#but how are we even meant to dominate when you constantly made us feel so fucking small

[witchpaladin]

the worst part about that shitty relationship that ruined my ability to trust people is because a lot of it has to do with DID it's pretty much impossible to communicate every little thing that happened without it just sounding completely insane, because it was

short version being that he claimed to also have DID but throughout our relationship his alters and etc kept mirroring or countering mine in ways that were weird and unhealthy but I didn't want to believe he was malingering so for years I made excuses for him

but it got to the point I'd tell him something like "yeah I don't like this character because I associate him with x trauma so his scenes can be triggering and I just avoid that part of the fanbase" and magically he'd spawn that character in his system even tho he'd never watched/read that media before

so basically he went out of his way to read up on that media, lie to me about it (because I'd directly ask him "have you read this yet" and he'd say no) and then randomly one day terrify and confuse my alters by claiming that character just exists as an alter now

and even that we tried to accept but as I started grilling him about the circumstances of the alter forming it became clear he'd manufactured the whole thing because he likes tormenting people

he'd been playing these kind of games for years but it finally got to a point where it was so overt and obvious that we couldn't excuse it anymore. and the realisation that someone would take vulnerable information from a mentally ill person who they claim to love and use it to manipulate and psychologically torture them for years kind of fucked up my trust with other people permanently. so that sucks

it's fucked up that I don't even know what parts of what he told me were lies and it's over such petty crap but the cumulative and mindfucky nature of it basically destroyed my brain

like did he even actually read the media?? did he only start reading it after he introduced this alter because I started questioning him and he realised he needed to beef up his story?

because I remember confronting him, and telling him, but you said you never even read or watched this. how do you have an alter from something you've never read or watched? and his answer was just "oh I guess I lied about that, I actually lie a lot, I'm a compulsive liar", which in itself was something I was hearing for the first time in like 3 years of being in a serious relationship lol

having someone lie to you and manipulate you like that for years when you're already vulnerable and traumatised is so hard to come back from. idk if I'll ever come back from it and it sucks

he did appear on one of my blogs once years ago to basically try to gaslight me and I just laughed in his face and blocked him everywhere. but it drives me nuts because he really has no concept of how much he has destroyed my brain lmao. it's been like 7 years since we met and I still don't trust anyone. I still think everyone is lying to me. I still see red flags in every tiny thing because I made myself ignore so many red flags in that relationship that now even a slight shade of pink puts me on the defensive. and I haven't had a friendship or relationship last more than a few months because I get scared or overwhelmed and I just ghost them and never go back

and. I barely even feel anything about it. because my ability to attach to others has been so wrecked that nothing anyone does hurts me anymore and nobody I lose hurts me anymore

and sometimes I feel bad about the things we said or did in retaliation but it's hard to feel bad about those things when we were in a constant state of distress because of the way we were treated. especially knowing that he holds onto those bits of retaliation as proof of us being the abuser or the instigator or w/e

like richard you can say w/e the fuck you want about the whole thing but you and I both know that the person who started with the lying, and the threats of violence, and the insults, was you. I'd never in my life spoken to people the way I ended up speaking to you and I haven't spoken to anyone like that since

it was you who started with the I hate you, I want to hit you, I hope you die, I'd kill your cats if I was there etc etc etc

I remember it clearly because I even remember when M finally snapped and for the first time answered you the way you speak to us, and he said he hated you and he wanted to punch you in the face, and suddenly you started laughing and said "wait what the fuck, I don't hate you, I'm so sorry, why am I doing this? I love you" and immediately M calmed down and stopped. because it was you who was always the instigator and us who were always just happy to settle into a pretense of normalcy and act like everything was okay

I remember this shit richard. I remember it vividly and every day

I remember you frequently suicide baiting us and keeping us up at night on call, begging you to get off the street and go home

I remember this happening so much that when we couldn't reach you we'd completely panic and we'd start messaging and calling random people who knew you to confirm you were okay

and then you'd come back and act like we were being insane but we thought you were fucking dead! because you'd do this all the time!

and it was all so insane and so stupid that I can't even talk to anyone about it. like congrats you ruined me for other men and not even in a fun way. I just look at everyone and see your lies now

it is so bad sometimes, thinking these things and feeling these things, that I actually want to kill myself. I want it all to end because I don't see how I will ever recover from this, because 7 years later and I still wake up sometimes with it fresh in my mind. and even if I don't remember, every morning I wake up ANGRY. AT NOTHING. AT EVERYTHING. AND I PRETEND NOT TO KNOW WHY- BUT I KNOW

because it was when we'd wake up that we'd immediately check our phone to see the aftermath of whatever had occurred the night before. we'd check to see if you were still angry, if you were still there, if you'd left any messages for us as we slept that will now lead into another argument. it always made R so angry because he had to sit there biting his tongue and just let you mistreat us

actually you know what really sucks is I feel like the only time you were ever truly content in the relationship was when you were regressed and N was taking care of you. any other time it was like you just felt obligated to be there and to pretend to actually like us so you could basically get your ddlg session in

[backwzzds]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ for your love, roronoa zoro

zoro’s actions always spoke louder than his words.

zoro wasn’t a man of many words. he never was. the urge to speak never dawned upon up him unless it was at his captain’s orders. but other than that, people were lucky if they even got a grunt from him, or sight from his one good eye.

but when it came to you, zoro spoke a thousand words in such small gestures.

you didn’t think he listened to you often and would tease him about it, but he’d prove you wrong each and every time. he saw you eyeing a beautiful necklace at an island store? he was willing to put himself in debt of 500% interest with nami over and over again for you.

he noticed that you studied all day with no break? he’d draw you away to come ‘help’ him train. and in reality, that consisted of you and him really going on watch for the sunny, basking in the sun to relax. zoro was the very last person to understand what relax meant, but when it came to you, he made sure to be a master at it.

zoro didn’t need to constantly tell you he loved you for you to believe it. you knew it in the way he held your hand on any island you two were on, knowing how he despised public affection. you knew it in the way he silently protected you. the way he listened to you when it came to voicing your opinion to the team. he made you feel safe in his presence, in his arms, and in his little makeshift bed.

you couldn’t help but admire his commitment to you. you two had been friends before your relationship of course, and you knew how zoro was. he played things off as if he was always bored unless it came to using his swords. you had your doubts on his persistence in a potential relationship with you, but you were so glad that you gave him a chance when you did.

“what’s this?” you look up at him when he rested a foreign object wrapped in brown paper on the kitchen table. zoro grumbled and gestured to the gift, motioning for you to open it. when you did, your eyes couldn’t help bur widen at the prize. “you didn’t, zoro!” you exclaim. “these have been out of season all year we’ve been on sea! we haven’t stopped at a winter island in ages, where did you even get this?!”

in your hands was a natural cold-pressed agave plant oil that you only known to be on the winter island you grew up on. you and the crew haven’t been on a winter island since drum island, and that was more than a year ago. you remember complaining all year how the only serum you knew for sure made your hair grow as a kid was nowhere to be found on your trips.

at your previous question, zoro shrugs his shoulder with closed eyes, hoping he didn’t have to tell you just exactly where or how he obtained the oil he knew was precious to you.

you sniff the object and almost collapse when you get flashes of your childhood. after that, you can’t help but grin at him. “you got lost looking for this, didn’t you?”

your man’s cheeks flush a bright red as he dismissed you. “tch. doesn’t matter how i got it. you have it now, right?” your smile grows wider as you jump into zoro’s arms, already knowing he was gonna catch you as reflex at this point. at your shit eating grin, zoro fumbles underneath you. “stop smiling at me like that, you’re being creepy.”

but his feign for playful banter didn’t hide the fact that he did this for you. that he loved you. emotion can’t help but swell your heart as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a loving kiss.

the smooch was slow; sweet. your full lips swallowed zoro’s tan ones in complete whole as you took your time with him. you didn’t try to assert your dominance with his tongue like you usually did, a playful game between the both of you often when you made out. no, instead, you fully submitted to him and his touch. you knew that if zoro released his hold on you in any type of way, you were gonna turn to immediate putty in his hands.

the marimo undoubtedly felt all your love in your lips as you occasionally pecked them only to return to swallowing them. the sensuality of it all is what he loved. your kisses were never rushed unless they were intended to be. but when you really loved zoro, you made sure he felt it in the slowness of your kisses. in the way that your fingers ran through the small curls of his green hair, silently comforting him.

you felt his tongue tangle in yours as he mindlessly sought for domination. you can’t help but smile into the kiss. such a compete, he was.

you had no idea the things zoro would do to make you happy.

[uzurimisery]

chapter 2: the players. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

you can't tell me he wouldn't feel so pathetic for wanting you, for needing you. he'd always try and act like he didn't but when he jacked off it was always to thoughts of you.

wc: 6209

warnings: rough sex, male masturbation, hes a perv, not beta read

AO3 version | Series Master

Power and control were paramount to Coriolanus. The feeling of dominance, the ability to command respect, obedience, and even better fear, was a drug to him. It was need that drove him, an insatiable hunger for snow to always land on top.

In his eyes, the world was a game, and he was the key player. Moving and manoeuvring his pieces with calculated actions. The thrill of orchestrating every situation to his benefit pushing him further and further.

That need for control, for dominance, layered over fear and paranoia. He needed to be on top or every carefully crafted interaction he had ever had would be worthless. He’d be worthless. And he was not worthless.

It was so stupid how he lost composure from your naked form. They shaped you like sin, meant for bearing child after child. The swell of your breast suited for a babe attached to it rather than covered in fabrics. He could rut into you like an animal, just like those District filth did, and you could take it. Gnashing teeth, tearing skin, digging into your hips with every thrust. You were so fragile the night of the Gala, so soft, so breakable and by god did he want to break you. Make you pay for this vile feeling he had towards you now.

Maybe he’d even leave you with a child so you’d have a constant reminder of what he could do to you. He needed something to solve the thoughts that have been plaguing him.

For now, he had to keep dealing with this awful lunch with his former classmates and how all they wanted to do was talk about the current ongoing of high society. Idiots. Their conversations rang in his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Coriolanus, you never told us how you and the young Miss Gaul came to be together. I could have sworn you told us once that you hated her.”

What he wouldn’t give to take the glass in his hand and break it over Gaius Breen’s thick head. Maybe he’d finally shut up after that with half the glass lodged into his skull and the rest raining down around him. Blood pooling in his eyes as he stammered in confusion.

A shame he couldn’t. Still forced to contend with idiots.

Coriolanus responded with a disarming smile and soft chuckle, voice painting him as love struck. “You’re right Gaius,” he wanted to gag. “I said that once. Y/N and I, as you all know, constantly batted heads. She’s head-strong, never wanting to back down from a challenge. I don’t know when things changed between us, maybe when we were working on the 15th games, all those late nights in the lab.”

He trailed off.

“I started seeing her in a different light with all that forced proximity. Her mind is amazing, as is her wit. Ever since then, I’ve found myself drawn to her in a way I never thought possible.”

Lying was easy for him, but the shocking fact is that the last thing he said was true.

His words silenced the table for a second. The group was accustomed to his disdain of you, always one to be the first to find fault in your person. You were so far from his regular type.

“She’s rather big for you, isn’t she?” Didi Ring pointed out, malice hardly hidden. Clearly still bitter about being rejected by him in the past.

His smile faltered for a second, a flicked of anger flashing in his eyes. Nothing lingering around that anyone would notice.

“She is unlike anyone I’ve ever been with.” Despite his calm tone, his words were edged with venom. “Much appreciated difference to the delicate waifs I’m used to.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, bringing up an unrelated topic to move the conversation along.

Coriolanus relished her discomfort, enjoying the way he made her squirm. The master puppeteer pulling the strings. Each time the group came back around to talking about him, there’d be more questions about you, and he continued to tell the intricate tale of your relationship with him. Each part building you both us as the most in love couple in the Capitol.

Each word tasted like ash on his tongue. The whole luncheon only furthering the turmoil inside him.

He needed to sort his head quickly.

___________

Part of him wondered if what he said could change what the future looked like for the two of you. If he admitted that despite his dislike of your personality, he found the idea of taking you highly appealing. Consuming you, ruining you, making you high on lust. Would you let him? Or would you slap him in the face, scream and kick at him, call him names?

Both options appealed to him. You willingly lowered yourself to be on your knees in front of him, staring doe eyed while he fucked your mouth. But your fighting back excited him more. Pinning you down as you spat at him. A slap to your face when he tired of watching you struggle. To pull your mouth wide and force himself in. Maybe a mix of the two would be the best outcome.

This was clearly not sorting his head out. It was your fault.

The Capitol was unbearably hot today, almost oppressively so, now being three months from when your “relationship” started. He had nearly sweated through his undershirt at the luncheon. He was looking forward to getting into his private lab and getting his mind off everything. To realign with the cruel nature of himself.

As he stepped into the sterile, super cooled environment, the machines whirred, comforting him. It was his sanctuary. A place he controlled.

But you had to be there. Strolling out of your mother’s office in a high neck sleeveless dress that went down to your mid thigh. There were two slits on each side, showing off the expanse of your upper thighs. The cut was below being near any territory that ruined your modesty but was still provocative. When you turned to speak to an assistant, Snow realised the dress was backless as well. Only an intricate chain drew a line down the centre of your back, following your spine, securing the halter neck to the back of the dress. All a challenge to his self control.

He wanted to reach out, grab you by the neck, and press his front into your backside. Feel the warmth of your skin. He wanted to strip away your stature, and better yet, strip your clothes off. But he held himself back, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He still had to pay the part of a gentle lover.

Coriolanus walked up behind you, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble. He approached your side, movement purposeful, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Darling,” his hand slipped to the bare skin of your back. “I didn’t know you were going to be in today.” He kissed the top of your head, a display of his ownership of you. Even if you weren’t paper thin like his usual type, you still were small compared to his frame.

“Well, hello there! I was only stopping to drop something off for my mother. Tretonius asked me a question about something.”

“Oh, what about?”

Tretonious began explaining the situation to Coriolanus. Your eyes light up the whole time, animatedly talking through solutions and ideas with the assistant. Your voice was airy and carefree. You even shifted and leaned further into his touch.

Coriolanus, however, was barely listening. Lost in the sensation of your skin under his fingertips. Touching you made his mind go blank. All his plans put on pause and thought of you taking centre stage.

Goosebumps rose where his hand left.

God, you were so different from his usual type. You had sustenance, meat to you. Even strength, as much as a Capitol woman could have. But the draw he felt toward you guided him like the stars did to a lost man. He needed to touch you. To know that he influences you.

He had done leaps of faith for love before and never would he do it again. But he didn’t love you. Love was nothing but a weakness meant for fools. A mistake like that would never be made again.

As he watched you, heart pounding, the dangerous tightrope he was walking kept getting smaller. Teetering on the edge of the precipice, tempted to find salvation for his misdoings between your legs. The balance needed to be found, but god knows if he could do it.

“Thank you for your input, Miss Gaul. I’ll run the simulation with those parameters and inform you of the result.”

Ah yes, work. He was at work.

“Of course. I’m glad I could be of help to you.” You smiled widely, showing your perfect little teeth. Your lips coated in a peachy gloss with some glitter in it. The fluorescent lights of the lab making each particle sparkle.

He should sew your mouth shut and never let another person see your smile. He knew Tretonius was gay and had been married for the past five years, but he didn’t care.

“Walk me out Corio?”

“Of course, darling.”

The walk of you leaving the building was a blur in his mind. You had latched onto his arm as you walked, your chest pushed firmly against it. He didn’t know if it was the heat or your usual habit, but you were clearly braless. He could feel the pebbling of your nipples from the inhospitable environment of the lab. Wondering what they looked like, as he hadn’t seen them before. The sensation of them rubbing against his arm as you walked, sending jolts to his groin. You were intoxicating to him.

He hoped that the feeling would go away and his head would clear once you left the building.

But your presence lingered, a ghost in the laboratory, a reminder of the raw, untamed emotions he had so long suppressed. He couldn’t escape you, your presence would continue to haunt him, even in the privacy of his private lab.

His trousers were tight. You lecherous wench had reduced him to this.

He paced the room, his mind a storm of conflicting desires. One part of him craved the release of physical pleasure, the momentary escape from his emotions. Another part of him resisted, his pride too great to admit just the effect you had on him.

The tension was unbearable, the seam of his trousers rubbing against the head of his penis. The physical ache demanded his attention. With a hiss, he undid the clasp and pulled himself free. He was so hard he felt his head pounding. Even pulling his dick out made him groan.

Debased and depraved, he spat into his hand and tugged himself from base to tip. He thumbed at the slit on the tip, making him even more sensitive. A shudder ran down his spine.

He could picture you barging into his lab, like you had done so many times before, only this time, his cock would be out and on full display. You’d be so shocked, so embarrassed. Stuttering on your apologies and moving to close the door. He’d tell you to wait, he can get himself in order. Looking away while he half-heartedly tucked himself back in, unaware that he was already in front of you, pulling you into the room and locking the door behind you.

