jokes at work: telling them not to argue with their sexist collegue because it’s ‘debasing’ will just have the effect of emboldening the collegue and make the woman think twice before speaking up again. The result? From that trivial matter now, slowly, the whole work space becomes a safe haven for misogynists. 10 years ago anti feminism and manosphere seemed silly and everyone didn’t want to address it, now? Incel propaganda everywhere, women can’t keep their spaces online anymore, radicalized young men left and right on every social media. And now it’s too late.

When ignorance screams, intelligence moves on.

[rifari2037]

The idea of her being mother figure is challenged right from episode one when Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Okay, that's right! That's spot on! I don't deny that Aang makes Katara act like a child again for a while.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : Fire Nation. Sokka : We should tell him. Katara : [Yelling.] Aang! There's something you need to see. Aang : [Aang runs to them from the airball court, still playing with the hollow ball. Cheerfully.] Okay! Aang : [Happily runs up.] What is it? Katara : [Innocently holds her hands behind her back.] Uh... Just a new waterbending move I learned. Aang : Nice one! But enough practicing, [Excited as he turns around and start walking away.] we have a whole temple to see! Sokka : [Brushes the last of the snow from his head and shoulders.] You know, you can't protect him forever.

It's only the third episode, but Aang's childish attitude already makes Katara act like a mother protecting her child from reality. Katara also has to calm Aang down when he goes into avatar mode, it happens several times like it's her responsibility to do so.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : [Resumed filling the pot with more vegetables.] Watching you show off for a bunch of girls does not sound like fun. Aang : [Disappointed.] Well, neither does carrying your basket. Katara : [Annoyed.] It's not my basket. These supplies are for our trip. I told you, we have to leave Kyoshi soon.

This scene actually piss me off, like, if I were Katara I would mad too! And again, Aang's irresponsible and childish behaviour forced Katara to be responsible for doing the chores. If not her to be mature, who else? Sokka who is busy with his misogyny towards the Kyoshi warriors? Or Aang who is busy having fun with his fans?

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Aang ran away after someone blamed him for something he actually did a hundred years ago. Katara must find him in the storm, then help him dwelling with his past.

And it happens again in The Awakening. Aang runs away and triggers Katara's another trauma that forces her to grow up, which is being abandoned by the person she cares about (her father). Katara (Sokka and Toph) must find him and save him.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : [Disappointed.] Wow... there's hardly any in here. Aang : [Lashes out.] I'm sorry, okay! It's a desert cloud; I did all I could! What's anyone else doing?! [Pointing his staff at Katara.] What are you doing‌?! She returns his attack with a shocked look on her face. Katara : Trying to keep everyone together. Let's just get moving. We need to head this direction.

Katara is the only one who can keep the Gaang out of the desert. If she doesn't act mature and responsible with the Gaang, they might not survive. And what does Aang do? Get mad at her for losing Appa, while Katara is not to blame for it.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : Aang, we do understand. It's just ... Aang : Just what, Katara? What? Katara : We're trying to help! Aang : Then, when you figure out a way for me to beat the Fire Lord without taking his life, I'd love to hear it! [Walks away.] Katara : Aang, don't walk away from this. [Walks toward Aang.]

I love Katara, you know, that's why I really don't like Aang pointing angrily at Katara and blaming her every time he got emotional, when Katara didn't do something wrong and just wants to help him. Is this a healthy relationship?

Aang reminds Katara that she's just a child in the first episode, but unfortunately, the Gaang (especially Aang) once again forces Katara to be motherly in the next episodes.

Does she like being motherly? No, she doesn't. She wants to have fun too, but if she did, the Gaang would be screwed. Being motherly is not just her nature, but the Gaang (except Suki) forces her to be more mature than the others narratively.

Actually, that's why I like the idea of Momtara and Dadko. In my opinion, this nickname is not to make her forget she is just a kid. Instead, because the narrative itself always shows Katara forced to act motherly toward Gaang, 'Momtara and Dadko' shows that is not only Katara's responsibility to do all chores.

Calling Zuko Dadko is also reasonable, because he is narratively more mature among the Gaang (except Suki). He focuses on Aang's training and worries that Aang will fail, just like what father usually do to his son.

More than that, Katara doesn't need to act motherly with Zuko - he is the one bringing her things and preparing what they need in their journey contras with what Aang did in Kyoshi Island. And they act more like equal partners toward each other, rather than mother and son.

Oh, it's true that Aang makes Katara child again in first episode. But it's weird to defend Kat/ang and hate the narrative of Katara being motherly at the same time, when the Gaang (especially Aang) often forced Katara to act motherly.

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ AMERICAS SWEET-TARDs

ᯓ★ Homelander is forced to babysit you, the troublemaker of The Seven. Deadpool!reader does not like cooperating, dark humour, goofy stuff, typical cursing, gore, story is set on season 4. Reader is gn (uses they/them pronouns)!!

ᯓ★

How you found yourself in Vought's office is hard to explain. One thing you were bursting into the building of Amazon and the second you're here. You sat on the sofa, looking around as you whistled a tune to save yourself from the boredom.

"Why the fuck am I involved with this?" Your eyes perked up at the distant voices from outside the door.

"I'll explain when we're there"

Oh?

Being the nosy person you are, you got up and pressed the side of your ear against the door to get a better hearing of the conversation.

"Your plan won't come together if you don't settle the pieces in place, and this is your plan so you need to work with me here"

Suddenly it's quiet...

Did they leave?

Before you could react, the door opens and you ended up falling flat on your face. You tilt your head up to see it's Sister Sage and Homelander looking down at you. You chuckle.

"Sooo... you both look angry... did I do something?"

Hearing your question, Sister Sage scoffs at you.

"Did you?? You broke into Amazon's headquarters because they messed up your order. You even threatened to kill their CEO. Do you know how bad that is for the image?"

"I refuse to refer to a person named Jeff Bezo a CEO" You said when you got on your feet while dusting off your knees.

"Besides, I don't have an image. I'm pretty sure that I don't even have a face!!" Hearing your words, Sister Sage can't help but roll her eyes at you.

"Nonono seriously, I do not have a face. All this underneath the mask? It's like smashed up birthday cakes in there—"

"Okay I get it!!" She glares at you... then turning her attention to Homelander who's been listening attentively with his hands behind his back.

"You're babysitting Deadpool" She commanded like an order and he turns to look at her with his brows slightly raised.

"Me?" He said, clearly from his face he looks like he's about to be ticked off.

"Yes, I don't know what is it about them that makes it so hard for me to predict their moves" Just as she said that, she turns to look at you. You bat your eyes at her like a deer caught in headlights.

"Not to mention you're making a shit tons of problems for me to deal with here. You even had Lily be sent for therapy!!" She points at you and you held both your hands up in defeat by the mention of your agent.

"Hey now... All I did was cut off my arm and mailed it to Elon Musk. How else was I gonna give him the middle finger?" Your defense being enough to have her let out a sigh as she looks away.

"I don't care, just don't let them do anything stupid while I go help Firecracker with her script" She said to him and you both watches as she leaves. Once she's gone, he turns to look at you, a displeased expression on his face.

To your surprise, he was really actually TOTALLY doing what she's asking him to. You never saw him take orders like that before, let alone from a WOMAN.

"What was that?!" You exclaimed, both arms thrown towards the hallway where Sister Sage is seen to be walking down.

"What happened to Misogyny?! You're really just gonna let that happen???" You looked at him but he just rolls his eyes at you.

"Shut up. She's done more than you've ever did compared to your years here" He walks past you and ends up sitting down on the sofa. You don't say anything while you watch him go.

You're aware that your inability to die makes him bored of you but you didn't think he'd find you this boring.

Honestly it kinda hurts...

Because now you're gonna have to do more crazy shit to piss him off.

You cleared your throat as you forced up a smile.

"You know what, great talk. I'm gonna go be a good citizen now—"

"You step one foot out of this room and I'll lazer off two of your fucking legs"

"..."

With no idea how to respond to the threat. You stood at the door, looking down at your legs then back up at him... before taking a wide step out of the room.

He let's out an annoyed groan.

"Look I don't see why all of a sudden, you two, give the slightest shit about what I do. Has it ever occurred to you that this is my coping mechanism after YOU SLAUGHTERED NOIR—"

"Oh for christ sake, cry me a fucking river"

"You sure you really want that? 'Cause trust me I can cry the entire Nile river in this very room— and I can't promise you it'll be water" He looks at you and you look back at him, your body still standing a few feet away from the room.

"You done whining?" He asks, his expression showing not even the least of interest in your act. You let out an offended sound.

"Am I done whining?! Do you even know me?? That's LITERALLY all I do!!"

Clearly feeling hurt, you began to storm off. From the distant you could hear Homelander let out an exhausted sigh but you could care less right now.

Man if only you could go back to the first day where you two met.

Oh how traumatised he looked when he saw you cut your ears off in an attempt to escape Stillwell's welcoming speech.

Once you made it to the ground floor, you kicked the entrance door open with your chest slightly puffed out.

Who the hell does Ms. Know-It-All thinks she is to have any authority over you? You're the original member of The Seven for fuck sake.

"Holy shit it's Deadpool!!" A fan, seemingly a teenager points at you and you turned towards their group with your most charming smile.

"Hey now, try not to cream your pants... if you've even reached that stage yet..." Without even letting a second pass, the group stands around you as the one at the front takes out their phone for a selfie.

"Say Chimichangas!!" You said, holding up peace signs.

"Chimichangas!!"

⊹FLASH⊹

Once the picture is taken, the fans are quick to check the results while you scratched the itch on your butt. Once satisfied, they gave you their thanks before walking away.

At the same time you could hear the sound of Homelander approaching you from behind. You let out an annoyed groan before turning to face him but before you could even react, he grabs you roughly by the jaw.

"Years of your shit and you still won't learn your fucking place. If I say something. You do it. Understand?" He glares at you, his teeth gritted as his lips formed his signature psychotic grin.

You stare back and you could feel from his grip that you were being slightly lifted off the ground.

"Well excuse me, my liege. I must have missed the memo about being your personal slave. Is it too late to withdraw my contract?" He stares at you... before letting go of you while looking away out of despise.

"You're a cancer on this earth" He said as he's busy wiping his glove clean on his chest. You simply laugh at his remark.

"AH HAHaa hoo... well... you can always count on me to pop up unannounced" You shoot him a wink and decided to walk away, not really caring much of the consequences if you did.

Seeing you walk away like he's nothing, Homelander clenches his jaw out of irritation.

"You're always testing my patience (Y/N)" He said and you instantly stopped walking when you hear him addressing you by your real name.

"Uuugggh seriously? You ran out of tricks so now you're using my government name? You've gone old, John" You fold your arms as you turned to face him.

Noticing the angry look on his face, you are almost not surprised with what happens next.

⌁ZZZZ⌁

You look down, realising you've been lasered in half. Sounds of people nearby screaming was like background noise for you because you were too focused watching your upper half slide off your lower half... then eventually falling to the ground. You grunt from how annoying the situation has become.

"Ah great... now I'm half the person I used to be..." You partially joked as Homelander picked you effortlessly off the ground before taking you back into the Vought Tower.

"Can you at least tell me why you're taking away my rights as a republican?" You asked with your upper half being carried over his shoulder.

"You don't matter enough to know" He says.

After shooting several finger guns at the horrified employees passing by, you made it back to the office where all of your problems began. You yelp when Homelander just threw your body parts on the sofa, you turn to face him after your efforts to have yourself sit up straight.

"Jeez, you're about as exciting as a stale piece of bread" You said and he takes the sofa in front of you. For a couple of seconds he doesn't say anything but watch you with a stoic expression.

You interrupt the silence with a cough.

Then it's silent again.

.....

Okay this is too boring.

"Could you laser me again for entertainment—? Since you're such a buzz kill it can't be hard" You asked but he stays quiet, not saying anything to add fuel to your fire of words.

Once you realise what he's doing, you let out a long groan.

"Where's my Katana? I might as well just kill myse—"

"How are you not worried about all of this?" He interrupts you and your body freezes in place just as you're about to reach for your weapons.

"How is it that everyone's going through a fucking crisis and you're just... jacking off and watching Netflix series like somebody's drunk unc" He stares at you, slight glimpse of envy shown in his eyes. You scoff out of disbelief before laughing and wheezing uncontrollably.

"Well, unlike some people— UHMUHMyouUHMUHM , I happen to know how to unwind and have fun. Maybe you should try it sometime. Might loosen that stick up your ass" You shoot him a smile and you could feel your powers growing back the bottom half of your body.

He snarls at you.

"I'm the Homelander. I'm the strongest being ever. I don't have time to unwind"

"I don't know man what kind of strongest being brags about being the strongest?" You said with your back pressed against the cushion of the sofa, your hand just casually toying with your dagger.

"DON'T YOU—"

Just as he stands up to shout at you with his eyes now glowing red, the door to the office opens and you both turn to see it's Sister Sage. She looks at you, somewhat an unsurprised reaction to your torn off body parts.

"Great, at least you're not off running to harass another important client of ours"

"Are we done?" Homelander stands near her, clearly fed up with the time he's spent with you so far.

You groan but this time purposely making it known to everyone in the room.

"Great, now there's two people pinning against me. You know... it wouldn't hurt to tell me what your plan is. Maybe I can help!" You said, putting up your most charming smile.

Sister Sage stares at you... more like judging you but then she had a look of epiphany.

"Actually... hearing you say that... you could be useful... if we can get you to start a hate campaign towards the Starlighters. This could make my part with Firecracker so much easier. And besides! Incels LOVE you. You've practically obtained the based persona. You're the perfect mascot" She said, her eyes sparkling as she's clearly brainstorming now.

Homelander stands there, a plastic grin on his face while he has both his fists placed on his hips.

"What?" He says, his eery grin still on his face. You laugh as you crossed your... baby legs?

"You hear that Johnny? People LOOOVEEE me..." You bragged which instantly ticked him off

"Listen up, you walking STD. The ONLY thing that people love about you is your annoying, obnoxious, unfunny fuck of thinking you're gods gift to comedy"

"Well I did make that comedy christmas movie with Maeve. Rest in peace that poor soul, it's like I can still hear her in my nightmares" You said while pretending to wipe away a tear. He rolls his eyes at you and Sister Sage watches in almost amusement.

Her slight smile making Homelander whip his attention to her immediately.

"Are you fucking enjoying this right now?" He glares and she quickly covers it up with a serious look.

"I'll go prepare the venue" She simply said before walking away. You laugh as you notice Homelander still having that angry look on his face when watching Sister Sage walk away.

"Do you need a snickers little kid? You're not you when you're hunrgy"

⌁ZZZZ⌁

....

"You just had to push my fucking buttons" He said, the red glow in his eyes dimming after lasering a hole through your head. He stares at your corpse that was still for a moment before you flipped him off with both hands.

He rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh before walking out the office.

[The Next Day]

"GOOD MORNING AMERICA!! IT IS ME!! YOUR FAVOURITE SUPERHEROOOOO!!" The crowd goes wild as you make your appearance on stage. Your mic in hand and the other waving at the crowd.

Homelander who's also present at the campaign, watches from the backstage with a stoic expression.

"Now now now! I have been gathered here to talk about the Starlighters! Huh! Yeah?!" You began to shoot finger guns at the crowd when they started booing at the mention of the Starlighters.

"I know!! Terrible people!! Boooo!! Tomato tomato" You chuckled as you walk across the stage.

"I mean how could you cancel the one and only Homelander? He literally has the personality of a wet sock. Dude already has his own demons to battle!! As a matter of fact, what kind of person goes after a father?! It's not our fault your daddy left you Starlight!!" The crowd cheers at your words.

You turn to give Homelander a thumbs up but he just looks at you with an unimpressed look.

The moment your turn of the campaign was over and it was time for Firecracker to do her thing, you happily skipped on your feet to your next destination... but you were soon stopped when you saw Homelander standing in your way. Though it didn't seem to affect at all.

"You should stop frowning if you don't want your face to look like a nut sack" You pat him on the shoulder before walking past him. With your back turned to him, he couldn't help but touch his forehead a bit... then hurrying to catch up to you.

"Where are you going now?"

"Somewhere full of fun that's for sure" You turn the corner and walked a few more before making to your favourite shop.

You stand in front of it while he stands beside you, his expression unreadable.

"A... pet shop?" He was confused but you didn't bother to answer his confusion and decided to just head on in.

He shakes his head out of frustration before entering the place. He's completely frozen in place when he sees you already surrounding yourself with dogs. You laugh almost maniacally as you enjoyed the way the dogs were licking you so joyfully. That was until you notice the way Homelander is staring at you, scorned by your behaviour.

"What? You upset not even dogs love you? God I'm pretty sure not even flies want to come near you" You joked but his attention on you is pulled away when a dog began gnawing at his glove.

He scowls as he decides to move his hand out of the way but the dog ends up jumping on him to try to chew on the glove as if thinking it's a chew toy.

"Nonono— shoo! Go!" He said while sound of your laughter can be heard in the background.

Oh boy...

[The Next Next Day]

How you scored yourself an invite to the Met Gala was unbelievable. But since you were going, Homelander was left with no choice but to accompany you. As you'd expected it, he showed up in his suit. He really doesn't care about this stupid gathering when he has better things to do.

Better things than supervising your ass.

"Make waaaay for your majesty!!" You said loud enough to make your grand entrance known. Cameras all panning towards you in order to take pictures of your outfit.

You were definitely still wearing your iconic red suit but you had worn a sarape over it. As well as a sombrero and the fake moustache to finish the look. And don't forget the guitar now!! Literally nobody knows why you always do shit like this. The theme is literally 'The Garden Of Time'.

"BOOO!!! FUCK YOU DEADPOOL!! YOU'RE A MENACE TO SOCIETY!!" A starlighter said amongst the rest of the protestors. They must have shown up when they heard news of you and Homelander's appearance. You laughed as you waved your hand dismissively at them.

"Oh, come on, don't be so grumpy. I didn't ask to be born this awesome" You said when walking past their group with Homelander following behind you, both hands placed behind his back like he's your bodyguard.

[The Next Next Next Day]

Of course you'd get yourself arrested for doing some crazy shit during the after party. You whine to yourself as you were chained up in the cell. After all you're no regular prisoner but a supe, so they had to treat you like a monster.

Suddenly two armed guards approached your cell, you stared at the cold faces on their faces before inspecting your restraints.

"You know, I always wanted to try bondage, but I didn't think it would be with such an unenthusiastic audience" You said and soon one of them opened the cell to release you from your imprisonment.

You let out a satisfied grunt as you rubbed both of your sore wrists. Just as the two guards left, Homelander came into view. With the annoyed look on his face, you had expected him to at least be happy to see you.

"Why the long face?" You asked when exiting your cell.

"You caused a raid at the after party. What word of do not cause trouble do you not understand?"

"Ahh you people confuse me. Oh Deadpool please rile up the Starlighters! No Deadpool don't punch the Starlighter for spilling your drink on you! Pick a side goddamn it!" You said changing your voice each time when imitating a person.

Homelander rolls his eyes at your attitude.

"I can't wait for this to be over with" Homelander murmured and began walking away. You didn't wait for a second to pass before chasing after him.

"Hey now! I'm literally your only friend left! Maeve got blown into Christmas dust, Noir became jello, The Deep... eh... he's still pretty balls deep inside an octopus, A-Train is busy being in his redemption arc. And Starlight? To be honest I never considered her apart of our friend group" You whispered the last part as though you were gossiping, which you were in the case.

"Lucky me" Homelander said in the most monotone voice it was hard not to miss the absent of emotions in his eyes.

"You're welcome bestie!! #2 bestie though because I've just became friends with Espresso lady last night" You said and quickly took your stuff back from the officer to show the picture of you and Sabrina Carpenter on your phone.

"Ugh..." Clearly not interested, Homelander left you behind but you could care less as you ended up bragging it to the poor police officer just trying to do his job.

[The Next Next Next Next Next Day]

Of course you're a supe so 99% of your job is to have fun while the 1% of your job is saving lives. You laughed as you fought with the group of thieves inside the crowded casino. A feet away stood, you guessed it, Homelander watching with his arms crossed. It looked more like he wanted this to be over with than be concerned for the safety of the civilians.

"Man this place looks great! How did I never knew of this part of the city?" You said looking around the interior design after effortlessly dodging the man's knife which you simply twisted in his hands to stab it right through his chest.

"Can you get away? I'm trying to win here" An old granny spoke when pushing the dead corspe off the gambling machine.

"Oooo... what's this?" Your eyes went wide in awe as you watched her repetitively tap on the button. Years of your life and you never thought of such a divine invention.

"FUCK YOU!!" A thief jumped off a table and onto your back, his knife in hand as he continously stabbed you on the chest.

"Why is it always the bad guys with the lousy gambling habits? Seriously, I could be playing poker right now, and instead, I'm stuck here whooping your asses" You whipped out your gun and shot the man in the face, his grip on you loosening as he falls to the ground.

Clearly knowing they have no chance in winning, they quickly ran but you simply shot each of them from the back until the very last one. With the dead bodies splattered across the casino floor, you spin your pistol around to blow the hot smoke from it.

"They don't call me Deadpool for nothing. Get it? Cause' Dead... pooool" You laughed when motioning at the pool of dead bodies on the ground that some of the bystanders watching and hiding were scared of what to do at the moment.

They also don't call you the insane member of The Seven for nothing.

[The Next Next Next Next Next Next Day]

You yawned with your back pressed on the sofa while Homelander was pretty much glaring daggers down at you. That's because you decided to make yourself feel homey in his room. With how good the leather felt— how could you not?

"Hey Ryan!" You waved at Ryan who awkwardly stops at the mention of his name.

"Hey..." He waves back at you with a nervous smile before hurrying up the stairs.

Even with Homelander pretty much wanting to kill you right now, you still had the mood to stretch all over his sofa. You grunt at the bliss of the feeling. The feeling of relaxation.

"Maaaan! I haven't gotten to rest for the past few days. Makes me wish I was born a rock"

"Why are you even in my room?" He asks, his voice so piercing.

"Eh... Ever head of a sleepover? Don't you wanna put on face masks together and do each other's nails? We ARE besties aren't we? #2 bestie though since Espresso lady—"

"Enough! GET OUT!!" Suddenly he lifts you up and threw you out the window. Ignoring the sounds of screaming and car alarm blaring, he sat down on the sofa with his eyes closed.

Finally... some peace...

[The Next Next Next Next Next Next Next Last Day]

With the responsibility of needing to follow you around to make sure you didn't intervene with Sister Sage's plan, he was starting to lose his sanity, or what's left of it. He sits in his chair with the rest of the members. Apparently you had called for a meeting and you had to specify that it was an important one. About what? Nobody knows.

"Where is Deadpool?" Firecracker asked since everyone had been waiting for almost an hour now. But just as she said that, you arrived, multiple puppies in your arms.

"Hellooooo! Thank you for waiting for me!! I had to drop by the pet shop to adopt these little devils" You said as you handed one to each of them.

"Ooh puppies!" Black Noir said happily when accepting one from you.

"Can you hurry up?" Sister Sage spoke up with the puppy in her hand playfully biting her fingers.

"Yeah yeah don't rush me, don't you know how to respect your elders?" You stood at the center in front of them. Before starting you made sure to clear your throat very thoroughly. All expected you to be serious about what you had to say but suddenly you balled your fists together with your effort of making puppy dog eyes.

"Pleasepleaseplease let me have my freedom back!! I swear I'll be good!!" You begged and Homelander practically stared at you while not giving much care of the puppy gnawing at his glove.

"You know you wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been constantly breaking all the ties we have with other companies!! Do you know how helpful it could have been if you didn't pull that stunt at the met gala's after party?" Sister Sage said, expressing her frustration towards you but you waved her off dismissively.

"Okay but seriously guys, I appreciate the whole 'let's babysit Deadpool since they're a walking disaster' routine, but it's getting a bit old. I mean, come on, I've been doing the whole vigilante thing for a while now and nobody ever had a problem with it! I was even the host for MTV 2020!!"

"Which they banned you after because you exposed every celebrity there!"

"Not my fault that Ryan Reynolds had a thing for me"

You sighed.

"I'm starting to think you hate me Sage"

"Oh wow I wonder why"

"Nonono it's because I'm so smart that you can't even predict my next moves!!"

"Or maybe, you make the dumbest decisions that even I can't predict them!!"

"Oh please! I'm the Picasso of poor decisions! It's an art form! The only thing predictable is my ability to be unpredictably unpredictable"

Suddenly all attention turned to Homelander the second he let out an annoyed sound.

"... you know what? Fine. Go do your own thing. Bother someone else who gives a shit" He said waving you off and you jumped happily in the air. At the same time, Sister Sage looked at him in disbelief.

"You know they're gonna get in the way of our plans right?"

"Do you wanna babysit them?" He asks which made her stay quiet and simply lean back into her chair.

All of them watched as you happily skipped your way out of the meeting room. As expected, for the next few days you created more problems for everyone to deal with, first you created a line of Deadpool-themed lingerie which the manufacturing had to be shut down because the company you worked with were selling it using fake products, it was so bad that it had influencers calling you out for it.

Then there was the thing where you hired a bunch of hackers to loop baby shark on every TV in America. That nearly got you arrested but Vought being Vought, they managed to bail you out. If it didn't get worse, you also went ahead spraying neon red on the Statue of Liberty and for some reason replaced all billboards with ads featuring a fake upcoming movie called "Deadpool: The Musical".

During those same days, you were away most of the time so when you came back to Vought to find Homelander in his wrecked up room. You decided to sit down beside him on the floor. Everything was destroyed, even the TV screen was smashed but yet it was still playing. You could care less on why he did it. All you cared about was your hungry stomach right now.

"Chimichangas?" You said, offering him one. He looks at you with a blank expression... before taking one and eating it himself.

Eventually you two enjoyed the food peacefully while you leaned your head on his shoulder, a smile on your face and a scowl on his.

[jadeddangel]

Adam x reader (smut)

Disclaimer: This story is meant for mature audiences, If you're not over the age of 18, please do NOT interact with any of my work. Any and all characters I write for are over the age of 18. Having said that, please enjoy the story. Reblogs are always appreciated!!

Warnings : Adam being well adam, smut, hair-pulling, misogyny, p in v, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink ,dom! Adam, sub! Reader, minor sexism, and I think that's all let me know of I missed any.

AN: This is my first time writing for Adam, so please be respectful. This isn't proofread.

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

You were Adam's third and hopefully final wife, you had been aware of the exterminations by the time you and Adam had started dating... which meant once a year adam left you... home alone and worried.. I mean what if one day he never came home? What if he was hurt? What if he was stuck down there with those... those THINGS... it had been hundreds of years since the two of you started dating and that fear... it never went away...

Adam had left you alone in your shared home claiming he had a meeting with the princess of hell, which of course caused doubt and curiosity but you trusted him and you would trust him tell the bitter end. It had been almost 30 minutes and you couldn't wait for him to be home. The bed was growing cold, and with how quiet the loft had been it felt well.. creepy?

Having grown attached to Adam's well..loud Behavior, it didn't seem like you were in the right house at all. After about another thirty minutes, Adam barged through the front door of your loft, not trying to conceal his previous in the slightest; perking up at the sound of his heavy boots and the awfully loud door you shuffled out of bed the soft pink nighty that you wore trailing after you. "Sugartits? Where you at hun?" Adam called out half expecting you to be in the kitchen making lunch for him. You were trying your best to sneak up on him but the creaky floorboards gave you away, Adam quickly turned around the golden smile of his mask seeming to grow wider at how little you were wearing "oh darling~ you look so pretty like that~ did you already finish lunch hmm? " Adam asked as he grabbed your waist with one hand before successfully pulling you closer, this other hand pulled his mask off as he placed it onto the counter thoughtlessly.

"Uhm not yet.. I was just laying in bed.." You spoke softly as you quickly avoided eye contact half expecting him to yell. Adam shook his head "oh dear.. that won't work, it's a very simple thing to do hunny, all I ask is that you cook and clean surely it can't be that hard for you women to understand." Adam spoke down to you like you were dumb, like every word had to be spoken slowly just so that you could understand. It was condescending and degrading how he spoke to you... You nodded slowly "sorry adam.. I'm sorry for not having food ready and leaving the house a mess..". At this point you knew better than to argue with this well to put it kindly, man child. Adam had a smirk on his lips "good good, see? That wasn't so hard was it? Now how about you go get started on My food while I watch one of those stupid picture shows mk?" Adam spoke this time a little less of a bitchy tone; nodding slowly you walked into the kitchen getting started on his favorite ribs. Unfortunately, that was about the only thing this man would eat which wad really taking a toll on his health and his weight; with a sigh you plated up his food and brought it to him on the couch. Adam looked up from the comedy show he was watching and smirked "see it wasn't so hard was it?" Adam spoke before messily stuffing his face, in front of other people he would never eat like this but in his home he didn't give a shit if he made a mess, I mean that is his little S/O's responsibility. Adam handed you the plate before noticing the sheer fabric hanging over your chest and gave you a smirk "is that the nighty I bought you?" Adam said in a secuctive tone having finally noticed . With a small nod you set the plate down and crawled onto his lap knowing exactly what Adam was going to say, Adam raised a brow gripping the fat of your ass in a tight squeeze "you look beautiful but how about we just take it off mk? Cmon you know how much I love that body of yours~" Adam whispered into your ear seemingly trying to coax you into doing as he asked.