You’d get mad at him. Question his intentions. He would back you up against his desk, the ornately carved mahogany stopping just below your ass, forcing you to sit on it. You’d be so worked up, mouth running miles a minute as he grabbed your face and forced you to shut up. He wouldn’t be gentle while kissing you. It was about dominance and control.

One hand would squeeze your neck, cutting off just enough blood flow to make you lightheaded, while the other parted your legs and put his hips between yours, pushing your core against his erection.

You looked so cute when you were mad at him. He wondered how mad at him you’d be when he flipped you onto your back and pinned your hands behind you. Slipping off his belt, he’d secure them, leaving you unable to move. Then he’d flip up your little white dress and strike your ass. You never listened to him, but maybe you would respond to corporal punishment. He’d be hard with each strike, aiming to leave the outline of his hand with each hit.

He’d only stop when your cheeks were cherry red and tears ran down your face. He would be so glad they soundproofed all the private labs as you cried and cried about how mean he was being, how you didn’t understand what was going on. But you’d listen to him, do what he said.

After that, he’d slide your panties down, no doubt covered in sticky, heady wetness. You always struck him as the type to enjoy a heavy hand. He’d slip a finger inside you, testing the waters, before forcing a second one in. Scissoring your pussy, loosening it up for him, he’d tell you just how much he hated that you made him feel this way, pulling out to pinch at your clit. He’d bet the Plinth family fortune you’d squeal, and he’d watch your hole flutter around nothing.

Fuck, he had to know how you tasted.

He’d get down on his knees and push his tongue into you, familiarising himself with your taste, your scent. Then he’d slide down and circle his tongue on your clit. Sucking and pulling on it all while he slipped more fingers into your pussy.

He groaned, feeling himself come close.

He’d make you cum, at least three times analysing the best way to make it happen, before he finally stuffed you with his cock. His male friends had always said they enjoyed when their girls said it hurt, but he didn’t want it to hurt you. He wanted it to feel so good, drive you to the edge of insanity, and ruin you for anyone else. He’d make sure to take you to the edge and over it so many times.

By the time he’d finally cum inside you, you’d be a babbling mess. You’d even thank him for cumming inside you once he told you to. Then he’d pull out, tap his dick on your overly sensitive clit. You’d jump. All your muscles contracting as you tried to catch your breath and steady your mind.

Before anything could leak out of you, he’d take your panties and stuff them in you, making a neat little plug to keep his seed inside you. You’d still be so out of it, you’d moan when he did it too. He’d grab your jaw and spit into your mouth and you would smile while he did it.

His fantasies betrayed what he truly thought about you as he jerked himself off to completion in his lab after just a few minutes of harmlessly touching you. He came hot and heavy on his stomach, glad that at one point he had pulled his shirt up and was holding it by his teeth.

He had a mess to clean up, and this was not helping clear his head.

_________

You and Coriolanus had been asked to figure out a new pod for the upcoming games. Normally the process was a rough one, the two of you always clashing. But since the two of you had spent so much time together in the past six months playing your parts as lovers, and also working, you were more amicable with him.

Sometimes you even sought him out, valuing his mind and approach to design and solving problems. He was good at making the games. You really understood why your mother favoured him as her successor. You would be a great second hand for him one day in the future.

He had even become nicer to you recently. You could laugh and joke around with him if the mood was right. You found genuine camaraderie with him.

The transformation in your dynamic was a welcome change. You both spent so much time together. It was nice to have a solid relationship with him. The lines of where the act started and you began to feel harder to define. Perhaps the act just laid the foundation for a genuine friendship with him.

It was also complicated.

Coriolanus has always been attractive to you. His high cheekbones, pretty blue eyes, and soft blonde hair. He had only gotten more attractive as you both aged. Now at 26 he had filled out, some of his sharp-angles becoming defined muscle. He was tall too, with long slender legs. He was undeniably appealing.

The physical attraction, coupled with the new emotional bond, made a sticky mess of your feelings. It didn’t help that nearly everyday he would kiss and dote on you. The parts of yourself you never liked to admit relished the feeling of his hands on you, the brush of his lips against your own.

On the one hand, something real with him wouldn’t be the worst thing. You had similar views and came from similar backgrounds. HIs intelligence would keep you from ever getting bored in your relationship. It was clear that over time he’d even grown to value and respect your insight, as you did his.

On the other hand, the bubbling attraction you felt towards him complicated everything. You couldn’t help but fantasise about him in your private moments. You had caught him shirtless one day, trousers hung loose and unbuttoned as he got dressed. It was that day you had learned under his button ups and blazers his frame was well built. And that he had a very sizable member. Not super surprising since he was 6’4”.

Sometimes you caught him staring at you, eyes trailing up and down your form. He always thought he was so sly with it. Likely, the surrounding people didn’t notice, but you always did.

The initial stares were subtle, quick flicks to your chest and ass. Always when you wore anything form fitting or that showed more skin. You expected it to be honest. Men always are looking at your assets rather than your person. But things changed.

Now you could catch him staring at you from across the room, be it public or private. His eyes were always tracing the contours of your face, watching your every expression. You first had caught it at an event where someone told you a joke that made you throw your head back in laughter. It was like he was trying to memorise every detail or you and what each emotion looked like.

His body language also changed. It was more intimate. The distance between you is closer when you speak. His shoulders relaxed. He’d brush his fingers against you when motioning to things, not afraid to touch you anymore, even casually.

His smile, usually plastered on like a mask, became genuine when you were alone, laughter more frequent and uncontrolled when together. His voice would drop, raspy and slow, that went straight to your core when he spoke into your ear.

You couldn’t tell if it was part of the act or things had changed within him. He didn’t hate you now; you knew that much.

“What do you think about making a hallucinogenic that coats the Rovers’ teeth?” He tapped a pencil against his notebook. “If we got specific, we could make them picture their loved ones when they saw other tributes.”

An interesting idea, but synthesising something so specific would be impossible to happen before the next games. “It’s a good idea, but I think we need to be more general with it.”

“So just make them hallucinate?”

“Yeah.”

He made the face he made when he was creating different outcomes in his head. Eyes scanning the room as if there was a display in front of him. He could always create a list of variables that could come up.

Humming, he spoke. “I like it.” and then he went back to writing.

His hands were delicate. Long and slender fingers. You wondered if he played the piano. Surely he did. It was refined and gentlemanly, just like he likes to project. Though as more time led you to better understand him, he very much wasn’t. He watched you with hunger anytime you were out.

You often caught yourself questioning if that hunger was real. It certainly looked real. It felt real.

There was a time when one of your heels had broken during a night out and he had carried you from place to place until it was time to leave. During that night, his hands suspiciously were always on your ass. Once you even felt him squeeze the meat, saying that he was “adjusting his grip.”

He felt like fire. You knew the danger of playing with it, but you didn’t fear getting burned. So you kept him at an arm’s length. Always wondering if there was something more or if he had just fully committed to his role. Perhaps you’d never know.

But in the night, when you lay in bed, whispering your secrets to the stars, they’d be ones of him. How you wanted him, or at least to try him. To know him truly. And when you lay there desperate and needy, it was him you thought of between your legs.

“Coriolanus?” there was a question you had to ask him now. “Are we friends?”

It hung in the air. You felt like it was a mistake now to ask him that. He paused his writing, eyes locking with yours. They raged like a tempest, an unreadable depth you were afraid to swim in.

“Friends?” The word tasted strange on his lips. 

He had only ever had one friend, Sejanus. If they were really friends was something he didn’t know. He had simply not belittled Sejanus growing up and then, by the time they were mentoring for the 10th games, continued contact would imply that they were close friends. That’s why Dr. Gaul had made him go into the arena after him.

But he had killed Sejanus. It didn’t make him sad either. His “grief” was about being caught, that ‘d be the next to die. But since the guns were gone and everyone else involved was dead, he truly didn’t care about what had happened to Sejanus.

“Yeah friends. I think it’d be nice if we were friends. All things considered.”

You watched the surprise wash across his features briefly. He seemed caught off guard by your question. Like he had never considered the idea.

Coriolanus Snow did not have friends, only enemies. 

“I think so too.”

In that moment, a fragile connection became more solid, better defined the boundaries of your actions. It was uncharted territory. A venture into the unknown with a man who you hated months prior.

___________

A week had passed since you had last seen Coriolanus and somehow in that time he had gotten sour with you. Scowling at you the moment you were in private. You had no idea what caused the change. The two of you had officially been friends for four months now.

And despite his glaring, here you both were at some random high society member’s house for a “private dinner” of 80 people, and Coriolanus’ hand had not stopped rubbing up and down your thigh since you sat down to eat. He got dangerously close to your core, fingers brushing the crease of your thigh. You could almost think it was his own desire and not for show. And of course your dress just had to have a slit up to your hip on that side too, giving him plenty of access to your bare skin.

Despite the odd behaviour from him, you remained outwardly composed and playing your part. The dinner was in full swing; the drinks flowing. Both of you had had your share of them too, perhaps Coriolanus had too much.

By now, everyone around you was too intoxicated to notice if you told him off.

“Coriolanus Snow, remove your hand this instant.”

He paused, hand settling on the apex of your thigh. Then with a smirk he brought his mouth near your ear, he breathed on your neck making you shiver. “Or what?” His voice was laced with mockery.

“I will make a scene,” you hissed, eyes narrowed. “And I will tell everyone here how their golden boy can’t get it up.”

He laughed loudly, drawing a few eyes towards you both.

“Thinking about something you shouldn’t be? You know you wouldn’t have to worry about that.” he rose from his seat kissing you roughly as he left. He had drank too much, and felt too loose.

Sobriety was his norm. He hated the sensation of being intoxicated. But this was an event he had to drink at. That made it even harder to keep his thoughts straight around you. Every drink was so bitter and burned the back of his throat. Somehow, he wandered out to a balcony and found company in some semi-notable members of society. The cool night air helped him sober up some.

The entire purpose of him being here was to maintain the illusion of normalcy. For you both to blend in with the polished appearances and mannerisms of the crowd. To push the narrative that the Plinth and the Gaul families supported him wholly. He kept the idle conversation he had made with the group outside until they scampered inside, cold from the chill of the night..

Staring out over the city that one day he would rule, he felt only partially satisfied. Like accomplishing what he has sought to do since he was a child was lacking. Having the country would fulfil one of his goals, but he had more than he wanted. He was so close to that goal too. But even with the thrill of knowing it would all soon be his, a gnawing emptiness chewed through his stomach. The twinkling lights below are no longer enough.

He thought of you. Not even in a debauched way this time. He thought about your laugh, how you snorted when something amused you slightly. You always just wormed your way into his every waking moment. It had been nearly six months since you had started pretending to be lovers.

At first, he hated you. He thought you arrogant and entitled. Then he desired you. Your body is constantly dancing on the edges of his mind. Now he likes you, or thinks he does. You don’t annoy him anymore and you were even friends. He even sought out your company while in the labs. Or the idea of you he liked. Your rough edges cutting against him, making him bleed, but he’d bandage himself and touch you again.

This was the fine line drawn finally so blurred. Smudged beyond belief. The intangible made tangible. Ambition and desire. Power and control.

“You alright? You’ve been out here for nearly an hour.” There you were. Always so devoted to your role, to him. You’d come out here during the winter in your thin dress to find him.

God, that dress.

Red silk fabric draped and pooling around your body. The slit on your thigh and the deep plunge down to just above your navel. It was so unfair to him. How could he not want you when you looked so delectable?

He had had too much to drink. His ribs hurt from how hard his heart was drumming in his chest. Anguish stirred within him, regret and despair burning him.

He wanted to scream and cry. Throw his pocket watch off the edge of the building, shatter the illusion of his life. It was so unfair. He tried so hard, did so much. Then you just had to ruin it all. He had given up these feelings, the craving for intimacy. Lucy Gray had killed that part of him. Torn his heart out and showed him how weak he really was, and now it was happening again. Convinced him that he was immune to love’s allure, no longer beholden to such a useless emotion.

Your presence had infiltrated his every waking moment. He breathed and thought of you. The thoughts only stopped when he slept. Your effortless charm, captivating looks, it was just so unfair.

Was it love that he felt for you or just an overinflation of his own desires, an idealised version of you or the flawed person in front of him?

 But you just had to be you.

“Corio, are you okay? What’s wrong?” your hand cradled his cheek as you leaned over, scanning his face, trying to figure out what was wrong. Your touch was so gentle to such a broken man, sending jolts of electricity across his skin.

How could he tell you that there was something so irreparably broken within him? Something that wanted to lock you away and keep you just for himself. To study you and break you down. To wake up next to you in the morning. To know your darkest secrets. To consume your very person. He went from hating you to needing you in his life so desperately.

That he needed you carnally. He could never become the president, but die happy if he had the chance to lie with you.

Your words hung in the air, an invitation to open up and let him in. But he was so lost. He couldn’t tell up from down or left from right. And he was so, so scared. Scared of his feelings, scared of being honest, scared of losing control. But most of all, scared you’d run just like she had.

But he knew no matter how dark his thoughts were, no matter how strong the desire to break you became, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, barely audible with the wind blowing, but you heard him.

Your eyebrows drew tight in concern. God, you cared for him. Or was it an act? You were so good at playing your part. He just wanted to know if you were honest with him or not. If you could just break his spirit again, he could go back to normal, get over this hump.

“You’re going to freeze out here. We should go inside.”

“I don’t want to.” His throat bobbed. “I just…” finding the right words to say was so hard when the curtain fell and the actor became just a man again.

You sat down next to him, wrapping your shawl around the both of you. “You just what?” you spoke your tone so soft and intimate it made his head spin. “Talk to me. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“I just…” fuck, why can’t he just be honest with himself for once? Stupid Coriolanus, weak and incompetent.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t know how to say it.” tender comfort spoken like a true lover. “Sometimes it’s enough to just be here together.”

He tilted his head back, tears threatening to spill. He shut them, letting out a sigh. He has never been a coward before. He had always been a man of plan and action. He didn’t have a plan now, but he could take action.

He turned, facing you, taking all of you in. The wind blew through loose hairs, making them flutter around your face. One got caught in your lipstick, the semi glossy sheen trapping it. He pulled it free, making sure not to mess up the colour, and tucked it behind your ear. He couldn’t take his hand away from the side of your face.

“Your hands are freezing.” You giggled as if he had told you a stupid joke that made him laugh in response.

“I think I’ve gone insane,” he confessed, more to himself than you. “I can’t play this part anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

You interrupted him, protesting against whatever he was going to say. “Corio, we have to-” but he cut you off.

“I can’t,” his voice broke with desperation. “I can’t keep pretending that I love you and that when we’re alone, the lines are so blurred it’s not even a line anymore.”

Unspoken emotions hung in the air. He searched your eyes, searching for anything that might give away what you were feeling, but just like usual, he couldn’t read you. He only saw himself desperate and bewitched by you.

The weight of what could come next pressed down on him, tightening his chest. He couldn’t bear the act anymore. The constant struggle to only want you in show. But there was something on the undercurrent with you. Maybe he was projecting his own feelings on you, but he was so certain of it he could almost taste it. It was a risk, a jump into the unknown. He was asking for rejection. For humiliation, just like he had faced before.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

He leaned in, breath mixing with yours, and kissed you. He actually kissed you. Softly and gently, like the whisper of change. He was ready to pull away, for you to tell him there wasn’t a crowd and you didn’t need to act, to say you were friends and nothing more. But as he was pulling away, your hands wrapped themselves into his hair pulling him back in.

It was an invitation, an answer, a reciprocation. A surrender to the moment, a mutual yearning.

He kissed you like he was starving and you were the last meal he would ever have. He kissed you like you were the cure for everything wrong with him. He kissed you like if he stopped, the world itself would never turn again, the sun would never rise, the tides would never change, that life itself would end. He would cut out his heart if you asked him to. He’d find a way to stay alive and watch you consume it.

His hands were groping at your side, kneading the skin. He was so gentle, so different from how he normally treated you. If he died tonight, pushed off the building by you, he would smile as he fell. Everything he felt, he always felt it so intensely and you burned through him like a wildfire.

There was so much passion. It buzzed in the air, drowning out the sounds of the dinner party. He would give you anything, done anything, to stay like this with you. But it wouldn’t last forever. So he kissed you with all care and longing he had in his heart, pouring his honest truth into it. He wanted to imprint himself on you, leave a mark that would never fade. He would stain you in his colours that would never fade.

In this moment, there was no pretence, no act, no script. It was just him and you.

He had crossed the line, finally shattering the illusion that you had both worked so hard to maintain and craft. He was terrified of the consequences, that if at the end of this you too would run from him. Scared of what he really was.

But he would never be the same. This had changed him forever. The never ending itch was scratched, but he needed more. His hunger for you only increased.