Adam's hands slowly trailed up your back leaving tingles across your body and shivers along your spine. Every touch brought the thin fabric over your body before Adam finally tugged it off of your body tossing it over the back of the couch. Adam's crotch was pressed against yours, already feeling him beginning to grow hard at the sight of you wearing nothing underneath.Squirming slightly at the feeling of Adam's eyes grazing over your body like he was starving, you began feeling up in his chest feeling over the soft fabric and down his sides slowly. Adam was letting you have this moment to feel up on him as he began pawing at your chest like if he didn't feel you up he would surely die (oops spoilers sorry sorry lmao).

Letting at soft moans at the feeling of his rough hands grazing over your nipples in just the right kind of way to give you a pleasure that wasn't all too overwhelming. Adam's other hand gripped onto your waist pushing you down a bit more forcing you to grind down on him, and god the soft groans and grumbles he let out when you rocked your hips drove you insane. Adam let go of your tit pushing his own shirt up slightly to reveal his happy trail before tugging at his pants and boxers just trying to get them down enough to spring up. Adam gave you a smirk before using his arms to push everything off of the table that was front of the couch and onto the floor pushing your back against the cold wood. Adam's hands immediately went to your thighs and spread your legs still sitting in his sitting position on the couch, before spitting onto your clit using 2 fingers to rub it in as lube. "Fucking damn... " Adam groaned out at the sight of your arousal and his saliva mixing, "I think you can take me yea? You can take the stretch won't you hmm?" Adam asked rhetorically knowing he was going to do it anyways. You nodded slowly spreading your legs a bit more for him, Adam finally stood in front of you spanking your clit lightly with the tip of his dick.

"cmon, ask me nicely, girl~ just the way I like~" Adam leaned down and whispered into your ear before pulling back and looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breathe " Please stretch me out with your cock adam.." you begged in a pitiful tone. Adam would have easily let that pass but that wasn't what he was looking for, " cmon girly~ you know that's not the name I was looking for~ try again mk?" Adam said frowning down at you now. "Please stretch me out with your cock.. master" you repeated praying this time it passed his expectations. Adam graced you with a cocky smirk at hearing the sinful and lewd words, as he slowly pushing his mushroom shaped tip into you he let out a small groan before the rest of his 8 almost 9 inch dick into you. You let out a small shrill scream as he had expected you to take it no problem.. the length may have proved to be a challenge but he was thick and he had just forced it into you. Adam wiped away tears you hadn't realized had fallen from your eyes, "oh girly, cmon we know you can take it~ it's your job after all~ to make sure I'm catered too, now I'm gonna start moving understood?" Adam asked as if he was even giving you a choice in the matter. Adam started thrusting into you slowly trying to get you to loosen up around him so he can wreck your guts (respectfully). The moment your gushy walls started to relax he sped up hitting right against your g-spot over and over, obviously knowing what he's doing. Adam smirked down at you as he pounded into you with no mercy. The only noises that filled the rooms was the sound of skin slapping against skin , your moans and the sound of Adam's wings ruffling and puffing up. With a gentle and desperate hand you reached up to grab at him needing something to ground you the closer you got, it felt like you were flying. Adam let out curses of pleasure as he rapidly approached his high. "Fuck fuck fuck! Your gripping me so tight princess so fucking tight!" Adam growled out between labored breathes. You were so close you were just babbling wordlessly to let him allow you to reach your high. Adam grabbed your hair slamming your head back down onto the table and pounding into your poor little hole harder using his other hand to reach down and rub your clit roughly "i want you to cum for me girly~ so fucking tight~" Adam groaned. At the order your body couldn't help but react your hips bucking up to meet him as you finally came all over his dick and thighs. Adam moved his hands to grip your waist for leverage, Adam's wings stretched out towards the ceiling as he came, his thrusts finally slowing down.. you were beyond exhausted.. but you knew that with Adam one round was never enough. And as if on que Adam tapped your cheek looking down at you with a smirk.

"Cmon girly time to wake up~"

Taglist: @miss-menhera @rinspiritwolf @spookysquids

[ilylovelyz]

housewife! reader w traditional! manly! ushijima makes my knees weak omg. the thought of this man training all day to come home to his little housewife and a home cooked meal!! he doesn’t care that you aren’t done setting the table he’s gonna bend you over it anyways. he’s just so in love w you!

sjdjjwje

this is kinda dark but the thought of him hiding ur birth control pills or replacing them with the sugar pills so he can knock you up oh my daysss like what’s the point of letting him fill your womb if he can’t put a baby in there :(

⍣ ೋ Million Dollar Man

˚ · . dilf!ushijima x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ dubious consent of impreg (?), birth control sabotage, traditional!husband ushijima, stay at home/housewife!reader, kitchen sex (yummy), misogyny (?), breeding, degradation + humiliation, size comparison, size kink, big dick toshi, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, just a whole lotta breeding <3, mentions of pregnancy dur

࣪𓏲ּ i was originally gonna work on an angsty fic for hinata but this was calling me </3 ushijima is so lana del rey

you're screwed up and brilliant you look like a million dollar man

"i'm home." he calmly says, careful to not close the door so noisy.

he takes off his shoes like normal, changing into his house slippers shortly after. he's inhaling eagerly, the scent of well-cooked rice filling his senses.

he walks to the kitchen, his slipper clad feet softly pattering against the natural wood that is his traditional house's flooring. he passes by the doorway that connects to the living room, glancing in and stealing a look that is his first born daughter napping on the floor next to his also sleeping second daughter.

he makes a mental note to not be so loud as they are napping, he knows better than to disturb them.

"welcome home, wakatoshi." you say with that warm smile of yours, eyes crinkling up at the sight of your husband. he softly smiles at you in return, grunting softly in response.

his eyes look over to the stove, a large pot with a cover surely boiling, and then to the rice cooker; which is what he assumes is full of already well-done rice.

he looks back at you curiously, he can only guess what you're making, he doesn't cook often, thats your job as a housewife.

"i'm makin' hayashi rice, you're favorite."

his cheeks can only tingle with shyness, to anyone he might just look ungrateful or monotonous, but it's far from that.

he adores you.

"thank you," he says, taking a few steps towards you until his chest is a few inches away from your face.

he towers over you, you have a tiny frame compared to his almost gigantic one. some have even questioned the two of you about it, stealing a couple of snide jokes here and there.

he can't lie and say that he doesn't find it "interesting." he brings a hand suddenly up to your head, patting your hair lightly. you blush lightly at his affection, leaning into his gentle touches.

he doesn't understand why you still get so shy around him, but he doesn't mind it. he likes that you're so humble and polite, even when it comes to your own husband that you've known since the young age of 17. you're 33 now.

"hm," he hums lightly, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead. he places a few kisses on your forehead, temple and nose before he's taking your chin in-between his fingers and tilting your head upwards so he can kiss you on your lips.

it still surprises you, how he can take your breath away from one kiss. as his hands wrap around your upper back to bring you closer to him, you can only think back to the time when the two of you were younger and less experienced, him having less experience than you, so you had to lead him with the expertise you had.

it was cute then, the way he was the one who trembled under your touch, looking at you curiously for the courtesy to touch you.

oh, how time flies. now the two of you own a home together, and have two children together, two beautiful girls, the youngest still a little less than a year old.

while ushijima has always been so stoic and known for it, he, over the many years that have passed, has become twice the man he was those years ago.

it almost flusters you, and you can't help but look back on those younger days with a bittersweet smile, remembering the little boy who would ask to hold your hand.

you fluster at the way his strong hands are tearing your clothes off boldly in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth breathing in your sweet gasps for air as he kisses you passionately.

he cups the side of your face, holding your face still as he all but explores your mouth with his own tongue. you tremble within his hold, your ankles almost giving in weakly just because of a simple kiss.

he notices, and with a squeal, he's lifting you up easily into his arms, walking over to the dinner table, using one of his arms to move aside the dishes you precariously chose for that night. dinner can wait, you guess.

he lays you over the cold wooden table, his hands caressing and rubbing your bare skin. you look beautiful underneath him, eyes already glazed over with tears, mouth red and plush. your neck has fading love bruises and bites, he takes note of it to make sure to go over them once more later.

his hand comes up to fondle your breast, his other running down your torso and down to your back thigh. you mindlessly softly moan at his touches, it always feels good to be touched by him.

but he shushes you, leaning downwards to rest his forehead against yours. "you'll have to be quiet, you don't wanna wake up the kids, don't you?" he whispers softly, in contrast, his fingers are already gliding themselves over your folds, dipping a finger into your already dripping cunt.

you gasp at his lewd actions, an eyebrow raising at his words. "d-don't you think i-it's a bit unfair to say that and then.." you meekly say, trailing off when he adds in another finger, curling them inside and pressing against your sensitive walls.

"..and then what?" he teases, punctuating his sentence by pressing his finger-pads against that sweet spot. your body jolts with pleasure, a hand of yours coming up to clamp over your mouth to muffle your pathetic moans.

"y-you're mean," you mumble out, eyes stinging with shy tears. it has your eyes widening when he's visibly smirking at your words, pupils dilated and dark with pure lust.

"you're so naughty, don't you feel ashamed, as a mother, to be so wet like this on the diner table of all places? isn't this where your kids eat?" he boldly says, adding in a third finger as to worsen his seeming punishment. bastard.

"t-this isn't—it's not–you're such a bastard..!" you stutter out, your free hand coming up to punch lightly against his chest. he lightly chuckles at your words before he returns to his menacing actions.

"why don't you cum on my fingers like this, mama? don't be so loud, you'll wake your dear kids." he says, standing up straight to watch the way your body trembles and jolts with pleasure at his words. like command, despite your own pleas and mewls of disapproval, you're cumming on his fingers like a whore, on his word.

thats how it should be.

you're panting on against the dinner table, hiding your face into the crook of your elbow. you're quickly setting your attention back on him when he calls out your name, opening your mouth submissively when he presses his the same fingers that are covered in your own cum against your lips, feverly sucking up your own juices from his fingers.

you blush once more when he's lightly scoffing at your actions, his free hand coming up to rush his pants and boxers off, freeing his cock and lining himself up to your cunt. "don't be loud, mama," you gasp at his words, his fat tip popping into the tight confines of your pussy walls.

his pace is already ruthless, almost taunting you as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, his cock snugly fitting against your cervix with every thrust. you try your best not to be so loud, but it's a hard task to do, especially when he's purposely abusing all of your weak spots.

his eyes narrow at your state underneath him, grunting against the skin of your calf when he sees a tear run down your cheek. "crying? does it feel good?" he asks menacingly, his free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together degradingly, forcing you to pout within his grip.

it only makes you cry harder at his mean gestures, he never fails to make you feel so little, so small. all count of restrain is lost as you shamelessly moan and cry out at his unrelentingly pounding, cheeks burning greatly as you give into his clear humiliation.

he's almost uncharacteristically grinning at your defeat, bending your leg inwards to your chest, almost bending you in half. you grip onto his forearm for purchase when you're unexpectedly cumming once more, vision going white when he doesn't even slow down.

his right hand comes down to squeeze at your doughy breast, noticing that it's lacking the milk you used to have a few months ago. no, that won't do.

"'gonna cum inside." he declares, his other hand coming down to lift the leg that is dangling off the table so as you get you into the perfect mating press. your eyes are widening bewilderedly at his words, a little shocked.

"b-but i'm not on birth control," you mutter out, but from the way he doesn't falter in his thrusts, it seems he already knows. yeah, of course he knows, he threw them away awhile ago. you don't need those silly pills anymore, you're his wife, your duty is to stay at home, raise his kids, and have as many kids as he pleases.

"t-toshi, utako is not even a year old–ah," you cry out, only to be silenced when ushijima is shoving his tongue back down your throat.

"you're my wife, don't you want my babies?" he asks, stilling his hips, his cock pulled out to the tip. he stares at you expectantly.

you're thinking for a few seconds, he doesn't assume anything in particular except of his cock. you're braindead like that, having nothing but a mommy brain after the last few times he's fucked you so well and good that he got you knocked up.

"..want toshi's babies.." you sob, throwing your head back when you're once again coming around his cock once he continued his thrusts at your words once more, your pussy sloshing lewdly with every movement.

yes, of course you want his babies. that's what you're made for. that's what your lovely existence is for, to cook him a good dinner and then spread your legs for him as dessert. whats a good woman if she doesn't submit to her husband?

he's grateful that you're a good woman, one that is so intelligent yet submissive to him. one that is letting him stuff you fill of his thick seed, letting her hard-working husband fill her yet again full with their third child.

it's just this that you're expected to give, you don't have to do much aside from look after the house and the children you produce, you can do whatever you want with the free time you have left, whether it's the beautiful paintings you create, or the horrendous amount of shopping you do with his credit card.

"i love you," he whispers softly against your ear, noting from the way your chest is rising slowly means that you passed out. dinner still hasn't been served, but thats okay. you've probably had a long day too.

౨ৎ please leave a like and repost with tags

[venus-haze]

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is kind of in the same universe as She’s Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best. I know generally men in the ‘40s, let alone Soldier Boy of all people, wouldn’t really consider going down on a woman, but it’s my fic and I get to decide he eats out. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Period typical misogyny, power imbalance. Explicit sexual content involving masturbation and oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

“Which city are we going to next?” you asked, finally comfortable in the swanky hotel room in Chicago you were roomed in with three other girls from the troupe. Soldier Boy’s Sparkling Sweethearts. People came from miles around to show their patriotism–and get a look-see at the acts. If it weren’t Soldier Boy, it was you and the other Sweethearts. Something for everyone, really. Even in places like–

“Wichita.”

A collective groan filled the space, littered with makeup and dresses that’d inevitably shoved into suitcases in a hurry the moment of checkout. There were more important things to worry about than being organized.

“Better than wherever the hell we were last week. Couldn’t get enough of us on Saturday, and then nearly ran us out with pitchforks after the preacher was through with them Sunday morning.”

“I’m going down to the bar while we’re still in a hotel that has one,” you said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Not if Soldier Boy’s there.” A giggle tore through the room. “Did you see him earlier? He looked like he could eat you alive.”

You weren’t even supposed to have been up there with Soldier Boy during his act, a routine that showed off his powers and preceded his usual rousing speech to get the American public to open their hearts and wallets to the war bonds drive. But Darla had broken her leg while ice skating on a day off in Milwaukee, and Soldier Boy had specifically asked for you to fill her spot.

Your role involved memorizing a few lines from a script and looking pretty while Soldier Boy understandably took the lead, but your “rehearsal” just hours before was little more than going through your lines once before Soldier Boy poured you a shot to “calm your nerves” and spent the following fifteen minutes fucking your mouth before sending you off to get ready for the show. 

Walking up on that stage again after your usual routine with the Sparkling Sweethearts was nerve-wracking. Though you knew what to expect, you still felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest every time he lifted you above his head or tossed you up in the air and caught you, to the raucous applause and cheers of the Chicagoans and celebrities who’d packed the theater to see him.

“Betty Grable’s in town, so I think she’s the main course,” you said as you left, closing the door behind you and leaving your coworkers to tease you in private.

Among the various hobbies you’d taken up since becoming a Sparkling Sweetheart, people-watching in hotel bars was one of your favorites. He would almost always be there too, an otherworldly presence with an abundance of movers and shakers rotating in his orbit, unable to resist the pull of America’s golden son.

Some of the girls in the troupe didn’t care for him, found him too brash and handsy. You could think of at least one who’d been unceremoniously replaced after loudly complaining one too many times. No one really knew what the extent of his powers were, but after that incident, you suspected enhanced hearing might be among them. Or someone was just a snitch. 

When you stepped into the bar, a quick scan of the room revealed Betty Grable to be nowhere in sight. You didn’t see Soldier Boy either, until a deep voice wrapped around you like velvet.

“There’s my girl.”

“Who, me?” you asked teasingly.

“‘Course you are, honey.”

“Because I heard Betty Grable’s in town—“

He scoffed. “That broad? Who needs her?”

Your chest filled with pride at his statement. She was the pin-up girl of choice for every GI in Europe and the Pacific. Well, almost all of them. His arm settled around your waist as he told the bartender to give you whatever you wanted. The overhead lights in the bar were nice and low, you felt warm beneath Soldier Boy’s gaze. Being the object of his attention always carried weight. He was the world’s first superhero, after all. A living legend. Plenty of other women he could be spending his time with besides you.

Pressing your lips to his cheek, you whispered a ‘thank you’ for the drink, taking in the way he licked his lips, his handsome face so close to yours, still under the slight cover of the shadows. Whoever decided a helmet that covered half of his face would be part of his costume needed serious help. 

“Y’know, if you hadn’t come down here, I might’ve gone up to your room and dragged you out,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “It’s like you were shakin’ your ass just for me on that stage.”

“It’s called shimmying, and I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was thinking, how about you replace Darla for my act?”

“Permanently?”

“Sure, we’ve got great chemistry,” he said, squeezing your hip, “on and off stage.”

As the night progressed, your conversations with Soldier Boy were interrupted by the slew of people who recognized him, excitedly introducing themselves and asking for a few minutes of his time. He graciously accepted with a ‘You don’t mind, right honey?’ And you shook your head, watching him humor politicians, business moguls, and socialites.

You smiled when the latest one had made their departure, tilting your head the slightest bit. “Do you even remember what my name is?”

“Honey suits you better,” he said, his tongue darting out between his lips. “Bet you taste like it too.”

“You sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I guess so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, passing you his room key. “You go make yourself comfortable while I close out my tab.” 

As if he’d even be paying for the drinks himself. It’d probably be billed to the Department of Defense, or that strange company that sponsored the tour. You didn’t pay much attention to who was signing your checks, just that they cashed out when you brought them to the bank.

You balked at his hotel room, far more space than a single man could possibly need. Then again, he rarely spent his nights alone. 

Comfortable. Ridding yourself of your clothes, you climbed into the giant bed, pulling the covers just over your breasts. As you laid back on the plush pillows, you recalled earlier that day when he had swatted your ass as you walked off stage after your act with him was finished, playing it off as a joke to the crowd who cheered and whistled. The simple yet slightly painful gesture had gone straight through you, however, and you worried that there’d be a noticeable wet spot on your satin panties when you and the other Sparkling Sweethearts returned for one last routine to close out the show, your high kicks telling on you.

Biting your lip, you glanced at the door and slipped a hand between your legs. He had only said to make yourself comfortable, nothing specifically about waiting. Gently prodding two fingers against your pussy, you weren’t surprised to find that you were wet already. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pushed your fingers inside, thinking about how his hands felt on you earlier. Strong and steady, big hands that could break you so easily but didn’t.

“Couldn’t wait?” He stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed with his arms folded over his broad chest as he pinned you in place with his disapproving glare.

You gasped, pulling your hand from between your legs. “I was just–”

He clicked his tongue at you, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “My fault for keeping you waiting too long, doll.”

Soldier Boy joined you on the bed, pulling back the covers you’d pulled over your bare body. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with an overwhelming fireceness as he groped your breasts, squeezing down your stomach to your hips and finally your thighs. His lips followed that same path, kissing and biting along your skin that suddenly felt feverish beneath his touch. Still, your pussy ached for him, especially since he had walked in while you were pleasuring yourself, but he wasn’t paying any mind to it.

Until he dipped his head down, licking your wet cunt. In your shock, you pushed your thighs together, as if his intrusion were unwelcome. 

His strong hands held your legs apart, gently squeezing the tender flesh. “I jerked off thinking about this earlier, but nothin' like the real thing, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ornate ceiling. Gold leafing, a Renaissance-esque painting, surely Soldier Boy didn’t care much about that. 

“Eyes on me, honey. You got that?”

Immediately, you looked at him, his blazing green stare burning through you until you nodded. He wasted no time in burying his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with such force that you realized you had no idea what getting eaten out by a superhero would actually entail. 

He lapped at your pussy with an insatiable fervor that made your legs shake beneath his steady grip. Your moan caught in your throat when he plunged his tongue deeper into you, his nose brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d already teased. 

A whine tore from your throat when he pulled away for a moment, smugly admiring your glistening sex. His lips appeared coated in your juices, and you nearly came at that sight alone.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he growled appreciatively. “This all for me?”

Who else? As if any other man could make you feel pleasure so intensely, as if that were yet another superpower of his. For a moment you bemoaned a possible future of unsatisfying sex with some regular old Joe–not America’s hero, its fucking sex symbol. But all you could manage was a weak, “Yes.”

Satisfied with your response, he closed his plush lips over your clit, sucking on it like he was pulling from a cigarette, your arousal burning deep in his lungs. You grabbed at the sheets, digging your hands into them as you grind your pussy against his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, shooting open when he smacked your thigh. Eyes on me.

“Fuck—Soldier Boy,” you moaned. “‘m close.”

He growled against you, the vibrations from his throat edging you closer to orgasm. His inhuman stamina meant he hadn’t given you much of a break since he lowered his face between your thighs. He’d been content to tease you for a while, but he seemed more focused, intentional with the way he ate you out, his attention especially focused on your clit. 

You could feel it, that tightness in your abdomen that was about to snap. Involuntarily, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on that stage again, in his big arms, bright lights blaring as you stared dreamily at him. Then he threw you in the air, higher and higher until you came back down and–

“Soldier Boy, oh my god–don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded, riding out your orgasm on his face.

His hands held down your bucking hips, your ecstasy overpowered by his determination to bring you over the edge until you were an incoherent mess, muscles aching at the exertion of each orgasm despite him doing all of the work. Light-headed, seeing stars, you reached down, tugging at his hair. That was it. You were tapping out. Mercy.

He granted such, though he pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, nipping at the tender skin. All you could give him was weak moans in return. If you expected to be able to go anywhere else the rest of the night, he’d made damn well sure you couldn’t so much as move from his bed. Maybe that was the idea.  

Your breath caught in your throat when he lifted his head, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, though the evidence of your orgasms was still all over the rest of his face. He kissed you, the foreign taste of yourself filling your mouth, sending a deliciously obscene rush through you. His mouth broke from yours, just for a moment, as he whispered your name against your lips. You realized you didn’t actually know his.

[mypoisonedvine]

can I request a dark!(any of cillian murphy’s characters) who’s basically this spoiled entitled rich guy and he meets a waitress who puts him in his place for disrespecting her? so he decides to teach her a lesson

THE WAY THIS IS PERFECT FOR DARK!ROBERT FISCHER??? OH MY GOD??

warnings: DARK NONCON SMUT!! 18+ only, misogyny and classism, pretty extreme degradation, semi-public sex, hair pulling

You weren't sure why that one interaction stuck in your head, it wasn't like you hadn't dealt with rude customers before: they're plentiful in a fancy place like this, only people wealthy enough to be used to getting whatever they wanted could afford to eat here.

Maybe it was just because you'd already noticed him from the first moment you came to the table, and not just because he looked a little out of place surrounded by the other businessmen... you thought he was gorgeous, obviously. Which made it even more disappointing when he was a huge tool, correcting your pronunciation of some of the menu items and then trying to summon you to the table with a few impatient snaps of his fingers. Not to mention calling you 'sweetheart' instead of your name-- classic sexist bullshit.

Or maybe you remembered him because of the rage when you stood up to him-- just for a second, you saw it in his eyes, before he let out a nervous and condescending laugh to try to break the tension. But even just that flash of anger in his stare made you regret speaking up. Normally, you didn't take shit from anyone and you didn't apologize for the feelings you hurt along the way... but that, his look right then, was everything people had been warning you about. It's one thing to stand up to someone, it's another to antagonize them.

It was enough to make you feel a little nervous when your shift ended that night. You'd watched the flock of stuffy suits leave after their meal, obviously not giving you a tip because of course they wouldn't, and yet you had this lingering feeling like you were being watched-- like you hadn't seen the last of that infuriated glare.

But, feeling like you were definitely overreacting, you resisted the urge to ask your manager to walk you to your car. It was late, of course, and you shivered a bit as the chilly night air made your thin cardigan feel pretty much useless.

Just as you unlocked your car, opening the backseat door to toss in your bag, you felt a hand cover your mouth as someone grabbed you. Your instinctive scream was muffled as you heard a harsh 'shh' by your ear, a heavy form pressing into yours.

You were pushed into the car, tossed roughly down over the backseats as the man's weight kept you pinned down, and you tried to struggle but found yourself quickly incapacitated by his strength.

"How fucking dare you," he spat right against your ear; and you recognized the voice, of course you did, it was burned into your mind already. "You rude little bitch..."

"Get off me," you growled, "you fucking asshole!"

"No, no," he purred, pinning your arms down when you tried to push him back, "not until you've learned your lesson. The way you spoke to me at dinner, I just can't let you get away with that."

"I-I'm sorry, okay?" you breathed, distressed by how easily he held your arms in place by his tight grip on your wrists; you felt him smile against your ear, a dark little chuckle making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "I'm sorry-- I wasn't trying to be rude."

"Yes, you were, sweetheart," he disagreed, throwing the condescending name right at you again. "You were trying to, what, emasculate me? How's that working out for you?"

Honestly, you had been-- you always figured customers like that had it coming, and you'd relished in the chance to make him look like an idiot in front of presumably some very important people. "I'm sorry," you said again. "I was wrong. Please... please just get out and we can forget this ever happened."

You shuddered when his hand moved down to your skirt, rubbing your leg with a hum and slowly pushing up the fabric. "You were hoping for a big tip tonight, weren't you?" he chuckled. "I think I can still give you one."

"P-please," you choked out again, "Mr. Fischer, right? I'm sorry... just please don't--"

He covered your mouth again, grinning at you as he pulled the skirt up roughly and yanked your panties down, giving your ass a hard smack as you yelped behind the strong grip of his fingers. "Don't worry," he offered as he started to hastily open his fly with one hand, "I'm just going to remind you of your place. A whore like you will probably like it."

You shut your eyes tight, hearing him grunt as he adjusted himself to be right at your opening, teasing your hole with his head for just a moment before suddenly and forcefully shoving in. You screamed behind his hand, dropping your head defeatedly, and he groaned happily as he started to fuck you.

"That's it," he praised darkly, "just take it, honey."

Shuddering, you went limp under him, out of other options; you winced as his cock forced its way deep inside you, so deep that your back tried to arch up to avoid some of the intense pressure.

"Shh," he soothed, putting a hand on your back to keep it down, "that's better-- fuck, you little slut..."

He was speeding up already, and you still hadn't adjusted to his size. Clearly his shitty attitude wasn't compensating for anything, like you'd implied before-- and you choked on your moans of discomfort as he finally let go of your mouth. Only broken sighs came out, unfortunately, and in the corner of your eye you could see him staring down at you with a sneer.

"This is exactly what you deserve," he panted, "getting fucked like a cheap whore in this filthy car. I don't think I've ever been inside one of these things-- my god, is that a cassette player?! How old is this piece of shit?"

You groaned, amazed that he had the energy or focus to insult your car in a time like this-- you were just panting and holding tightly onto the beige fabric seats under you, hoping that someone, anyone, would see what was happening and stop him. God, if someone saw, they'd probably think this was a consensual thing, a kinky little public hookup-- but you couldn't just scream for help or something, you felt very confident that he would find a way to keep you silent.

He sighed as he buried his face in your neck, his hips moving faster-- needier, really. He was even moaning, squeezing your wrists again, acting oddly passionate as if this was something very different than what it was. "You could be pretty, you know," he mumbled to you, "if you smiled more-- and if you didn't do your makeup like a cheap whore. Well... I guess you can't help the cheap part."

"You could be pretty if you weren't a psychopath," you snapped back, making him chuckle proudly.

"Still got that fucking attitude," he noticed, "guess I haven't fucked it out of you yet. How about when you're dripping with my come? Then will you understand how you need to speak to your superiors?"

"Don't," you begged in a gasp, "please-- please don't--"

But he just growled and fucked you harder, making the whole car move with the force of his thrusts. "You fucking wanted me," he accused through his teeth, "didn't you? You wanted this. I could see it on your face, the second you looked at me-- you were imagining how well I'd wreck this little cunt."

You tried to shake your head, but he grabbed you by your hair and yanked your head back until you yelped out a sob.