As Coriolanus pulled away, his eyes met yours. The guard you had was down and he could read something in them. Confusion clear, but the undercurrent of hope shining through. Your lips swollen and breaths quick gasps. 

You were so painfully beautiful.

You wanted the same thing as him, for the act to be over. The taste of something real changing you both. There was so much that needed to be said, but neither of you moved to.

Instead, you kissed again, and again, and again, each more passionate than the last. Your tongue was soft and wet against his. The chilly night air forgotten as you crawled into his lap. Coriolanus couldn’t stop his hands from running over every bit of you he could reach. When one reached your ass and he squeezed, you moaned into his mouth.

He had thought long and hard about what your moans would sound like, but the reality was so much better than he could ever imagine.

His kisses trailed down your neck, making you gasp and shiver. God, he loved your reactions. You brought out his basest animal instinct. He bit and sucked at your neck, leaving a hickey at the junction before going back to your lips.

You pressed your chest tight against his, hips grinding down against his own. He wanted to leave this party now, to take you by the arm and bring you back to his penthouse. There was no coming back from this, not stopping it. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

The death of an actor.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (30)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, angst, violence, wounds descriptions, war victims ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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The sound of the words Alys spoke rang in her ears like a bell, making her heart pound. She didn't understand what she meant, but after she quoted Helaena's prophecy, she couldn't help but recognise that she must have known something.

It means that your husband is not going to die.

Why should he die?

Would war break out in earnest?

She felt like asking her a hundreds of questions, not even paying attention to the fact that she was touching her cheek in a way that was not befitting even her maid, let alone a stranger.

Before she had time to say anything, however, she heard her husband's impatient, commanding voice telling her to approach him.

She stood up at once, ashamed of what she had done and of seeing her in such a state, all dirty from blood, dust and smoke. She ran up to him quickly, her heart began to pound like mad when she noticed that he was wearing an armour.

Something had happened.

"What is the meaning of this? Shall I order her hand cut off for this boldness, and lock you in my chamber?" He asked impatient and angry; she pressed her lips together, looking at him pleadingly, not even knowing how to explain the sight he found.

"No, my husband." She whispered softly, meekly. She saw that something in his gaze had changed, his stare had gone from aggressive to dark.

She knew that he was dishevelled.

She drew in a loud breath as he grabbed her neck suddenly, his gesture of domination towards her, of forcing her to submit to him. He softened the brutality of the gesture by pressing his nose to her soft cheek, completely surprising her with his desire for closeness, shown so shamelessly in front of everyone.

She felt something hanging in the air.

"Did something happen? When are you coming back?" She asked uncertainly, terrified of his condition.

She felt his accelerated breathing, his face pressed against hers as if he wanted to melt into her, to take refuge deep within her.

"There is an army coming towards us from the South, moved by the ships of Colrys Velaryon. We must face it. I have sent messengers to my brother and your father. Until then, I will protect us from the sky." He whispered, she heard his voice tremble.

There is an army coming towards us from the South, moved by the ships of Colrys Velaryon.

Up to this point, despite knowing that they were at war with his half-sister, neither side had made any tactically important military moves. Now, however, the pawns were beginning to move − they were in danger, and her husband was about to head his army.

She looked around out and found with a squeezed heart that they had no chance in an open clash − her father and brother were constantly conversing with her about war techniques, about creating an advantage on the battlefield.

They were surrounded by forests from all sides, enemy soldiers could easily hide in them and create ambushes − she thought that if her father did not arrive in time, there would be nothing left of them.

"Take me with you." She whispered in a trembling voice feeling tears in her eyes.

She did not want him to have to face this horrific sight alone, to bear the burden of the murder and death that he would have to carry on his own people alone.

She heard him draw in air, his hand tightened around her neck, his moist lips pressed tenderly to her cheek.

"I can't." He said heartbroken and let her go, turning away.

She wanted to run after him, to beg him, but she knew she couldn't.

She watched, feeling her warm tears run down her cheeks as he disappeared among the trees with a troop of guards, heading for the hill where Vhagar lair was located. She saw shortly afterwards how this large creature take to the skies and disappear on the horizon.

It means that your husband is not going to die.

He's not going to die, she thought with hope.

He's not going to die.

She heard the rustling of cloth behind her. She turned, spotting Alys Rivers behind her.

"Have faith, my Lady. He will come back." She said lowly, with such tremendous calm that for some reason she believed her.

She wanted to believe her.

He's not going to die.

To occupy her thoughts with something else, they went back to treating the wounded. Once in a while she looked high into the sky, praying to the Seven to protect him with their grace − she watched as a detachment of their troops gathered in front of the fortress, to prepare to attack the rebels hidden in the forest.

She shuddered when she heard a loud roar; she thought with joy that it was him, that he had succeeded, that he had returned.

That he had only flown to assess the situation and she would see him again soon.

She furrowed her brow when she spotted the dragon, but it did not look like Vhagar.

It was not Vhagar.

"Alys!" She screamed to her, though she didn't know why or for what reason. She felt her heart pounding, her mind wracked with terror.

Some other dragon was heading towards them.

They were about to all burn.

"My Lady, run! Hurry, into the forest!" She shouted, standing up suddenly, wanting to run to her from the other part of the courtyard, but it was too late. As the great red dragon in the sky opened its maw, she only managed to cover her head with her hands and curl up into a ball.

She screamed out loud as she felt the fire burning her, the pain was so indescribable that she lost the ability to think and speak − she felt her skin and clothes burn and she cried out loudly, hundreds of similar sounds all around her screaming in agony.

As the dragon flew over she felt someone put a cloak over her, the flames consuming her body extinguished by the lack of air.

She felt someone violently grab her arm which was burning so painfully, and she screamed in pain, unable to rise from her knees.

"My Lady, we have to get out of here, please!" Exclaimed Alys, apparently standing far enough away from the first flame, because apart from the scratches and dust on her face nothing happened to her. She threw her injured arm across her neck and they both headed as far away from the fortress as possible, panting heavily.

They heard the dragon breathe fire once more, this time from the other side of the stronghold, the flames and red lit up the dark night. They fell by the edge of the forest, panting heavily, watching as everything around them burned.

They had nowhere to run to.

They could only pray that whoever was doing this would only focus on the troops at the keep.

She shuddered as she saw a great dragon fly over them like a mighty gale, lashing towards the one that had attacked them, but the other one was smaller, faster and more agile, Vhagar could not keep up.

She squealed loudly as Alys leaned over her shoulder, touching her wound. She noticed, looking down at herself that the wound stretched across her arm, parts of her chest, lower abdomen and the leg with which she was turned towards the flames, her epidermis burned to living flesh.

"Your garments have melted into your skin. I need to clean the wound, my Lady." She said quickly, her voice trembling.

Clearly, despite her skill, she had not anticipated all this.

She screamed loudly, almost howling in pain as Alys poured some kind of disinfectant substance over her wounds that felt like it was about to separate her muscles from her bones.

Alys took the bottle out of her pocket, unscrewed the cork and handed it to her, panting heavily.

"Drink, it's poppy milk. It will hurt." She said quickly.

It could have been poison, it could have been anything, but she drank the entire contents, deciding that anything was better than the excruciating pain she now felt. She thought with despair, watching her husband struggling in the skies, that she wasn't sure either of them would survive it.

And then everything began to slowly blur, the sounds and screams around her became less and less clear until darkness followed.

She was awakened by someone's tender touch; she could hear a multitude of men's voices, the sounds of steel and a fire burning, and conversations somewhere in the distance.

She felt the fresh air and thought that she was lying in the tent on the hunt that they had arrived for together with Royce and their father.

Royce sometimes stroked her head like this when she was little and was afraid to fall asleep alone.

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily, seeing that she was indeed in the tent, the sun was setting outside and her brother was sitting on the bedding beside her.

She wanted to touch him with her hand, but hissed quietly when she tried to lift it and saw that it was in bandages all over. She furrowed her brow, having no complete memory of what had happened. Her brother kissed her forehead tenderly, sighing with immense relief.

"Praise be to Seven, you're awake!" He exclaimed, stroking her cheek with his wide hand. She looked around, still unsure of where she was.

"Where are we, brother?" She asked, looking up at him − only now did she realise that he was not sitting next to her in his normal attire, but in full armour. "What happened?"

"Prince Daemon burned Harrenhal and a large part of your husband's troops. Our father and I arrived with our army as soon as we knew that you were here." He growled, squeezing her fingers in his.

Her hand admittedly looked normal, but the whole left side of her body from her arm, through her shoulder to her knee was burning mercilessly and itching.

She began to breathe faster, looking at him in disbelief.

It was Prince Daemon.

He was the one who had flown in to burn them.

He had flown in to claim what was rightfully his wife's.

"What about my husband?" She asked quickly, and her brother nodded reassuringly.

"He survived. He is at a council with our father. We are waiting for their orders." He said calmly. She widened her eyes, feeling her heart pounding.

A real war had been unleashed.

"Nevertheless, I should kill him for bringing you here and putting you through all this. Now he pretends to be a caring husband, sitting by you at night, treating your wounds. He lost the battle and endangered you, so he is in disfavour with our father." He snorted, rolling his eyes impatiently. She looked at him, parting her lips in shock.

He sits by your side at night and treats your wounds.

He could see how awful it was.

He could see what her body looked like now.

He would never desire her again, but guilt and devotion would make him stand by her.

Her brother's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I'll order to serve you something to eat, you must be hungry. Lie down and rest." He said briskly as he kissed her forehead, then stood up with a clang of steel and walked outside.

She breathed quietly, analysing everything that had happened.

Her father had joined the war because of her.

Although on the one hand she was glad that her husband would not be left to fend for himself, on the other she felt remorse that she had embroiled her family in the battle for the throne between the Targaryens.

That they might die on the battlefield for a drunkard and rapist king.

She sobbed quietly, feeling the overwhelming hopelessness caused by her condition and what was happening.

She shuddered as someone suddenly stepped into the tent − her husband stood before her in full armour, his face pale, his eye wide open.

He had bruises under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for several nights, his lips parted in shock.

He approached her quickly and knelt beside her bed, touching her cheek.

"How are you feeling?" He asked weakly, as if the sight of her, conscious and alive, made his throat tighten. She felt the same and swallowed with difficulty, looking up at him, his thumb rubbing the wet marks from her face.

"Good." She choked out, looking at him in horror.

He had seen her.

He saw what she would look like now.

She felt the tears rise up under her eyelids anew.

She knew it was trivial, that she should be glad that she had survived, that she was showing weakness, but she couldn't help feeling a stabbing pain in her heart at the thought of what she would look like from now on.

It seemed to her that he read her thoughts perfectly, as he pressed his lips together, looking at her in pain. She swallowed quietly as he suddenly lay on his side next to her, just looking at her, his hand rose to gently stroke her cheek a moment later − his lower lip trembled as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

"− forgive me −" He whispered, a single tear running down from the corner of his eye directly onto the sand beneath his head. Seeing this she pressed her forehead against his, her fingers touching his face, making him sigh quietly.

They stared at each other for a moment, touching each other as lightly as if they were about to fall apart, the tip of his nose brushing hers once in a while.

She felt warmth, felt desire, felt pleading of her body for him to touch her, to tell her that he still craved her.

"− the gods have heard my prayers and kept you alive −" He whispered softly, combing his fingers through her soft hair. She felt warmth inside her heart at his words, at the thought that he had prayed for her, that he wanted her to stay with him.

He made a move towards her − his soft, moist lips barely brushed hers, already grasping her cheek in his hands, when her brother entered the tent.

Her husband immediately stepped back and grunted, rising, his expression again indifferent and tired. Royce measured him from top to bottom, coming towards her.

"I'll take care of it." He said, extending his hand to her brother, apparently wanting to help her with the meal. Her brother laughed at his words.

"Are you caring now? Where were you when she was on fire? Why do you and your drunken brother who hides in the Red Keep like a fucking cunt, always get away with everything, while my sister is disfigured for the rest of her life?" He hissed, losing his temper. Her husband looked at him menacingly, himself enraged by his words.

"Stop it." She said pleadingly, rising to sit down and hissed, feeling how much the burns on her stomach hurt.

"My wife is not disfigured, Lord Royce. Nothing can disfigure her, and the wounds she has sustained will eventually heal." He said with emphasis, and she felt her heart beat harder at his words.

She knew what he meant.

He didn't think it disfigured her as a woman, just as he didn't want her to think that the absence of his eye disfigured him as a man.

Royce snorted at his words, impatient and angry.

"All her life she will bear the scars of your stupidity. You lost an eye for your own, and that's not bothering me, but my sister doesn't have to suffer through your decisions." He said furiously, her husband's chest rising and falling in monstrous anger.

"Please!" She mumbled impatiently, for the third time since she woke up feeling like crying. "Enough already! Do you have anything else to say about my suffering, my scars and my body? I can see that you know best how I feel. Get out, I want to eat my soup alone." She said, reaching out her hand for a bowl. They both opened their mouths to say something.

"Get out!" She urged them, impatient and frustrated, wiping her nose and sobbing quietly, her outstretched hand trembling in the air.

Royce sighed heavily and set the bowl down beside her. He threw a warning look full of disapproval at her husband and left the tent.

Her husband looked at her, pressing his lips together, seeing how hard it was for her to move her left hand and pick it up. She almost spilled the contents of the bowl as she lifted it into the air, but managed to place it on her thighs.

"I won't leave." He said decisively, his gaze tired and discouraged. She felt a squeeze in her heart and hesitated for a moment.

"Where's Alys?" She asked, fiddling with the wooden spoon, pouring over the contents of the dish. His lips tightened at her words.

"She's treating the wounded. Shall I summon her?" He asked indifferently, and she shook her head. Her husband sighed quietly, coming up to her again, kneeling beside her.

"May I stay?" He asked softly, as if unable to get the words out. She lowered her gaze and nodded.

He sighed in relief as if some great burden had slept off his shoulders. While she ate, he summoned a servant to the tent to help him pull off his armour.

"How is the situation at the front?" She asked finally, glancing at him uncertainly. He pressed his lips together.

"We have combined part of Targaryen and Baratheon armies. For now, we wait to see what Daemon will do. We know his troops are stationed in the Eyrie, but since that battle he has not changed his position or moved to make another attack." He said and dismissed the boy as he was finally left in his linen shirt and plain black breeches.

He walked over to her, sitting down on the bedding, looking at her uncertainly. He lowered his gaze, looking down at his fingers.

"Can I sleep next to you?" He asked lowly, and she looked up at him, surprised. She didn't understand how he could ask such an obvious thing, but then it occurred to her that he thought she resented him now.

That she thought it was his fault that her body would bear the scars for the rest of her life.

That she thought that he had failed to protect her.

"Of course. Next to whom else could you sleep? Next to Alys?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, setting the bowl aside. She heard him sigh heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Have mercy on me. At least you." He muttered, and she stroked his arm. He looked at her surprised when he felt her hand's touch and swallowed loudly, immediately placing his palm on hers, brushing her skin steadily.

"Lie down, husband. Rest." She said softly and he hummed quietly, nodding, pulling his high black boots off his feet.

They both slipped under the bedclothes. He laid on his side next to her, so as not to inadvertently touch her wounds and cause her pain. He looked at her face and uncertainly put his hand on her shoulder.

He stared at her like that for a moment and then moved closer to her, cupping her cheeks in his hand. She sighed as his lips pressed against hers in a wet, warm kiss, pulling away with a sticky click. He did it again and again, deepening the kiss, running his nose over her soft face, the tip of his tongue teasing her, sliding lightly into her mouth.

She moaned softly, desperate and thirsty for his touch − they both began to pant, her hands clenched on his chemise as she felt his hand on her healthy thigh, his fingers tentatively sliding down towards her swollen womanhood.

"− does it hurt? −" He asked in a low, trembling voice, brushing her lips with his, panting along with her.

"− no −" She whispered, reciprocating his every kiss, drawing him close. He murmured lowly at her words, his hand sliding down more boldly, putting aside the material of her nightgown, sinking his fingers into her warm, plushy folds.

They both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised by the pleasure of the sensation. Unable to restrain himself, his hand began to tease her puffy bud with circular, slow strokes, once in a while running over her swollen slit. She arched her back, despite the discomfort and burning parts of her body, she wanted and needed this.

To feel that he still wanted her.

"− do you want this? −" He exhaled between sticky, perverted kisses where their tongues licked each other in a fleshy, wet dance. She trembled all over at his words, involuntarily thrusting her hips out towards his hand.

"− yes − please −" She mumbled, and he needed nothing more.

He closed her mouth with his own, his hand beginning to rub her intensely, his fingertips beginning to tease her entrance, sliding in and out a little, running over her sweet spot on her upper fleshy wall, driving her mad.

"− gods, you're so warm −" He gasped, and she moaned into his mouth, her body starting to move towards his finger with rocking of her hips.

"− please − deeper − ah! −" She moaned into his mouth when she felt him slide his whole finger into her, and then another, thrusting them into her a quick, sure, repetitive pace.