"I'm close," he breathed, "gonna fucking fill you-- 'cause it's all your good for, sweetheart. Being a waitress isn't that fucking complicated, and you're still shit at that-- so how about you just embrace your natural talents, huh? How about you just take my fucking cock and say 'thank you'?"

"F-fuck you," you barely managed to rasp out, and he made sure to punish you for that by absolutely pounding into you for the last of it.

"Stupid fucking whore," he snarled between deep grunts, "f-fuck, you bitch--"

He moaned suddenly as he came, letting go of your hair and dropping you down onto the backseat again as he gave a few shallow, shaky thrusts; his grip was on your hips instead, keeping you still so he could go as deep as possible.

"Fuck," he sighed, panting to catch his breath; you blinked a haziness out of your eyes, hissing as he pulled out of you-- you were going to feel that sting tomorrow, if not longer.

He put his cock back in his trousers and zipped them up, getting out of the car and taking out his wallet.

"Here's a tip," he offered as he tossed a few bills at you, laughing as you widened your eyes at the realization that they were hundreds. "Start saving up for a new car. Or at least get this one cleaned... you're leaking my come all over the seats."

[moodymisty]

𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓’𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐, 𝖆𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖙’𝖘 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1, part 2, Part 3

Author’s note: Time for the dicking, enjoy.

Summary: Cato Sicarius continues to fume over Primarch Guilliman's diplomat, unable to hide his disdain; But neither you or himself are wise to how he truly feels.

Relationships: Cato Sicarius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Degradation, Sexism/misogyny, Choking, Size difference, Toxic relationship, inadequate foreplay and aftercare, Dubious consent, Sicarius is a virgin because like... he's a space marine but also he's not going to admit that to you lmao, Please remember this is not me like slandering Sicarius or something this is just my kink

tWord count: 5240

Cato Sicarius makes his way down the main thoroughfare of the Macragge’s Honour, helmet tucked in the crook of his left arm. His cape flows behind him just barely dusting over the ground, the shine of his sword catching every glint of light. He walks with purpose, head held high.

Cato Sicarius is ever the epitome of Ultramarine valor.

His dutiful walk is interrupted by something catching his eye however, as he looks out towards a myriad of docked ships. One is being refueled- an action that in and of itself is not wholly unusual - and he sees Ultramarines preparing to board it.

Second Company, Ultramarines. He recognizes their regalia, and some of the men armoured and prepared to be loaded in. Titus is among them; A face and set of armor he instantly recognizes despite his preference not to.

But... What are Second Company Ultramarines doing preparing to board a landing ship without his leadership, or at least knowhow?

With a newfound haste, he approaches the landing ship and catches the attention of the first marine that passes by.

“Yes, Captain Sicarius?” Sicarius gestures to the ship with his right hand, still holding his helm with the other.

“What is happening that’s deployed some of Second Company that I am somehow not aware of?”

The marine looks at him with a very odd expression, that Sicarius can't seem to place. He looks back towards his fellows for a moment, of whom give Captain Sicarius the proper respect when they realize they've caught his eye. The young marine he had questioned speaks up and regains his attention, Sicarius turning to look back at him.

“Lord Guilliman has us as retinue for the lady diplomat. She’s in charge of negotiating planetside with the local population.”

You.

Of course it’s you. Sicarius laments that it’s never anyone else. Since the day Guilliman requested your assistance to the day he kept you aboard this ship, he’s found your existence at best annoying, and at worst absolutely infuriating.

He is worth more than escorting around baseline diplomats, as are his men; But why don’t they seem to mind?

Titus doesn’t mind; but Titus is a scavenger seeking anyone who will blindly trust him after his incident, in Sicarius’ eyes. To think the man had once served as captain.

Sicarius turns away from the marine with nary a farewell and begins to make his way to Lord Guillman’s study with haste, his ceramite boots freshly cleaned thunder on the ground and rattle the metal tiles.

When Sicarius arrives at the doors to Guilliman’s chambers the guard in front lets him pass without issue, given his rank. Sicarius wouldn’t be here if he didn’t consider the matter important.

Though when he enters and announces himself to his primarch, Guilliman looks up from flimies and parchments with an expression Sicarius can only describe has bland.

“Have I misheard that some of Second Company are leaving without a captain?” Guilliman steadies his soul and looks at him with a dour expression.

“No, you haven’t. I have Lieutenant Titus currently serving as their leader. I made the decision not an hour ago.” So Titus was not only involved, he was leading the front. Unlike your previous escorts, where he had merely served under Sicarius.

“You have a lieutenant serving in my stead? Do I have no voice in this?” Guilliman leans upright, abandoning his materials and any hope of continuing to go through them.

“I have a lieutenant serving in your stead because you have an attitude that has become uncharacteristic of this legion.” He gestures plainly to his table, and unconscious action to emphasize his words.

“Were you not one the most gifted fighters this legion has seen, I would consider your attitude problem beginning to exceed your worth,” Guilliman continues. “The woman is staying. She serves a purpose for me to trust with less important tasks and if you cannot handle that, then I will assign another to lead her retinue in your stead.”

Sicarius boils in his armor at his primarch's words, like he's been spit in the face. His face grows hot with anger, though he holds his tongue.

Does Guilliman really put so much value on you? You're nothing but a weak little inconvenience that must be escorted around to avoid being killed by even the simplest of things, how can a primarch possibly trust you so much? Enough to waste so many resources, like Astartes that should be in the field of battle, just to keep you alive?

You must've done a great job at convincing him of your own importance, slotting yourself right close to his side. Have you seduced him the same way you seduced his men, with the delicate fabrics of your dresses that tight wrap around your waist and soft hands that contrast with scarred ceramite plates? Do you have your eyes set on larger goals?

No. How dare he think such a thing of his primarch; To think he would be so weak as to fall of the wiles of such a woman.

Sicarius clears his throat, and then regains the composure he had so nearly lost.

"Very well."

Sicarius leaves his Primarch's study when Guilliman nods at him, a cue that he understands the conversation is concluded. The dark red fabric of his cape billows behind him as he walks, the bottom frayed from years of dependable use.

He is sure you've departed by now to the surface of the planet they now orbit. He can see the top half of the planet through the windows as he looks out, past the space debris. He stops for a moment, as serfs, servitors and servoskulls pass him by.

He wonders what you're doing down there, before he swiftly pushes it from his mind.

The rest of Second Company that are not currently on active duty are now currently in their daily training, and Sicarius makes himself busy by attending in person; Standing like a shadow watching and inserting himself or his voice where needed.

He hopes his presence even occasionally prevents any of the men from slacking, as even the most minor error can cause irreparable damage to his men, their battle brothers, and perhaps even worse. Minor slip ups are not something Ultramarines will tolerate, not even once.

After a few hours, Sicarius decides to take his leave once many of the men currently training put down their arms to eat their meal of the day. Sicarius purposely takes a different path than them, to avoid bunches of young, talkative marines. Neophytes are even worse, though thankfully he hasn't had to deal with them today.

While walking, he hears a voice that stands out through the sounds of ceramite boots on the ground, and the hum of machinery.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful to any of you all, but I would pay anything to see that."

It’s you. He recognizes your tone of voice.

Sicarius slows his walk slightly, eyes glancing to the left at the branching hall that will soon connect with the one he walks down. That's where the voices must be coming from, as an astartes laughs.

"We all still give the new ones a hard time about it. Not all of us had the most smooth transition into wearing our armor."

Another marine laughs, as they continue to walk.

"We fall over for Macragge!"

Sicarius reaches the apex where the two halls collide, and sees you with the same squad of marines that he had seen you leave with. Titus included. You're all smiling; Though the smiles fade from the astartes faces completely and turn to expected stoicism upon getting noticed by their captain. You loose your smile as well, and nod politely at him.

"Captain Sicarius."

You all say, greeting him. He glances at them, a hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He only casts you a brief glance, before he forces himself to look away.

"You all returned quite quickly."

You nod, and Sicarius doesn't know why he's upset over your change in disposition. The marine behind you speaks for you, his ashy blonde hair sticking to his forehead from the pressure of his helmet.

"It went well, Captain. We are on our way to report to Lord Primarch Guilliman."

Sicarius hums.

"Very well. Get on with it then."

Sicarius continues walking by, gripping the pommel of his chainsword tight as you all disappear from view, in the direction of the bridge. As he continues to walk, he figure you’ve all made it there by now, if not already left.

He wonders how the conversation went.

Did Primarch Guilliman praise you all? Compliment you for you diplomatic talents? The Primarch has a surprising amount of trust in you, for a baseline human. He has had no shortage of good things to say about your dedication and work ethic, how well you’ve helped him in this new Imperium- As Lord Guilliman uniquely calls it.

Is he the only one that feels this way? Why does no one just understand? Why is he alone in this?

The lights in the halls are dimming slightly; The marines are all beginning to sleep. Sicarius decides to quit wandering with no goal and get his armour removed, before returning to his quarters and getting some rest. Perhaps that will make him a bit less irritated at every little thing that manages to get under his skin.

It hasn't worked in the past, but he isn't apposed to giving it another chance. At least he wasn't the one who had to escort you, though he knows that it would've been significantly easier to assassinate Primarch Guilliman's prized diplomat without him there.

He should’ve been there. He should’ve been at your side, not Titus, he thinks as he has his armored removed piece by piece. The serfs and tech priests treat every piece with respect, as they should. Once they carefully hand him his robe, he slings it over his shoulders putting it on before stepping down the two steps away from the armouring machinery and leaving. The walk is short, and it isn’t long before the captain can slouch his shoulders once safely behind the privacy of his own door.

Sicarius’ quarters as one would expect are befitting of his rank; A singular habitation suite occupied by him alone. The bed is more than large enough for a man of his stature, and he sits on it in only his linen robes before taking them off and throwing his legs fully onto the bed.

He has five hours before he needs to wake. Tomorrow shouldn't be a day filled with too many unknowns and busywork. He hopes. But no matter how much he thinks it, sleep just won’t come. At least not full sleep; He could do as he does in the field and let only parts of his brain rest, but that isn’t what he wants. Normally he can fall asleep within moments after he closes his eyes as he's trained himself to do, but now he finds himself staring at the ceiling, flexing his fingers.

His palms are sweating. Sicarius wonders if he's getting ill, as he realizes much of his skin feels warmer than usual.

He takes few slow, deep breaths. The way he would when trying to get partial sleep in the field. But it doesn't work, and he finds himself leaning up to sit.

One of his hands presses against his bare thigh, as he slouches. The muscle and fat of his stomach folds as he runs a hand through his cropped hair.

He wonders what you're doing right now. You sleep for a few hours longer than the marines do, and when he had voiced up about it, Guilliman had told him baseline humans need more sleep than them to function at their peak. You had joked to one of his men once however that you didn't always sleep for all that time, sometimes you would work while in bed.

Sicarius growls and shakes his head.

Why does no matter for how briefly he lets his minder wander, it goes back to you? He can't even clear his mind for a moment before it's back on you, what you're doing, the way you look at the people around you; But not at him.

Why?

What do you see in all of them that you don't see in him? He is Cato Sicarius; The commander of the Victrix Honour Guard, the Grand Duke of Talassar, the Master of the Watch. Yet you cast your whoreish gaze to the likes of Titus, a demoted marine with a permanent stain upon his name.

You treat him with respect, issue the bare minimum conversation needed to communicate, before leaving him. Is he not enough for you? Are you scared of him? Why does the idea of you fearing him illicit a feeling that seems negative?

He knows he shouldn't care. That this is all meaningless, but he can't help but want an answer. Why do you keep your most whoreish and sweet smiles for others? Perhaps you know he is too well disciplined to even bother trying. And so you toy with the others, sitting beside them as they shadow you with massive sets of armor, holding a gauntlet of which you can only grasp two fingers.

Sicarius shifts slightly, and feels the way his lower body is tight; He’s hard, pressing against his inner thigh. He feels disgusted with himself that he's allowed this to happen.

You just keep clouding his mind like some sort of malignancy that he can’t remove.

Damn it all.

Sicarius rises from his bed and lets his feet hit the floor, dressing himself before leaving his personal quarters not two hours after he entered.

He knows where your own quarters are by memory despite having never actually entering, storming by anyone in his path to get there. When he does, it’s easy enough for him to override the door lock and enter himself, closing it behind him.

You are just rising in your bed as the door hisses shut, the fabric of your clothes molding to your skin.

You’ve taken off the underclothing for your chest- Sicarius doesn’t know the name - and he can clearly see the outline of your breasts through your clothes.

“What is t- Captain Sicarius?”

He storms closer and as his face becomes more illuminated by the soft light at your bedside, you see his seething expression distorting his stubble-ridden face. The papers you must’ve been working on are sitting on the small table to your side, having been recently abandoned in favor of sleep.

“You."

He points at you and you can almost see the finger shake from how furious he is. Your lips are parted slightly as your mouth gapes from surprise, wide eyes looking between his hand and him.

"You are little more than an Ultramarine branded harlot.”

Your face is shocked and surprised, Sicarius heeds none of it. He can hear your heart racing in his ears as he approaches more and grasps the front of your clothing, pulling it away from your chest. For a brief moment he feels the soft pillowy nature of your breasts pressing against his knuckles, before the fabric is pulled away.

"Captain Sicarius, I, what do you think you're doing?"

He hears you stutter, the crack in in your voice. Now of all times you become shy? Not when you were pressing your hands to Titus' armor and complimenting him? Like you’re begging him to ravish you? Not when you have one of the young, fresh marines toss out a hand for you to grab so you don’t fall?

“I am sick of you throwing yourself at my men like some faithless degenerate. If you want it so badly, then I will give it to you.”

Sicarius leans forward, putting his knee on the bed while he shoves you back down into it. Your head thumps against the pillow, bouncing as the massive astartes moves to cage you underneath him.

Both of you have always been well aware of the size difference of all the astartes of the Macragge's honour, and Guilliman himself; Other than the serfs, occasional other diplomat or Imperial pskyer, everyone aboard the ship towers over you. It is particularly apparent with Sicarius, who shadows you in the near dark with a body significantly wider and taller than your own. He’d never realized just how small you were; Both of his massive hands could circle your entire waist.

“Throwing myself? What are you t-“

The speed in which Sicarius moves a hand to your jaw is enough to pull the air from your lungs.

“Quiet, whore.”

Your hands latch onto his arm, pulling at solid muscle. It doesn’t budge in the slightest, your palms sliding over scars, hair, and the metal of his interface ports. It feels like barely anything at all, your touch is so feather light and soft.

Pulling his hand away from your jaw he reaches and grabs a handful of the fabric of your nightgown, pulling it upward roughly. You could hear the sound of multiple stitches snapping, fabric now bunched at your stomach.

The air on the ship is always cold, but a shiver runs through you as you feel the hot skin of his hand on your waist.

He’s never actually touched you before. He’s never felt your skin with his own, the most he’s done is grab your shoulder with his gauntlets on to guide you someplace. You’re even more fragile that he would expect, you’re nothing compared to his hardened bones and you feel as if you’ll break apart in his hand. Your back arches up to fit his fingers between you and the bed, breathing heavily. Your attire always left little to his imagination, but it’s still different to actually feel.

“How are you still so soft after all this time,” He grumbles.

You have a less taxing job than many aboard the ship, but Sicarius knows that if you could have your way, you’d lay back and let the marines of your retinue use you. If you aren’t already, the way his men follow you around like dogs instead of acting like the way the Emperor’s Angels should gives doubt. The mere thought makes him jealo- furious; For his men not himself, he thinks as he grabs a fistful of his robes.

The front of most astartes robes are tied or wrapped, and so it doesn't take any sort of intense effort from Sicarius to pull the fabric apart, pressing his bare skin to your own.

It’s so hot; It's like his blood is boiling just below the surface of his skin. But is it because of his anger, how much he seems to hate you for reasons indiscernible, or because of something you can feel pressing against your thigh? His cock is already completely hard, tip wet and leaking precum as it slides up your thigh.

He only needs to do this once; Break this curse you have on him. He needs to be able to be around you like are aren't suffocating him.

With little regard Sicarius slips his hand between your thighs and only briefly notes how soft they are, the pillowy flesh of your inner thighs presses against his hand like a blanket rather than hard muscle.

"Sicarius, are you really not going to explain yoursel-"

Your voice cuts off with a shaky inhale as his fingers slip between your outer folds, soft wet velvety skin covered by his hand. It isn't long after his initial touch that his fingers find your entrance and he pushes one inside.

You feel so much softer than he had imagined. So soft that even he in his anger is unconsciously more gentle than he expected, forcing his finger deep into you down to the hilt until his palm presses against you. Your body wraps around him like velvet fabric, warm and hot. When he moves, your thighs tense and shake, but you're still trapped in the cage made by his body.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," He says, and you quickly combat him with:

"You do when you storm into my room and try to-"

He pushes a second finger inside of you, and your throat shakes with a moan as you feel that aching stretch of being just under your limit. He feels the way you tighten around him, and even in his lack on knowhow, Sicarius can tell that it will be a tight fit for him inside you.

Why do you have to be so damn small? It just furthers his worri- complaints that you're so easily hurt, and need to be so heavily protected from even minor damage.

Even he's hurt you, he can see the bruise starting to blossom on your jaw where he grabbed you a bit too hard, though you don't seem to mind. You're too busy panting, grasping at his arms as his two fingers curl inside your cunt. It's like you're trying to pull him in deeper, you just want more and more because you're his little wh-

Perhaps impatient, Sicarius pulls his two fingers from you and feels the way your thighs tremble, and the way you've covered his fingers and some of his palm in that sweet stickiness. For the briefest, most minute moment, he wonders how it might taste.

His wipes them off on the blankets below him, before grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him. You can feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh until he moves to slide it along your folds, slicking himself with the wetness he pulled from you. Suddenly Sicarius shakes his head, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

The room smells, entrenched in this sweet, salty smell that radiates from you in waves. It's intoxicating, the way it screams at him that you want to be fucked, you want to be turned over bent over you little whore you just want him finally you want h-

Sicarius presses the head of his cock against your entrance and pushes slightly, feeling the way he can slowly sink into your tight heat once he pops past the tight ring of your entrance. Though it is still a stretch. Astartes are big, and they match suitably. Your neck is tense, collarbone prominent as your muscles flex.

"Fuck- that's, that's too big..."

He only manages to force half of his cock into you when you already start complaining about feeling full, it being too much, but he continues to push and go farther beyond until you feel like he's threatening to push into your stomach.

"You'll take it- I'm not leaving till you do."

Eventually his hips press against the back of your thighs when he's fully sheathed inside of you, and he can hear your breath rattle in your lungs and your singular heartbeat against your ribcage like the pistons in an engine. Badum badum badum, he hears as his cock throbs inside of you.

Sicarius pulls himself out barely halfway before flicking his hips back towards you, listening to the way you suddenly keen underneath him. You tighten and leak around him, your pillowy cunt swallowing him whole. He hears the sound of his own skin slapping against your own as he drives himself deeper, and each time you squeal as his massive body forces your thighs apart.

"By the t- Sicarius,"

You can't help the way you tense, your stomach turns and tightens in knots as the head of his cock threatens to knock against your cervix. He can see tears pricking in your eyes; You don't get to whine about him being too much, you wanted this, you begged for it with those pretty dresses and sweet smiles, you wanton harlot. You keep begging, as your hands grip his thick forearms to keep yourself steady as he thrusts into you.

He had imagined once what it would be like to rip those dresses off of you, and the curse of his memory means he'll never forget that pondering. He'd have to wrap you in the fabric of his cape, hiding your body from everyone but him-

"You're too big, I can't-"

You're whining, tears prick your eyes but your cunt is soaked, leaking down his cock, your well thought out words and demure voice turned into helpless ramblings as you lay beneath him thighs spread for your better, your superior; Pulling him in with your greedy cunt.

"You can," He grips your hip tight and pulls you to meet him halfway into his thrust and listens to you let out a broken moan. "And you will."

Your eyes have been fluttering open and closed for much of this, unable to look at him directly in the eyes for long. But even now Sicarius' eyes drift downward, distracted by the shape of your barely parted lips. They're so soft looking, unscarred, and he finds himself pulled in before he even realizes.

Sicarius finally kisses you for the first time, pressing his lips to yours as his hips smack against your thighs. He rests on his forearm to get lower, while his other hand still grips your waist.

You’re frozen at first, before your hands move to knit into his cropped hair and you press back into him. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that he bleeds- tasting metal before it instantly coagulates. He’s rough, forceful- his teeth are dangerously close to hitting your own, he catches your bottom lip between his and hears the way you whimper.

“Cato…”

You speak against his lips, the bow of his upper lip brushing across your own. The stubble against his jawline scratches your skin, as your lips grow puffier from his less than gentle treatment of them.

He pulls away from you, your spit on his lips while his forehead rests on yours.

“I, I thought you hated me,”

You say, nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck, just above the scars he has from the surgery for his black carapace. If the light was brighter in your room, you might've been able to see the grayish tint to his skin where you could see it underneath the surface. His voice sounds angry and confused when he responds.

...Does he hate you?

“I… don’t know.” His voice almost tremors, confused within himself.

If not for the circulated air of the Macragge's Honour always being so frigid, you're sure you would feel even hotter than you already did, as Sicarius traps you in a cage beneath him, radiating body heat. His arm rests close to your head, while the other grips your hip to keep him from accidentally pushing you away as he humps into you.

His forehead slides from your own to the side of your head, and you can hear his heavy breathing in your ear as he pushes his cock deeper into you than anything else has previously. The wet noises and skin on skin fill the previously silent room other than the humming of pipes in the ceiling and walls, and the sound of animalistic grunting from an astartes you thought hated you.

He does hate you. He hates you so much for doing this to him, but he's the one who's failing, who fell to the temptation rutting into you like an animal-

Sicarius groans as you somehow get even tighter than you were, feeling the way a shiver runs through your entire body as you cum on him. Your nails leave little marks that will leave in moments, though he knows the smell of your wet cunt will stick on him far longer.

"By the throne, you are too damn tight,"

Sicarius continues through it even as you gasp, nails digging into his skin. He goes faster and faster, your soft skin will surely be bruised tomorrow but you keep begging for more, as he snaps his hips into you and pushes himself as deep as he can possibly go. He lets out a shaking groan, and you feel him finally empty himself inside of you.

It's hot, there's so much; You feel limp underneath him as he keeps cumming inside of you. When he slowly tries to pull out you whimper, the feeling of emptiness and the way the moment the head of his cock slips out of you, the seed he left behind slowly dribbles out of you and onto the bed.

Sicarius, for a man barged into your room and humped into you like an animal in rut, clams up the emotions he showed to much of and looks away.

“You should wash. Titus will be able to smell me on you.”

You look up at him confused, leaning up just slightly before stopping. He can see spit from his kisses on the corners of your mouth, lips swollen and hair messy.

“Why would that matter?”

Sicarius goes to laugh, though he quickly cuts it off when he notices that instead of becoming angry like you normally would, you get withdrawn.

“You don’t think he’ll mind that his cute little diplomat is off with other Astartes?”

The collar of your nightdress is stretched and uneven, and you push down the bottom of it away from your stomach so it covers the mess he left between your legs. Or you at least try to, but you grimace when you attempt to lift your hips enough to push it down. Sicarius leans forward and gently tugs on it for you, snapping more seams but succeeding in covering your sore, cum slicked thighs.

"No, Titus was only being nice since he knew I was having trouble dealing with everything that's happened. Primarch Guilliman has been," You look away for a moment at the papers at your bedside, that are now scattered across the floor.

"He's been giving me so much to ease his burdens and believe me I am honoured to serve him, it's just- it's been overwhelming. Titus had just offered me an ear so I could vent." You look at him confused, brow furrowed and lips parted.

"You didn't think we were... Did you?"

Sicarius looks at you, at the concerned expression on your face. Your body is swollen and sore from his abuse even as gentle as he was, he can smell the salt of sweat on your skin.

With one smooth motion Sicarius shifts himself to get off your bed and stand, wrapping his robes about around him in an acceptable enough fashion for a captain.

"Cato?"

You raise up higher, sitting up and curling your legs to the side. He turns to leave, but that damn demure, worried voice of yours stops him. He doesn't even care that you're using his first name, calling him so casually.

"Can you stay for a minute?" He turns and looks at you with that neutral astartes expression.

"Why?" You blow a breath of air through your lips that makes them shake.

"Dammit Cato just, can you? Please?"

He watches you for a moment, as you wipe the corner of your mouth.

Eventually however he turns fully around and walks closer, standing at your bedside and towering over you. You swallow and he can see the knot in your throat move, before you look up at him and start talking.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

v. i gave my blood, sweat and tears for this

— the one where both of you have given everything to be where you are.

warnings: misogyny, sexual harassment, this is how monaco went btw i accept no criticism. barely proofread, sorry. 3.7k words (+ article, podcast excerpts)

masterlist ✢ next

'Have we let y/n y/ln get away with way too much?'

By Alan Gomez

Yes folks, it might be our own fault, we have created a monster in the form y/n y/ln. Mediocre actress at best and with an even worse personality, if the latest events are any indication.

But how could we let this happen? Come on, we're smarter than this!

The thing is, y/n brainwashed us into believing that her doe-eyed, no-brain characters were actually her. Don't beat yourselves up over this too much, even I was a victim of those pretty eyes. But now that the blindfold has fallen, we have come to realize we have let y/n get away with everything!

You might know y/n from Supercut, the romantic comedy that took the world by storm in 2019, where she starred alongside Aidan Kim and it lead to these two becoming one of the general public’s most cherished couples. At least until two months ago, when their breakup was announced via Inside Out. Although there haven’t been any official statements, given the circumstances, we believe it was the actress who broke it off with Kim.

RELATED:

→ Aidan Kim and friends at Cannes Film Festival

→ Y/N supports alleged boyfriend at charity football match

But whether she’s dating a new guy now or not, why do we keep letting her do whatever she wants?

How did she actually brainwash us into thinking she’s anything close to an “it girl”? After Supercut, all she’s done is the absolute bare minimum to keep people talking about her, it’s all RomComs and no effort. I didn’t want to be that person, and you have to believe me on this, but Aidan Kim made her.

Let’s remember Aidan built his career from the ground as a member of Star-5 the early 2010’s boyband that split in 2018. He was the ‘someone’ in the relationship. How can people even compare having the hit song “Round and Round” in your résumé to being in Scream (Netflix) and The Mist (again, Netflix)?

Aidan made us like her and the writers of Parisian Valentine, The Hating Game and Last Night In Love, did her a HUGE favor by consolidating her as the “Queen of RomComs” by what standard? Well, don’t ask me.

The truth is, we accepted y/n into our hearts and homes, thanks to Aidan Kim and an unbelievable amount of luck, and we haven’t held her accountable for anything ever.

Here’s what I’m talking about, if you’re still wondering what the point of this article is, click on every link to be taken to the whole context, you’ll thank me later:

❍Y/N yells at paparazzi to leave her alone as she walks around Beverly Hills with Victoria Presley.

❍ Y/N praises Taylor Swift while tearing down several male artists for writing songs about their personal experiences.

❍ Y/N says in interview with ELLE that not every movie has to be “profound”.

And just for fun:

❍ A collection of Y/N’s disastrous looks.

It’s time we realize y/n y/ln is talentless, has a horrible personality and feigns innocence she certainly doesn’t have. You will NOT continue to take advantage of us, y/n! It’s all over for you, so I’m glad you’re dropping your pathetic career to become a WAG. #Y/NIsOverParty.

↺ FROM ❛WE WATCH❜ PODCAST

Paul Byrnes: Can y/n really do another role now, after all she’s known for are romantic comedies?

Anna Sanchez: well, I really liked her in The Mist, she did great as character in a horror it was—

Paul Byrnes: No one cares about The Mist, Anna, just you.

Anna Sanchez: all I’m saying is she’s a good actress, she can do other things. That was your question, Paul.

Paul Byrnes: Well, in my opinion she can't and that's it.

↺ FROM ❛IT TALK❜ PODCAST

Greg Zane: Let's talk y/n y/ln and her fashion choices now that she's an F1 WAG. What do we think?

Riley Green: She's a what now? How long has it been since she broke up with Aidan Kim?

Martha Vincent: I think she's looking great, I just wish she'd let go of the ugly caps.

Riley Green: No seriously, how long did she stay single?

Greg Zane: I agree Martha, but caps are big in Formula 1, nothing we can do about that. I'm wondering if she'll go for a more glamorous look in Monaco.

Riley Green: guys? hello?

Martha Vincent: Oh Riley, we're not talking about her love life, let it go.

↺ FROM ❛HOLLYWOOD VIBES❜ PODCAST

Pauline Oscar: [cont.] I'm just so curious about the reason of their breakup, why hasn't anyone said anything?! It must be juicy.