She entwined her hand in his hair, holding his face close, her body trembling all over under his touch, close to the fulfilment she needed so much, her nipples hardening all over from arousal, her hot, moist core was clenching around nothing.

"− shhh − I got you − yes, just like that −" He murmured delighted as he heard her loud, drawn-out moan, her body tensing under the wave of wonderful orgasm that surged through her body, sucking his fingers inside her.

She breathed heavily, looking up at him with dreamy eyes − he burshed her lips with his once in a while, laying down beside her again, pressing her head against his chest.

She tried to calm herself, breathing in his scent, thanking the gods that they were both alive, trying not to focus on how much everything was hurting her.

She purred quietly when she felt him kiss her hair.

She felt his manhood pulsing steadily under his breeches, pressing against her body. She wanted to touch him there with her hand, but he stopped her, lifting her palm and kissing her fingers. She swallowed quietly, lowering her gaze.

"− don't you want my touch? −" She asked with a sadness that she could no longer hide, with a fear that he didn't want to do it with her anymore.

She heard him sigh softly, his hand tightening in her hair, pressing her closer to him.

"I crave your touch as much as never before, sweet wife, but I would cause you pain now. Do not fret. When your skin heals, you will beg me to stop."

______

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[tardis-stowaway]

I spent the weekend at DragonCon, a convention I've been attending off and on for decades. Some notable experiences and thoughts this year include:

Jodie Whittaker was there, and her panel was an absolute delight. I lined up almost an hour in advance and ended up with a pretty good seat. She talks with her hands constantly. The other celeb panels I saw (Catherine Tate and a LOTR panel with Elijah Wood, Billy Boyd, and Dominic Monaghan) were also really fun.

One of the more notable moments of the con happened as I was failing to get into a panel. A huge line formed waiting for the Science vs. Movies panel Sunday night, and it got routed down a corridor of the Hilton that I'd never seen before. It wasn't signed as a staff-only area, but it was an intensely liminal and weird space. After passing through multiple turns, I ended up finding the end of the line in an area where half the overhead lights were out! The carpet had weird swirls and a bit of color theory. Many of the locked doors along the corridor were labeled as meeting rooms (why wasn't the con using them in its constant need for more space?), but others had signs like "Fire Control." Even through my mask it smelled faintly of mildew. The Distortion vibes were strong. I am delighted to report that someone on reddit posted a photo of what I believe is the exact area where I joined the line. Luckily the people in line near me were all good-humored and fun. When the line finally moved we did not make it into the panel, but the corridor did allow us to exit with our lives and what remained of our sanity.

I spotted a Magnus Archives/Protocol photoshoot on the schedule Friday, so I went to that to see cosplay and say hi to people in the fandom. It was held at night outside on a very noisy party patio, which impaired photography and conversation. Still, I had fun! There were some very cool costumes. A Jane Prentiss cosplayer gave me (gummy) worms.

I cosplayed one day this year. I was Carpenter from The Silt Verses, during S2 when she's carrying the homesick corpse. I'd originally conceived of trying to make a backpack into a whole cloth-wrapped corpse with limbs, but I wasn't able to get that construction to work in the time I had. Instead I just had a wrapped head sticking out of a backpack with attached speech balloon saying "Please...I have to get home." Presumably the rest of the shriveled corpse is shoved in the bag. I knew that the odds of being recognized were very low since the costume is for a podcast, and not even a podcast where fanart is super widespread or settled in distinguishing characteristics. Still, I figured that horror podcast fan overlap meant that I might find other Silt Verses fans at the Magnus event. Sure enough, I had one (1) person recognize me there. Silt Verses fan with the long colorful hair, you made my con!

The Our Flag Means Death fan panel was a good time. The love was strong in that room.

Masking, while more common at the con than in your average store or public building these days, was still way too low considering how many people were crowded in after traveling from all over. I kept my mask on indoors except when eating or drinking, and ate almost all of my meals outside. We'll see if that was enough to keep me healthy.

The Brit Track needs to do a better job at getting some new voices with more varied opinions on their Doctor Who discussion panels.

I saw lots of Fourteenth Doctors, which I expected, but I was sad not to have seen any Fifteenth Doctors cosplayers.

In general I feel like I saw slightly less really impressive cosplay than in some past DragonCons, but that may have been just my habit of avoiding some of the really crowded lobby zones when possible. Still plenty of awesome cosplay work around.

As usual it was far too crowded inside and too hot outside. I'm now tired and super achey (in a too much time on my feet way, not in a con crud/covid way for now). Nevertheless, I had an excellent time.

[acourtofthought]

Hello!

I need to vent how horrible the acotar fandom is.

This ship war has become hell. I can't stand to see how much they chase the girls (Elain and Gwyn) and exempt Azriel's contradictory actions.

Male chauvinist is very dominant as always, especially among such young girls.

Another one who suffers a lot from this is Lucien. The disrespect in theories is absurd, I doubt that Elain would like to be talked about the way they say about Lucien. Remembering that she defended Lucien from the love of her life Greyson in Acowar.

Absurd theories that Lucien is someone like Tamlin's father, Rhys' father or like Beron himself.

They say that acotar5 will be forbidden romance. Where they'll do it all behind Lucien's back like he deserves to be tricked or manipulated.

They place him as an aggressor and harasser, and he is a sexually and psychologically abused character.

They say the bond of mates is fake like Rowan, but they forget that the bond never existed. Rowan didn't feel that thread, and yet he loved Lirya and their child.

Aelin has great respect for Rowan's history, just as he does for her past and romances, unlike Azriel who sees Lucien as a nuisance and shows gratuitous disrespect.

Elriel stan are sometimes racist and make fun of the violence he suffered and even make fun of his disability.

I as Lucien Stan get sick of these things. How do you handle this fandom? Do you have any tips on how not to fall into the desperate Elriel's traps?

How do you think Elain would react to hearing the dismissive way Azriel says of Lucien? How do you think she would handle it if she heard about the Blood Duel idea?

Vent Away!! I understand your frustration because people have blown way past reason and logic and have entered into Mean Girl territory all in the name of fictional characters.

And pitting Elain and Gwyn against one another while treating Az like a poor baby who just needs to be "wuved" is disturbing.

This man TORTURES people. He starts fights in important political meetings because he can't control himself. He disobeys orders from his High Lord and High Lady.

Yes, what happened to Azriel is terrible and it's completely understandable why he's got issues. But constantly making excuses for him and giving him repeated forgiveness for his actions / behaviors while acting like two females under the age of 30 who very recently experienced major traumas and have not yet discovered who they're meant to be are the problem is crazy.

Elain and Gwyn are extremely parallel characters right now.

Both had older sisters who protected them. We know it's a fact for Elain and Gwyn tells us:

"Catrin was always the strong one" "After our mother died, she took care of me. Looked out for me."

Catrin was Gwyn's Nesta.

Both have shown moments of extreme bravery (Elain while saving Briar and when she stabbed the King and Gwyn during the attack on Sangravah and the Rite).

But despite that, they are both still hesitant to fully embrace their futures. Elain by sort of hiding in the NC telling herself everything is fine and Gwyn (despite her proclamation that she was tired of living in the library and didn't want to take the safe road anymore) returned to living in the library and wasn't sure she would attend Nesta's ceremony after the Rite.

Again, lots of similarities between them.

One of the only reasons E/riels have a problem with Gwyn is because Az is being set up as her possible LI. No, she doesn't need to be your favorite character but it's a near impossibility to hate a character whose major role in SF was to be Nesta's support system. To have created so many slanderous things to say about her. How can you have so much hate for a character who has not been written to be antagonistic in any way right now?

And the Elain hate is also extreme. I've seen some Gwynriels (this is a very select few as most Gwynriels I talk to are awesome) say that Elain should be killed off or SA because she's worthless. This is a girl who had a special cake made for her sister because she wanted her to know how much she's always appreciated her. Elain stood up to Nesta to allow Feyre to use their home as a meeting spot for the Human Queens regardless of what that might mean for her own engagement. This is a girl who has always shown the members of Feyre's new family with respect. She doesn't have to be anyones favorite but Geeez. Saying she'd be better dead or assaulted is way out there. Of course people have things they dislike about her, that tends to happen when a character is more fleshed out. SJM has given her good and bad (especially when we are witnessing sister squabbles on page) but acting like she's a more terrible person than Az is 🤔

And Lucien, my god. His entire journey so far has been filled with impossible decisions. Constantly being put in the middle of his friend and High Lord (a High Lord who gave him a job and home) and Feyre, a friend he had just met. Always between a rock and a hard place on what she needed versus what Tamlin and the Spring Court needed. Being accused of not doing enough when, whenever he tried to do anything he was threatened and eventually abused by Tamlin. Having to reign in any emotions he may have had for Rhys and the IC, people he was led to believe were the bad guys for centuries and who really didn't show Lucien much respect in the beginning, because they were allowed to dictate when and how he was allowed to see his own Mate. He's never threatened ANYONE or brought harm to anyone Elain cared for. He freely works with Az even though Az treats him like garbage He's always tried to find balance between respecting Elain's need for space while also letting her know he'd still like to interact with her. All while he can't return to his home as his father keeps trying to kill him and Feyre ruined his name in Spring.

What tough decisions has Az made as of late? What impossible situations has he really been placed in? Az is a bit of an asshole right now for no real reason at all besides his desperate need for love while Lucien has legitimate problems and is faced with difficult decisions. Az starts fights, has anger issues, refuses to communicate, and doesn't listen to authority. Yet Az gets more respect because.......? Because he said something poetic about Illyrians and the wind and acts like a perfect gentleman around Elain?

I do think SJM will restore Azriel's character but anyone holding him in higher regard at the moment than Lucien, Elain or Gwyn is a very interesting person indeed.

To answer your last question, Elain would dislike everything about the Az that exists when she's not around. From how he talks about Lucien to his casual disregard for he and Graysen's lives. To the real thoughts he has about her, that she's the "third sister" and that's why he wonders why he didn't get a bond, that his thoughts for her really only amount to sexual fantasies. That he doesn't think she can handle something dangerous.

It's ironic because the front Az puts up around Elain is how Lucien actually is yet she's so stubborn against getting to know him that she hasn't realized it yet.

I think the reason I don't fall into the E/riel traps and bullying is because, after looking through the series over and over and OVER again, I finally feel like it's all clicked. I came up with a lot of different thoughts, even trying to prove an E/riel endgame possibility at one point but some of those things didn't feel right. I'd have an idea and start running with it but after asking other questions, the idea fell apart under my own scrutiny.

A year ago, I would have probably been uncertain on my stances and wondered if I missed something but now I do feel very confident that I'm just as versed as any of them might be (at least on the Elucien / Elriel / Gwynriel debate) and that makes it easy to ignore or argue back. That's not to say SJM can't turn around and completely change the direction of her story but as far as things stand right now, I do feel that I've grasped the hidden messages she's left us about those ships. And that in order for E/riel to ever be a possibility, she would have to go in a completely different direction and decide what's she's written so far didn't matter because what there is does not point to E/riel.

So for others out there that struggle dealing with them I think really looking back through the series and trying to disprove their arguments can help because it builds the confidence that you understand the material as well as the next person. Or, you can find blogs that resonate with you, that their logic also makes sense to yours, and use that to build up your knowledge.

But even if it's a blog you usually agree with, it's ok to question their take on it too. If I or anyone else says anything that makes you go "wait a minute", then going back to the books can again help. See if you can disprove (or even find additional supporting proof) of what they're saying.

In the end, regardless of how much effort you want to put in when it comes the series, remember that anyone who resorts to threats is not anyone you should be paying attention to anyway. They are obviously not someone you should respect and allow to dictate how you feel about yourself or your enjoyment of something.

I am sorry for the stressful nature of the fandom though. It does suck the life out of me from time to time and it makes me desperate for answers from SJM.

[get-your-fics]

Boyfriend

Summary: You never would’ve left her alone for someone else to take her home.

Pairing: Michelle Jones x dark!fem!reader (w/ a side of MJ x Peter)

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Non-con, cheating, characters are in high school but are 18, underage drinking

Note: this is a very very late birthday present for my wife @darksideofthecocoamoon inspired by “Boyfriend” by Dove Cameron and spurred on by my need to assert my dominance over tom

Dating Peter wasn’t bad by any means, but it wasn’t perfect either.

MJ knew what she was getting into when she found out he was Spider-Man. Every relationship had its problems, of course, but it was different when you were dating a superhero, and an avenger at that.

All that to say, making time for each other was hard. He’d be gone on missions for days at a time, sometimes at the drop of a hat without so much as a word to MJ letting her know where he was. It sent her into an anxiety spiral, chewing her nails down to the quick as she thought about what he was doing, if he’d have another close call, or if he’d even come back at all.

She’d offered her help, of course, but Peter was insistent that she stayed out of it as much as possible. “I’m already putting you in enough danger just by being with you,” he said with his trademark puppy dog pout. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ve lost too many people I care about as it is.”

And despite how many times she told him he wouldn’t lose her, or how she could be of use to him (not to mention how she vaguely implied he was sexist by continuing to allow Ned to help him), he wouldn’t budge, so she backed down and dropped the topic altogether.

But all that was minor compared to you.

You were friends with Peter long before MJ started dating him, or talking to him, let alone even watching him. Your friendship always perplexed her, considering your other closest friend was Flash Thompson, the guy who went out of his way to torment Peter any chance he got, but she supposed that really wasn’t any of her business.

What really bothered her was that you didn’t like her and she didn’t know why. She constantly went out of her way to make small talk with you or include you whenever she, you, Peter, and Ned hung out together, but you made zero effort to make her feel welcome in return.

And the way you looked at her. God, she could feel your ice cold stare burning into her from across the room, like you were trying to snap her neck with the weight of your gaze alone.

MJ tried to bring it up to Peter once. “Have you ever dated her?”

He furrowed his brow. “What? No.”

“Or had a crush on her or anything?” she continued to pry.

“No, MJ, we’ve always just been friends.” He shook his head. “Where’s all this coming from?”

She sighed. “I don’t think she likes me very much, and I was wondering if it was because she’s jealous.”

“Babe, of course she likes you.” He slung an arm around her shoulder.

“She has a weird way of showing it,” she muttered under her breath.

He laughed. “Okay, she can be a little protective, but it’s just because she wants what’s best for me. I’ve known her since we were in diapers. We’re practically related.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

She mumbled acquiescence, but his words did little to reassure her, not as the days went by and the intense staring continued.

MJ couldn’t care less about parties, but Peter, on the other hand, didn’t want to miss a single one, even if it was being thrown by his mortal enemy, Flash Thompson. His need to partake in teenage experiences would forever be unsatisfied, but after losing his parents and enduring the burden of being Queen’s sanctified hero, MJ didn’t mind indulging him every now and then.

Even if it meant halfway through, Peter and Ned decide to ditch her. “I have something I have to take care of.” He gave her a knowing look.

“I’ll come with you,” she blurted without thinking.

“No, you stay here.” He was already backing away from her. “I’ll be back soon.”

He and Ned were working their way through the crowd before she could protest any further. She felt like a deflated balloon as she watched them go. Sure, she knew it would be selfish to keep him from his duties, especially when lives were most likely at stake. But she also knew that when Peter said ‘be back soon,’ she probably wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

She relented and glued her back to the wall, scrolling through her phone to distract herself from the bodies grinding to the regurgitated pop music around her. She was pulled from her feed when someone crashed into her, spilling their drink in the process.

“Oh, shit!” She looked up to see you staring at her wide-eyed. “MJ, I didn’t see you there. I'm so sorry.”

Of course you didn’t. She suppressed an eyeroll. She already knew you were present at the party. She caught a glimpse of you earlier clinking glasses and joking around with Flash. She should’ve known the second Peter left you’d seize the opportunity to humiliate her without him present.

She looked down to see the front of Peter’s sweatshirt she was wearing soaked through, reeking of liquor, and her phone screen pitch black in her hand. Great.

You noticed her stained hoodie as well. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” you continued to apologize profusely.

“It’s alright.” She averted her gaze, rubbing her arm.

“Did I get your phone too?” You looked down at the phone in her hand.

She clicked the power button a couple times, but nothing happened. The cherry on top of a shit sundae.

“I’ll get you a new one,” you insisted.

She tried not to gawk. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.” You winked at her, and she blanched. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the throng of partygoers before she could refuse. You led her into the laundry room and closed the door behind her, enshrouding you in darkness.

“Are you sure it’s okay that we’re in here?” MJ glanced side to side wearily.

“Oh, yeah. Me and Flash are like siblings. I practically live here.” You dismissed her concern with a wave of your hand. “Take off your hoodie so I can wash it.”

You reached for the hem of the sweatshirt, tugging it upwards. She awkwardly raised her arms and allowed you to remove the oversized garment, figuring it was better not to argue and go along with whatever you wanted. She shielded her bare torso, left in nothing but her bra.