Brenda Yim: I feel like it's bad for one of them, most likely y/n. Hello, can anyone offer one of their friends some money? Just like old times!

Pauline Oscar: [laughs] Definitely! We need to know! Can it get any worse than the fact that she's already with another guy? What's his name? Charles Le what? She soooo cheated.

liked by charles_leclerc, vicpresley, mati.bassi, carlossainz55 and others.

ynfreesia UM THE LIKES?

xxynbaby it's "monaco" of course

aidanluvs you don't even have the decency to pretend like you're alone? fuck you

ynredstar i cannot defend you if you pull this shit girl

mati.bassi great view for breakfast with my best girl!💕

ynredstar oh ynredstar nevermind thanks mati ↳ feels4aidan don't be so gullible she's obviously covering up for them

THE COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE DISABLED.

May 27th, Montecarlo, Monaco.

THERE are tears in your eyes, and despite your best efforts not to let them run down your cheeks, it's futile. The worst part is that you're the one doing this to yourself. There's zero need to read 'articles' from pseudo journalists on how a man gave you your career and how you're tossing it into the trash for another. Not to mention the cascade of curses you received for a picture on instagram, where everyone thought you were with the other man.

Has your life really come to this? People don't talk about you unless a guy is involved? You loathe it. Your career was never about Aidan, and it's not about Charles now. Who only makes things worse every time he shows up and yet you can't manage to bring it up to him.

It's embarrassing. You don't want to walk up to him during whatever free time he has in a hectic weekend, and ask him if it really doesn't annoy him everything the press has made up about the two of you, or if he's really that unbothered by being paired up with you in the wildest scenarios, and tell him that he can shut them down whenever he feels like it (you wish he would already), and let him know you won't mind whatever he says about not being involved with you.

But no, Mr. Leclerc is busy giving unclear answers at interviews and liking your instagram posts, as if this isn't already a wildfire.

You put down your phone and pick it back up almost immediately, Vic's ringtone fills your hotel room and you wipe away your tears before answering her FaceTime request.

"Were you crying?" it's the first thing she says, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head. There's a lot of noise in the background and you can barely make the words out, but she comes so close to the phone that all you can see is the tip of her nose. "Why were you crying?"

"It's nothing, Vic. What's up?" you sigh, rubbing your eyes only makes things worse but you don't want to worry about that now.

"I just got to Monaco, babe," the phone is at a safe distance from her nostrils again and you can see around her, the airport where you landed a few days ago. "I'm with my parents," she rolls her eyes, lowering her voice. "But if you could get me into the Ferrari Suite I can hang out with you tomorrow!"

They allowed you one guest and the spot has already been taken by Mati, so there really isn't much you can do in terms of getting her into the Ferrari Suite. "Well, let me see what I can do, okay?"

"Okay," she sounds unsure, you know Vic enough to be sure she expected a different answer. "I mean my parents have Lounge privileges but it's more fun to be with you."

Had she said something about coming to Monaco you might have been able to do something, but as far as you were concerned she planned to stay in France all week, enjoying Cannes and mingling.

"I'll do my best Vic, but you know how they are," you exhale heavily, "Plus it's a crazy-ass weekend."

"Isn't it always?" she's yawning now, "We can meet for dinner later and you can tell me what's up alright? Being with my parents is so boring."

You shake your head, "Be nice, they just want to hang out with you. I'll call you after Quali," you check the clock on top of the nightstand, it's 10 am. You have to get ready for FP3, which you don't care about attending or not but Stuart Schaffer asked to see you, so you haven't got much of a choice.

"Sure babes, love you." Vic pulls her sunglasses down again and blows a kiss to the screen.

"Love you too," it's your turn to yawn as you tap the hang up button.

You look at the special edition Ferrari cap you received as a gift yesterday on top of your suitcase and immediately discard the idea of wearing it. No caps. And then the wave of disgust invades you, are you seriously going to do what some random man said on a podcast you came across by accident?

The answer is yes, unfortunately.

─────────

You would rip your leg off if you could, at least it would mean you’d be able to get out of this chair and away from Stuart. But his palm resting on top of your knee feels like a death grip and you’re frankly afraid to move in case it goes further up.

Mati decided to skip FP3 and you’re really hoping she’ll be on time for Quali because you have no one else to talk to, Stuart is just parading you around again and keeping you way too close for comfort because he’s in a great mood since both Ferraris maintained their top spots and things are looking hopeful for Qualifying.

You know it’s your chance to ask if you can bring Victoria around tomorrow, and you know the answer will be yes, but you don’t. You don’t want to ask things from this man, he’s the type to never forget a debt.

You barely catch a glimpse of Carlos and Charles as they walk by on the way to their debrief and Charles waves at you quickly, with a single-dimpled smile. He’s wearing the same cap you refused to put on.

“I’m going to call my friend,” you blurt out once Charles is out of sight, finally moving your leg back to make Stuart’s hand drop. “She had the worst hangover, I have to check up on her.”

“Oh, you girls get wild in Monaco,” Stuart cackles as you sprint away from him, actually resisting the urge to wipe your knee clean.

"Hey y/n!" Mati's voice can barely be heard above the EDM playing wherever she is. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" you whine, looking back inside the Suite. "Help."

"What's wrong?" you picture her frowning as she tries to walk away from the noise helplessly.

You feel guilty for worrying her so you sigh. "Nothing, I just hate being here. Are you coming here for Qualifying?"

"Yep," she pops the 'p' and laughs. "Listen, why don't we have lunch here at the yacht and then go back for Quali?"

"Yes!" once again you look over your shoulder to where the Elix men are laughing at their own jokes and patting each other's backs. “I’m on my way, okay?”

“I’ll be right here, also don’t scare me like that again, please.”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, embarrassed. Maybe you’re a bit dramatic at times, but it’s really all good-natured. “See you in a minute.”

You turn to the door of the Suite, giving a short jump back when you open it at the same time as someone else.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, stepping inside as Charles moves out of the way to let you in. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I scared you,” he smiles, closing the door again once you’re fully in. Charles is once again holding a closed Elix can, tapping his fingers on the side.

You eye it suspiciously, wondering if the thing has really grown on him. After all, one of the first things he told you was how much it disgusted him.

“It’s alright. I thought you were in your debrief?” You grab a can of Elix yourself, looking good in front of the sponsors cannot hurt.

“It was a short one. Keep doing what you’re doing kind of thing,”

“Right. Well, good for both of you,” you look around for Carlos but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Would it jinx it to say ‘good luck’ for later?”

You know many sportspeople take their jinxes and rituals way seriously, and you don’t want to be the one to blame if something goes wrong for the local star.

Charles considers this for a second and then shakes his head no. “Wish me luck,” he smiles.

“Good luck, Charles.” You beam back at him, enjoying—despite yourself—the way his eyes burn into yours.

─────────

You’re back at the Suite with Mati 10 minutes before Qualifying starts. The tension that had seeped out of your body in the form of laughter and loud singing with Mati is already making its way back to your back and jaw. You’re not ready to be around the Elix people again, but you must. However, first, you make Matilde promise she won’t leave your side.

Stuart Schaffer is already patting the empty seat next to him when you make your way through the refreshment tables. You smile at him, a muscle in your cheek falters as you walk past him on your way to the balcony, to catch both Ferraris leaving the garage.

“Oh don’t drink that,” you whisper when you see Mati walk your way, two cans of Gold Elix in her hands. “Don’t.”

Matilde snorts, “You’re literally the ambassador of this thing, and you don’t like it?”

“SHHH!”

“Fine, but those guys are looking at us so we have to at least sip it.”

You groan, opening the one she offers you and then taking a huge gulp. “Yum,” you mock.

Mati laughs again before her face goes sour with the taste. “Oh my God,”

“Warned you,” yet you take another sip. You think that if it grew on Charles it might grow on you, but you don’t really see it happening.

Q1 and Q2 go by smoothly, at least for Ferrari and you’re on the edge of your seat for Q3. This is the race you’ve been more excited for, but it’s not like you’ve attended many others. Still, Monaco just hits different.

The end of Q3 almost gives you a heart attack, although you also blame your almost empty Elix. You didn’t even notice how much you drank, but the thing that really gets your heart jumping out of your chest is Victoria’s ringtone.

Begrudgingly, you turn away from the track. She has texted you a thousand times, without exaggerating, since Quali started and you know it’s because she’s bored out of her mind at the Lounge with her parents. But you’re starting to find this genuinely entertaining and you are bothered by the distraction.

“I told you I’d call you after Quali, Vic,” you singsong, looking up at the screens inside the Suite.

“Well Quali is almost over, no one cares about the last three minutes.”

You do, Max Verstappen is in first place, then Charles and Checo in P3. You’re crossing your fingers for Charles to manage to get above both Red Bulls. And for Carlos to squeeze in there too.

You don’t say anything else, too enthralled by the battle on the screen.

“Y/n?” Vic raises her voice, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes Vic, what is it?”

“We’re going to be at Ferrari together tomorrow, right?”

You wince, glad she chose a phone call instead of FaceTime this time around. You haven’t asked and you don’t intend to. Vic still has VIP Lounge access, she’ll be fine.

“They said no, Vic.” You lie, your eyes scanning the screen, it’s the last lap before they get the checkered flag out. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? Did you tell them I can give them publicity? I have one million followers!”

“Monaco is different from Miami,” you explain gently, “But you’ll still be at the VIP, you have a great view.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she’s beyond annoyed now, as it happens every time things don’t go her way. You can’t blame her, but you also think it will be good for her to spend some time with her parents, whom she refuses to visit although they live in Malibu and pay her mortgage. “We’re still up for dinner though, right?”

“Yep! I’ll meet you at your hotel.”

“Okay see you then, babes.”

By the time your eyes return to the screen, Charles is in P1, Carlos in P3 and the Ferrari Suite is exploding in cheers.

YOU’RE up painfully early the next day. Vic and you went back to your respective hotel way past three am and you’re exhausted, but at least you had enough self-control to avoid today’s hangover.

Nevertheless, the morning goes by in a blur between breakfast with Elix people, calls with Mildred and Walter, your manager, and two casting agents that tell you that no, you don’t need to go for an in-person casting, you’re not getting the role.

By the time you get to the Suite you have a headache and the knot on your throat is progressively getting harder to swallow. You only make things worse by rage-reading tweets with your #IsOver hashtag.

People claim, with more force every day, that Aidan gave you everything and you are starting to regret ever meeting him.

You have worked your ass off for years, taking on small roles, commercials, stock-photo deals. Learning scripts and going to castings and taking classes, you have been criticized and rejected for more things than just “not fitting the role”.

You have given everything you are and everything you have, and people assure what you got in return you owe it all to some man.

“Hola y/n!” Carlos is the first one to get back to the Suite and you wish he would rub off some of his good mood on you. “How are you today?”

“Hi Carlos, I’m alright and you?”

“You definitely look it,” he says, semi-sarcastically. “Something on your mind?”

The knot is back in your throat so you shake your head no. “And yours?”

“Nada de nada.” he smiles. You’re still growing on each other, but this is the most comfortable you’ve been while sharing the same space.

Charles arrives while Carlos, Mati (who is hungover from her party at the yachts) and you are comparing workout playlists. Wearing what now seems to be like his comfort cap, and a pair of ugly ripped jeans, he smiles brightly at the three of you.

You’re happy to see both Ferrari boys so smiley after the past couple races. Miami especially. And you hope they’ll do well; but you’re particularly scared for Charles, and whatever it is that made him unlucky in his hometown, you don’t want this day to end on a sour note.

You spend about an hour talking to them about anything, your movies, their races, Mati's tour with Romeo and Juliet. Music, hobbies and quirks, Charles and Carlos have an opinion on everything and they are actually quite fun to be around. Then, a Ferrari Team member comes to get them for the Drivers Parade so you wave them goodbye, wishing them a smooth race.

"You're not going to wish me luck, y/n?" Charles asks, the smirk on his face is one you identify as mischievous, and it makes a small wave of anxiety run down your back.

Mati stops the bottle of water halfway through her mouth to ogle at the two of you, and the palpable tension that has installed itself in the space.

"Good luck, Charles," the smile you return falters in one corner, but Charles doesn't seem to mind as he adjusts his cap and says thank you before leaving behind Carlos.

Mati has forgotten about her need to hydrate and is staring at you with both eyebrows raised. "I thought you were not doing that?" she gestures with her head towards the door through which both drivers vanished.

"I'm not doing anything," you reply, defensively. "He's being—"

"y/n, you could cut the tension there for a minute," Mati finally takes a swig of water and you wait for her to continue talking. "Like I said, I don't recommend it but... you're free to do whatever you want." she isn't unkind while wording that last part, but it still stings you with annoyance.

"Thanks, Mati." you bite the inside of your cheek, leaning back into the sofa.

─────────

The Ferrari Suite explodes in cheers once the checkered flag is out. After a frankly insane race with rain, crashes and too-long pit stops, both Ferraris have crossed the finish line, and most importantly Charles has finally managed to get rid of his Monaco curse. His enlarged picture appears on every screen with P1 right in the middle. Carlos is P4, but the points are extremely important in the long run, so people celebrate nevertheless.

Before you know it, Mati and you are being dragged down to the track for the podium celebrations. You're buzzing with excitement, holding Matilde's hand as you run to one side, where the mechanics can't crush you as they jump up and down.

Even above the general screams of happiness, you can hear talks of 'Charles deserves this so much', 'It was about time' and 'His hard work is finally paying off at home'.

At least someone's blood, sweat and tears are valued.

YOU are probably not living down the Charles dating allegations this weekend. Which is not your fault, honestly, had they enlarged the picture, it would have shown Mati just as excited for Ferrari as you were. She's Italian, and she bleeds for Ferrari.

But right now, surprisingly, you're not overwhelmed with whatever it is they're saying on Twitter. Although it took Mati snatching your phone away and tossing it in her own purse before sitting you down to retouch your makeup for the celebration party.

Victoria is joining you too, because a 'the more the merrier' applies to any sort of party happening in a Monaco club, especially if it is for the unofficial prince.

It is the first time in three months you let go of your worries, even if it is for the shortest amount of time as you dance with Victoria and Mati and drink anything you please and whoop every time the DJ mentions Charles and Carlos.

You're happy to be with your friends, away from Elix and celebrating two people who can become something more than coworkers to you. Although through the night you see them on a few occasions, Carlos waves at you as he passes by a few times only stopping in the third time to let you congratulate him with a quick hug that's more of a shoulder squeeze than anything.

Charles is obviously harder to approach, and to be fair, it's not like you're even trying. He's surrounded by his hometown friends and by anyone who wants to have his attention for a minute, for a picture or a dance or to buy him a drink.

It's past three am when Victoria is beyond buzzed and you're starting to feel exhausted so you decide it's time to leave. Mati has found someone to take home so she's been gone for around forty minutes, minding her business.

"Come on, let's go," you are grabbing Victoria by the wrist as her ankle twists. "We've both had enough," you laugh, Victoria joins your laughter as you snake through the crowd of people pumping fists in the air, some of them point and wave at you and you smile back at them politely.

You hear your name being passed around a few times, but you focus on finding the exit while keeping Victoria by your side, who has started to whine about not wanting to leave.

Once you break into the outside, you take a breath of fresh air, the coolness makes your skin rise in goosebumps and you shiver, letting go of Victoria to lift the hair on the back of your neck.

"It's too early!" Victoria complains once again, her eyes are glassy and she's just as sweaty.

"It's not, plus you're drunk, we should leave," your ears still feel drowned in the sound of music. “My feet are killing me.”

The exit opens again, and a couple stumbles out laughing and they tell Vic and you goodbye in drunken French. Before the door shuts again, Charles is out on the street too.

"I heard you were leaving," he says in what you're sure it's a too loud voice. But your ears have barely stopped ringing, so you can't blame him. "Are you two okay?" he eyes Victoria, who is starting to lean down on her knees to soothe her dizziness.

"Oh we're alright, we've just partied enough," you smile at him. Charles is rosy, bright-eyed and sweaty. Is it corny to describe someone as painfully handsome?

"I didn't get to congratulate you," you add, trying to keep your attention on Charles while being aware that Victoria might start retching at any given moment. "You did amazing."

Victoria straightens immediately, her glassy stare focusing on Charles. "You're such a good driver, Charles, for real."

"Thank you," Charles nods awkwardly a few times as Victoria pokes him with her left index finger. "And thank you y/n."

"Come on, Vic," you chuckle, keeping her hand away from Charles. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you."

Charles smiles again, running a hand through his hair. "Thank you, really. I'm sorry I didn't see you earlier," he points behind him, to the club.

"It's your party, you can't be everywhere,"

Vic is yawning loudly, and you roll your eyes, amused. "We better get going."

"y/n, when are you flying to Spain?" Charles blurts out, the moment you turn to lead Vic down the street.

"I'm not sure, Wednesday probably?"

"You know, I can still show you a place or two in Monaco. If you want." He sinks his left hand in the front pocket of his dark jeans, and you wonder where the mischievous aura from what seems like ages ago went.

You pause, letting Vic put her whole weight on your shoulder as she finally gives up to the exhaustion. "Um well..."

The same tension that appeared at the Ferrari Suite is back, and the more you hesitate, the thicker it becomes.

Victoria pulls you down with her as she throws her head back, yawning again. Charles is just in time to hold you back up, his other arm pulling Vic back to a standing position.

"Only if you want," he says, he is far too close now and you can smell the mix of alcohol and cologne on him.

And maybe it's the alcohol in your own system, and you'll regret this once you sober up and realize that you told Matilde several times this is exactly what you were not going to do, but you say yes.

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I want to say thank you to everyone who interacts with this series, it means a lot to me to know that you're enjoying it!♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @majx00

[verlaineszz]

"My lover, take cover, it's time for fire!"

PRINCESS AFAB! READER x YOKAI! FOREST PROTECTER DAZAI!

( ၴႅၴ+—SUMMARY: The kingdom particularly wasn't fond of the princess due to the conservative misogynistic beliefs, they expected a boy from the start to take over the throne, so the mistreatment happened since the princess was born. Jagged breathing filled the air as the princess ran through the forest as an escape, it was the middle of the night before the princess hid behind a tree, taking deep breaths and looking around before getting surrounded by a red fog and circled by a tall figure with tails and ears, a figure that was sooned to be destined the princess's savior.

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖FLUFF + SLIGHT ANGST + ROYAL AU˖˚ֶָ֢‧࿔

A/N: I'll let you guys get a good ending.. I guess........ ;-;

also the first part is just a backstory and before reader ran away!!

ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ — WARNINGS: Cursing, small super duper small mention of blood, a good ending, misogyny (from the kingdom, not dazai -_-..), petnames

Originally, the kingdom wanted a boy. Everybody was praying for another boy to be born since the first beliefs everyone had, that a man will always be stronger, and will always be the one that would do better on the throne. All the kingdoms joy slowly dissappeared when they heard a female was the one that was gonna be born, everyone became devasted.. Which led you to being known as a disappointment to the entire kingdom. All eyes went to your younger brother, same features as you and characteristics but the difference was, he was a male.

The favoritism between you and your brother was so different. Your parents indifference towards you was evident that you weren't special to them.

All this treatment towards your brother made him act immature and spoiled.

Now to present times.. Your parents currently made a fool out of you during one of the royal events, while they praised your brother. During the whole scenario, your hands were clutched and your knuckles white, it hurt. Everyone stared and laugh, your own family did this to you.

As they laugh, you slowly excused yourself and walk away, the second you left the sights of the crowd, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. You went in your room and removed some of the layerd of your dress, everything was heavy. It was overstimulating, tears escaped from your eyes because of how much anger you held against your family, you wore something lighter to go out, some longer bloomers, socks, an above the ankle length skirt and you packed your things in a slingbag, a dagger slid down the thigh garter pocket incase of self defense, you took your cloak and put it around you.

You looked around and outside the window if anyone was watching you, you were paranoid. It was already near dark so you snuck out.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉°‧₊˚.

Running through the woods was tough, the rough and spikey rocks were always in the way, it was getting dark but atleast the stars and the moonlight illuminated brightly so you can atleast have some light source, during the first period of running, you tripped and scraped your knee multipe times, you couldn't help to run. You felt all the negative feelings anyway..

Your breath was unsteady, the blood dripped down your knee and you slowed down, your movements became sluggish, you sigh and walk farther in the forest, having no clue where you even were right now. You had a map but you were too tired to get it out, as you walked sluggishly, at the corner of your eye you saw something. A black figure circling fast.

You gulped and stop dead at your tracks from fear, this can't be happening right? You weren't even aware that there. Might've been ghosts around the area, you cover your mouth with shakey arms to stop yourself from screaming, you began to ran.

Your breath became jagged as you ran, sweat trickled dowm your back as you ran, without looking down where you stepped, you tripped again. Leaving a patch of blood on the ground, you try to catch your breath and you sit down, leaning on a tree before seeing red fog.. It was a beautiful crimson red. You crawl backwards, letting out a gasp as a tall figure immerged from the fog, he had brown brunette hair, brown eyes, 9 tails and fox ears on his head.. He grinned as he looked at you, walking to you slowly.

He wore a dark crimson red hakama kimono and a mischievous grin.

"What the.. Who are you?! Don't get any closer!" you yelled, he tilted his head to the side with pursed lips, he stared at your bleeding legs and bruised arms. You notice this action and cover them up, he sighed and obliged, not getting any closer since he respected your boundaries.

"But your injured. I can smell the reek of blood from you, yknow." he pouted and looked to the side with his arms crossed, still keeping a safe distance from you.

"This is none of your business." you snarked back

"Maybe it is." he grinned at you, he already knew who you were, he has been guarding the forests for years, he always knows what the news are in the city, and that led him to catch an interest towards you, he somehow empathizes with you.

"Unless you want that to get infected." he slowly walked closer to you, he bent down and checked your wounds as you sat there, not really knowing what to do.. He was quite attractive, but then again, you don't trust anyone.. But he did have a point.

You look to the side and scratch the behind of your neck, his presence was oddly comforting but the suddenness made you feel weird, it was like a paradox, and you didn't know if you should let him get even near you.. He had 9 tails and ears for godsake...

He looked at your tearstained face and he smiles softly, "Do you have a place to stay at? What're you even doing here anyway.."

"... I dont, but I'm here because i ran away."

"tsk tsk tsk.." he shaked his head, "Don't be so reckless next time, since you are a pretty little thing. Why dont i help you out?"

You raise a brow, "Really? You will?" you ask skeptically.

He chuckles and puts his hands on your wounds, your eyes widens when he touched you, it stung before a crimson glow emitted from his hand, the glow healed your wounds.

"Wait..how..?" you look back at him in awe, he laughed and rest his elbow on his knee while his cheek was againts his palm. "Don't worry about that bella, do you want a place to stay at for tonight?"

You blinked, "uh.. And how do i know i can trust you?"

"I just healed you?" he replied back.

He did have a point.. "Okay, i do need a place to stay at for tonight."

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

The trip to his realm was breathtaking, it was a whole nother realm. The crimson realm. The moon was a glowy red, the trees were red leaved weeping willows and there were red lamps everywhere, and a row of toriis.

Everything had a beautiful illuminating red, as you left the multiple rows of torii gates stairs, you were greeted with bustling red and orange lights, chatter, and a tune played by a shamisen, dazai patted your head and turned your attention to him. "That's just the market, my dear. Let's go to my place." he smiled softly at you.

"okay.." you nodded and followed him.

The forest full of weeping red leafed willows and a beautiful clear river that reflected the moonlight was beautiful, he walked through the path and walk on a tall red bridge. The bridge was high, you looked down and saw a white fog abyss. Dazai smirked and tapped your shoulder, pointing at the sky. The sky was a beautiful glowy dark red, it was only red because the moon illuminated it. Up at the distance were floating foggy houses, it was all floating in the sky, you smiled softly and chuckled, you were definitely happy that you went with him.

He notices your smile and he chuckles, finding your little reactions cute.

The ongoing trip was beautiful, everything was so picturesque and this is probably the most happiest you have ever been, you and dazai eventually reached his home.. And his house was big.. It isn't even a house, it was a mansion. It was a tall tenshu. The length of the house was so tall that you couldn't even see the top, it was ongoing into the foggy abyss up in the sky.

"This is absolutely gorgeous." you say in awe while you stared.

"Aw.. Thank you!" dazai chuckled.

The trip into his palace was like a Rollercoaster, there were multiple foxes guiding the both of you into it, "If you ever get lost, just ask one of the foxes, this place is infinite so don't try to find out whats the highest floor."

Oh.. Err.. You nod and continue following him along the way, each step, walls kept changing, his place was a maze and a puzzle that only he could solve.

"So, er.. Why are you taking me in?" you asked as you followed him in little puppy steps.

"Well why not? You're a pretty little thing and i can't leave you alone in the woods can i?" he smirked and tilted his head to the side abit as you followed him into his room

The scent of something floral flooded your nose, he really did know how to keep a place looking sleek. Red and yellow lamps surrounded the hallways, you follow dazai and as he tours you around, you notice how lonely it must be in his big place.

He sits you down on a chabudai table which already had food laid out on it, brewed tea and chopsticks, as if dazai knew he'd be taking you home for tonight.

He sits right infront of you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face, "so how do you like this place?"

"The aroma and the art in this place is beautiful." you reply back with a chuckle, gently taking the chopsticks and looking at the food served at the table, as soon you took the chopsticks, he did as well, eating the same phase as you while talking.

"Not as beautiful as you though!" he mutters in a sing-song tone, like he was saying it sarcastically, when he fully knows, he meant it.

"Oh cut that out" you snarked back, before chuckling. As soon as the corners of your lips turned up, dazai felt pleased with himself, staring at your pretty face and thinking about how you'd look tainted in his affection and obsession.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

After their meal together, dazai leads you to the red and yellow lamp lit halls, with foxes lying around and playing everywhere, the atmosphere calm with a faint shamisen sound filled the halls with a low hum of an energy that reeked of awaiting and satisfaction.. Since dazai did create this realm in his own magick, surely must of hus thoughts or emotions have been engraved in the air right?

Dazai leads yoy down a long, shadowed corridor. His usual aloofness has melted away, and he seems to radiate a possessive intensity, his eyes watching your every movement as you are his most precious treasure and priority.

Finally, he stops in front of a large, ornate door, its wood dark and polished, the carvings on it glowing faintly as if they’re alive. He opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, what a gentleman i guess?

The room is extravagant, more extravagant than your room in your own home. Every corner of the room is adorned with trinkets and ornaments that flows a mysterious, ancient charm, treasures he has collected over countless centuries, just to impress you.

Dazai’s gaze never leaves her, his expression dark with yearning. “This is all yours now,” he says, voice low. "Just for you, my dear." he winked.

There’s a strange glint in his eyes that you couldn't put a finger to. Was it a glint of approval? Promiscuity?

He swiftly walks behind you, extending a hand to pat your head, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, making you jump abit.

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into months, and each and every day, Dazai's obsession deepens, a deep affection eating him with urges of wanting your touch and words, say his name and he's wrapped around your finger.

Every morning, he is there whenever you wake up, as if he was watching your every move.. Always greeting you with a possesive look, always feeding you delicacies from both the human world and his own Realm, dishes and delights reserved only for royalty. He takes his time to pour you tea, serving you as though you were an empress and he , your one and only devoted subject.

Though during the first few weeks of dazai acting like you were the empress of the realm, some spirits first looked at you with suspicion.. Since you are a human lady. But slowly and surely, the way dazai looked at you and how you somehow always reject his advances, the spirit folks got used to it, worshipping you slowly as dazais influence spread around the realm like wildfire. Giving you the royal attention and treatment you deserved.

By night, Dazai stands guard at your door or sits beside you, gently peppering your knuckles with kisses, his gaze lingering over you with an almost feverish intensity. He often brushes his fingers along yoru hand, and though his touch is gentle, there’s a power behind it.. a silent oath that promises to keep you safe, adored, and worshipped.

Unbeknownst to you, Dazai has already begun initiating his planned wrath upon the family that mistreated you..

In the mortal realm, your family’s wealth starts to burn into ash slowly, their alliances falling apart in ways that seem like mere misfortunes but are far too perfectly timed..

Of course, dazai, the bastard he is, never told you.. Since he was too busy giving you a good time so you'd never even think of leaving his realm that he made just for you, within each touch from you shoulder to your neck, blood is already dripping down from the neck of the people who hurt you,

And each night, as you drifts off to sleep in your room adorned with luxury, Dazai’s adoration swells to something beyond mortal love.

A/n: this fic is super rushed... I was originally gonna make it more bloody but i got tired. Giving you guys a taste of fluff.

© All works by @Verlaineszz. Do not copy, redistribute, or repost on other platforms.

[m-ilkiee]

Game Over: Tetta Kisaki + Hanma Shuji

Pairing: Tetta Kisaki x Fem reader × Hanma Shuji

summary: you can run forever, but no one escapes their past or the consequences after.

warning(s): NSFW, dark content, smut, set in a Toman future, fem reader, dubcon/ noncon, character death, childhood bullying, kidnapping, depiction of cybercrime, human and sex trafficking, violence, drugging, power imbalance, threesome (mfm), finger sucking, fingering (f. receiving), oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, spit roasting, over-stimulation, dumbification if you squint dacryphilia, use of ‘slut, whore good girl’, blackmail, misogyny

word count: 7.1k words

r-18+ not suitable for 17 and below. mdni

layla's notes: ik this isn't a monsters update but I have to post something this month at least. thanks for 500+ followers btw. lets keep the fire burning.

[masterlist] [taglist] [main page]

TOMAN had brought an era of bloodshed, violence, and change to gangs and you saw it happen before your very eyes as they grew even more heartless, greedy and bloodthirsty with every passing victory.

It wasn't enough to just take down gangs at some point, they had to run down anyone that came in their way of continuous success or had any connections with them at all in the past.

Including your brother, that was six feet under.

As you stand in front of your late brother's grave, you can't help but think about everything that led him there. Since your parents died in an accident, your older brother became the breadwinner, doing illegal things just to send you to school and spoil you. You were helpful in creating gambling schemes at a young age and later during the age of the internet, creating even more ways to swindle people out of their money. Being the much more tech-savvy and intelligent sibling, you helped him out in arranging and mapping out easy targets to scam without getting caught, while he was the brawn of the team, street smart enough to get people to fall for it.

Sure, you weren't happy being a thief, but as long as it helped you both from starving, you would manage until the two of you could get a more honest way of living eventually.

He was your world, your everything until Tetta Kisaki came into your life and turned it upside down forever.

He would stay out so late at night and during the first few weeks of his new lifestyle, you would wait for him by doing all your homework until he'd come home, bruised knuckles, a bloody shirt, and the scent of smoke and metal assaulting your nostrils. Your brother's once happy expressions soon turned grim and he rarely paid attention to you when he was around, so you figured that it was just better you caught some sleep before you had school in the morning instead of wasting your time on bothering your elder brother.

Then strangers would troop into your house and ask about his whereabouts; they were menacing, imposing their presence on you as if to intimidate you into cowering away fearfully. You shocked them by giving them a curt answer followed by slamming the door in their faces. You owed them no respect and you feared nobody, not even the top shots in the gang world. Until tragedy struck and Kisaki showed you that he meant business when he sent your brother's mutilated body to your doorstep.

Now, you can't hear "Toman" on the news without your eyes widening a fraction and your body hair standing at attention. Your heart raced whenever there is another news of a gang crisis, especially those closer to Kyoto, thinking that Toman would decide you were the next to die.

You shake your head in dismal as you walk into the street, flagging down a taxi. You've laid so low all these years ever since, hoping that living quietly and working as a waitress in a small resturant would be enough to get them off your back. You had moved into a quiet rundown apartment and unless for work or to visit your brother's grave, you don't go anywhere else.

If someone had told you that you were going to live in so much fear all these years ago, you would have laughed at them to scorn. But look at you now, a shadow of yourself, all because your brother fucked around with the wrong people.

You push back your anger at the back of your head when the taxi halts in front of you. There is nothing you could have done differently in the first place to change your fate anyways, you were doomed to live like this till you either left the country or died trying.

You open the car and enter it half-hazard without thinking. The engine hums, moving away from the graveyard and onto the rather desolated pathway that led to it while you rummage through your purse for some cash. You hoped that it would be enough to get some food after you return from the bus stop and you can save the rest for your relocation.

Once you move to another country and start a new life there, you can finally have a semblance of normalcy after all you have gone through.

"Where to?"

"The railway station " You said absentmindedly, counting the cash in your hand. He hums in response, turning on the AC to cool down the hot interior, to which you are silently thankful to him, and you put the cash in your purse, sitting upright and leaning on the window.

A smile rests on your lips as you look out and see the lush green trees lining the street; you always did love nature a lot and times when your father would take your family to the forest for camping trips were one of your fondest memories. Your mother would yell at you for doing tree climbing competitions with your brother, saying something about being too reckless with your life.

It's been a while since you recalled that memory.

It suddenly popped into your head now as your eyelids feel heavy and your vision blurs out. You don't like the way the trees are muddling with one another until it becomes nothing more than a green and brown mixture. You want to remember what happened after your mother yelled at you but your eyelids feel so heavy.

Your hands slipped from the tree and you remember falling straight to the floor with a loud shriek, like how you're falling into the dark abyss no matter how hard you tried to fight it. The only difference is, before you could open your mouth this time, your head hits the plush backseat with a dull thud.

'It's so dark'

IT didn't take much to realize you are blindfolded once you felt the soft cloth resting on your face.

You attempt to move your hands bound behind you, only to be greeted with a searing pain on your wrists, earning a hiss of pain from you.

You stop all movements when there is a loud 'clunk' on the door, followed by a creaking. A shiver goes through your body as the cold air assaults your scantily clothed skin, hairs standing as multiple footsteps echoes through the room. You could hear men talking loudly

"These are the people for the next sales Shuji-san. They were drugged as you requested."

'People?'

'Sales?'

'Shuji?'

You struggle to stay still despite your heart hammering against your rib cage hard. Your mind ran in circles while you thought of who else could bear that name other than the Reaper, the one person that made your blood run cold just with his presence. You were always his punching bag as a kid until your early teens because no matter how hard he hit, you would never faint like the other kids and he thought that was interesting. Your brother would only brush it off and tell you to hit him back if you really wanted your bully to stop.

You can never forget the feeling of his hand “punishment” on your face when you tried to defend yourself.

Whatever god could hear you, you prayed that whomever that man is, it shouldn't be Shuji Hanma.

"Good, because if I heard another bitch whining about how they want to go home, I would have put a bullet in their head."

Your blood ran cold on hearing the deep baritone reverberating in your eardrums. A sudden weakness overshadows your muscles and before you can control yourself, you feel something hot running down your legs, pooling around your body.

'No, no, no, no.'

Horror slowly set in the moment the two men turned their head, eyes raking from your shaking figure, to the liquid pouring down your legs to the floor below you until it ceases completely. The silence that follows is deafening, your mind is racing with last prayers and pleas of mercy are spilling out of your lips before you could stop yourself. Your screaming and begging for him not to shoot only gets louder with the rustling of clothes and the cocking of a gun probably aimed at you.

Maybe it was better to die this way. A quick shot to the head before Hanma can recognize you and prolong your death was much better.

"I thought you said you drugged all of them. So…"

It was obvious Hanma is pissed, you've spent enough time around him to know that his voice deepens a few octaves when he's really furious to the point he is out for blood.

This time, he is really going to kill you.

You hear stomping, the light splashes of something wet between your thighs and the imposing presence of a bloodthirsty man squatting over you. You can feel your body go into overdrive with terror once the cool metal meets with your forehead in a gentle kiss, tears rolling down your cheeks while he spoke;

"...why is this one still talking?"

Dread fills you when he adjusts the gun on your head, and you register in your head that the next thing that comes out of your lips is going to be your last. You don't comprehend when the words tumble out of your trembling lips until they are out of your lips.

"You're also going to kill me too, Hanma Shuji?"

You wait for Hanma to pull the trigger, but the click doesn't come. Instead, the cool metal of the gun barrel leaves your forehead and is replaced with deft fingers tracing lines on your face before grasping your chin in a vice-like grip, forcing your faces to be inches from each other.

Your heart rate has skyrocketed to the point of no return as you feel his intense gaze burning holes into your exposed skin. Your body violently shakes as you imagine what kinds of ways he would want to murder you.

"That whiny voice, I'll be damned…"

You flinch when the blindfold is snatched over your head. Your eyes slowly adjust to the dimly lit room that you found yourself in, now looking directly at the man squatting in front of you. It's the same black hair with golden streaks, now falling on his forehead instead of standing straight up.

He's wearing a pinstripe suit, something you never imagined him wearing in your wildest dreams, the glasses perched on his nose and encased his eyes would have given you the wrong impression that age mellowed him out, if his purple irises weren't so blown out of proportion in glee as soon as he recognizes you.

His laughter is mocking and loud, ringing in your ears and echoing around the room. Hanma lets go of your chin, letting your head hang in shame and fear, still barking loudly at your humiliating position. Tears sting your eyes again and they stream down your face, which seemed to amuse him even more.

The gun makes a harsh contact with your temple and your head twists to the side while you bite your lip to stifle the cry of pain threatening to escape your mouth. Your vision blurs out for a bit, before coming back and blood rivulets dribble from your head, down on your shoulders.

'Is he going to beat me to death?'

"So that hard head of yours still is useful after all?" He laughed at your pathetic state, tapping your face lightly with the gun, before hitting you across the face again, hard. The force made you bite your inner cheek and blood pooled in your mouth this time around, spilling from your lips. "You've always been such a good punching bag. Well, my favorite punching bag. I missed you so much. How are you coping after I killed that waste of space you called a brother?" He smirks, now grasping your bloodied face in his hand marked “sin.”

Now you remember why you hated Hanma the most out of all your brother's friends.

When you don’t answer him, Hanma clicks his tongue and violently pushes your head back to hit the wooden pole behind you with a loud thud, before getting up and signaling the man who had been standing across the room to come forward. 

"This one is coming with me."

He adjusts his suit and tie, placing his gun in his suit pocket. "Get her cleaned, and send her to my house." Hanma turns around and smiles at you one more time, sending shivers down your spine. "She's a tough one, give a stronger dose." His smile becomes even more sinister and evil when he finishes his sentence. "And a little something else."

Before you can comprehend what he said, a sharp pain pricked your arm and you soon drift into darkness once again.

"I'm sure Kisaki is going to love seeing you again."

‘Fuck’

YOU wake up to find yourself in the interior of a completely unfamiliar moving limousine, clothed in nothing but a sheer lingerie that clung to your skin, bringing out your breasts and hugging your curves, coupled with being gagged and a collar attached onto your neck

You remember briefly waking up halfway in the middle of a huge bathtub, your entire body scrubbed raw by multiple people who now, you assume was Hanma's staff. In your hazy state, you could recall seeing him watching everything with careful eyes, and with him someone that awfully looked like an older Kisaki Tetta, who was rather surprised seeing you after all these years. Words like "bidding", "sales" and "customers" echoed around your head, before you drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

What had happened to you while you were out of it? How did you get here? And why did your body feel so hot and bothered, to the point the new underwear you had on was soaked?

Kisaki, who is sitting opposite you, is the first to notice you have woken up, eyebrows raised at you while Hanma is on the phone talking about something you cannot understand. He merely turns his head to make eye contact with you and smirks before he continues what he was talking about.

"You're awake." Kisaki voices out, now reaching out to touch your cheek, bringing you back to reality. You wince when his fingers brush against the bruised part of your cheeks, hidden by makeup, before he grabs your chin to further inspect your face. Every touch made your body react in some kind of way that got you extremely confused, to the point you're rubbing your thighs against each other to try and relieve yourself.

Sure Kisaki had gotten attractive over the years despite being the shit stain that had orchestrated your brother's murder, but you do not still think of him in any way that is sexual.

Right?

This is wrong; now is not the time or place for you to be this extremely horny or needy for sex and especially not with someone as vile as Kisaki or Hanma, who is clearly enjoying your suffering as he watches you grind against the plush leather seat from the corner of his eyes with a smug grin.

Not when your life it at stake.

"You shouldn't have hit her too hard," Kisaki scolds Hanma, still observing your bothered and flustered features, even though he is only doing it for the fact that he hated having to explain anything to anyone, not that he cared about you. "I don't like my goods damaged at all, not when I'm about to sell for a good price."

'They're going to sell me?'

"Mmhmh '' you muffle, shaking your head in disagreement. Kisaki raises a brow at you again, before momentarily pulling off the gag to hear what you are trying to say. You pant heavily, spit dripping down your chin like a wild dog before looking Kisaki eye to eye while begging him. "Don't sell me please! Do what you want with me, but please don't sell- mmhmphf."

"Much better." Kisaki mutters after putting the ball gag back in your mouth. "I always hated hearing the sound of your voice. There's never a time you weren’t whining like a bitch to anyone that would care to listen."

You hang your head in shame, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Your head feels woozy at the thought of getting sold off to some random man in a club who would do god knows what with you. Your body still feels hot and needy from one of the numerous drugs that was forced into your mouth while you were fading in and out of consciousness, and you can't focus on anything without rutting your hips against the plush car seat or squirming around.

This isn't a situation you can run from anymore. No, this time, you're trapped and no one is coming to save you

KISAKI can't help the feeling of power coursing through his veins as he paraded you around the VIP section of one of Toman's biggest clubs with Hanma by his side, a leash around your neck and lingerie that only seemed to accentuate your curves.

This is all he's ever wanted; Power to make any and everyone who had blocked his path or stepped on his toes in any way to pay for it. You had been one of them, thwarting his plans to make your brother the leader of one of his side gangs to move his plans forward, which seemed to be what mellowed your elder brother down whenever Kisaki thought he had the idiot underneath his thumb.

You were such a thorn to Kisaki's side for so many reasons, from your wagging tongue to your body and those atrocious clothes when you were younger that only seemed to hug your body or reveal a bit too much when you're prancing around the house. Those hateful eyes of yours glaring at both him and Hanma whenever they came around.

Kisaki hated to admit that he fantasized about you sometimes when he pleasured himself in moments of weakness.

You were something forbidden, an unreachable, non-negotiable thing that Kisaki couldn't afford to get his hands on because he needed your brother on his side. The power you held over him made him feel weak and irritated, that of all people, you would sink your filthy claws underneath his skin and rile him up.

To see the once proud and haughty (name) being treated like a pet - his pet that he could get rid of at any time for a huge amount of money, had his cock slightly twitch in his pants.

"You know, we can keep her."

Kisaki turns his head to face his right hand man standing beside him, Hanma's greedy eyes flitting from the flesh of your ass to Kisaki's face before he continued his suggestion. "I've got another one, a girl, on standby in case you change your mind." He shrugged. "You know that (name), as much as she's a bitch, she can be of some use to us."

"Hanma," Kisaki begins in a cold voice, clearly tired of Hanma's persistence in keeping you, his eyes narrowing. "If it's a whore you want, you can call one from your con-"

"Kisaki, you know that's not what I'm talking about."

For the umpteenth time tonight, Kisaki Tetta goes completely silent. In his head, Kisaki regrets ever telling Hanma that you had actually gone to University, the last update when he could still track you, a dream you achieved because your brother was selling information from Toman to the police. You were always very good at technology  and things that had to do with the internet, an area Kisaki himself lacked in and hated you for being better.

All these years he wasted time with your useless brother, when you were the real goldmine.

Kisaki notices that you are slowly giving into the aphrodisiacs after fighting it for so long, and the greedy eyes of all the important wealthy men that happened to come to this shady club are fixated on you. Anger begins to bubble in his chest when you begin to bat your lashes at one of the men to help you relieve your urges and without giving it a second thought, he yanks your leash as a warning, tightening the collar around your neck. You muffle in pain and stumble, before turning your head to look at him with apologetic eyes.

Hanma doesn't miss the way Kisaki tucks his free hand in his suit pocket to hide his boner.

"We both know that Toman needs someone modern, especially someone that would be most loyal to you. With the police now putting more tracking devices and bugs in our system, we need her to combat it. She already escaped being found the first time by removing her own information out of all systems." He continues, eyes now resting on your trembling figure, struggling to walk straight towards Kisaki's private room. "Unlike that idiot of a brother, (name) is intelligent. She knows what is really at stake."

Hanma leans in and says something only to Kisaki's hearing. "Say the word and I'll make (name) follow accordingly, like old times."

Why Shuji Hanma will always be useful to Kisaki is that he knows him like the back of his calloused hand.

Kisaki glances at you once more, contemplating on Hanma's suggestion. Your market value working for Toman is worth more than whatever those old perverts could pay him, supposing you would be good and do as he says. Under his supervision, Kisaki can hold more power beneath his thumb with your help, that much he knows.

"Like old times."

YOUR knees hit the plush rug the moment Kisaki pushed you inside one of the executive club rooms. From the corner of your hazy vision, you can see the blonde haired man walking past you and sitting on the king sized bed right in front of you, his legs on either side of you in a manspread. The door behind you clicks shut and you hear heavy footsteps walking towards your direction before stopping behind you.

"Look at me." Kisaki commands.

You hesitate to follow his command, still trying to control your breathing after being tossed around and choked by that damn collar still on your neck. Hanma is quick to correct you by wrapping his hand on the leash and yanking it back, forcing your head upwards to face Kisaki. Your strangled cries of pain come out muffled to the amusement of Hanma, who doesn't let up with his grip on your throat until Kisaki signals him to ease up a little. Your head falls a little, but it is high enough for Kisaki to look you in the eye and drive home his point.

"You're still as stubborn as I remember," Kisaki scoffs, his hand placed on his chin, amber eyes gazing down at your tear stained face and trailing down to your lipstick smudged with spit from being gagged for so long. "you’re lucky you’re hot." He cradles your face contorted in discomfort with one of his large well-manicured hands and goes ahead to stroke your cheek with it.

It's the most gentle way Kisaki will treat you tonight.

At this point, you don't care what Kisaki would do, not when your body can't handle the pain of being so bothered and your mind is clouded by so much lust, you aren't thinking straight. It pains you to know you are susceptible to whatever he places on the table and you cannot control the narrative this time around.

You shiver when his hand unclasps the ball gag from behind your head, pulling it out of your mouth and throwing it aside. You do not break eye contact with him when he puts two fingers in your mouth and tells you to "suck"

A warning tug on your leash from Hanma is enough to make you obey Kisaki's order without hesitation. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head up and down the digits with blown out eyes as the tip of his expensive shoe nudges your clit lightly.

Electricity shoots through your veins from your lower region and you quickly place your cunt above his shoe, lowering your thighs to rest your clit above the shoe just to get that rush again. Kisaki's breath hitches on seeing your dangerous, lustful gaze.

The sight of you being needy to cum has his dick hardening by the minutes, pre leaking from the tip at such a dirty scene.

Hanma is no better, he's impossibly hard from watching your ass move and jiggle when you grind Kisaki's shoes and if he isn't careful, he might actually get off from this.

It's humiliating, the way he has you desperately humping his shoe to get off while sucking off his fingers and yet, you can't stop yourself.

Kisaki pulls his fingers out of your lips and trails them down between the valley of your chest where the lingerie is tied in the middle and with the flick of his wrist the front opens, exposing your bare chest to him. Hanma kneels beside you, not letting go of your leash and leans in to meet your trembling lips in a hot kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and playing with yours. Kisaki's hand finds your breasts and gives a light squeeze with his calloused thumb grazing against the nipple, earning a muffled moan from your lips to Hanma's.

"Aren't you obedient?" Hanma mocks the moment he pulls away and stands upright, loosening the collar on your neck. You bite back any insult that crosses your mind when he adjusts his suit and heads off to the door. "Kisaki, I'll handle the auction tonight, my phone is buzzing with those greedy old farts calling me," Hanma says to his friend, before turning to look at you condescendingly, his lips in a crooked smile when he opens the door and nods at you. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

You do not get to think much about what Hanma said the moment the door clicked shut because your back collides with the plush rug on the floor and Kisaki attacks you with harsh kisses from your jaw to your neckline. His teeth dig in between your neck and your jaw, earning a soft gasp from you that soon turns into moans of "more Kisaki" when his lips suckle on the bites. You take advantage of his thigh between your legs and you drag your wet cunt over it with nothing but the need to cum.

His hands are greedy and impatient when they find your breasts again, capturing them in his two large hands and letting his thumb roll around the hardened nipples as he fondles them. "Desperate whore. Humping my leg like the damn dog you are."

Every word leaving his lips to your ears is like fire on your skin, only riling you up while you grinded his thigh to get off. Your moans are music to his ears, begging him just to help you out with this burning sensation in between your legs, even if it's just a little.

"All the times you'd wear those -fuck," He presses a wet kiss onto your lips and the taste of the cherry lipgloss he picked for you had him weak in the knees. "-those revealing clothes like a trainee whore whenever we came over to see that bastard you called a brother," He huffs, pulling himself off your body before kneeling in front of your legs. He grips your ankles hard, nails digging into your flesh. "with that stupid attitude of yours, it always set me off."

You gasp when Kisaki pries your thighs open further without putting much effort. You've always thought that there was no ounce of strength in Kisaki's body, since he was nothing but a coward that made everybody do all his dirty work for him while he remained uninvolved and unscathed. Seeing Kisaki inspect your clothed soaked pussy while holding your legs apart by your ankles was clearly a rude awakening.

Kisaki really holds the power here and all you could do is moan like a bitch in heat if he as much as blows air on your cunt.

"Pathetic," your legs tremble at the sound of his scathing voice as he positions himself in between your legs. Your eyes widen a fraction on seeing his cock straining against his slacks, the size clearly shocking and scaring you a bit.

"A little pill got you this wet for me," He pushes your legs nearer to your chest, making you even more uncomfortable with the position he's trying to put you in. "I guess I was always right about you being a slut all along."

You move your mouth to protest when the door flies open and slams shut behind Hanma. "I got Akuun to handle it- woah," his eyes flicker to your folded figure, a sick smile creeping on his darkened pink lips. "didn't know you're that flexible, good grief." He commented, falling on his knees beside your head. Hanma grabs your calves to maintain your position and Kisaki releases your ankles before grabbing the crotch of the lingerie.

"I'm not!" You whimper softly, turning your head away from Kisaki's focused gaze to hide your embarrassed face. A loud "rip" of the material courtesy of Kisaki tearing it off, followed by Hanma pushing your legs to your chest, exposing your wet pussy for the two men to see only seemed to further your humiliation and your need to be fucked.

Now.

"You will be soon." Kisaki mutters to your hearing, his long fingers parting your folds a bit before sliding his ring and middle finger inside your sopping folds. You thrash around at the foreign intrusion, cries of "wait…wait…wait…" escaping your lips while Hamna holds you down by your calves. "Shh shh, you can take it." Hanma coos at your teary expression, now clamping down on your calves hard and folding you into two.

The initial pain of his intrusion slowly gives way to pleasure as he works your pussy open, fingers curling against your spot. Kisaki uses his thumb to play around with your clit, his fingers moving simultaneously with every thrust and rub. Your breathing becomes heavier, eyes rolling back to your head as Kisaki inches closer to your g-spot.

"Deeper." You moan, your back arching slightly. "Go deeper Kisaki, please." You beg and Kisaki complies, adding a third finger into your pussy and curling them into a specific spot that has your back arch perfectly. "Yes, yes, more, more." You cry out, body trembling with every thrust that touches your g-spot. Kisaki can't get enough of finger fucking you or rubbing your pulsing clit wuth his thumb; the sight of you writhing underneath him, begging him to keep going had him hooked.

"What a fucking whore." Hanma curses underneath his breath, his grip on your thighs tightening as he struggles to control himself and his aching cock. "You gonna cum on his fingers like a slut?" He taunts, spreading your legs wider for him.

"Yes, oh yes-" you sob out, tears are practically rolling down your cheeks once you reach your high.  "I can't … I need to cum, need to…"

Your pitch is high and your pussy flutters around Kisaki's fingers when you finally cum. It feels hot and for a moment, you can only see white before your vision returns to normal when you come down. A "thank you" escapes your lips, accompanied with a sigh, your shoulders heaving as you catch your breath.

Kisaki's fingers are slick with your essence, entranced by the sticky substance that coats his fingers when he pulls out of your cunt and he taps your lips with them once again. "Taste yourself." He commands. You gratefully lick up his fingers and engulf them in your mouth, suckling with a satisfied "mmh" from your lips.

"Good girl." Shuji murmurs, watching Kisaki pull out his fingers from your mouth with a loud 'pop' sound. Was this all it took to make you pliant? Getting you on your back and finger fucking you? Making you cum?

Was it really that easy?

His aching cock brought him back to reality. Whether you're pliant or not wasn't what mattered now; he just needs to blow his load anywhere in or on you.

One minute, your legs are against your chest in a mating press and the next minute, you feel Kisaki and Hanma flipping you on your hands and knees, bare cunt facing Kisaki and your face buried into Hanma's slacks. Simultaneously, you can hear belts hitting the floor and zippers going down. Hanma's cock, pale, veiny and long with an angry purple tip hits your lips lightly, as if telling you what he's thinking. You can feel Kisaki's heavy cock leaking with pre resting your inner thigh, teasing your sensitive clit.

Was this really happening? Two of them at once?

"What's the matter (name)," Hanma asks with faux sympathy, stroking his cock with his large palm. He can see the panic in your eyes as the situation dawned on you. "you're a big girl, you can take it right?" His eyes narrowed at you while using his tip to slap your lips lightly. At the same time, you can feel Kisaki line his cock against your entrance with one hand and gripping the flesh of your ass with the other. "You can take us, right?"

You want to say no, but you know it won't matter to them.

"Doesn't matter," Kisaki's voice is cruel as he pushes the tip of his cockhead against your ring of muscles. You choke out a sob from being stretched out after a long while of not having sex, begging for Kisaki to stop while he sheaths himself inside your wet walls. "You will take us, even if I have to teach you how."

You gasp the moment Kisaki sheaths inside your cunt fully and Hanma takes this as an opportunity to slip his cock into your waiting mouth, hitting your gag reflex intentionally. You can barely breathe, or think or move with all the excruciating pain of being split open and taking such a huge cock in your throat. It's too much, even as the pain is giving way to pleasure, you are not sure if you can handle what will come next.

Kisaki is the first to move, drawing out his dick completely, before slamming back into your cunt, emanating muffled moans from you. Hanma is just as unforgiving, from shallow thrusts to pressing your head against his hairy pelvis whilst fucking your throat hard.

The noises from the room are nothing short of sinful. The slapping of skin against skin as Kisaki picks up his pace. He's horny and he wants to devour you over and over again as he pounds into your wet carevan, hands digging into your ass with every thrust and squelch. "You like that?" He mocks you, breathing getting louder as he hits it from the back. "You like how we fuck you like a slut?"

You want to shake your head no, but Shuji's pacing is beyond human. He's face fucking you with a certain precision, your breathy moans from Kisaki abusing your g-spot sending vibrations down his cock with every thrust. "She loves it… She loves being bullied by two cocks like the whore that she is." Hanma grunts, rocking himself back and forth in your mouth. "You're gagging way too much, relax that throat or you'll choke to death sweetheart. Breathe through your nose."

You follow his instruction, trying to relax a little and breathe through your nostrils. "That's it, good girl."

You need to at least survive this night.

Kisaki's left hand circles around your waist until his fingers are in contact with your clit again. You feel your legs quiver in anticipation the moment he brushes a thumb over it, before rubbing tight circles against it. You moan, eyes rolling back as your senses go into overdrive.

"Shit, all these vibrations are gonna make me-" Hanma is the first to cum; hips stuttering as he pumps himself into your mouth, head thrown back, cock twitching and a loud "fuck, fuck, fuck". The hot salty semen pours down your throat soon after as he fucks himself through his high until he is spent, dragging out his flaccid cock from your lips.

Post bliss Hanma leans back on the bed, patting your head somewhat affectionately while he gathers his senses and tucks his cock back. Your relief is short-lived when you feel Kisaki thrust deeper than before, knocking the air out of you. Hanma finds pleasure in seeing you fucked out, unable to form coherent sentences while Kisaki bottoms out into you. "You look so pretty like this babe, keep it up." Hanma coos at you, running his thumb over your lips.

You've never felt so much intense pleasure, your toes are curling with the angle Kisaki is fucking you, his fingers playing with the sensitive bundles. The way Hanma is staring at you, whispering all those dirty words to your hearing, everything is too much for you.

"I'm gonna- Kisaki pull ou-"

Your legs tremble yet again and Kisaki lets you ride your high on his cock. "That's it, let go, let it all go," his voice shakes and his hips stutter, chasing his own high. Your breathy moans and his heavy pants bounce through the room as you two cum together until you're both well spent.

Heavy breathing echoed through the room as both you and Kisaki tried to catch your breaths. The aphrodisiacs in your systems has worn off from you and you collapse on the floor weakly the moment Kisaki pulls out from your cunt. You feel him eyeing the cum leaking down your cunt to your thighs and staining the carpet while adjusting his pants and belt.

Post nut clarity hit you hard, you had just been fucked senseless by the two people you despised the most.  You feel humiliated that Kisaki and Hanma of all people have reduced you into a cum dump.