You blinked at her exposed chest before turning towards the washing machine. You threw the sweatshirt inside, adding soap and pressing a few buttons before the machine started to shake.

You faced her and shrugged out of your hoodie. “Here, wear this while we wait.” You threw it to her. “It’ll probably be a little bit.”

She barely managed to catch it. She put it on and zipped it up all the way. It was significantly more snug to her body than she would’ve liked.

You looked her up and down. “That looks good on you. Fits better than that ratty sweatshirt.” You snickered. “You can keep it if you want.”

“That’s okay.” She shrugged. She didn’t understand why you were being nice to her out of the blue when before you looked like you wanted to skin her alive.

“What were you doing all by yourself?” You leaned your hip against the washer. “Where’s Peter?”

“He had to… take care of something.” She cringed at her poor delivery. At least it wasn’t technically a lie.

You tilted your head. “So he left you alone?”

She shifted uncomfortably under the weight of your gaze. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t leave you on your own.” You moved closer to her. “I’d be afraid someone else would try to snatch you up.”

She shriveled under the weight of your gaze, but where she expected to see pure hatred, she found something else even more perplexing.

Was that… desire?

The entire world seemed to shift on its axis as she looked at you through brand new eyes. She’d thought you were jealous of her the entire time, but maybe Peter was the one you were really envious of.

“I’d treat you so much better than he does.” You reached up and cupped the side of her face in your hand. “I’ll even give you a little taste.”

Before she could stop you, you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers. She went stock still, eyes wide open in shock as your lips locked. She meant to push you away, but her muscles froze.

Your hand on her face reached up as you deepened the kiss, fingers tangling in her curls. You scraped your teeth against her bottom lip, softly tugging on it. You licked into her open mouth, tongue stroking against hers and coaxing it to life.

You pulled away with an audible pop, eyes half-lidded and a hint of a smirk toying at the corners of your lips. MJ gained a small semblance of clarity through the daze she was in to stammer, “But what about Pete?”

You hummed, scraping your nails pleasantly against her scalp. “What about him?”

She tried to ignore the tingles shooting down her spine. “He’s your best friend.”

You snorted. “I’d hardly call him a friend. He’s more like a pet that does what I tell him to.” You started to walk her back. “And sometimes, pets who misbehave need to have their toys taken away from them.”

The back of her legs bumped against the rumbling washer, and MJ’s hands reached out for you to stabilize herself before she could trip. You nipped at her throat, a growl low in your chest as your hands wandered like you were mapping the plane of her body. She squeaked as one hand found her breast, kneading the small mound over the soft fabric of the hoodie you’d leant her.

The other continued its search lower, plunging beneath the denim of her jeans. She mustered up enough strength to grasp your wrist. “Wait… I’ve never…”

You cocked your head. “You and Pete haven’t…?” She shook her head as you trailed off. Your eyes raked over her, and you scoffed. “I don’t understand how he could keep his hands off of you.”

Her hold on your wrist disintegrated as your hand dove beneath the elastic band of her underwear, fingers playing with the hair at her pelvis. They delved lower and traced the length of her slit, stopping at her clit and rubbing teasing circles.

Her body tensed as an unfamiliar sensation stirred in her core. Your lips curled into a pleased smirk. “Maybe he knows he can’t please you the way I can.”

Your fingers found her entrance, and her face screwed up as you pushed an appendage into her. She gripped your shoulders, digging her nails into the fabric of your shirt as you set an agonizingly slow pace.

You shushed her. “That’s it,” you coaxed her in a low voice. “You’re doing so well for me.”

A squelch was heard over the roar of the washer as her arousal eased the way for your intrusion. Your finger pumped in and out of her without resistance, slick pooling in the palm of your hand. You added another one, and she grimaced as her channel stretched to accommodate both fingers.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to get you alone,” you purred into her ear. Your thumb found her clit and brushed against the sensitive nub in time with your strokes.

She pushed down on your shoulders, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. “Don’t…” Her voice came out breathy as she squirmed against you. “Stop…”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping,” you rasped, shooting her a wink.

You curled your fingers, stoking the fire blooming white hot in her core. Your chest pressed flush against hers, pinning her between you and the washer. The vibrations of the machine shot through her, and the knot coiling in her gut grew worse.

Moans and gasps escaped her lips as she tried to fight against it, to suppress whatever it was your fingers brought to life in her until it was almost painful to resist. But she couldn’t stop herself as you pushed her over the precipice.

She felt like she was floating as her muscles seized, her walls spasming around your fingers. She made a high-pitched keen so unlike her as white dots burst across her vision. Your fingers never stopped thrusting, and her stomach dropped as she came down from her high.

You pulled your fingers out and stuck them in your mouth, slurping the juices sticking to your skin. You removed them with a salacious pop before capturing her lips in a kiss. She tasted herself on your tongue as it tangled with hers.

You pulled away, your lips shiny with a mixture of saliva and slick. MJ’s head felt like it was spinning as you ran your hand down the length of her arm. “Forget about the sweatshirt. It’s probably ruined anyway.” You threaded your fingers through hers and tugged. “And if you don’t want that hoodie, I have plenty of other clothes at my place to make up for it.”

[fawnlino]

sexy time with skz (maknae line)

—a study on stray kids' habits, kinks, likes, and/or dislikes during and after sex.

genre: smut with a hint of fluff

warnings: biting, hair grabbing, choking, sir kink, sadism & masochism themes, possessive themes, pet play, praise kink, a light bdsm notes: these are all assumptions based on stray kids' real habits and personalities. some are also based on things they've mentioned before. also didn't proof-read so sorry for typos and wrong grammar in some parts.

[hyung line]

jisung

jisung doesn't really like throwing that much attention to himself when he feels vulnerable so sexy time with him is very private; he would rarely do it when there are other people in the house or in a public place.

but that's good cause this boy can be loud. he's either letting out deep and breathy moans or he's loud and whiny.

he would talk a lot; along the lines of sweet talk "you look so pretty" "does it feel good?" to cocky talk "i can see you like that" "i'm better than you at this."

throws a lot of sweet nicknames like baby, honey, cutie, kitten, princess/prince (우리 공주님, 우리 왕자님).

despite being a seemingly helpless awkward boy, you can see that jisung's very in control of things (a natural born-leader), he sees everyone as cute, and he can get pretty cocky. so this is probably mirrored in the bedroom.

(he'd be a great sub but) i feel like he prefers being dominant.

would play a playlist he made specially for spicy time. (red velvet's be natural can be part of it)

holds you a lot by the shoulder, the neck, or the side of your chest. would cup your face too but sometimes that would lead to choking.

occasional hair-grabbing. both receiving and giving, though mostly giving.

and would constantly ask you to look at him. he either asks or he holds your chin.

after, there will be a lot of sweet kisses all over your face and both of you will just sing along to the songs.

felix

this sunshine grew up with social media; he's always up to try things he finds/ he comes across on tiktok like that "pop it, pull it, bonk(?) it" trend (which i believe was initially meant for doggos but some use it on their boyfriends' dicks)

which would often lead to playful sex.

i think he's most likely a switch depending on his/your mood; he doesn't prefer one. he just really enjoys this time with you.

a lot of breathy giggles as well (but hella deep.)

when he holds you, he grabs. just his fingers digging into your skin like he doesn't want to let go of you.

his teasing won't be as torturing as the others, just a lot of chuckles after with a few "you're so cute."

and when you tease him, he puts on his 'scary' dom face and would degrade you a bit. "what did you say slut?"

would sometimes ask you to call him sir.

you can see how he loves trying new things on a daily basis so i think out of skz, he's the most experimental.

would hold your hand while you're fucking. he's cute like that. 🥺

would bite a lot. he doesn't care if it marks, he loves it.

and we all know felix loves cuddles. so after sexy time, even if it's burning hot, he'll hug you and hold your hand.

seungmin

i've noticed seungmin loves pain (receiving and giving) so i think he's both a sadist and a masochist but he's surely a dom.

he would instruct his partner where to inflict pain and/or his partner is on the receiving end.

in past videos whenever asked to dance sexy, his hand would go up to his neck. so i believe he's into choking as well.

he also loves teasing, LOVES IT. so he's most likely to tease his partner to the point of humiliation.

could be into pet play since he loves saying "mong mong" and loves hearing other people say it. (he literally instructed the cashiers of skz cafe not to give stays the drink he named if they don't say the full name which includes mong mong)

would ask you to wear cat ears or any cute fluffy articles of clothing.

he won't be loud but he'd make sure you are so everyone knows who you belong to since he's a bit possessive. (ngl he's very sexy when he's jealous)

he'd have a favorite part of you; it depends on his partner; if you have beauty mark by your shoulder, etc. something very specific. and he would mark & kiss it a lot.

like felix, i think he would love biting.

he'd play with your hands after and tell you how pretty they are. he'd also compliment you how beautiful you are after sex every 👏 time👏 even though you've done it many times before.

would sing you to sleep with giving you head pats.

could also laugh at how cute you were begging him to touch you. "i didn't know you'd actually beg." but that's just him teasing you.

would also take cute couple photos with you after (like very closed up shots of your foreheads)

jeongin

even if he's experienced, he's naturally clumsy so it could happen in the bedroom as well. he could fall off the bed or hit his head against yours.

if you two are just hanging out and he wants to do it, you can tell before he asks cause he's either poking you a lot or just straight up staring at you.

definitely a switch. depends if he's feeling himself that day.

cause when he feels himself, he FEELS himself. this boy loves being sexy.

he would buy you matching sexy outfits, take photos, then take it off of you.

like seungmin, he likes to tease. he could (possibly) literally laugh at you.

probably loves being praised like god.

being vocal is something that i think he likes; he prefers it when you use your words and he's also very responsive.

but i don't think he's into name-calling or cute nicknames. he loves calling you by your name and hearing his name from you.

i also do think he's into a bit of bondage; just tying his partner's hands and blindfolds, nothing too intricate or intense.

and like felix, he holds you intensely. literally pressing you against him.

he also love to leave marks for fun (rmb hyunjin's neck?); and he doesn't get shy when others ask about it later.

after isn't really as cute or as sexy, he either falls asleep quickly or talks to you excitedly.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

hiiiii! 💕💕💕 I love your writing so much! Just read all your Jay White stuff. Omg. Soooo I wasn’t aware until recently Jay is 29. I was wondering if you may write a fic where Jay meets and dominates a slightly older girl. Maybe she makes a joke about being a bit older and he teases her saying he can still take charge and make her call him daddy? 💦

Hi, darling 💕 Aww, thank you so much 🥺🥰

Ever since I received this (ages ago) I debated what to write and then *in the middle of one of my many sleep deprived brainstorms* I came up with: AU!Student Jay White. So yeah, I hope you enjoy this 😂

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @thebestintheworld , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Being a psychology teacher for the International Relation students at Brown University was part of your daily routine for four years now

You loved the job and was considered one of the best teachers the university had. The dream job soon became a living nightmare the minute Mr. White became one of your students.

He had a sharp mind and was able to pick up details that would go by unnoticed to other students.

He could be considered one of your most dedicated and favorite students, if it wasn’t for one little thing: his constant flirting.

Now, you see, although it wasn’t ethical by any means, it was still fun. He and his double entendre jokes and comments were a nice distraction and were meant to be harmless to you, if it wasn’t for your little crush on him.

You constantly rolled your eyes at how stupid you looked every time he stayed behind to talk to you after class. Yes, it was fun and made you feel like the nerdy teenager crushing over the hot quarterback, but this had to stop now before you end up getting hurt or even worse: fired!

“Please everyone, don’t forget that the deadline for your lab report is just until next Friday. If you have any questions in regards to your report, I’ll be answering them after classes until Thursday evening. Thank you”

The students began to leave class and a few stopped by your desk to clear up some doubts. You began to gather your belongings when your eyes spotted Jay still sitting on his chair.

“Mr. White, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah” His grayish blue eyes sparkled with mischief “There is actually”. Jay stood up from his chair and walked towards your desk, he held his phone on his left hand and you slid your glasses on, naively thinking you were going to see a note about the class on the screen.

You cackled when you saw his contacts page open with your picture under the name “Sexy Future Wifey 👅” with the number space left blank. “I’d like you to help me to find your number, you see, I forgot where I wrote it down”

“I never gave you my number, Mr. White. That would be highly inappropriate and unethical” The amused laugh that left your lips only served as a fuel for him to keep going.

“Oh, really? Well, good thing we can solve that problem right now” He smirked “Just type it in there and we won’t have to worry about me not having your number anymore”.

“Look, Mr. White. I’ll be honest with you, as much as this back and forth thing is both flattering and amusing, we should stop before it gets worse. Let’s remind ourselves that I’m your teacher and you’re my student and let’s keep things as they are in order to avoid any further complications to the both of us, okay?”

“But you don’t mean that, do you?” Jay closed the distance between you, his semi hard cock pressed against your navel as his lips roamed on top of yours “No, you don’t. I know you have the hots for me as much as I do for you, honeybee”

“Mr. White, I already asked you to please stop calling me that-“

“You may be my teacher, but I can bet your sweet ass there are a lot of things that you can learn from me, baby” Jay’s hands caressed your hips through the black dress pants “I can teach you a lot of fun little things” His teeth teased your bottom lip, making you gasp softly.

“What could a boy like you teach a woman like me?”

“Age is not everything, my little bee. You see, there are a lot of things a boy like me can teach a woman like you” His fingers brushed under your breasts making your nipples harden under his touch “I may be younger, baby, but I can still make you call me daddy over and over and over again”

“Is that so?” Your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the tip traced the outline of his bottom lip.

“Don’t believe me?” He grinned “Let me prove it to you. A free test-drive back at my place, and if you don’t approve the performance then I’ll leave you be” Jay’s hands moved back to your ass, grabbing two handfuls of the supple meat before whispering “But if you do decide to keep the equipment, oh well” The gray orbs had a dark cloud of lust over them, the grip on your backside was so strong that it was almost too painful “Then, we’ll see how much the big girl can learn from this little boy”

[kurohtak1]

Butch/Femme and the Black experience

So I was workign on my comic triple moon and simultaneously scrolling through tumblr when i came across someones post about butch/femme relationships. As a young lesbiann i was really really invested in those kinds of dynamics. But now as a adult i forgot what it was about. Since i was working on some things for my comic, i decided to freshen up my memory about it.

As I read some artciles and texts about it i found myself getting steadily irked and i wanted to investigate why. after more research, some writing, and thought i realized something. Butch/femme relationships would never work for me. And here's why. First of all, I am a black nonbiary lesbian. A lot of my experience with gender and sexuality are dependent on my race. As a black person, my autonomy was stolen from me. From the day i was born, till the day i die, everything i do and say will be dictated to me based on the color of my skin.

My emotions will never be my own. If i do not act a certain way i am dictated as the violent black person. Or I'm the saintly black person that dictates anothers perspectives on black people as a whole. My presentation will never be my own. Black women are forcefully masculanized from day one and are not even considered to be women under white supremacy and eurocentric standards, and black men are seen as monsters for similar reasons. So what about black queer people? They get it worse.

See, butch and femme mainly meant white people. It always has. If it didn't, why is stud the word used for BLACK masc lesbians? And also, what does it mean to be a femme? What does that look like? Who does that entail? I bet your imaging a white person. And same with butch. It will never work for me or anyone like me because i am black first and foremost. And with the way these articles and texts were talking about it, its almost like they forget that QTPOC exist and can NEVER live up to the standards white gays make up. And that's what angered me so much. Its all so eurocentric. Not just in appearance, because butch/femme relationships are not just based around looks, but the cultural actions/perspectives of how to treat your partner and stuff like that. How so? When I identified as a women, I had a gf, who was white, and they automatically assumed i was a dominant masc person. Why? Cause I don't take anyones shit, cause i speak my mind, I assert myself, I defend others. Black folk are raised to be tougher. To be strong, to not let people walk on you. because the world WILL do that to US!!! Its either that or we die, or we die either way. We have to be one thing or the other ALWAYS. Black women especially have to be taught this. They are not allowed to be soft or emotional. And they are not given the grace to be treated gently with love and care.

But my white partner did not consider this. Perhaps she saw how I acted as being butch, or more masc. Perhaps it was racism. But the fact is, black people have very different perspectives on relationships than white people do. Doubly so for QTPOC. And because this perspective is not considered, it becomes another opportunity for our autonomy to be stolen. And that's the thing, majority of QTPOC experience this all the time. Their white partners treatign them one way because their perspective is another.

I can see where and why Butch/femme had its place in history, but as a black person, i cannot fit under ideals made mainly by white people for white people. And I don;t think they realize its just another form of alienation. And its EVERYWHERE! Its in the atmosphere at bars and clubs and cafes that cater to queer people, its in how people date, it in how we talk and how we write and whos history we pull from.

I mean it was shocking to go out to the bars and the clubs and really feel that kind of alienation. To go to the dating apps and have ONLY FEMS! NO MASCS. REAL WOMEN ONLY! constantly thrown in my face. Feeling as if, if i do not fit into one thing then i am worthless and no one could want me. As if being nonbinary would only burden or disgust a partner. Its impossible to try and fit in when you literally do not adhere to a gender binary, or possibly any dichotomy for that matter. And that's the thick of it. People like me belong no where.

i see black sapphics/lesbians try all the time to fit into these standards. And i tried to as well. But i canNOT fit in. None of us will.

White gays will never understand that I don't think. I mean, many do not even realize there are two very different LGBTs, there's the white gays, and then there everyone else. Really I wanna know how the black lesbians and sapphics feel about this. Do butch/femme dynamics make you feel similarly safe, or is it just another extension of white queerness you feel you could never live up to?

As I came into my transess, as I realized I am nonbinary, I felt so centered in who I am as a lesbian. I became more comfortable with presenting fem and masc and everything and nothing. Because here I felt that I had a say in who I am. When I read about Butch/femme relationships, what once made me feel centered makes me feel out of place. And its because of the new perspectives I gained. There is nothing wrong, obviously, with wanting that kind of relationship. Its just an extension of trying to understand and navigate being a lesbian/sapphic in a world that tries to tell you otherwise. But it irritates me how often these kinds of things are eurocentric to a T, and how white gays never seem to acknowledge that. Butch and femme just seems like another expectation that I cannot live up to for reasons more than just I am neither masc nor fem. For me, if that's not how you feel that of course that's fine. But i am speaking about the experience of being a black enby lesbian only.

I was interested in speaking about this because my story, Triple Moon, is about BLACK lesbians ONLY! Its about the alienation, that feeling that you can never be the standard. Feeling like you have to define it for yourself. And that you truly belong no where. It about that very Black Lesbian experience. And I have many characters who are studs and some who are fem and some who are androgynous and some who are none of these things. I explore these relationships and the conclusions i come to I think are very comforting for black lesbains/sapphics. Our queerness is different for so many reasons. And I like using my silly little comics to discuss these ideas.

[kitty-av]

Hello, I have been thinking of making the clone gang into my OCs for a while now ( kinda inspired by Mortified because it's a great fanfic, I love me some characters we see for 1 min being utilised and explored ) so I kinda just... Did.

Ok so here are my bois, first I shall show a group line-up, then I introduce them in segments.

Sound good? Ok, here they are!

These are the clone squad in human form, though I'm still debating on whether they are hypothetical forms, or if they're all halfas like Dani.

Also I have never really drawn Danielle, so she may look wonky until I get the hang of it lol

Anyway, introductions:

This man is Dante, he's the skeleton ghost, and I based his design off of two things: his nose looks like it would be different than Danny's, and he had a bedsheet.

So therefore, he gets wavy hair, and a similar build to Danny, except his nose is different and I tried to define his brows and their wrinkles a bit more ( I don't know how to explain it better )

Dante is quite possibly the most laid back from the clone squad because there really weren't any expectations he had to deliver on, unlike his siblings.

He's the second oldest, which means Vlad was just ok with him existing because he was still getting the hang of the whole cloning thing.

This means he had time to work on his hobbies, like art and gardening and just wind down after Vlad inevitably did something terrible.

He has leg prosthetics but because I was too excited to post, so I haven't figured out how to draw them yet, so for now he has long pant legs.

He's the mom friend of the gang, will frequently drag the rest of them out of their pods for bonding time because he knows they can get caught up in their problems.

They poke fun at him for his ' bedsheet ghost ' routine but he thinks it's funny and he's vibing, so they just kinda accept it. He actually uses the spooky voice too, just because.

He's the ' We have food at home ' sibling along with Dorian, but can switch to ' McDonalds ' sibling when he wants to make Danielle happy •^•

Now these two.

Oh, boy.

These two are traumatized let me tell you that.

Let's start with Dorian, who for the purposes of my sanity will be Dan level beefy instead of his canon beefiness. Just because I couldn't figure out how to draw it, and it's my design so screw it.

I had the idea of him looking like Jack because he's the oldest sibling so Vlad accidentally tapped into some genetics he probably didn't like.

As you can probably guess, Vlad is not his biggest fan.

Dorian is just the sweetest boi. He's the Jazz of the squad. Often ignores himself and accidentally becomes the therapist friend when there's nobody there to help him set his boundaries.

He's really into social justice, reading, and also rock/metal music ( because why not, it fits his ghost aesthetic too )

He just wants the best for his siblings, even though he's painfully aware Vlad is just... Vlad.

He will not hesitate to curb stomp you if you become a threat to his family, and while he's very patient, the clone gang has sorta given him a sixth sense for detecting mischief.

I'm serious, he walks into a room and just knows they did something.

He chooses to wear formal adjacent clothing himself, it isn't Vlad that made him do it. He feels comforted by the routine of styling himself.

Now, Dominic: I'm gonna put the pic back here for reference.

This lil man

He is just... Full of anger. And issues.

First, his design was meant to have a lot of triangular shapes to kinda match Danny's, as well as to bring more attention to his face.

His eye is just gone in human form as well. It falls off constantly, so he doesn't bother and just carries it in a pouch in his pocket. Dorian finds that understandably disturbing, and Dante is somewhere between ' I can make eye puns when he brings it up ' and ' dude I wish my brother would have better care for himself '.

He's the third clone, and Vlad's favourite until Danielle happened. Unfortunately, because we can't have nice things, he's constantly unstable in ghost form, and because of that Vlad pushed him hard enough for him to develop the shrinking, purely out of his want to disappear and hide.

Dominic despises Vlad from the bottom of his heart, because unlike with Dani, Vlad didn't bother hiding his disappointment and loopiness when it came to his ' almost perfect son '

He's pretty jaded because of this, and he swore to himself that Dani would not suffer like he did, so he allowed himself to get blackmailed into behaving by Vlad. Basically the deal was that Dominic would obey without question, and Dani will be happy and oblivious to the fact he literally doesn't care.

Later on, Vlad tells him that he'll have Danielle overshadow Danny, but he volunteers instead because he knows it won't end well, and he's absolutely right. Vlad probably knew this so he told him specifically so his ' problem child ' wouldn't be a problem.

He would literally fight anyone, despite the fact he has bad depth perception, a lack of real offensive abilities, and an incredible lack of solidity/stability.

He probably waits for the summer with anticipation because he can fire tiny ectoblasts at Vlad and pretend it was mosquitoes.

Besides all the angst and trauma, he has a passion for theatre and mischief. He and Dani are incredibly close and prank everyone. Dominic probably taught her the ' faint to get out of a difficult conversation ' trick.

He can't talk in tiny form, it just sounds like bells ( like Tinkerbell )

Dante probably teases him for ' doing puberty wrong ' and Dominic strikes back with digs against the ' bedsheet ghost routine '. They're vibing.

Dorian and Dominic are also Metal/Rock music buddies and will listen to music together while Dorian is reading some book or other. Dominic is incredibly grateful to have his support despite all the headaches his mischief cause, and he often serves as Dorian's ' boundaries cheerleader ' so to speak.

He's the ' One black coffee ' sibling if you hadn't noticed. Only he'd probably hand it to Danielle because she's his partner in crime.

Now Dani herself, she absolutely adores her brothers. She doesn't understand why Vlad doesn't, but she thinks she can change his mind because he ' likes ' her. Then when he calls her brothers ' mistakes ' she goes ' ok I can't, but if he stabilises me, I can maybe save them too ' because she's precious like that .

Unfortunately, things don't work that way, and so when she leaves Amity park she's kinda confronted with the realisation that ' oh damn, I actually helped murder Dorian, and Dominic wouldn't help Vlad without good reason so he probably took my place ' and that's not exactly a pleasant realization.

The reason she doesn't come back for help earlier than D-stabilized is actually because of guilt. She doesn't feel like she deserves the help after what happened. Then she reminds herself that her brothers wanted her to be happy and goes off to find Danny.

I know this was a lot of angst, so here, have some sketches to balance it out OwO

I'm thinking I also have them come back as ghosts because I want my children to be happy together, but I haven't figured out unique ghost designs for them yet. It feels cheap giving them their clone designs when they're now their own people yknow?

Thank you for reading all this, I'm really happy to finally share my bois with the Phandom •^• if y'all have any thoughts or questions feel free to share.

I'm just glad I did this because doing character design in the DP style is fun, especially considering how Dorian and Dante's facial features had to be built on top of skeletal/unfinished structure ( their noses in particular ) so that was exciting to figure out (ㆁωㆁ)

[tofuxtea]

[ OCT 12 ] DACRYPHILIA | haruchiyo sanzu

+ pairing: haruchiyo sanzu x fem!reader

+ warnings: nsfw, dacryphilia, gunplay, degradation, light choking, slutshaming, impact play (sanzu hits u with a gun lol), name-calling, rough sex, light orgasm control, creampie

+ notes: ngl im actually kinda happy w this one. i fw it ! i dont rlly know TOO much abt sanzu so maybe ooc but i feel like this is how he is tbh

“i’m not gonna be nice to ya.”

you didn’t quite understand the gravity of what he’d meant when he said that to you. sure, sanzu was apart of japan’s most dangerous and dominant gang - bonten - but you saw it as a script; something he told everybody. being bonten’s most ruthless hitman with his treasured bloodied guns, he said similar things often.

you understood quickly that he meant it. his affection towards you as his significant other was minimal, especially in public. maybe the occasional hand intertwined with yours or a protective arm around your waist if you were lucky.

maybe it was why you two went so well with each other. like a pretty bullet to a traitor’s brain; a perfect fit. you adored his coldness, to the confusion of many. both haitani brothers constantly grilled sanzu with questions about how he’d even landed someone like you.

“she loves to cry,” is what he would always respond with. they may have taken it as a way of him saying that he always made you cry but you just couldn’t find the courage to leave. it was far from what he’d really meant.

he loved seeing you cry. though not nearly as much as you loved him watching you cry like some pathetic bitch. especially when he fucked you. one hand on his gun, the other on your throat as he pounded into you mercilessly; he’d make sure you were crying by the time he was done with you.

“take it, you whore.” he mumbled as he rammed his cock into you hard and fast. he had you pinned on your shared bed, the lights dimmed into a sensual glow. the grip on his gun faltered just a bit when you spasmed around him with an obscene moan. “slutty little pussy, ya like that, huh?” his free hand wrapped around your pretty neck while the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your throbbing clit. you choked and squirmed against him to his liking.

“sa-n” you could barely breathe against his hard push, “-zu!” your lower lip trembled as he completely ignored your whines and cries for him to stop or slow down. if you’d really wanted him to, he would know.

“shut the fuck up, bitch.” he spat through gritted teeth, eyes trained at your slicked pussy where his body joined yours. it was mesmerizing: the translucent ring of cum from previous orgasms around the base of his dick and dripping down your thighs. “sluts like you aren’t supposed to talk back, thought i taught you right.” he tsked, halting his hips when they were flush with your ass before his fingers curled around his gun once more. sanzu directed the gun to your jaw, watching the way your arousal glistened against your skin and the silver barrel. “seems i need to teach your dumbass again, huh?”

his words both stung and settled in between your legs, the choked moan you let out making him chuckle. “‘m sorry-” the cold barrel struck your cheek hard and your hair fell over the side of your face from the impact.

“i told you,” he used the very tip of the long barrel to tilt your face forward, meeting his icy blue eyes, “don’t talk back.” the cold circle pressed against your forehead and you could see his forefinger locked on the trigger. the thrill that ran through your vulnerable body made you tremble that much more.

you whimpered against pursed lips, the crystal-like tears beginning to gather in your doe eyes. “crying, are we? am i supposed to feel bad for a whore like you?” sanzu taunted, his bubblegum pink hair falling over his shoulder as he lowered his face to yours. you gazed longingly at his lips, eyeing the diamond shaped scars on either end of them. you wanted to kiss him - feel his tongue in your mouth.

“don’t think ‘m gonna kiss your filthy mouth. i just like watchin’ those pretty tears fall.” a menacing grin pulled at his lips as he watched the first one roll down your temple and into your disheveled hair. “make a noise and i put a bullet in that head of yours.” you knew he didn’t mean it; he’d said it millions of times before and it’s never been done. but it always taught you to shut right up.

his pace started slow and deep, rocking you into the bed. you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, desperately muffling your cries from his cock dragging deliciously against your sensitive walls. “you like being fucked like this? with a gun to your head? yer such a slut, fuck.” the gun found purchase on your clit once more, the cold metal circling it lazily. you cried out, rutting against the thing. your eyes screwed shut, sending more fat tears down your cheeks.

more gathered in your eyes right after, following the other ones and dampening your hair. you clenched hard around his cock, making him curse under his shaky breath. “don’t cum til i say.” it was a simple instruction but you whined out of protest, toes curling at the thought of having to resist coming. you were already so sensitive, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. “you look so good when you cry.” it was the first praise you’d received all night and your pussy spasmed once again. the tears were nonstop by then and you could feel your orgasm approaching fast. you didn’t dare say anything, only force more salty tears down your face as you begged your body to resist the burning urge.

his cock abused your cervix and didn’t let up once. he wanted you to struggle, he wanted to see you break until you were begging for forgiveness. your scrunched up face had his dick twitching inside of you and even he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back. you really did look so good when you cried.

“fuck, not yet. hold it just a little longer.” he twirled the icy barrel around your sensitive clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your body arch off of the sheets. his other hand gripped the soiled sheets between his long fingers, composure slipping.

“sanzu!” you cried out instinctively, running a hand through his pink locks and pulling him into a messy kiss. he was far too caught up in his orgasm to even care, sliding his eager tongue down your throat.

“cum for me.” he muttered against your sloppy lips, holding the gun against your most sensitive spot. your orgasm hit you like a brick wall, tears blinding you momentarily. you squeezed his cock sporadically, making him finally succumb to his needs, filling your used cunt with his hot cum. your chest heaved and you let out broken sobs. he kissed and nipped at your neck and breasts, marking them for all of bonten to see the next day.

you whined at the light overstimulation, weakly trying to push sanzu’s head away. “haru, ‘ts too much.” you spoke against uncontrollable sobs. his lips turned up against your skin.

“you want me to show you too much?”

glistening face and all, you groaned. it would be a long night, indeed.

HOPE YALL LIKED IT!! -r

[edie-baby]

Can we please have a smut with Lando where he’s never been that dominant before and decides to try it one evening

whiskey soaked cherries | lando norris smut

summary: Lando Norris decides one day that he'd like to try dominating his partner, and well, he's actually pretty good at it.

word count: 4541

warnings: swearing, smut; face sitting, choking, bound wrists, daddy + sir kink, hint of a breeding kink, aftercare

notes: i'm sorry this took so long, i kind of got carried away

There were always a few indicators when Lando Norris was thinking. It was a common occurrence, the man was an over-thinker till the end, yet it meant he never did anything without being sure. There were levels to his thinking moods however, and they usually gave away the true depth of his immersion in his brain.

Level one: glazed eyes, and slow reaction times. Often when you spoke to him during this time, it would take multiple seconds for him to even acknowledge that you had said something, the journey from his head to in front of you could take a while, but he was usually pretty easy to distract.

Level two: sitting completely still and not blinking. The first few times you saw him lost in thought like this, you were unnerved. He could stare at a spot on the floor for five minutes, unblinking, the only indicator of life being the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic breaths falling from his lips were reassuring in this state. You had noticed once that he was so lost in thought he didn’t breathe for multiple moments. Your head was against his chest, the subtle movements you had felt for many hours before that ceased, and after a few too many seconds, he gulped down a gasping breath. This level was usually reserved for racing thoughts, strategies and tracks all consuming within his chaotic brain.

Level three: mindlessly walking, parted lips, slow, laboured breaths. You had seen Lando like this only once, walking around his house for nearly an hour, never reacting to your voice, never stopping for longer than it took for him to pivot and turn back around at a dead-end hallway. The day after you saw him like this, he had asked you to move in with him.

Level four: laid still on the floor, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed, lights on. You had only heard of this Thinking Lando, Jon and Charlotte having caught him laid in offices or empty rooms on the floor, looking like a perfectly posed corpse. You questioned him about it, and he had never had a true answer for you, something about the rigidity of the floor was grounding whilst his closed eyes let him wander as far as he wished.

But level five, you weren’t entirely sure existed. So, when you arrived home after work one day to a completely dark house, curtains and blinds drawn with every source of light turned off or obscured, you were rightfully shit scared.

“Lando? Honey, I’m home!” You called, your voice wavering slightly as it bounced off the walls of the entryway, travelling through the house in eerie echoes.

“In the living room.” Lando replied, his voice oddly composed, and you began traversing though the house, avoiding walls and furniture from memory. You were tempted to use the flashlight on your phone to get an idea of what was going on, but figured you trusted your boyfriend enough.