The two people who killed your brother.

"Can you stand?" Hanma knows you can't, not with the way your body lays helpless on the floor, but it's just like him to ask after ruining you. When you don't give an answer, he kneels beside you and pulls you up by your arm, slinging you over his shoulders.

He looks at Kisaki, who is standing over the telephone and speaking to room service. "I'm going to get this one cleaned up and possibly back to her senses again." Hanma states and Kisaki nods in approval. "I'll talk to her, give me a minute to call Manjiro." He replies, putting down the landline.

The next thirty minutes blurs out. Hanma puts you on the toilet and tells you to urinate while he sets the bathtub and you numbly comply. When he is sure it's ready, he picks you up from the toilet seat into his arms and lowers you into the bathtub gently. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." Hanma advises, his purple eyes flickering to your spaced out eyes. "Not that you can do shit in this state."

The door shuts and you are left alone for the first time throughout today. You overhear voices talking in hushed tones about you in the other room and you decide to tune out whatever they had to say.

Not even death could be worse than what had just happened to you now.

Hot tears pour down your cheeks unconsciously and you don't bother to wipe them off, even when the door opens again. Kisaki and Hanma walk into the bathroom again and you sink into the bath water further to hide your shame, hanging your head low.

Kisaki stands beside the bathtub and makes eye contact with you, an odd glint in his eyes. It's satisfying to see you broken and lonely, with no one else to depend on but him alone. "I hear you're good with technology. So good, you wiped your name out of every record, like you never existed. It was hard to look for you, you know." He is nonchalant and it irks you, but you say nothing. "You should know where I'm going with this. Not like you can run away from me ever again."

Your tone is bitter, but controlled and soft. "You want me to work for you. After what you just did to me."

"Manjiro wanted you dead but I put in a good word for you. Be grateful."

You scoff at him, hugging your knees to your chest in the bathtub. "Maybe you should listen to your leader."

Kisaki narrows his eyes at you and before you could apologize, Hanma's palm connected with your face. Your head snaps to the side and you cry out, grimacing in pain as your hand flies to your hurt face. Kisaki leans in again, now eye to eye with your teary, fearful eyes. His voice is cold and leaves no room to even argue with him anymore.

"I can kill you, or I can let you go and post that video of you whoring yourself out to me with only your face showing." Your face drops in horror when you realize he recorded you. smirking. "No one will ever give you a job. Not here, not outside Japan. Nowhere. No one wants a whore in their IT department. So you're going to be useful and buy my silence by throwing off the police from Toman's trail."

Hatred burned in your guts. Hatred for yourself, cowering in fear that Hanma would hit you again if you don't comply. Hatred for Hanma Shuji who tormented your life and brought you to Kisaki. Hatred for Kisaki Tetta who is the reason for your brother's death and who used your body as a cum dump.

Hatred at your own weakness and fear of death, that you could never win against Kisaki no matter how smart or how much effort you put in telling your brother the truth. Hatred at your own carelessness for not checking the taxi you entered this morning.

Hatred for your dead brother that put you in such a bad place.

"You work for Kisaki, bitch. Understand?"

With fresh tears, you give a quiet nod of approval.

"That's a good girl."

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[cinnamonest]

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 5

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Fatphobia, misogyny, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues. Summary: The raid on the club effects more than just the people inside, and it finally puts you and Javier in a room together for a real conversation to be had. Notes: Hi all! Sorry about the erratic posting schedule, but I'm doing my best. Thankfully I'm coming out of my busy season at work and moving into something that is chaotic in a different way 👍

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

Getting an oversized guard dog into the back of your tiny, broken-down car and halfway across the city was not on your checklist of things to do today. Fleeing your apartment was not either. Getting Chi-Chi to vaguely calm down enough to drive was a task in and of itself, but when you finally pull your car into one of the spare parking spaces adjacent to Javier's building, you breathe a sigh of relief. At best, you know where his spare key is. Though you doubt he'll be glad to see you in his apartment when he gets home from a night of work.

You just didn't know where else to go.

Javi sighs as he closes the door. He's had to convince himself not to go to the club the entire way back to his apartment. Almost turning around at one point, but he knows he would just be turned away. He doesn't want to care about your safety, you've made your feelings towards him very clear, but he can't just leave you to twist in the wind.

Up to his floor and to that now-familiar front door, you take a deep breath and tell Chi-Chi to sit before knocking twice on Javier’s door. Even if you assume he’s working — why wouldn’t he be? You’re not just going to barge into his place. Not after the awful things you said to him. Not when he very well might have saved your life tonight.

Turning and frowning at the door, Javi puts down the cigarette he had just been about to light and opens the door. His eyes going wide when he finds you on his doorstep with a very large dog by your side.

Chi-Chi starts to bark immediately, but you reach down (barely having to reach) to soothe her and frown apologetically when you look back up at Javier. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit softly, wondering why he’s here and if he’ll even let you in.

Javi opens the door wider and wonders if the acute sense of relief is just because of your soulmate status. He has thought more about fucking soulmates in the past week than he probably ever has in his entire life. "Want a drink?" He grunts, figuring it would be a neutral question and shouldn't piss you off too badly.

“Thank you.” Your own relief is just as mysterious, but you’re willing to set that aside for now just because you’re grateful to be safe. “I’ll um…I’ll put Chi-Chi in the guest room. She’s well behaved and has had a lot of excitement so hopefully she’ll just take a nap.”

"Let her sniff around." Javi doesn't mind dogs, he likes them. He doesn't approach the large furry creature, but he does offer a hand if she would like to sniff him. "The more comfortable she feels, the quicker she will calm down."

“She doesn’t like men,” you offer, trying to explain why you were going to set her up elsewhere. But aside from barking just once, Chi-Chi hasn’t done much besides look at Javier curiously. So you let her off her leash with a scratch behind the ears. “She uh…she’s my landlady’s dog. My landlady and my neighbor were both out tonight so it was just me and her and…and I didn’t want anything to happen to her.”

“She’s protective.” He hums, watching as the dog cautiously approaches him. Her nose is wet and warm as it bumps against his hand and he doesn’t move as she starts to sniff him.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” you coo softly to the massive dog, fascinated to see her like this with a man for the first time ever. “Javier’s good. We can trust him.”

He almost snorts at the comment, knowing the last thing you do is trust him. But maybe that’s not true, you left your apartment after all. After long minutes of sniffing his hand and his shoe, a brief bump against his crotch, the dog bumps her head under his hand in the universal demand for attention. “Good girl.”

“She’s sweet,” you assure him, and breathe a sigh of relief when Chi-Chi accepts the pets she is given and goes to flop down at the feet of the armchair you used to like to sit in while you were staying here. It must still smell like you. “We, um…we won’t overstay our welcome. I know you didn’t mean to invite me over when you called.”

“I doubt you can go home tonight.” Javier admits. “If you don’t want to stay here, I can get you a hotel.” Helena isn’t here to be a buffer anymore. “But there are clean sheets on the bed.”

“I’d feel safer here,” you admit with a half shrug of your shoulders. He has been busying himself with pouring drinks and you accept one gratefully. “Are you, um…are you okay?” You motion to your own cheek, indicated where he has a bruise blossoming from the fight earlier. “I mean…is that why you’re not at the raid?”

“Suspended.” Javi takes a sip of his own whiskey and reaches up to touch his cheek, wincing slightly. “Bastard.” He hisses, wishing he had blacked both of Alex’s eyes.

“Motherfucker,” you murmur with a shake of your head, and sit down in the chair that Chi-Chi is currently guarding. “I’m sorry.”

“Could be worse.” He shrugs slightly. “I could be a CIA prick.”

“He…did not look good.” That is for damn sure, though you’re still hesitant about whether not you’re entitled to even say anything about it.

“Good.” Javier grumbles a little under his breath, but he’s happy that little fucker is having a worse day than he is. He drains the rest of his whiskey and walks back to the bar cart.

“Can I ask…” You’ve barely touched the glass in your hand but you hang on to it tightly like some kind of security blanket, wondering if Javier is already regretting letting you in. “What the fight was about?”

He turns and looks at you for a moment, his brows pinched together and he’s about to say something sarcastic when he sees that confused and worried look on your face. The same one that you had worn when the ambassador had been there. One that said you couldn’t possibly think that the fight was about you. “What do you think it was about?”

“If I had to guess?” Since you’ve been chewing on it all afternoon and now with the raid tonight? It seems obvious to you. “Something to do with the CIA staking out the club you were — are — going to raid?”

He shakes his head and takes another swallow of whiskey to dull the ache and to settle the unease in his stomach that’s been rolling around since he ran into you in the embassy halls. “Not quite.” He grunts and sighs after that, his shoulders rolling slightly. “It was about you.”

“Me?” The audible surprise in your voice is enough for him to understand that that is the very last answer you were expecting.

He turns towards you, aware that you will just claim he’s using your soulmate connection to control you or he’s jealous, but he says it anyway. “He’s a fucking prick. You don’t need to be with that son of a bitch.”

Deeply confused about why he even cares, you just take a sip of your drink and look down at your toes. “I already dumped him.”

“Good.” Now he understands why the prick had felt the need to take stabs at your weight, he was emasculated when you dumped him.

“What about me?” You ask after a pause, since it doesn’t make any sense to you that either man would care that much. Enough to get into a fist fight over someone that neither of them, apparently, liked a little or at all.

"Doesn't matter." He's not going to hurt your feelings by telling you what the man you had been sleeping with was saying about you.

“If it was about me, don’t you think I deserve to know?” Maybe you shouldn’t push, but being told the reason doesn’t matter feels a lot like saying you don’t matter. And if they were fighting about you then that clearly isn’t true.

Javi rocks his jaw, hating that you are pushing this. "He was running his fucking mouth." He finally says after staring at you for a moment. "So I punched him in it." Hopefully you will leave it at that, but he has a feeling you won't.

“It was that bad?” You ask simply, bewildered that Alex could possibly have cared enough to say anything cruel.

He doesn't say anything, just stares down into his drink and hopes that you will let the question die if he doesn't answer. He honestly doesn't know why he cares what that fucker thinks about you. You made it clear that you would rather anyone else be your soulmate, and it's not his business what kind of man you decide to fuck. Still, he had been like a bull with a red flag waved in front of his face. Reacting furiously and only now examining the whys of the moment that had gotten him suspended.

Stoic silence has never exactly been a response you have taken lightly or well, and the attitude that you came here with —apology and peacemaking — so easily gets stomped under the heel of your shoe when provoked even the slightest. “If it’s that bad then don’t I deserve to know?”

"Christ, you won't let it go, will you?" Javi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He fucking called you an assignment because no one picks a fat chick, but maybe he would visit again because 'even whales suck cock'." He doesn't snap it out as hatefully as Alex might have, but he can't look at you when he says it, immediately draining the rest of his whiskey to have something to do.

It’s certainly not the worst insult you’ve ever had slung your way in your life, but it’s not kind by any means. But it is the sort of comment that will probably have you second-guessing even going to Freckles or Vanessa for at least the next several months. The kind of comment that will have your eyes downcast at floor and pavement without the confidence that you have spent your entire adult life working to cultivate. The kind of comment that makes you feel as useless and unwanted as you always did as a kid. “Got it,” you murmur, head bobbing in a repetitive nod. “Got it. I, um…I’ll get out of your hair…” you decide, setting down your glass and altogether ready to flee his apartment despite having nowhere to go, just so he won’t see how genuinely hurt you are by what Alex said. Or worse, how much you appreciate the fact that Javier stepped in to defend you.

"Don't go." Javi won't make you stay, but he doesn't want you to leave when you're upset. He can hear the hurt in your voice. His eyes sliding over to where you are halfway out of your seat. "You don't have to." He has a feeling that being alone would be the worst thing for you.

“You can’t possibly want me around when I’m like this.” The tears have welled up in your eyes and are threatening to spill over, and Chi-Chi has sensed the change in your mood, sitting up in front of you and whining softly in concern. “Or at all, for all the grief I’ve given you.”

"Don't go." He murmurs again softly.

“I’m sorry.” That’s when the first tears fall. With two small words that mean so many different things.

"Don't be sorry." He shakes his head, frowning and wishing that he had another drink but he doesn't move. "It's not your fault he's a fucking prick."

“I’m sorry for so much more than that.” You wipe at your cheeks, calling yourself back to order as quickly as you can and also scratching between sweet Chi-Chi’s ears to soothe her so she doesn’t get too worked up. “I’ve given you nothing but grief and you didn’t deserve it.”

He frowns slightly, wondering what is with your change in attitude. "No, I didn't." He won't mince words and make you feel better. You were wrong about him.

“Helena set the record straight.” He deserved to know the discussion that was had about him just like you did, even if the one about you was far worse. “About how you protected her, and she was the one who insisted on trying to get information. That—that you didn’t send her in for it. I misunderstood the whole situation and I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you.”

Javi lets your explanation settle over him for a moment. Absorbing it. Letting it sit for a moment before he nods. "It was a shit situation." He admits. "At least she survived. Can one day move past it. Unlike the other girls that went with them that we fished out of the river last week."

“They’re all psychopaths. The sicarios.” The best you can do is shake your head in utter disgust. “But she’s going to be okay. It will be good for her to get to move. To get away from the memories, at least physically.”

"They are." That he will completely agree with. His jaw tightens slightly, knowing that right now he is on the outs of the action, unable to be there. Murphy probably won't even call him tonight. He looks at his empty glass and knows that before he gets too drunk, he should probably eat. "You hungry?" He asks, looking over at you curiously. He had never been around while you and Helena ate, often working long hours that week that you stayed here, but he had appreciated the leftovers in the fridge.

“Sure.” The olive branch he’s offering isn’t insignificant, and you’re not going to ignore it. Especially when you actually are hungry. In all the commotion of the day you’d completely forgotten to eat at all.

"Anything in particular you want?" He reaches over and nudges your drink towards you, urging you to drink it. "I can go pick something up or we can get it delivered."

“How do you feel about Lebanese?” It hadn’t at all been what you expected to see when you arrived in Bogotá, but there had been a wide variety of international restaurants in the area owned and operated by immigrants from other countries. Not the least of which was the amazing Lebanese restaurant two blocks from Javier’s apartment.

“I normally get the lamb kafta.” He tells you. “Haven’t tried much else on the menu to be honest.” He’s a simple guy, if he likes something, that will be what he orders every time. Someone had brought some in to the office one day and he had asked where it had come from.

“Have you never tried their falafel?” You ask in mock shock. The fact that you’re pushing forward, trying to be relatively normal with each other, it matters more than you want to admit.

“I don’t have clue what that is?” Javi admits with a snort, shrugging slightly. “Is it good?”

“It’s amazing, I promise.” In fact you’re prepared to swear to it, just hoping that what you consider amazing also fits his taste buds.

“Then I’ll let you order.” He offers, figuring it makes more sense because he doesn’t know what you like. In fact, he knows very little about you. “Sound good?”

“I’ll put it under your name.” And you’ll get an order of his lamb kafta, just in case he doesn’t end up liking the falafel. You’re balancing on a very thin and fragile tightrope right now so you don’t want to push too hard. Not anymore than you already have, anyway.

“That’s fine by me.” He stands with a groan and fishes his wallet out of the back of his suit trousers and pulls out some money. “I’m going to take a shower.” He tells you. “Use this for the food.”

“I’ll have it back by the time you’re dressed.” And you’ll use your own money, but there’s no use turning it into an argument. Arguing seems to be what you and Javier do best and most easily, but you’re trying to avoid it for at least a little while.

“Don’t leave.” He stops and turns around with a frown on his face. “Have it delivered.”

“Okay.” The look on his face is so set that you only nod. “I promise.”

He nods and looks like he’s going to say something before he just turns around and walks to his bedroom. Eager to get out of the suit and clean up a little.

It would be easy and very like you to just disregard his request and go pick up the food on foot. It wouldn’t take very long and it certainly wouldn’t be difficult. But something about breaking this first promise you made to him in good standing just doesn’t feel right. It feels worse than just sort of off. So you head back into the kitchen and pick up his phone, dialing the number for the Lebanese place listed on the front of the menu at the top of his take out drawer.

Javi feels bad about asking you to stay in the apartment, but he gets the nagging feeling that if he lets you out of that door, he won’t see you again. Plus he’s on edge, knowing that the sicarios will be trigger happy after they learn a kill team has been sent out.

You’re closing the door behind the delivery guy when Javier comes out of his room. “Good timing,” you tell him, holding up the bag. Your shoes are off and sitting by the door, so hopefully he doesn’t question that you kept your promise.

You are still in the professional wear from the Embassy, making him feel guilty about changing his own clothes. He doesn’t have anything for you to change into and he doesn’t want to embarrass you by bringing that up. “Good.” He hums. “I’ve realized I haven’t eaten anything since a slice of toast this morning.”

“I’ve had coffee and cigarettes, does that count?” Forks from the drawer and refills for each of your glasses, and before you know it you’re both sitting down at his table with plastic takeout containers full of fragrant dinner.

“Coming from a place of complete hypocrisy—” he points at you with a fork. “That’s not good for you.”

“Bite me,” you smirk, and shove the container of falafel, rice pilaf, labneh, and other tasty goodies toward him. “We both have terrible habits.”

He glances down at the container and pokes at it with interest. “Didn’t say we didn’t.” He points out. “But you took care of Helena, maybe you should take care of yourself.”

“As long as I’m in enough of one piece to get my work done, I’m fine.” You shrug, poking at the container of kafta, turnip pickles, and baba ghanoush in front of you. “Besides, I think we’ve established tonight that I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Don’t do that.” Javi huffs, picking up one of the round little balls and inspecting it. “There’s not a goddamn thing wrong with you and you know it.”

“I definitely do not know that, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” The first bite of lamb is unctuous and warm with spices, but you lean on the table and frown. “I’d be the biggest liar in the world if I said I hadn’t heard it before.”

“Because people are fucking assholes.” He snorts again and shakes his head. “Are you happy with who you are?”

“Fuck no.” You snort at the absolute ridiculousness of that question and lean back in your seat. “Why? Are you?”

“I don’t know much about you, but I don’t have any problem with anything I’ve seen so far.” Javi shrugs slightly, a little surprised by the vehemence in your response when you see so self-assured. “You’ve got a nice ass.” He adds, as if that helps prove his case.

For a minute you just stare at him, bewildered, before a disbelieving laugh punches its way out of your throat. “I—what?”

He looks down at his plate again, stung by the laugh when he had thought he was being nice. “Okay.” He huffs, shoving a bite of food into his mouth. “Forget I said anything.”

"No, no, I mean—" You pinch your eyes shut and remind yourself not to snap back. To just be a fucking normal person for once in your life instead of always being on the defensive. "I'm surprised that you...I mean I thought you hated me. That's what I mean."

“You hated me.” Javi corrects. “I didn’t know you.” He remembers that one meeting in the street in front of the brothel and snorts. “Except we sleep with the same women.”

"I hated my assumptions." You're a big enough person to admit that, though it feels appropriately humbling. "Thankfully, they were mostly wrong."

“Mostly?” That amuses him in an ironic kind of way and he wonders what it is that you think you have gotten right.

“Mostly.” Though this does make you smirk slightly. The amusement is so deep-seated you can’t help it. “I was not wrong about every woman you speak to falling at your feet.”

“Shiiiiiiit.” Javi snorts and shakes his head with a sardonic smile on his face. “That’s damned sure not the truth.”

“Name one,” you counter, knowing he’ll struggle. “And the ambassador doesn’t count.”

He lifts a brow. “You.” He says bluntly. “Damn sure woulda remembered you falling at my feet.” He takes another bit of the rice and reaches for a lamb kafta.

“I did.” You fidget slightly in your chair with the uncomfortable realization that he didn’t notice you at first. Not that he should have. But knowing that he is your soulmate makes it sting now. “The first time I saw you…at the embassy. I was with one of the secretaries and she…she told me about you.”

“You wore a pink shirt,” Javi hums. “Three inch heels that made your ass bubble up under a pencil skirt.” He had thought about it, thought hard on it and remembered seeing you around the embassy in passing. Although you always seemed to skitter away from him rather than come towards him.

“How…?”

“Because you were wrong about me not seeing you.” Javi has a wandering eye, he won’t deny that. If there’s a woman around, he’s going to appreciate her beauty. “You just seemed to rush away any time you saw me.” You seem shocked that he is telling you this and he wonders if it’s because you think that you shouldn’t receive a lot of attention because you aren’t thin.

“I guess I’m just…used to not being noticed.” It’s a nasty feeling to admit it, but being more or less invisible has always given you an edge as a journalist. Let you observe and be absorbed by what is happening around you. Apparently that isn’t the case when it comes to Javier.

“I noticed.” He takes another bite of his food and notices that you haven’t eaten much so he motions to your plate. “Eat.” He orders softly. “Noticed you outside the brothel too. Wondered if you were a client or if you were going to become a working girl there.”

“My editor wouldn’t sign off on me going undercover,” you admit, picking up your fork again. “I almost did it anyway.”

Javi shakes his head. “You don’t want to do that.” He frowns and looks down at his food, thinking about Helena. “For good damn reason.”

“It took me a while to get my footing down here, that’s all.” He doesn’t seem to be a big fan of the falafel, so you switch plates with him and try to find your appetite again.

“Thanks.” He pokes at your plate and frowns. “You like that, right?” He asks, wanting to make sure you aren’t just switching to make him happy.

“I got both of our favorites…” It feels silly to admit, but here you are. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Did you try it?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just reaches down and picks up one of the skewers to put on your plate.

The striking difference in how he’s treating you now versus just a week ago is enough that you simply nod, thank him, and try to imagine what it would be like between you now if the unfounded anger — yours was unfounded, his was reactionary — had never existed. If you had met by accident. Spoken that day at the embassy, or any of the others since. If Alex had never been a part of your life. If you hadn’t fled your honest attraction because Colleen had advised you to stay away from the skirt-chasing agent.

The silence settles between the two of you. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s anticipatory. As if waiting for one of you to break and ask a question, any question. He takes another bite, happy when you start to eat again. Keeping an eye on you as he starts to devour his own plate. He’s got a lot of experience waiting for a suspect to talk, understanding the value of silence and how it affects some people.

To say that you have questions would be somewhat of an understatement, but what’s overshadowing it is that you don’t even know where to begin. When your whole consciousness is wrapped up in trying to understand, how do you choose where to start? Some part of you seems to build up and build up, until what comes out of your mouth is finally: “So why is the elephant on your thigh?”

The question of you really being his soulmate is put to bed. He had thought that it might have been some kind of joke. The girls yanking both of your chains, but he doubts they told you about what kind of tattoo he had. They might have fucked with him, but they wouldn't share that. "Who sees my thigh?" He asks, chuckling quietly. "I can't have visible tattoos, it's too dangerous."

“Sure, but…” It came out more bluntly than you meant it to, you know that. It’s just so hard to try to imagine how you and Javier are meant to knit together so perfectly that the universe made you soulmates. “That was blunt. I’m sorry. It just surprised me when it appeared. It’s the last place I ever would have thought to put a tattoo.”

"It's a spot I...." He struggles with how to explain it. He sighs softly. "It's the last place my mother touched me." He admits after a moment. "She was surprisingly alert, reaching over and grabbing my thigh." He looks down at his food and remembers how his frail and perpetually exhausted mother had suddenly had a burst of strength. "It's— that spot is where her thumb was. Elephants were her favorite animal. It made sense when I was drunk."

“It makes perfect sense,” you assure him, voice dropping in shame over having asked so bluntly. You really do just spit things out sometimes. “I’m sorry about your mother. It sounds like you were close.”

He wonders why you sound upset, but he nods. “Thanks. She was amazing.” He glances up at you again. “What about yours?” He asks. “Any special meaning?”

Because you had just taken a bite you have to wait long enough to chew, but eventually you motion to your right foot, where your one small tattoo sits on the outside of your ankle. "The anchor? Yeah, it's...it's on our state flag." He raises one eyebrow slightly, so you explain. "Rhode Island. We have an anchor on the flag and the state motto – hope – underneath. I got it so that no matter how far I traveled, I would always have a piece of home with me."

You're nostalgic and sentimental. He can see the wistfulness in your eyes as talk about home because that's apparently what it is to you. "Makes sense." He chuckles. "I thought maybe you had been in the Navy or something."

"One of my brothers joined up, but that's the closest I'll ever get." His laugh, though small, is infectious, and you end up joining him in it. The warm sound shared between you is almost a hug. "I love boats, but not rules."

"Yeah." He grunts, reminded of his own disciplinary action because of breaking some rules. He sometimes gets annoyed at all the red tape and he's not above doing dirty deeds to make sure the bad guy doesn't win. "I get that."

"Is there..." You shift in your seat, feeling acutely aware of yourself. “Anything you want to know about me?”

Javi is fantastic at flirting. Amazing at charming women and getting in their pants. This is much more important than those simple tasks. "Why journalism?" He asks, looking into your eyes and wondering why a reporter from Rhode Island was here in Colombia, if not to somehow run into him.

"People deserve to have their stories told." It's why you specifically tell human interest stories. Why, as a reporter, you have focused on sharing the words of people who otherwise might not be heard. "Helping people understand each other is something that newsprint can still do really effectively."

“Your stories are really compassionate.” He agrees, looking back down at his plate and realizing he’s almost done.

Surprise overtakes your face again. "You've...read my stuff?"

He looks back up at you, frowning slightly at the surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asks. “You’re my soulmate.” It seems simple to him, he considered it research and at the time, he wanted to know why the fuck you seem like you thought you had some kind of moral upper hand.

"I guess," you swallow, embarrassed all over again. "I guess I've never really had high expectations for whatever relationship I might have with my soulmate. Nothing to do with you specifically. I just didn't hold out very high hopes."

That’s something Javi could relate to. He chuckles and shakes his head. “So we both weren’t looking forward to meet the ‘perfect match’ the universe chose for us, huh?”

"It doesn't sound like it." Another tick in the column of things that the girls had said you have in common. The irony certainly isn't lost on you. "But here we are."

“Soulmates were kind of ruined for me.” Javi figures you should at least know why he had been so unenthusiastic.

“How so?” Not all soulmate pairs are perfect. You know that. You’ve seen plenty of it in your own life. But it sounds like he has a very specific example of why he wasn’t looking forward to meeting his.

“I was engaged.” Javi figures you deserved to know. “Hell, I stood her up, didn’t go to the church.” He huffs slightly. “You ever meet someone and you’re told that they are perfect for you – they are what you are supposed to want – but there’s just something you can’t put your finger on?”

“Yeah,” you huff slightly, acknowledging your own memory even as you nod. “She lied to you about being your soulmate?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Told me that she was pregnant too, doubling down on the pressure for me to tie the knot.” He had felt sick and trapped, hating how he was being dragged along to this elaborate wedding that was supposed to be the talk of the town. It was, but not for the reasons Lorraine’s family had hoped for.

“Shit.” That takes some serious balls to go into, with lies that big, and you’re instantly furious with this woman for being so selfish.

“I got drunk and got the tattoo the night before the wedding.” He explains. “I was already upset my mother couldn’t be there, so the tattoo was a way to keep her with me.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip. “That morning— shit it was probably four-thirty? I was hungover and needed to talk to her. Figured I could get around that old wives’ tale about it being bad luck to see the bride of the sun wasn’t up yet.” He laughs at himself. “She was wearing’ these little red shorts. Tiny things that she honestly would have been better just not wearing anything to bed. But she didn’t have a tattoo.”

“Hell of a way to find out.” Instinctively, you reach across the table. Fingertips find fingertips and even though you only touch him for a second you try to offer some small comfort. “I’m so sorry. She sounds horribly selfish.”

Javi looks down at his hand and yours still just within reach. “I didn’t even confront her.” He admits. “Couldn’t think. Just left and went through the motions of getting ready to get married to a woman who had lied to me, who had manipulated me.” He shakes his head. “When we were driving to the church….I just drove by and kept going.”

“I can’t lie,” you swallow a laugh, not wanting to seem insensitive. “I would have made a scene. That bitch’s dirty deeds would have been smeared all over town.”

“It came out. But she was more humiliated, standing there waiting for me to show up when everyone was at the church.” He shrugs. “But if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be in the DEA.”

“You would have stayed home instead of joining?” It’s only in this moment that you realize you don’t even know where he’s from.

“I was a Webb County Sheriff’s deputy.” He tells you. “I took the job after college so I could take care of my mama. Lorraine wanted me to quit and go work for her dad, and I didn’t want to do that, but she probably would have gotten her way if we got married.”

“Webb County…” Running through the Rolodex of relatively trivial information in your head, it takes you a few seconds before you place the department but then your head pops up like you’ve won a prize. “You’re from Texas.”

“Laredo.” He confirms and he’s curious how you know that. “Although I don’t think that Texas has the only Webb county.”

“I’m sure they don’t.” You can agree to that right away. “But if I combine the fact that you specifically were a sheriff’s deputy it narrows down the number of states you could be from, and then cross-referenced with what’s left of your accent and the fact that there more than ten DEA field offices in Texas, including one in Webb County? It…it narrows it down.” Revealing how your mind skips around to make connections and your weirdly encyclopedic knowledge of certain aspects of government organization makes you fluster at the table and look away, assuming that he’ll find it uncomfortable or off putting like so many others do. It’s useful for your work to be able to do this sort of thing, but people tend to find it odd.

He tilts his head and studies you for a moment, impressed by the way that you filtered through the pieces of information to come to your – correct – answer. “Huh.” He muses. “Maybe I should come to you with information rather than the fucking CIA.”

“Journalism is also a way to utilize all the weird factoids in my head,” you admit, quietly pleased that he doesn’t immediately think you’re some freak of nature for the way your mind makes connections.

“It’s fighting through the bullshit useless information to put the pieces together that you need.” He nods. “You’re analytical, but compassionate. I can see that in your writing. You don’t twist the facts to your own personal bias.”

“My opinion has no place in the writing. If I wanted to do that I’d be writing OpEds or I could have stayed in the gossip columns where they wanted to keep me.” With both of your dinners finished, you nudge the empty container away and take your whiskey glass back in hand. Not necessarily to drink it, but for the comfort of holding it. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk like this weeks ago.”

“You didn’t like me.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if I would have liked me either, under the circumstances.” He snorts. “Hell, I barely like myself now.”

“I understand that feeling very well.” Your shrug matches his. “Maybe we’re every bit as alike as the girls said after all.”

“Look.” Javi leans back and searches his jeans pockets for his pack of cigarettes. “I’m not going to tell you we need to be together or whatever.” He pulls out the half-crushed pack and takes one, offering the pack to you. “You didn’t come down here to find love and I sure as hell didn’t.”

"But?" You prompt, hearing the word in his tone and accepting a cigarette gratefully. You always crave a smoke after a meal and it's nice to not have to explain that to the person you're eating with.

“But….” He takes a long drag off the cigarette and blows it out towards the ceiling. “It’s dangerous here for anyone going after Pablo.” He warns, glancing back at you. “There’s a bounty on my head.”

"It would be easy enough for anyone to think I'm going after him, too. My articles are about how Escobar is destroying the country and the people that he alleges he's fighting for." Sitting back in your seat, you take a matching drag of your own cigarette and exhale the smoke slowly afterward. "I'm not going to back off, if that's what you're implying."

“Didn’t think you would.” He admits. If the girls think you two are alike, then you would have a stubborn streak as wide as the Rio Grande.

"Alright." Trying not to sound as frustrated as you temporarily feel, you bring your head down and look forward at him again. "So I'm not going anywhere, and we've established that neither of us came here looking for some world-changing love story. Does that leave us as acquaintances? Friends? People who occasionally pass each other in the halls of the embassy and happen to share marks?"

“I don’t have those answers.” He admits, flicking the ashes into the empty take out container. “What’s your gut feeling?”

Without meaning to, you half-laugh and take another drag from your cigarette. "That we're both too stubborn," you admit on the exhale. "So we shouldn't decide anything, and just let life fall into place however it's going to."

He smirks slightly and tilts his head in acknowledgement. It’s a relief that you are on the same page he is. It makes the nagging guilt he’s had for wanting to see Vanessa and Freckles, subsequently why he’s stayed away, disappear. “So we sit on it.”

"Sit on it." There is a twist in your gut that is both guilt and relief. Not making it out to be more than just a fact of your lives is a relief, but the guilt that you maybe should hangs heavily on your shoulders. "Not bury it, and not shout about it. Just let it exist."

He lifts the rest of his drink in a salute before he tips it back. Swallowing it in one go and wondering why it doesn’t feel as good as it should.

******

Spending the night in the same guest room that you spent a week in while you were caring for Helena doesn't feel as odd as it could, but the intensity of knowing that your soulmate is sleeping right down the hall has you lying awake staring at the ceiling for more hours in the night than you would like to admit. It isn't until Chi-Chi leaves the doorway to climb into bed beside you that you find any sleep at all, but at least you can clock a few hours before sunrise starts to wake the block.

Javi rarely sleeps past five in the morning. Too acclimated to years on the ranch, needing to get up before school to feed livestock, clean out stalls or whatever his pop might need help with. Now it’s his body craving that cigarette he smokes as he takes that first, glorious piss of the day and then shuffles into the shower. Once he’s out, he realizes that he doesn’t have anything to do today, and it makes him ill, knowing he should already be raring to go to the scene – if he had even come home the night before. Now, he decides that maybe you’d might like some breakfast and he slips out of the apartment to run down to the market for some fresh fruits and see if Señora Rodriguez is selling those little pastries that he sometimes grabs.

Showering seems superfluous since you only have the same clothes to put on again afterward, but you go into the second bathroom you're accustomed to using to wash your face and wish you had your toothbrush. It's futile, but Javier was kind to let you stay last night when he didn't strictly have to. You'll go home and get out of his hair today if you can. The comfort lying low in your belly is knowing that the next time you run into him in the halls of the embassy, neither of you will flee or fight. For now all you can do is wander out to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and cigarettes.

There are files spread on the kitchen table, a half-drunk cup of coffee and cigarette burning in the ashtray. He had waited to tear into the bag of pastries and fruit until you woke up and he’s proud of himself for that. He had even left a second coffee cup out for you to pour yourself a cup. “Morning.” He murmurs, still reading a CentraSpy report from two days ago.

"Morning." During the week of staying here you had paid attention only to Helena, and mostly hadn't even been speaking to Javier. So this sight is something of a surprise as you move to the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup. "You're an early riser."

“Raised on a ranch.” He glances up at you, watching your ass for a moment and trying to ignore the tug of lust in his belly before looking back down at the page. You didn’t want to hop into bed with him and he shouldn’t complicate things. “Mama would make you miss breakfast before you missed the bus for school.” He chuckles. “And your chores had better be done or you would get an earful when you got home.”

Small town. Texas. Sheriff's deputy. Ranch kid. The puzzle pieces of Javier Peña drop into place one by one. "Do you ever miss it?" You ask, bringing your coffee over to the table after you've fixed it. You don't mind sitting with your mug in your lap so he can keep his papers spread out everywhere. It's his space, after all.

He snorts. “If you had asked me that two years ago, I would have told you ‘fuck no’ so fast it would have knocked you over.” He reaches for his cup and sits back. “Now? It’s not as boring as I remember. Or maybe I’m just tired of the excitement of getting shot at here.”

"That's...fair, honestly." One half-glance at the papers around him tells you they're all about work, and you would be lying if you expressed any surprise at all. You're the same way. Always working, always composing in your head and stamping headlines on your life as you go about your day. "I bet even being a deputy would be a hell of a lot quieter than what you're doing now."

“Telling Mr. Johnson he can’t ride his fucking lawnmower to the liquor store. Cock blocking on the little lot where couples like to go to fuck.” He smirks. “Telling Mrs. Taylor that her husband was not abducted by aliens, he’s just a fucking prick. It was fucking cake.”

"Sounds like a retirement job." Not that you've really ever known anyone who retired. But it sounds like something that people say when they aren't raised scraping by every meal of every day. You're lucky as hell to be where you are now, and you know it.

“Yeah.” It was too boring for him at the time. That desire to do good and get the fuck out of town and away from the mess he caused with Lorraine, the DEA had come knocking and he couldn’t pack his bags fast enough.

"Maybe one day," you offer, going back to sipping your coffee.

"Maybe." He doubts it but he doesn't say that this job is dangerous enough that he will count his lucky stars if he gets out of Colombia alive.

"My Mom always says that if you don't think about what comes next, you'll give up on what's here right now." But he didn't ask for your family advice and you're not going to push it on him, so you offer him a small smile and reach for your first cigarette of the day. "Are you a breakfast person?"

"Been waiting on you." He nods towards the kitchen counter. "Picked those up this morning."

“You didn’t have to wait.” It’s sweet that he did, in a way that makes your chest tighten and think things you have to banish from your mind immediately, so instead you pop up from your chair and grab the bag to bring over to the table.

"Be rude to eat without you." He points out, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Is that that Southern hospitality I’ve heard so much about?” You set the bag down in the place he clears for it on the table and go back for two plates. Your cigarette is smoldering in the ashtray but you care less about that than whatever this morning patter is that the two of you have going. “We don’t have much of that where I’m from.”

"So why do you like it so much?" He asks, curious about your own history. "Where you're from."

“New Englanders are straightforward.” The bag has two arepas con huevos and two roscón — presumably one for each of you — and some assorted small cookies that are spiced and baked hard so they’re especially dunked in coffee. It’s a sweet gesture in more than one way, and you distribute the pastries evenly between you. “Everybody says what they mean, and sometimes they say shit things but then the same cranky ass old guys will turn around and give you the shirt off their back or the food off their table to help you.”

“You haven’t met many Texans, have you?” Javi snorts. “They are blunt, proud as fuck from being from Texas, but they also work together.” He shrugs. “Old man Sanchez had a heart attack in his field, crop of hay was going to go to ruin, so everyone met at his place and put up all the hay for winter for his herds while he was in the hospital.”

“Sounds like two groups cut from the same cloth.” Which is wholly a good thing in your book, and goes a big step to explain how you’re so similar coming from very different places. “You guys are the ranchers and we’re the fishermen.”

"Surf and turf." He chuckles slightly at his admittedly bad joke and shrugs. "We should open a restaurant."

“My father was a chef.” The morsel of information is offered up just like the food between you. “So it’s not a terrible idea.”

"Was?" He catches the phrasing and he wants to know more.

“He had a heart attack a couple a years ago.” Like you’re slipping into the memory, you stare at the pastry in your hand rather than at Javier. “Out on the fishing boat with my oldest brother. It was barely dawn and they had a haul to get in, so he ignored it. The second one he had, before dinner service that night, that’s what killed him.”

"I'm sorry." He really is. He knows how it squeezes your heart and doesn't let you breathe when you are swimming in grief so deep if feels like you are drowning. He sometimes thinks that it might have been because of his grief that he had ended up so lost in his relationship with Lorraine. He had been anchorless without his mother and she had swooped in and comforted him.

"Thank you." It means more coming from him because he knows exactly how much it hurts to lose a parent, giving you an odd and unwanted comradery in that way. "It's...pronounced. The things we have in common."

"Losing someone you love is shitty." He agrees.

"It does." You can agree to that wholeheartedly. So far these shared meals with Javier have been eye-opening, but not necessarily happy. The conversations tend to be more serious, which just might be the type of people you are. "I try not to let it overtake the other things, but it's not easy."

"Is that why you came to Colombia?" He asks, wondering if like him, you are running away. His own journey here had been a little longer, having to go through the academy and then his first post, but you are both here for a reason. "To escape?"

"Not consciously." Although now that he mentions it, there is a distinct possibility that that was an undercurrent in your decision making. "I fought for this assignment. My editor wanted somebody on the ground covering Escobar and I argued that every paper is reporting just on Escobar, but nobody is talking about the people in Colombia and how they're being affected by everything going on down here. How Escobar is ruining lives."

"It's a good angle" Javi shifts in his seat. "Some sing his praises, but they've never been touched by his violence."

"That was pretty much my point." And frankly, it's a comfort to know that it's coming across in your articles. "He might be doing good for some people on the surface here. Handing out money, claiming he's working for the people when he tries to run for office. But the fact is that he's hurting more than he's helping. And the hurt is spreading worldwide."

Javi snorts. "They don't fucking care though." He is bitter about that. "It's a fucking party favor to them. Something to experiment with and cut on a mirror in the big house that they are partying in. They don't see the fucking twelve-year-old overdosing on the street or the workers that have outlived their usefulness, rotting in the goddamn jungle."

"I know." You nod solemnly. "That's why I'm writing about it."

He watches you, his respect for you growing even more. After a moment, he nods. "Then it's a good thing you're here."

******

He wouldn't let you go back to your building alone. Something about wanting to make sure it was safe, but you couldn't really hear him over the blood pounding in your ears when he held open the door for you like some kind of fucking gentleman. Southern. You remind yourself, fully ready to reprimand your own stupidity into submission. It means nothing. It's just good manners.

But when he pulled up outside the club a half an hour later, you were suddenly very glad that he had insisted on coming with you. Chi-Chi growled low in the backseat, seeing so many men around the building, but you reached back and shushed her with some gentle pets that once again thanked her for somehow not spending all night making the same noise at Javier. The policemen outside were all busy and some of the club windows had been shot out, but all of it was taped off to prevent people from coming inside.

"Shit..." you murmur, sitting back in the passenger's seat as you slowly process the fact that you can't go home yet.

Javier frowns as he throws his Jeep into park. There's Steve, camera in his hands as he takes photos of a body laying outside the club. "Shit." He hisses, knowing there is no way he can poke around without being seen.

"Go around the block and park on the next street down," you tell him, annoyed that this day has taken an inconvenient turn. "I'll sneak in through the side door and grab some of my stuff. Enough to last me a few days at a hotel, at least." It was enough that you showed up at his place last night unannounced after having been there another week previous to that. You're not going to invade his space anymore.

He furrows his brow and shakes his head. "You don't have to stay in a hotel." He protests, not happy about you being in some hotel. Even if he's not got any right to tell you what to do. "Unless you'd rather have some space besides my guest room?"

"I don't mind your place." If you were being totally honest with him, not feeling isolated or alone is a lot better for you. Even with Inez in the next apartment over, living on your own had been lonely. "I just don't want to put you out."

"Because I spend so much time in my spare bedroom." He rolls his eyes at you sarcastically and frowns again. "Use it." He urges you. "You don't have to waste your money on a hotel." He shrugs, knowing that he sounds a little overprotective. "After all, it's because of my team that your apartment is now a crime scene."

"Why don't you and Chi-Chi stay in the car and I'll pack up some things quickly." If he's offering, you won't turn down a free place to stay. You'll do your part and keep the place clean so he barely recognizes you're even there except for putting a little food in his fridge now and then. "I guarantee my landlady is still with her son. I can drop our four-legged friend off to her later today."

"No." He shakes his head, knowing that someone could stop you from entering. Plus he can get a quick look to see if anyone important was taken out. "I'll come with you."

You raise one discerning eyebrow at him and motion to the backseat. "That means all three of us have to go in. You think you can sneak Scooby Doo's sister over here past all those cops?"

"Not going to sneak her in anywhere." Javi smirks and looks back at the dog. "She's going to go to work with me. Aren't ya, girl?"

For perhaps the first time in her life, Chi-Chi awoos softly for a man instead of for any of her usually preferred female companions.

"Well hell," you snort, shaking your head at both of them. "I guess that's a yes."

It takes a minute to get her out of the car and her leash unwound from her body. Then there are the two minutes that she has to sniff around the side door where she normally comes outside to pee and takes a squat while Javier smokes a cigarette.

It's ridiculous to watch, as the large and normally fearsome guard dog trots happily at Javier's side, but one intrusive thought breaks through the others and you snort under your breath in amusement as Chi-Chi indicates she's ready to go again. "I was right," you point out, smirking at Javier when you pull out your key to the building's back door. "All women really do roll over for you."

He rolls his eyes and huffs at you. Pursing his lips and murmuring a curse. "Shut up." He manages, although it's not exactly vehement. "Do you want me to come up with you?" He doubts anyone has ventured upstairs, but he doesn't want you to be uncomfortable.

"Might as well," you nod toward the stairs, letting the warmth of friendly teasing instead of annoyed barbs warm through you. "My living room has that good view of the front of the building and approaching street that you knew Alex was using."

"We were watching to club." Javier admits. "Saw the fucker there. The bartender giving him your note."

"I kind of figured." Climbing the stairs quickly, you reach your floor as quietly as you can and turn back to make sure you don't lose Javier on the stairs. "Otherwise how could you have actually gotten the note? It's not like the CIA and DEA cooperate. Even I know that."

He smirks, not at all embarrassed about stealing that fucker's note. "For a spook, he's shit at keeping track of things." He huffs.

"He was probably distracted." At your door, you scratch Chi-Chi's head and fit your key in the lock to shove it open. "I've been thinking about it ever since you pointed it out, and I think he went in with the intention of actually hitting on Inez."

"And he found you instead?" He asks, wondering what you saw in that schmuck. Granted he was tall, blonde, classically handsome. Everything he was not. Maybe your preference was completely different than the soulmate the universe gave you.

Pushing into your apartment, you shrug sheepishly and drop your purse on the table by the door to let him in behind you. "I was lonely," you admit, not feeling particularly proud about it.

"That happens." He knows that firsthand. He looks around the apartment curiously, eager to get an inside view of your life.

"I'll grab some clothes and stuff. Chi-Chi's allowed on my furniture, so she'll probably go sit on the couch if you let her off leash." He'll poke and prod. That's fine with you. It's what you would do if you were him – yet another similarity between you to note.

"Take your time." He moves over to the window and looks out, a little irritated that it was indeed a good fucking view. Pissed that he hadn't thought of that before Alex had.

You disappear into your room, glad that you had just done a big load of laundry after returning from Javier's place the first time and that you had neatly put everything away. It made it a hell of a lot easier to simply remove stacks of clothes from your dresser and pile them up in the one small suitcase you had arrived to Colombia with. After having been here for a little while you had accumulated a few more things, but most of them can just stay put. Your toiletries go into a bag to be packed away, and your work has its own tote bag. At least your typewriter was already packed up in its case. That saves you some time.

Your space is neat, not too many personal things, although he picks up a framed photo of what must be your family. “Nice looking family.” He murmurs to himself, the photo obviously taken before your father passed.

"My parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary," you tell him, knowing what photo he's looking at. "My Mom, my two older brothers, then me and my Dad. We're all dressed up because my aunt and uncle insisted on throwing them an anniversary party."

“It’s nice.” You look happy, beaming from the photo. “Soulmates?”

"Yeah." When you come out of your room, you're toting a full suitcase and heading for your work things on the coffee table. "They met at the beach. My Mom was out with her girlfriends one day when she was twenty and they started catcalling this group of guys down the other side of the sand." The memory of the story makes you crack a smile. "Reverse of the usual situation, but my mother isn't a shy woman. We used to go back to that beach every single summer. Usually three or four times a summer if we could manage it between everybody's work and sports and camp and everything else."

He laughs at the mental image and smirks. “Most men actually like it when a woman hits on them.” He agrees. “It’s nice to be chased every now and again.”

"Yeah..." It makes your cheeks burn to remember the times in your life you've attempted it – and how the one time it didn't go terribly wrong it was a CIA douchebag who didn't even reciprocate your interest in any real way. "I guess I just...never understood a lot of it. But my Mom is drop dead gorgeous even after three kids, so more power to her, I guess."

Javi studies the picture again. “Yeah, you look just like her.” He murmurs offhand.

“Except…not.” You wave one hand at yourself and shake your head, going back to stuffing your work things into their tote bag.

He frowns down at the picture sighs, not liking that you just wave off his compliment. But you aren’t really his problem to tackle. “I’m going to go downstairs.” He calls out.

“I’ll be down in a few.” Seeing that it’s flashing, you push the button on your answering machine to listen to your message while you get the last of your things squared away.

Javi reclips the leash and hurries down the stairs as Chi-Chi half drags him down. Chuckling to himself when the large dog growls softly at the crunch of glass under boots. "It's okay, girl." he soothes when he is standing by her in the small hallway that connects the apartments to the club.

“Hi mija.” The message is from your landlady, who sounds tired and shaken. “I am sorry for the short notice, but if you are listening to this you will know that the police have control of our building. We cannot return until they release it, and since you were kind enough to take Chi-Chi – thank you for your call otherwise I would have worried – mijita I am too old to be running that place anymore. I’m selling it, honey, I’m sorry. If you need help finding a new place to live, let me know. I will give you a wonderful reference. Call me at my son’s when you get this.”

“Fuck.” You groan out loud, looking around you and realizing that you need to pack up more than just a few days’ worth of things. It’s going to take you a hell of a lot more than a few minutes to get this all squared away, but there’s nothing you can do about that.

Almost a full half hour later you’re dragging things downstairs, including a plastic container of Chi-Chi’s food and treats, and a bag of her toys along with all your own stuff. “Bad news,” you tell Javier, when he looks at you with confusion.

"Are you moving in?" Javi half jokes, half wonders what the hell you had in the bags. It looks like a hell of a lot more than what you had brought when you were taking care of Helena.

“My landlady got spooked by the cops and all the agents crawling everywhere and she’s selling the building. I’m gonna have to find a new place.” It makes you wonder where the hell Inez is going to go since this place was her home and her work, but you’ll call her later to check in. After you call Señora Perrín about getting back this month’s rent since you haven’t even been in the place for more than a few days this month. “I’ll call her tonight about returning Chi-Chi to her and I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can. I’m sure the last thing you want is roommates.”

It's a surprise, Javi sighing and looking around the area. "Shit." He hisses. "I'm sorry." He is. Feeling like this is also his fault. Maybe if he had been involved with the SearchBloc raid, there might have been less bloodshed.

“It’s not your fault.” He’s the last person you blame. After all, he wasn’t here last night. His partner might get a piece of your mind, though. “Guess I just became fodder for my own column.”

He snorts. "Another victim." He agrees. "This time because of us instead of Escobar." He doesn't tell you that you can just live with him. That would be too much. For both of you.

“We should get out of here.” It feels intrusive to be here now, but it feels intrusive to know you’re now going back to his apartment with no idea of when you’ll be able to leave. The whole thing is uncomfortable and grating and you don’t like not knowing what the next step is.

"Is that all you have?" He moves to take some of the bags from you, happy that he has a vehicle that can hold more than the little box car you drive. That thing is a rolling hazard.

“In this country?” You nod, reluctantly letting him take some things from your arms. “It was a furnished apartment, that’s why I took the place. This is all my shit, plus some things for Bogotá’s best guard doggy.”

"Okay." He nods and moves to the door, pushing outside to hold the door opened for you. "Then let’s get you back to the apartment so you can get settled."

“Javier, I—” He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t hem or haw. Doesn’t even hesitate. And suddenly your father’s favorite words of wisdom float to the top of your mind, about how your soulmate comes into your life when you need them most. You have no idea how true that is, Dad.

“Thank you,” you say finally, offering him a grateful smile.

Javi nods, always having a hard time accepting thanks and whistles for Chi-Chi to stop sniffing the side of the building when you walk out. "We'll stop at the market on the way home." He offers. "I know you'd rather have some food in the fridge."

“That will work.” Loading up the car together, you get Chi-Chi settled and give her a treat for being so good. Somewhere in the back of your mind you fear there is a strong possibility of her spending at least one more night with you so you would prefer her to be happy. Once everything is inside and you’re buckling your seatbelts, you turn to look at Javier again. “Give it some thought and let me know what you think a fair number for rent would be. Since I’m basically subletting your guest room now, until I find a new place.”

Javi grunts, knowing that he won't take money for you using his room. He's not that kind of person and he already pays well below market value for his apartment. Instead, he starts the Jeep and throws it into gear. He had managed to get an overall view of the scene, so he's happy. "You know what we need to get?"

“At the market? Yeah.” There are a good handful of meals you can make easily and well, and those ingredients aren’t hard to come by. But as the child of a career cook, you know your way around a kitchen. At least you can cook some decent meals for Javier as a thank you.

"Sorry I don't keep much there." He huffs. "Honestly, I'm not home much."

“Don’t worry about it. Youngest kid of a chef, remember?” That grateful smile still tugs at your lips. “I do about half my work at home and I’m a fair cook.”

He nods, not as upset about you staying as he ever imagined he would be. He had resisted living with Lorraine before the wedding and he's never actually had a roommate unless his parents counted, which they didn't. If he wanted to go see Freckles or Vanessa, he would just go to them, but maybe he would find another girl.

One that you hadn't also slept with.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06

[euovennia]

short and sweet | ghost/soap/könig

sorry to the anon that it took me so long to get out, i've been dealing with some stuff but here it is! thank you for requesting, and as always, i hope you enjoy <3

pairings: ghost x reader, soap x reader, könig x reader

warnings: bigotry, misogyny, people just being jerks, canon typical violence

summary: in which three buff military men become all too aware of your struggles. (based on this request)

simon 'ghost' riley

when the idea of simon having a crush comes to mind, i feel like he's one of those people who prefers to observe them from afar rather than have direct interactions with them

so that paired with the fact you're not in the 141 and you're mute, it's gonna take a very long while until you two start interacting, at least a few months after he realizes he's taken a liking to you

they'll usually be pretty short and sweet, but not in the typical sense you may be thinking of

i'm thinking something more along the lines of giving each other a small nod of acknowledgement when you pass each other in the shooting range; him having already practiced and you just barely walking in to start practicing

and honestly? he's completely fine with this arrangement

in fact he prefers it

he still gets a chance to give you a once over without getting distracted from the things he wants/needs to do throughout the day, he considers it a win

but when your target practice slowly begins to overlap with his, he's a bit surprised to find that he doesn't really mind it all that much

there's something oddly comforting about knowing you're just a few stalls down from him

and of course there's the added benefit of him getting to see you and your signature sniper rifle in action

for those of you wondering, yes, he's become quite aware of your talents

how could he not when soap made himself comfortable at his table during meal time and went on about, "a real cute girl and her impeccable aim."

soap's words, not his

and it continues on like this for a while, you two continuing on with your unofficially official meeting times

it becomes comfortable and familiar, two things simon isn't quite used to, but two things that he's quite content with

so he can't help but feel a little empty when you stop attending your unofficial meetings at the shooting range

he's more frustrated with himself than anything cause, let's face it, he's not the type to let himself get comfortable/familiar with just anyone so he's honestly more annoyed that he let himself get attached when he hasn't even made a move to properly talk to you (what a silly goose)

anyway, in true simon fashion he decides to deal with it by not dealing with it

in other words, he just kinda continues on with his routine because he's become so numb to the idea of people leaving his life (no matter how big or small of a role they played) that he doesn't bother acting out on any emotion he has if it does happen

and i think after a while he'll just kinda end up pushing you out of his mind (despite the fact his eyes are fully glued onto you whenever he sees you around base)

so when you walk into the range and make yourself cozy at your usual stall, he's a bit frazzled

so much so he ends up packing up his equipment and making a beeline for the exit

but it's at this moment he bumps into a particularly bratty group of recruits they'd gotten not too long ago

he has to practically hold himself back from snapping the poor kid's neck when he asks simon if he'd seen you enter the range

call it extreme, but the mocking smile that stretched across the recruit's lips as he said your name just ticked him off

simon is a man of intuition and so he can already tell something's not quite right so, curious, he just gives off a gruff, "yes," before waving them off

he's surprised that he manages to bite his tongue when he can hear of the recruits whisper a small, "what a fuckin' arsehole," as they walk away from him

anyway

cue him silently stalking after the group and being met with the sight of them crowded around you as you lay flat on your stomach, hands still steady on the rifle

he watches as you line yourself up to take the shot before eventually resting your hand on the trigger and pulling it, only to miss when one of the recruits purposefully kicks at your shin

another recruit makes herself comfortable beside you with a grin spread across her lips as her voice rings out in a mocking tone, "aw, poor thing missed her shot again. it's a wonder she's made it this far."

while his eyes narrow in confusion at your lack of response, it only eggs the girl on as she nudges your shoulder

"still can't talk, i see," she lets out a wistful sigh, "that's a shame. i think you'd sound really pretty screaming out for help on the field."

another recruit takes this as their chance to jump in, "guess we'll just have to leave her stranded. better for us anyway, no dead weight."

the girl by your side rolls her eyes, "we probably won't even get the chance to abandon her, she's so tiny. she'd probably get squashed like an ant before we could even try anything."

her remark elicits a laugh from the small group of recruits, but ghost certainly isn't smiling when he approaches the group and stares down at them with his trademark glare

they can definitely feel their souls leave their bodies when they look up and see him standing over them menacingly

it gets even worse when he opens his mouth, "that any way to talk to a fellow soldier?"

they all just kinda stumble onto their feet at his words, not bothering to say anything as their eyes remain pretty much glued to the floor

he's not having it though so he'll repeat his question, tone louder and meaner than before which causes one of the recruits to just let out a meek, "no sir."

too bad it was the one who insulted him earlier cause he immediately steps in front of them and just kinda, "what? arsehole not good enough an insult for ya?"

you, still lying on the ground and watching everything unfold, can't help the small smile that tugs at the edge of your lips as you witness the way the man's face visibly pales

upon receiving no response from him, simon straightens out his posture before point over to you and speaking once more, "you better pray that girl is more forgiving than i am, because if it were me, you'd all be covering your own asses out on the field."