“Hey baby, what’s with the lights?” Your voice was laced with confusion, eyes trying to find the silhouette of the man speaking from somewhere within the room, but you were completely lost.

“I’ve been thinking.” He simply replied, goosebumps erupting on your skin as his hot breath fanned on the back of your neck. You thought his voice had travelled from the other side of the living room, but there was right behind you. You tried leaning back, desperate for some contact in the makeshift sensory deprivation room you had found yourself in, but he was gone. You jumped when you felt his hand brush against your calf, his other hand tracing up the outside of your leg to your thigh. You sighed in relief, the barest of touches from him always made you feel alight with pleasure.

“You don’t usually think like this. What’s on your mind?” You asked, voice breathy as you felt the constantly moving palms on your legs, the skirt you had worn that day a barrier between where you really wanted him, and the rough calloused hands that left goosebumps in their wake. He didn’t dare move the hem of your skirt, choosing to roam over it with lazy strokes.

“I want to try something with you. But, I need your full consent, and we need ground rules.” Lando replied, the languid strokes turning to loving touches, the brief brush of his fingertips against a scar on your knee, the same fingers caressing a path down your calf to remove your shoes.

“You know I’d trust you to do anything. Anything you want to do, I consent to 100%.” Your voice was sure, strong and assured. You felt Lando’s fingers still for a bare moment, a long intake of air telling you Lando was revelling in the romantics of your words. He often did that when you spoke about your admiration for him, honey-sweet words warming his heart like nothing else.

“No, I need you to listen to this. I want your explicit consent.” Lando continued, his words firmer, causing anxiety to swirl in your stomach for a brief moment before you realised exactly who he was. It was Lando, your chaotic boyfriend who screamed instead of laughing. A man you had been hopelessly in love with for nearly three years, who treated you like a goddess, who worshipped you for your flaws as much as your perfections.

“Okay. So tell me.” You stated. There was no question, no anxiety, no confusion in your words. Because you knew this man like the back of your hand, and you knew he knew you just as well, if not better. His fingers, which had still been brushing against your skin like a whisper suddenly gripped into the skin of your thighs, a comforting presence as he prepared to let the words tumble from his lips.

“I want to be in charge. I want to have complete control over you. For you to submit to me. Be one hundred percent mine to do whatever I want to do. I want to tie you up, have you completely at my mercy. I want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re begging me to stop, that you can’t take it anymore. And then I’m going to give you one more, because I can, and because I get to decide what happens to you. I want to drive my cock into your pussy until tears of pleasure stain those gorgeous cheeks of yours. I want to spank you until you can no longer sit down. I want to wrap my hand around that little throat of yours until you see the stars I see in your eyes every day. I want to cover your body in marks, fingerprints, hickeys, bites, whatever I can to make sure everyone knows who the fuck you belong to. And after all that, I want to cum inside this pussy, because it’s mine and no one else’s.” Lando growled, his grip on your thighs wavering as he detailed his fantasy, one that you were all too happy to bring to life.

“Yes. I consent. To all of it. I’m yours Lando, and I trust you with every fibre of my being.” You spoke clearly, wanting him to hear just how willing you were to help him fulfill the dreams he had obviously been thinking of all day.

At your reassuring words, Lando surged forward, his eyes obviously more adjusted to the dark room than yours as he found your lips with ease, finally indulging you in your own desires of finally having his lips against yours after a day spent apart. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, an involuntary gasp leaving your mouth and allowing Lando’s tongue to move slowly against yours. His hands, still with a grip on your thighs, slid them apart, which allowed him to shuffle further forward on his knees.

His lips travelled to your neck, nipping, licking and sucking on the flesh that he knew would make you whimper. Your hands, previously resting on his muscled forearms, reached for the lamp next to you, your eyes desperate to see the hungry look you knew was plastered on his face. The warm light flickered on, bathing his tanned skin in rays of honey-gold that only served to make him look more like a God among men than he already seemed to you.

“Get up. Go to the bedroom. When I get there, I want you naked and spread on the bed for me. You’re at my mercy tonight, darling, so you best not disobey or there’ll be hell to pay.” Lando growled, the intrusion of the light having snapped the remaining thread that held the usually sweet, albeit passionate and hungry, man that you had been sleeping with for so long.

Your breath caught in your throat, the dominance Lando was showing shot heat and pleasure to your core in a way you had never experienced. You stood quickly, beginning a fast walk toward your shared bedroom. Charged nerves surged through your body when you heard Lando’s steps trailing behind you, your hands moving in a frenzy to rid the clothes covering the body Lando was about to devour. When you finally got into your room, you only had a black lace thong remaining, so you threw it across the room and dove onto the bed just in time for the shirtless Brit to appear in the doorway with an impressed look on his features.

“I’m surprised, and almost disappointed. I was sure I’d get to punish you tonight, but I guess I’ll have to leave that for another day. Look at you though, all laid out and ready for me like the needy little whore you are. I bet you can’t fucking wait to be wrapped around my cock, to be filled up with my cum and feel it drip down your thighs.” Lando’s words had you keening, your body almost curling in on itself as he spoke all the words, pressed all the buttons that you didn’t know you had. You already felt like you were dripping onto the sheets beneath your body, and from the way Lando’s eyes were transfixed on your pussy, you were sure he could confirm your hypothesis.

He started towards you, kicking himself off the door frame with a smirk that would make you jump his bones at any given moment. His gaze was predatory, planning all the different ways he could tear you apart and put you back together before you would be sobbing with pleasure, overstimulated to the point of pleasing pain. Lando stopped as his shins met the side of the bed, staring down at you like prey. You whimpered, this new dominant side of your boyfriend was ruining you, and you wished for it to never end.

“Please, Lando, touch me.” You whimpered, skin alight with anticipation and wanton lust, your hairs standing on end, waiting for the prickling feeling to dissipate with the touch of his skin against yours.

“Please Daddy. And I’ll decide when you get touched.” Lando growled, the title more of a command than a suggestion, and that alone had your body curling.

“I’m sorry Daddy.” The name tasted like whiskey soaked cherries on your tongue; all sweet and spicy, innocent and sensual, an invitation and an offering. A spark behind Lando’s eyes let you know exactly how much he liked the keening way you spoke, and in barely a moment, his body was covering yours.

Your legs already opened wide for him, allowing his hips to slot in right between your thighs, your wet core lining up with his denim covered cock, already straining against the material purely from words spoken and the way the light from the lamp in the corner made your pussy glisten with its juices. His hands beside your head caged you in, holding the weight of his torso and unbridled dominance from crushing you.

Your breath came out shaky, bottom lip quivering in anticipation of feeling his lips on yours, every muscle in your body working to keep you from launching upwards and taking exactly what you wanted. Lando granted those wishes, diving down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, the frustration he usually held back while fucking you finally manifesting itself as hot, fiery passion. He needed this release, and you were the perfect vessel to release into. Every nip of his teeth, stroke of his tongue and bare touch of his fingers against your naked skin, it was too much and not enough.

“I need you to tell me if you need me to stop, we need a safeword. Use it if I go too far, or if I hurt you, or if you just need a second. Because I don’t want to lose myself in you and not realise I’m doing something wrong.” Lando spoke, breathless from the head spinning kiss, and you almost cooed, there was really nothing Lando could do to you that would hurt you, and it was sweet that he still didn’t understand that fact, but you followed along for his peace of mind.

“Orange.” You replied, almost instantly. The colour was so deeply ingrained in your relationship that you felt it both fitting and comforting, and Lando agreed as he nodded along, repeating the word in his mind and tying alarm bells and stop signs to it.

“Good. Now sit on my face.”

“I’m sorry what?” You squeaked, the request having given you whiplash, and as you stared into Lando’s eyes, no hin of remorse or asking, you realised the man was dead fucking serious.

“Did I stutter?” Lando asked again, his eyes glaring at your face as you continued to try and process the last seventeen seconds, but when your body was flipped from lying comfortably against your mattress to straddling a muscled chest, you realised you’d have to be a lot quicker to keep up with Lando tonight.

“If I have to ask you one more time, you won’t like what happens.” Lando growled, the deep tones of his domineering voice filling the room and hanging heavily in the air. You looked down to his face, his chin barely five centimetres from your pussy, and decided it was now or fucking never. So you shuffled awkwardly up the bed, apparently too slow for Lando, because he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged your body to exactly where he wanted it. Your dripping core suspended above him, his nose brushing your clit each time your thighs spasmed in your pleasure.

“Is this okay Daddy?” You whispered, your hands gripping the headboard in front of you like a lifeline. Lando’s entire body spasmed, his arms tensing around your thighs and pulling your wet cunt to his face just as a guttural moan tore from the depths of his chest, his arms shaking with the force of containing whatever beast had just been awoken inside of him.

Lando ate you out with a ferocity you had never expected a man to possess, his tongue lapped, tasted, prodded and fucked through your folds like a man starved. His nose brushed your clit every so often, jolting your hips and causing you to ride his face until a swift slap warmed your ass cheeks.

“Sorry Daddy.” You mumbled, embarrassment warming your cheeks as the pleasure built up much faster and harder than ever before. Lando slid one of his calloused digits into your cunt, his mouth moving to focus on your clit, sucking and licking at the bundle of nerves while you clenched around his fingers with a passion.

“You better not cum until I say you can.” Lando’s voice was muffled, but you understood exactly what he meant. Your whimper that followed made Lando chuckle, and you moaned as the vibrations and exhaled breath hit your core and made your entire body convulse, the pleasure was blinding, but your brain was fixated on not cumming until Lando allowed you to.

Your body was so hot with pleasure, your vision coated white to the point you didn’t know if your eyes were open or closed, and your perception of time had vanished long ago. Lando could have been eating you out for five minutes or five hours, you had no clue anymore, all you knew was that it felt so good, and it was Lando making you feel this way.

“You’re doing so good baby, fuck. If you keep making those sounds I might cum before you even touch me.” Lando’s voice brought you back to reality, as you had been so lost you didn’t realise you had been moaning, the sounds of pleasure verging on screams as you passed ‘about to cum’ and entered ‘about to pass out’.

“You make me feel so good Daddy. So fucking good, shit.” Your reply was garbled, moans and whimpers cutting off words. Lando hummed, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking exceptionally hard as his fingers curled just the right way, and you knew you were a goner.

“Cum now baby girl.” Lando mumbled, syllables lost to the flesh of your pussy, but you got the message. The relief that coated your body was like cold water on a hot summer day, drenching your screaming senses in a blanket of calm, your vision returning in flashes of colour, your ears ringing with high pitched screams, ones which you realised after a moment were your own sounds of pleasure. Lando continued his ministrations as you came down, prolonging your pleasure while you regained consciousness and became fully aware of what was happening around you.

Lando stopped, his eyes opening to see you already staring down at him in awe, and he helped you move from your position over his head to laying beside him on the bed, your skin already shining with a thin coat of sweat.

You looked over at your boyfriend, disbelief in your eyes as you stared at the wetness covering the bottom half of his face, and some of his neck. He looked smug as ever, a sliver of your young boyfriend shining through the dominant facade he had on tonight, but as soon as you started picking out the familiar pieces, his eyes turned cold again, the smirk being replaced with a tensed jaw. Your heart stopped for a moment, the one-eighty made your pussy flutter around nothing, and suddenly you were painfully aware of just how empty you felt.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, eyes wide and innocent, your bottom lip pouting as you looked up at Lando, hoping to run your hands across his chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the taut skin, to drag your nails across his thighs, dig your fingers into his skin as he fucks you.

“Do you want to try asking that again?” Lando replied, his tone almost patronising as he looked at you, practically vibrating with desperation to touch him. It filled him with unbelievable pride, to have you so wanting just to feel him, it stroked his ego more than winning any Grand Prix ever could.

“I’m sorry sir. Can I please touch you? I want to make you feel good too.” You whimpered, the new title falling from your lips naturally, and though he hadn’t answered you, or granted you permission to touch him, he pounced.

His lips collided with yours, sharing the taste of you in the kiss and you moaned at the sensation, your nails reaching up to claw at Lando’s back. His hands where everywhere, grabbing your tits with rough hands, flicking your nipples with calloused skin, gripping your hips with intent to bruise, desperate to leave the evidence of his claim on you. His lips traced the familiar path to your jaw, up to your ear where he sunk his teeth into the lobe, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

Except the sweet nothings tonight were anything but.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum. Watch it drip out of you and then fuck it back into you with my fingers. Gonna make you a mummy, huh? Have you walking around the paddock with my baby in you. That way everyone knows you’re mine and that I was the one that fucked you so good.” The filthy words being fed right into your ear, along with the strong grip on your hips and the rolling of Lando’s hips pressing his bulge into your core was going to make you go feral.

“Fuck me, sir. Put your baby in me please. Wanna be a mummy for you.” You purred, the words rolling off your tongue in waves that sent shivers down Lando’s spine. He leant back, sat back on his haunches as he took in the sight of your body, still trembling slightly from the powerful orgasm. He slowly undid his belt, your eyes trained on the movements his hands made, biting your lip as you got one step closer to seeing his cock, a sight you could and would never tire of. With his belt gripped tightly in his hands, Lando made a decision he would never regret.

He scooped your hands up in one of his, the other holding the belt, and positioned your hands above your head, fingers brushing against the headboard. He looped the belt through the wrought iron, fastening the leather around your hands tight enough to keep them there, but not tight enough to do any damage to you. You tugged on the restraints lightly, pouting when you found there wasn’t enough give to touch Lando while he fucked you into the mattress.

Lando gave the restraints a few investigative tugs, and when there was little movement and he was satisfied with the results, he leaned back, staring down at you yet again. You were starting to think he was getting more enjoyment out of just staring at you than anything else.

With heavy breathing and the occasional squeak of the headboard as you attempted to break free of the belt holding your wrists hostage, Lando finally began removing his sinfully tight black jeans. He pushed them down his legs with a carefree attitude, as though he had all the time in the world, whilst you were squirming around on the bed, desperate to get a look at, a hold of, a taste of what was hidden now by the thin black cotton that stretched over his painfully hard cock.

“If you keep squirming like that, I’ll tie your ankles next to your wrists and fuck you like that. Is that what you want?” Lando growled, pausing in his tantalising show of getting undressed to glare at you. You halted almost immediately, the image of Lando plowing into you while your wrists and ankles were bound together. You gulped, the vision was certainly tempting, however your pussy wouldn’t be able to take such a beating.

“No sir. I’m sorry sir.” You whimpered back, your words sent shocks of electricity through Lando’s body, and having abandoned his teasing display, he tore his underwear off and climbed onto your bed in a hurry.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping a few times and letting out a shuddering sigh. His eyes cut to yours, a blazing fury warming them from the usual cool blue green to a warm green that made your pussy flutter. He slid the tip of his cock through your wet folds, biting his lower lip to contain the moans that were ready to fall past his lips. Your fists clenched around the belt, desperate for something to hold onto.

Lando thrust his hips into yours, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You both moaned, the sweet relief of finally wrapping your velvety walls around his cock was overwhelming. Quite quickly, Lando set a punishing pace, his hips rolling out of you before snapping back to meet yours, his pubic bone putting delectable pressure on your clit, forcing moans out of your lips at an alarming rate.

His hands held a death grip on your hips, keeping your squirming body in its place while he used your body for his own pleasure. Your moans became louder, his hips forcing his cock deeper into your cunt, but Lando didn’t like that.

“You shut the fuck up and take my cock like a good little slut, yeah?” He spoke, his right hand reaching up to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing around the sides. The pressure only added to your mounting pleasure, Lando squeezing intermittently when you let out a particularly loud moan, reducing you to a pile of whimpers and pleas.

His hips began stuttering, the pleasure he was feeling overwhelming the perfect pace he had set. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him further into your hungry cunt, clenching around him like you were trying to pull his entire being into you. And maybe you were, if he kept this up, you were never going to let him out of you again.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” He whimpered, the first show of your usual Lando shining through, his hips moving with a renewed vigor. You couldn’t form words, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each thrust, forcing your body higher up the bed, your arms still bound above your head. The hand around your throat squeezed harder, and for a moment all you saw were stars, the pleasure of your second orgasm ripping through your body like a tidal wave. Each atom in your body was torn apart and stitched back together with the threads of Lando’s hot seed and rough hands.

Lando pulled out of you, watching his cum drip down your thighs for a moment before he jumped from the bed, hurrying into the ensuite as quickly as he could on shaky legs. You could hear the tap running, and after a few moments, he returned with a wet rag and your favourite lotion, leaving the bottle on the side table while he cleaned the mess between your thighs, becoming entranced with the sight for another moment before he finished up, tossing the dirty cloth into the ensuite. Lando crawled up the bed to you, undoing the belt that had begun to rub your wrists raw, and with your finally free hands, you cupped your boyfriend’s cheeks, pulling him into a sweet kiss to stop the steam train of thoughts inevitably running through his head.