he watches with great joy as they each begin to shift on their feet uncomfortably before dismissing them in a gruff voice

after making sure they left, simon makes his way back over to you who is still lying on the ground with your rifle as you line up your shots once more

he feels a small wave of pride overcome him when you hit your target perfectly

so much to the point where he walks over to you and spills out a quick, "good aim," to which you'll look up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours and give him a small nod of acknowledgement

his eyes narrow, "you don't talk much, do you?"

you simply shake your head

he'll give you a quick once over before looking down at his watch and realizing the dining hall will be closing soon

tempted as he is to just walk away, he can't help but wonder if you'd already ate

so he speaks again, "dining hall is closing in a bit. you're free to join me if you haven't eaten yet, was just on my way."

you pause for a bit and give it a bit of thought before nodding and packing up your stuff before eventually walking out of the range with simon by your side

you don't have the heart to tell him you already ate

but when you look up and see him quickly avert his eyes from you and onto the pavement beneath your feet, you don't see why you even would

john 'soap' mactavish

when i tell you this man was gone the moment he saw you, i mean he was GONE

he genuinely couldn't believe someone as sweet and lovely as you could exist in the same space as him

but the moment he sees you shoot that gorgeous little rifle of yours with a precision that could only be described as pure, raw perfection? it's over. he's all in.

i'm talking, 'fuck me up and send me straight to heaven. this is how i die.'

he's so down bad for you it's insane

and i imagine soap can be quite confident and charming when he wants to be so best believe he'll have no problem in walking straight up to you and trying to strike up a conversation

i'd like to put emphasis on the 'trying' part of that last bit because it becomes quite clear quite quick that you're don't talk

well

maybe the 'quite quick' part isn't so accurate because it probably takes him a minute or two before he finally catches onto the fact you don't talk

in other words, it takes you pulling out your phone and looking up a volume muted symbol and pointing at it before motioning to yourself for him to catch on

he just kinda makes an 'oh' face before letting out a small chuckle and saying something like, "i see now, why didn't ya just tell me that before?"

and you're just looking at him like ???

but he's looking at you like :)))

yeah he's being a little ridiculous right now, but he just got back from a long mission and he's quite sleep deprived so don't mind him he's just being a silly goose, ok?

but truth be told, that dumb little first interaction doesn't even really matter in the long run because it's the bold initiative on his part that makes it so easy for the two of you to become friends

you spend a lot of time hanging around one another and your once carefully planned, scheduled days turn into unpredictable blurs that are jam packed with soap getting the two of you into trouble

i imagine you've become quite familiar with the stoic face of captain john price

but really, how could you not?

especially when soap catches onto the fact that price is more inclined to let soap off with a warning for whatever trouble he's got himself mixed up in whenever you're around

he may be older than the rest of his team, but he knows that dopey grin soap's got plastered on his face whenever he's around you means he's extra sweet on you

and who is he to stand in the way of his boy's happiness with some extra chores?

he's a total dad <3

anyway

because you spend a lot of time around soap, i think it's fair to say that you sometimes end up pushing off work in favor of hanging around the scotsman

and really who could blame you?

he's got a dazzling smile, a charming accent, and a sparkling personality. you'd be a fool not to soak up all the time you can get with him

but that just means whenever he does end up leaving for missions, that's when you really buckle down and start getting all your piled up work done

it can be frustrating and a bit of a bother, but knowing your schedule will be completely free (at least for a little bit) as soon as he gets back is more than enough to get you through the tedious work load you've allowed yourself to accumulate

only this time it's a bit harder to remember that

and it's all because of your newly assigned CO

he's a bit of an older man, which isn't a bad thing

at least until you find out that his mindset lines up with the ideology of a 1950's working husband

you know, the kind of guy who believes it's a man's job to go out and work a job to provide for his family while his wife stays home and takes care of the children, house, and meal prepping

in other words

a complete and utter bigot

so between trying to complete all the work you'd so foolishly neglected in your time hanging out with soap and trying to stop yourself from snapping your superior's neck every time he grabbed your rifle from your hands with a condescending, "careful! wouldn't a small thing like you hurting yourself with this," it's no wonder you couldn't remember that today was the day soap was returning from another one of his top secret missions

in fact, the thought doesn't occur to you at all until soap pulls up a chair beside your desk and makes himself comfortable while you're looking over some paperwork your darling CO had left you because he, "works too hard and needs a break."

more like a break in his skull, but to each their own

anyway i can definitely imagine soap carrying around a small notebook that you use to communicate with him when you can't be bothered to watch him try and fail to decipher your hand movements

and yes, he totally brings it on missions with him just so he can open it up and trace over your handwriting with a gentle touch and a soft smile and oh my god imagine confessing to him like that (i'm kinda dying to write an imagine based on that now (mute or non-mute reader, i'm down for either tbh) so lmk if you're interested!)

anyway

when the two of you break apart from your usual 'welcome back' hug, he'll slide the notebook over to you as a simple question falls from his lips, "since when do you do paperwork?"

and this just prompts you to let out a huff and roll your eyes before snatching up the notebook/pen combo and writing out all your frustrations on the pages

it's safe to say this man is absolutely floored when he reads through it all

frustrated and angry as he is, he doesn't outwardly express it

he simply grabs the heap of paperwork sitting on your desk and promptly tosses it into the nearest recycling bin before grabbing your hand and leading you off to something completely unproductive and time wasting

it's exactly what you need

the night will eventually end off with him walking you to your room and offering you a sweet hug with a small lil kiss to your head

it's adorable, really <3

what's not so adorable is the way he barges into price's office with the notebook in hand before tossing the pages where you'd detailed your CO's behavior onto his desk

price reads through them and best believe all this man can see is red

as someone who takes pride in becoming a role model for those who work under him, he can barely believe of the things he's reading

he's so ready to throw hands

but he can't sadly

so he settles for the next best thing

COMPLAINTS, COMPLAINTS, COMPLAINTS

with how ruthless price is in his mission to humiliate this man, it's really no surprise when you eventually find out he's been fired

the moment you and the rest of your unit get the news, you practically run all over base to find soap

and the moment you do, you've pretty much tackled him to the ground in a hug

and he simply wraps his arms around you, that same dopey grin price teases him for stretched onto his lips because he knows and he couldn't be happier

he's just happy you're happy <3

könig

so because of his affiliation with KorTac, i like to imagine that you're part of another PMC group that tends to help each other out on missions whether it be due to mission overlap, or just needing some extra support

but despite this, i imagine it would take quite some time before you and könig even meet simply due to the fact that you're almost never assigned to be sent out on the field

and if i'm being honest, i can definitely see not a single member of KorTac having even the slightest clue that you exist until you're randomly brought onto the field one day during a particularly tricky mission

long story short, könig and a few other of his team members got ambushed and they needed all the help they could get which is where you come in

granted they don't actually see you until you all meet back at base, safe and sound as can be

while könig and his team are surprised by the new face, they're even more surprised to learn that you've been part of the team for nearly eight whole months

when asked about why they've never seen you on the field before, the answer is simple; "she's been doing other missions," which you've come to learn essentially means, "she's still in training because we don't trust her to be on her own yet."

and while the other members of KorTac seem to just take that simple explanation at face value, könig can't help but notice the way your face falls and shoulders slump upon hearing it

and it's at this moment he realizes he hadn't seen you anywhere on the field at the time, so where the hell were you?

he decides he needs to be more attentive

so the next time KorTac calls on your group for some extra assistance, he's keeping a sharp eye out there in hopes that he'd see you

but he doesn't

even so, he still holds out hope for next time

and the next

and the next

and the next

okay this is ridiculous

where the hell were you?

he knows you're going on the missions with the rest of the team because you're always there when everyone gets back to base, still dressed in your tactical gear and wiping off the dirt that seemed to cling onto your uniform

so why did he never actually see you?

he's a tall guy so surely, he, out of anyone, should be able to pinpoint your location on the field with a few simple turns of his head, right?

well apparently not

you're practically a ghost (hehe see what i did there)

his frustration with not knowing where you're at on the field has him going mad

he so desperately wants to just come out and ask you directly, but he's convinced himself that you'll somehow take offense to such a question so he decides against it

so he decides to settle on the next best thing

which is pretty much just endlessly staring you down on the field before you eventually disappear off to god knows where

it's not the smartest idea he's ever had if the way you seem to squirm under his piercing gaze is anything to go by, but he just can't seem to help it

especially not when he comes to notice just how pretty you really are

the soft slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the way your cheeks puff out so cutely when you're finally able to get your hands on a much needed snack after a particularly long mission

you're stunning, how could he not stare?

yeah he's definitely got a little crush

but he'll never admit it

especially not with the amount of teasing horangi throws his way whenever you enter the room

anyways i think i'm getting ahead of myself here, let's get back on track lol

i imagine it all comes to a head on the battlefield

one moment könig is going at it with no more than three enemy soliders, but it seems within the blink of an eye those numbers have nearly tripled as he sees a sizeable group of enemy soldiers heading this way

he knows he's more than capable of holding his own in close combat, but with this many people? he can't help but feel a little uneasy as he sees the group grow closer and closer

that is, of course, until the unmistakable sound of a rifle fires through the air and the group of soldiers who were previously approaching him steadily begin to fall to the ground, a pool of crimson blood flowing from their heads

könig's eyes catch onto a bright red laser making small patterns on the ground in front of him so, curious, he looks up to find the source of the light coming from under a pile of rubble located on the roof of a building

upon making eye contact with the small area, the red laser pointer goes dead and you quickly poke your head out from your self appointed hiding spot and offer him a small 'ok' motion with your hand before concealing yourself back into your spot once more

he swears his heart soars at the sight

satisfied with himself and your stellar aim, his mind becomes preoccupied with the mission once more, a newly placed sense of vigor in his attacks

but when everyone is cozying up in the common area after the mission's been completed (with the exception of you bc you're taking a shower), könig decides he can't hold himself back from asking a certain question that's been on his mind for a long time

so he simply decides to go for it and ask, "why hasn't she been assigned to our missions before?"

your teammates all look at each other for a few moments before one of them pipes up, "didn't think she was ready."

another one decides to offer their input, "there are times we still don't think she is, but our captain told us to bring her in anyway."

könig and the rest of those present from KorTac's confusion must be apparent because one of the other members of your team decides to speak out, "she was still a bit rocky when she first came to us. we just wanted her to polish up on her skills before we sent her out on an official mission. it's more out of worry than anything."

the explanation calms the small bout of worry that had infested his mind when they first offered their reasoning for not including you on missions, but he can't help but feel a little pit grow in his stomach

so he decides to speak up once more, "well i think they're capable. perhaps it's time you trust them more."

one of your teammates brows raise, "you think so?"

he nods, "took out a whole group of soldiers that were coming at me, i'd probably be done for if it weren't for them."

he finds the look of shock on their faces amusing as they ask, "how?"

könig leans back, "they were hiding in some rubble on one of the buildings. took them out with a sniper."

he watches a look of realization come over their faces as one of them exclaims, "i thought they were running around the field, not hiding!"

horangi decides to pipe in, "you didn't know? she's always running around the rooftops. i see her all the time."

your teammates practically implode on themselves at his revelation before they start hounding him for questions, ones he graciously answers

könig watches with a small smile hidden under his hood before he can see a small movement of the corner of his eye

he turns his head and sees you peering over at him with a small smile and he watches as you sign out a quick, "thank you," with your hands

he sucks in a sharp breath before bringing up his hands and signing back a shaky, "you're welcome"

his hidden smile widens as he watches your eyes glisten with delight, "you know sign?"

he's quick to respond, "since i was little."

horangi is the one to give his arm a harsh nudge when könig all but freezes upon seeing what you sign to him next

"would you like to join me for dinner?"

[11queensupreme11]

Wouldn't it be cute if Percy and Poseidon had a family similar to the little Mermaid's family?

Just imagine that Percy convinced Poseidon to take it easy and not get her pregnant thousands of times in a row since it's dangerous for his health

(they have eternity together ahead of them, I don't know why he's so desperate for Lara to have sons now, one time or another she'll get pregnant with a boy)

Together they had some daughters, all with different personalities but all equally beautiful and loved by their mother

Percy is a very affectionate and kind mother who distributes attention from the eldest daughter to the youngest

Every night she tells stories and sings her daughters to sleep

I just imagine her walking down the hallway going from room to room to bed her daughters, to the younger ones she tells lovely fantasy stories, to the older ones (who think they are too old for bedtime stories) she gives kisses and hugs

She does all this while being watched by the watchful eyes of her husband who accompanies her and waits on the doorstep waiting for her to finish so they can go to the marital bed together

Poseidon doesn't need to sleep but I think that even then he would still do it just to be with his wife (it would be interesting if even after the ascension to Percy he still possessed some necessarily human characteristics), I just imagine that he lies down and watches to Percy while she slept peacefully

Honestly, she strikes me as the type to cuddle in her sleep so it would be adorable to imagine her hugging Poseidon's torso as she rests her head directly on top of his heart while he keeps his arm around her pulling her closer whenever she tries (unconsciously) to move away or change position

I just feel like he would be so affectionate and soft to her (not to his daughters, those poor girls are mostly ignored) looking at her with love and even doing useless human things just to please her (like wasting time sleeping or having a family dinner)

I shouldn't have watched The Little Mermaid with my little cousin because now all I'm imagining is that Poseidon has the same family dynamic as Arie's family with a few modifications

Like the main change is that Poseidon is obviously thousands of times more cruel and bloodthirsty than King Triton, he would also only be gentle with Percy, in fact if you look at the film you will notice that the King practically only focuses on Ariel and ignores the other daughters, so this dynamic would be the same with Poseidon just focusing on Percy

You know that scene from Little Time 2 where the king, queen and their daughters are swimming together? The one where he gives her a beautiful music box while her daughters watch? Well I'm imagining this scene with papaseidon

Just imagine him and his daughters are swimming together near an island, his older daughters are singing while his younger daughters are playing with the fish, Percy is propped up on a comfortable rock and Poseidon appears at her side presenting her with an adorable little magic music box, your daughters are sighing over how romantic and adorable this is

If you ignore the obvious misogyny until Poseidon is a good father, he protects them, pays for their luxuries, spends time with them (even if only because Percy forced him to spend family time because everyone knows he prefers to spend his your alone time with percy)

I don't know why else I think Poseidon would have a small (very small, almost tiny and almost non-existent) favoritism for the youngest daughter who looks like Percy (like Triton's favoritism for Ariel due to her being the youngest and the daughter who looks more like her mother)

(I don't know if I've already sent this post before but I found it in my notepad so when in doubt I decided to send it again, if it's a duplicate post just ignore it)

all i can think about is that one scene where we actually get to see what happens to ariel's mom 😭😭 i can't remember much, but didn't she get killed by human pirates???? lmao, obviously that can't happen here since percy would be a goddess in this AU but they would probably still try to target her anyway LMAO JUST IMAGINE POSEIDON'S REACTION 💀💀💀

OH AND THE YOUNGEST FALLING IN LOVE WITH A HUMAN LIKE ARIEL WITH ERIC 😭😭😭 percy and possibly the other sisters would be the only one who would support it but they know daddyseidon would lose his shit

poseidon's probably gonna have flashbacks of the perthonius situation lmaooo 😭

[ughgoaway]

naughty vs nice // day 5

content warnings; smut (or at least attempted smut), blow jobs, kinda public?, sub-ish matty, swearing, misogyny and drinking.

a/n; now... I am not good at smut writing but I felt it was my duty to at least attempt some for y'all. if this is completely tragic, I apologise in advance lol <3

word count; 2.9k

(this fic takes place after they've gotten together)

12 days masterlist

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“So please, go and mingle parents and teachers! Your little ones are all having their own party in the gym, so enjoy your night off!” The headteacher raised his glass of wine as he finished his welcome, each person doing the same and then giving him a small round of applause. 

You were currently talking to Mrs Jones and pretending to listen to her whine about her new teacher assistant and how useless they are. But your eyes continue to drift over her shoulder to meet Matty’s. 

He stands across the room from you chatting to Adam and another teacher, but he can't keep focused on anything when you are dressed like that less than 20 feet away from him. 

Your asymmetric dress draped over one shoulder and left the other bare. The body con hugged your figure in a way that had Matty's heart hammering at his ribs whenever he looked at you. The small slit teased him further. Every time your leg shifted and more of your thigh poked out, he had to make a conscious effort to not get hard.

Matty's eyes were drawn to the glowing skin of your exposed collarbone. Thinking of not even 30 minutes earlier when he stood between your legs mouthing at that exact spot as you whimpered under him. 

/////

“You can't leave a mark baby,” you pant out but make no effort to stop his motions, “everyone will know exactly what I've been doing” You giggle as he nips lightly at your collarbone.

Your legs were spread as you sat on your desk and Matty moved his mouth over you. 

“I don't care, I want them to know. Want them to know you’re my girl” he says, coming out from your neck with puffy kiss-bitten lips and messy curls from your wandering hands.

You sigh sadly and start to adjust his tie and stroke a hand over his hair to fix it, “I know, but we can't tell anyone. Not while im still so new here, im pretty sure if Mrs Richards knew I was fucking the hot rockstar Dad she’d fire me on the spot.”

Matty smirks and ignores most of your statement, opting to focus on one small part, “hot rockstar dad, huh? Is that what you teachers call me when you’re gossiping about me?”

Your cheeks go red, and you shake your head unconvincingly, matty hums and says “Sure sweetheart.”

You push him away playfully and stand, brushing your hands over your dress and straightening it out, not wanting to join the party looking like a teenager who has been caught fooling around.

“Okay you have to stay away from me tonight, or I'm just gonna jump you. you look too good in that suit” You smooth your hands over his lapels, and Matty smiles coyly at your words. 

“Mmm maybe I want that, though,” he teases as he smoothly slides his hands around your waist. A firm look from you has Matty backtracking, quickly saying, “Okay okay, I promise. I won't come near you tonight. Scouts honour” Matty faux salutes you, and you can't help but giggle at your boyfriend's ridiculousness.

That promise lasted all of 30 minutes, but soon you were roped into a conversation with Matty and two other dads, both of whom you hated. 

Mike Wilson and Martin Addams were two eye-roll-inducing men. You avoided them at all costs, but as you walked past them, Martin waved you over. 

“y/n perfect, we need a good woman's opinion here,” he says, smirking at you, shamelessly running his eyes over your body. You see Matty tense out of the corner of your eye, but he sighs and shakes it off.

“Ah hello everyone,” you say with faux politeness, giving Matty a subtle nod that he returns and fights the smile threatening his cheeks.

“You're a traditional woman, aren't you y/n?” Martin asks, not giving you time to answer before carrying on, “You have a job, but you get that women aren't meant to work. If you had kids or whatever, you'd be at home in the kitchen like a proper lady, wouldn't you?” his question had you frozen on the spot.

What kind of fucking question is that? What would possess him to ask you that?

Before you get a chance to try and give a fake, polite response, Mike jumps in, “Yeah! You get that a woman's purpose is to have kids and look after the house. You're all just babymakers, really, aren't you?” he says, laughing and nodding at you as if you'd agree with anything coming out of his mouth.

You fight to give an appropriate response. You really do. But Matty can see your shoulder tense as you begin to speak, and he knows exactly what's coming. 

“Excuse me if im being dense here,” you begin, “but have you seriously asked me, a woman with a full-time job and who is totally independent, if I believe women are meant to be ‘baby makers’?” you give a sarcastic air quote as you copy mikes words. 

You give them an incredulous look, and before they can stutter an apology, you cut them off, just as they had done to you. 

“Well forgive my language but since there are no kids around I can say pretty confidenly that you two are fucking insane. What possessed you to say that I'll never know, but I do know that both of your daughters are doomed if you say like things like that around them. How dare you speak about women that way? You should both be ashamed.” You shake your head in disappointment at the men in front of you, your teacher voice coming out as you scold them. 

Both men scoff and walk away wordlessly, leaving you and Matty standing there. You give him a disbelieving smile, and he simply nods in agreement. 

“God those two are dickheads. Good thing I couldn't care less about them,” you pause and suck in a breath before giving Matty an apologetic look, “Sorry my teacher voice came out at the end there, it felt like I was scolding two kids.” you roll your eyes as you finish. 

Matty shakes his head and looks at you shyly. He wordlessly motions you closer, and you lean in ever so slightly to hear his whisper. 

“Don't worry about it, babe, it was kind of hot actually,” he says shyly, avoiding eye contact with you as he says it. You give him a shocked look and watch the red spread on his cheeks.

A thrill of power skitters through your bones at his comment, liking seeing Matty slightly bashful. 

“Oh is that right?” Your breathy words are heavy with lust, and Matty looks at you speechless before nodding dumbly. 

You see his hand slide from his side to the front of his trousers and adjust his crotch slightly.

Oh, how very interesting.

You didn't think he'd be into that, or that you would. But you can't deny that the horny look in his eyes had you turned on. 

Teasingly, you raise your eyebrows at Matty. He bites his lip unconsciously as he stares at yours, and any resolve you had snaps. 

“Come with me” you demand, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the hall. His head shoots around to see if anyone is looking, but the only person's eyes he meets are Adam's.

He simply gives him a disbelieving chuckle and a shake of his head, knowing about the secret relationship the two of you had begun.

Matty smiles back and turns around to follow you like an eager puppy. You drag him down the empty corridors and stop in front of random doors to see if they're unlocked. Every time you jiggle a handle that doesn't move, you grumble angrily and keep dragging Matty along.

Eventually, the store cupboard door swings open, and you grin victoriously, shoving Matty in with two hands on his chest. With a thump, he smacks against the wall. The impact combined with the look of hunger in your eyes has him breathless. 

With a swing in your hips, you shut the door and stroll towards him. Once you're centimetres away from his face, Matty leans in, desperate to kiss you. 

“Ah ah ah,” you say as you pull away much to Matty's disappointment, but any sadness soon leaves his brain as you sink to your knees in front of him.

You smirk as his eyes shoot open wide, his mouth drops open as a shocked gasp crackles our from his throat.

“Oh fuck” he says disbelievingly as your hands start to smooth over his stomach and push up his shirt. 

“You like it when im bossy, huh?” You teasingly whisper and lean forward, kissing Matty's exposed stomach and tracing the spattering of hair trailing down with your tongue. 

He nods dumbly and watches you. You work your mouth over him diligently, nipping and kissing his abdomen. 

“Pleasepleaseplease just touch me!” Matty whimpers out from above you, bucking his hips forward desperately. His pathetic whimpers cause electricity to spark down your spine.

He grows increasingly impatient as you playfully kiss every inch of him. You can see him growing more and more needy for your mouth, and you love it.

Soon, it becomes too much, and he can't stay quiet.

The control you had was making you dizzy. With a firm hand, you press his hips back to the wall forcibly, pulling a weak protest from Matty's lips.

Matty couldn't care less how meagre he sounded at that moment. He needed your mouth on him now.  

before long, he isthanking whatever god there is above because your fingers begin to unbutton his trousers and pull them down his legs.

Your hands move up from his thighs to toy with the corkscrew curls you see sitting at the top of his boxers. A small damp patch sits on the front of his underwear, the dark grey making you salivate with want. 

Messily you lean forward and begin to mouth along the outline of his hard cock. The wet patch grows as more pre-cum dribbles from his head, mixing with your saliva the more you lick over him.

Pitiful noises come from deep within Matty's chest as his hand comes to rest on the back of your head subconsciously. You wrench your mouth away from him, and he whines desperately. 

“Ah no touching baby, did I say you could hold my head? Keep your hands to yourself,” you say forcefully, earning a loose nod from Matty, his head no longer feeling attached to his neck.

“M’ sorry it just feels so good i- ohmygod” you interrupt Matty by palming over his boxers harshly, giving his cock a firm squeeze that made him buckle at the waist. Almost falling forward at the sensation. 

Tantalisingly slow you pull his waistband down over his leaking cock, he groans at the pressure on his head. 

He was not sure he's ever been this hard. He could feel his heartbeat in his dick every time a bead of precum leaks down his shaft. The feeling of you releasing his swollen cock made his whole body fill with a visceral need for you.

You lean forward and kitten lick the tip, and Matty gasps so hard he breaks out in a fit of coughs, not prepared for any contact from your hot tongue. 

“Have you thought about this a lot, baby, huh? Me down on my knees for you? Choking on your dick? I bet you dreamt of filling my mouth with your cum” you say as you press a kiss on his rose tattoo, moving to recreate the same action to his other hip bone. Your hot breath teases Matty as you skip over where he needs you most.

His cock jumped at your words and his curls bounced in time with his needy nods, “Yes yes yes. I thought about it all the time. I dreamt of this. Just- please put your mouth on me” he whines out, trying not to buck his hips into your mouth. 

He didn't think he'd get off to being dominated, but the power in your eyes only made him more desperate for you.

“Well since you asked so nicely, my love,” you say with a sickly sweet smile before sinking your mouth on Matty quickly, taking as much as you can down your throat in one go.

The noise Matty made was animalistic, he felt completely out of control of his body. and he fucking loved it.

“SHIT. You're so fucking good at that. god-” Matty stares at your mouth, stretching out over him, admiring your red lipstick smudging on his dick. The ring of red moves further, and further down the more of him you fit in your throat. 

You moan in appreciation, which causes Matty's hips to stutter. A warning look from you has him furiously muttering out apologies.

“Im so sorry baby it just feels too good. Oh fuck- ill be good, I promise. I'll be a good boy” his cock throbbed painfully in your mouth. You marvel at the musky taste of precum on your tongue and pull it off with a wet pop. 

“Oh, you want to be my good boy?” You tease, leaning forward and letting a glob of spit fall from your plump lips onto his tip. Matty's eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the sight of your smudged red lips spitting on him and your hand working your salvia over his aching cock. 

“Yes yes. I wanna be your good boy-” he said, straining his words as he did. clearly yearning for your praise.

“You're such a good boy, sweetheart. My good boy” You give him a cheeky smile as you sink your mouth all the way down on Matty and begin furiously working his cock in your mouth.

Matty was chanting obscenities as your mouth moved over him, getting more and more incoherent as you went. Wet slurping noises filled the air of the small cupboard along with Matty's frenzied words. 

You feel his dick pulse in your mouth, and you know he's close. His body was telling the story that he couldn't.

“M’ so so close baby- please please can I cum?” he pleads with you, looking down with wide puppy dog eyes. His begging only caused the wet patch in your underwear to grow, holding this much power over a man like Matty was turning you on beyond belief.

You pulled off with a gasp and continued to furiously pump his cock with your hand, “What was that baby? Tell me again, I didn't quite catch it over your fucking pathetic whimpers.” ever so slightly your hand slows and Matty immediately stutters to repeat himself, desperate to give you what you want.

“Fuck yes, you're gonna make me cum. FUCK. please can I cum? I really want to cum in your mouth. Please please pleaseplease-” he nods as he speaks in a desperate attempt to convince you to allow him the release he needs so intensely.

“Since you've been polite, and such a good boy” his cock leaks on your fist at the praise, revelling in you calling him good. you lean forward as you speak, your mouth teasing the tip of him.

“cum” you demand and place his dick back in your mouth.

Matty's mouth falls open, and he lets out a guttural groan, with a few weak thrusts combined with your bobbing head he spills onto your tongue.

You moan at the taste of him as his cum trickles down your throat. He pants above you as you pull off and give him a sly grin. 

You knew he was staring at you like you were an angel on earth, so you opened your mouth to present him with the ribbons of cum that sat on your tongue.

You brought your hand up and stuck your fingers in your mouth, spreading his cum around the inside of your cheeks. Even bringing some out so smudge over your lips.

As you swallow, an involuntary groan comes out of you. You lick your lips deliberately, knowing Matty loves a performance. 

He stared down at you dumbly, in shock over what he had just witnessed.

Once he was capable of speaking again Matty groaned, “fucking hell, that was insane. You're insane ” he panted as he tried to catch what little breath he had.

You smile like the Cheshire cat and rise off your knees to stand chest-to-chest with Matty. You lean in and kiss him desperately.

Matty can taste his release on your tongue, and he briefly thinks this might be the hottest thing that has ever happened to him.

His tongue chases yours urgently, trying to keep you intertwined and chase the taste of him in your mouth.

Voices outside the door pull you away from each other. You both stare nervously at the door, but luckily, the voices drift past effortlessly. 

A laugh escapes the two of you, and Matty pulls you in for a hug. His chest heaves as you burrow your nose into the junction between his neck and shoulder. You pull up slightly and lick the outside of his ear before whispering, “So I think you liked that” with a cheeky giggle.

Matty looks at you with a grin that goes ear to ear and nods slowly, both of you lightly laughing at the absurdity of the situation. 

“I definitely liked that.”