With soft hands and caring eyes, Lando began rubbing the lotion onto your red wrists, kissing the skin briefly, then leaving another sweet kiss on your lips.

“Was that okay?” He whispered, insecurity rearing its head yet again, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the nervous look he was giving you.

“More than okay, baby. That was amazing. 10/10 would try again.” You giggled, caressing his shoulders with slow hands, grateful to finally be feeling his skin again.

“Well, I wouldn’t be mad at that. I have some ideas.” Lando replied, a cheeky lilt to his voice as he laid down beside you, pulling the covers up to cover you both.

“Oh, do you now? I’m all ears.”

[mypoisonedvine]

claimed || alpha!Andy Barber x reader

summary: an interrogation with an alpha is no place to have an unexpected heat.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (dub con; the reader goes into heat and can’t think clearly enough to say no), a/b/o dynamics, loss of virginity, mentions of misogyny/discrimination against omegas, vague noncon and violence references, kinda housewife kink, possessiveness, breeding kink, praise, overstimulation, knotting, slight bondage (reader is handcuffed), slight pain kink, implied/subtle age gap, pregnancy mention at the end, kinda soft!dark andy but he's really not that dark

"This would be a lot easier for both of us if you started telling the truth."

You chewed your lip, looking away from the man across from you; it was impossible to keep eye contact when his gaze bore into you like that, when he gave you that stern, dominating look.

Andy Barber was so obviously an alpha, he was one of those types that just reeked of it. Figuratively— with the way he towered over you, his masculine body and strong features— but also literally considering his scent was filling the room now: pine, cinnamon, sage, and something a little bit sweet that made your mouth water.

It made sense for an alpha like him to have a high-powered, high-pressure career like this; he probably got a real kick out of squeezing information out of scared betas who couldn’t stand up to him.

And that was the role you were going to play now, because he was wrong: it would not be easier if you told the truth. If he knew what you really were, you’d be doomed.

You’d been hiding successfully as a beta for a long time by now, and you weren’t about to give it up now, even if it would likely have the charges against you dismissed. Omegas lived sheltered, oppressed lives; sought constantly by alphas, they had their pick of the finest since omegas were so rare, but until mated they were extremely vulnerable— and afterwards they were usually made to be subservient housewives, constantly bearing children as a consequence of their extreme fertility.

Maybe some omegas were okay with that, plenty probably loved that lifestyle since it was sort of the instinctual habit of an omega by nature, but not you. Never you. You wanted a life, a real life, your own life as more than an alpha’s mate. Thankfully you’d found the right mix of suppressants and perfumes to hide your scent, the right work schedule so you could always be home for your rare heats, and voila: to the rest of the world, you were a beta.

Being a beta meant being unnoticed, unacknowledged, never pursued and never courted. And that was exactly how you wanted it.

If Andy Barber knew that the man you’d stabbed was an alpha trying to force himself on you, there was a chance he would understand that it was self-defense and let you go. Then again, a lot of alphas seemed to think that being forced to mate was just par for the course for an omega; surely Andy wouldn’t be one of those types, as a man of the law, right?

“I can’t,” you finally answered.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he assured, some of his anger shifting to a soothing tone. It really did calm you down; he must have been using his ‘alpha voice’ on you, and the fact that it worked should’ve been a red flag but you didn’t notice. “Let’s start from the beginning. You said you were at home but no one has confirmed your alibi. You said you didn’t know the victim but you obviously reacted when I showed you his picture. And, you said you weren’t there at the time of the murder but we found your DNA on the body.”

A little smile pulled at the corner of your lips, exactly not the reaction Andy had been expecting. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

He tensed up as you called his bluff. The DNA found at the scene was in the process of being analysed, sure, but it would be weeks until the results came back. “How can you be so sure?” he pressed.

“Because I.  Wasn’t. There,” you hissed, glaring back at him; he shook his head solemnly..

“No, that’s not it. I can tell when you’re lying, too, you know,” he warned.  “Tell me how you know I don’t have your DNA at the scene?”

“Because… because…” you breathed, blinking a few times as the room started to get warmer. Your head was spinning, your thighs clenched together— and when Andy reached out to rest his hand on yours and ask if you were alright, his touch sent it all into overdrive.

No, no, it wasn't your time yet. It shouldn't have come for a few more days, and you’d arranged to be bailed out tomorrow so you’d go into your cycle safely at home and not in jail. But now it was beginning and you had no way to stop it. Had the smell of an alpha really been enough to start your heat early?

Andy watched you start to pant and sweat with a furrowed brow, unsure what he was witnessing because he’d never had the opportunity to see it before. His ex-wife had been a beta, he'd never even met an omega before— they were quite rare after all.

But what he lacked in experience, he made up for in instinct; his body told him everything he needed to know about what he was seeing. “Omega,” he growled lowly, watching your whole body erupt into shivers at the timbre of his voice.

As far as alphas go, Andy was relatively level-headed, not as preoccupied with instinctual desires to dominate, to claim, to impregnate. A lot of alphas viewed mating with a beta as settling, although it was the much more likely outcome, statistically speaking. Andy, though, never really saw it that way, even knowing how much harder it would be to have a child with a beta. Their fertility was significantly weaker, both the males and the females, and Jacob was the product of years of trying; in all their marriage him and Laurie had never used any contraceptives and she only got pregnant the once.

But an omega? Especially a young one like you? He could knock you up right now, if he wanted. That power was intoxicating. It was exactly what he never knew he needed so badly.

“I don’t need the results of your DNA to know what you are,” he explained firmly. “I can’t believe I didn’t know before— you must have tried really hard to keep it a secret, little one. You must be so afraid of who you are… and who I am, for that matter.  It must scare you to imagine what I could do to you.”

You whimpered, the noise tugging his heart in conflicting directions; to comfort you, or to make you do it again.

“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think,” he assured. “Not if I can help it…”

Honestly, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to help it; he felt his own sanity slipping as he watched you writhe and cry, instinct overtaking logic in the both of you.

"Alpha, please," you shuddered, the title making his cock harden instantly, uncomfortably filling the trousers of his suit.

"You smell so good," he purred, taking his jacket off as he stood up to cool off a bit. "I can smell your heat, Omega. I bet everyone in the building can—” he glanced to the locked door— “but I'm the only one here."

"Need you," you whined, tugging on the handcuffs that kept you bound to the table.

"Stand up, bend over," he commanded, and he'd barely finished speaking when you'd already done it, bent at the hips with your forearms resting on the table as you waited for him. "Good girl."

He rolled up his sleeves and took his place behind you, caging his body in with yours, nuzzling into your neck to get a deep breath of your scent.

"Fuck, so sweet," he groaned. "Waited so long for this. To feel an Omega on my cock. Never thought it would really happen. Has an Alpha ever taken you before?"

"No, I never… no."

"Not just unclaimed but a virgin. Christ, am I dreaming?"

But he was too far gone to take any more time to appreciate his luck— he needed you now, and he was taking you all for himself.

If he wasn't so overcome with need he wouldn't have thought to tear your clothes off, but now he didn't even think to question the idea, shedding you of your clothes like they were made of paper until you were completely exposed to him, your wet core vulnerable while another wave of your sweet scent filled the room.

"Look at all this," he grinned, kneeling down to lap at your folds and taste your slick. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your channel craving to be filled. "All for me, Omega?"

"Yours, it's all yours…"

"Doesn't it feel good to be claimed, little one? To be owned?"

"S-so good," you agreed. "Want your knot, Alpha. Want your mark."

A growl echoed in his chest when you said that, and he craved nothing more than to bite your neck and bond you to him for life.

But, it would be better if he saved that for a little later.

He stood up again and gave your ass a quick slap— nothing too rough, just enough to make you yelp all cute and whiny— before grabbing your hips to pull them back into his. You gasped and pushed back onto him, shamelessly rubbing yourself against the thick outline of his cock.

"Gonna make a mess on me with all that slick, Omega," he growled, but it was by no means discouragement.

"Want it in me, please," you sobbed. Unable to resist your begging anymore, he hastily opened his belt and fly, sighing with relief when he wrapped his hand around his cock and pulled it out. Your whole body visibly quaked when he swiped the swollen head through your folds, coating himself in your plentiful arousal.

Without any further warning, he pushed his cock in with a loud moan, a cry tearing from your throat as he tore into your body. "Shh," he soothed as his fingers rubbed your spine, "that's my girl, that's my pretty Omega."

But pain wasn't really your issue; it hurt, yes, but what made you cry was that you were already on the edge, about to come from hardly anything. When he thrusted once, you lost it and your legs quivered as a new wave of slick started to dribble down them.

"Are you coming?" he asked darkly.

You could only nod, biting your lip to try to keep from moaning too loudly.

"Oh my god…" he groaned, amazed at how sensitive you were. Clearly he wasn't the only one realizing how powerful and incredible it could be when an alpha and omega mated.

He started to really pound into you then, each brutal thrust knocking you forward.

"Feels good when you come for me, Omega. Do it again."

You couldn't help yourself; his voice had complete control over your body, his words a command you were helpless to resist. With a broken whimper you came again, walls squeezing his cock in a weak and stuttered rhythm.

"It's better than they say it is. Even better than I imagined. So fucking good," he sighed. It felt so right, that was the thing. It felt like your body was made to be claimed and owned by him.

"Want your knot," you whined, "please, Alpha—"

"If I give you my knot, you're mine. My Omega. You will never allow another Alpha to touch you. You will not speak to another Alpha, look at another Alpha, even Betas are off-limits. When I bite you, you'll be bonded to me and become my wife, you'll never disobey me or leave me. When I knot you, you'll give me a child. Is all of that perfectly clear?"

It was everything you'd wanted to avoid just an hour ago. Now it was your greatest dream come true. "Yes, Alpha. Yours, Alpha."

"Want to be bred, Omega? Bred by your Alpha?"

"Please!" you sobbed.

"Then keep coming and I'll let you have it soon," he promised. "I'll give you all my come like you need so badly."

You whimpered as your walls seemed to try to suck him in deeper, gripping him so tight that it made his head spin. Orgasm after orgasm washed over you, too many and too numb to count, each part of you slowly stripped away and replaced with pure, all-consuming pleasure.

The base of his cock began to swell and you mewled proudly— that is, until, it just kept growing and you couldn't imagine taking anymore.

"P-pull it out," you begged instead.

"I told you that you would take my knot, was I not clear?"

But you hadn't realized how big it would get, how far it would stretch you— and it was still going. "It hurts, Alpha, please!"

"You'll get used to it, gonna keep it in you all night and give it to you every day so you'll have plenty of practice. Take my fucking knot while I come inside you and breed your cunt."

When his knot finally grew to its full potential, streams of hot come began to fill you, deeper than you had ever imagined possible. It was overwhelming, apparently unending, and one final orgasm rocked your body as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

He wrapped his arms around your body, holding you close and soothing you as you shivered and cried, his kisses trailing up your shoulder to your neck where, finally, he sunk his teeth into your skin and left his mark on you.

Your walls quivered around him at the feeling of being claimed, mated for life. In that moment you didn't notice or care that it was to a man you barely knew; he was your Alpha now, that was all that mattered.

He kissed and licked over the sensitive bitemark, whispering praises your ringing ears couldn't quite process yet.

At least you were getting bailed out a day early.

//

Andy kept his promise about exactly how owned you would be. For the first few months you didn't even leave the house, he was too busy filling you with his cock every day. Although he was happy to claim you anywhere he happened to find you— the shower where he hopped in randomly, the kitchen where he bent you over the counter, the living room where he pinned you onto the couch— his favorite place was the bed. It was rougher and more animalistic in the other places, but in bed he was possessive in an entirely different way.

"My wife, my sweet little wife," he whispered in your ear as he slowly thrust all the way into you, making your back arch until your chest pushed against his. "My Omega. All mine."

"Yours," you agreed.

The protectiveness increased tenfold when your scent changed during pregnancy, even more when you started showing; he was obsessed with the way you looked full of his baby.

As for you, omega life was better than you'd expected. At times you felt smothered by him, but simultaneously you felt worshipped and loved like you never thought you could deserve. He certainly spoiled you, though he expected your unwavering loyalty in return.

That part was easy, though. Love, not fear, kept you in check when other alphas had a wandering eye. They knew you were mated, the bitemark scar (which Andy never, ever let you cover) and ring (which Andy never, ever let you take off) were sign enough along with the change in your scent to them. Occasionally one would shoot his shot and get unilaterally rejected by you before getting his ass kicked by your husband. If only they knew what you'd done to the last alpha that tried to creep on you; how you met Andy in the first place.

In the end, maybe it wasn't so bad to fall into your instincts, your natural role in society. Andy sure made it pretty enjoyable with the way he brought you to the height of pleasure over and over every night. "Mine," he promised you in deep whispers, "from the moment I saw you."

[grapesodatozier]

so close to the real thing (closer than you think)

rating: explicit

word count: 6.8k

summary: Eddie's been pining over Richie for as long as he can remember. He loves everything about Richie; especially how much Richie loves touching him. It's a little inconvenient, though. Eddie copes with his pent up sexual tension by constantly checking a porn blog he's obsessed with on tumblr. This guy has the same type of body as Richie, he talks like Richie, his name is even Richie! It makes it all too easy for Eddie to pretend it really is Richie while getting himself off to all of the blog's content.

You'll never guess what he finds out when he starts sexting this stranger named Richie from his anonymous porn blog.

tags: friends to lovers, porn with feelings, love confessions, dom/sub dynamics, bi dom top richie, gay sub bottom eddie, the most oblivious pining idiots in the world lol we love them

notes: this is one of my more ridiculous ideas but I had so much fun with it lol. also as a note you probably should not approach people on the internet the way they do in this fic, but they're just v enthusiastic and everything here is v consensual!! still tho definitely don't take this indulgent fic as a guide on how to approach real people online lmao. okay have fun!!

read on ao3 or below!!

notsfw under the cut

Eddie Kaspbrak’s friends were his entire world; time spent with them meant everything to him. But he also really valued his alone time. He’d always been the sort who needed time to just sit on a grassy hill and watch the trains go by, to catch up on comics in his room, to get lost in Netflix shows or even just his thoughts as he moseyed around his apartment—one he live in by himself, for when these moods hit. He needed time to himself to unwind. And sometimes he unwound by scrolling through some porn blogs on tumblr with his hand in his pants.

There was one blog that he was particularly fond of. There were other blogs more catered to his personal interests, namely blogs that didn’t feature women like this one did. But there was a good balance of genders represented, so Eddie figured he could just scroll past those posts. This guy was worth it. His pictures were ridiculously hot, and his dirty talk was even hotter.

Also, his name was Richie. Which Eddie refused to acknowledge as part of the draw.

It was harder to ignore tonight. He’d been out with the losers, and Richie had just been so touchy. And there was something about the way he'd been talking; his voice was lower than normal, slower in a way that made Eddie’s stomach flip. And his touches had lingered, his hand squeezing Eddie’s hip slow, then lazily brushing against his ass as he dropped it. Eddie could hardly take it. He brushed it off as Richie just being tired from work, but god, Eddie wanted it to mean more. The hardest part was hiding how much he wanted Richie to keep doing it.

There were so many things Eddie wanted Richie to do to him. He wanted Richie to touch him harder, to grab him by his hips with both hands. Richie’s hands were so big; Eddie just knew Richie could manhandle him so easily, so roughly. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have Richie’s hands all over him, grabbing at his ass and his thighs, holding his wrists down, making him feel so small. While Eddie would never admit it, huffing at every short joke Richie made, but he loved being shorter than Richie. He loved how safe he felt when Richie held him. And he was dying to know how small he would feel with Richie looming above him, or sitting in Richie’s lap, bouncing on his cock. He wanted to hear Richie talking to him in that low, slow voice, with that condescension Eddie did his best to pretend not to be affected by. He wanted Richie to whisper in his ear and call him all those pretty names he always dropped so casually, all those sweet ones and also ones that were a lot meaner. He wanted Richie to want him.

But it was easier to think about it than to ask for it. He knew Richie had way more experience than him. Well, okay, maybe not way more necessarily, but they were starting their third year of college, and he hadn’t wasted any time. Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t done anything more than hand stuff with someone else. The guys he’d hooked up with were nice enough, and hot enough, but they just… weren’t Richie.

He supposed this guy on tumblr wasn’t Richie either, but at least he was everything else Eddie wanted. None of his hookups had been so, well, dominant, and that was this guy’s whole thing. He was dominant and a top and into guys that looked like Eddie. He even kind of talked like Richie, and he was apparently pining over his best friend, just like Eddie was. It had him completely smitten. Plus, internet-Richie’s crush had brown eyes like Eddie, and he ran track, just like Eddie did. Internet-Richie had posted once about his dick getting hard watching his friend at his track meet, and Eddie had come so hard that night, his track shorts around his ankles, imagining his Richie thinking those things about him.

Eddie was in bed now, in nothing but his boxers and one of Richie’s old shirts that had been Eddie’s for a while now. Still reeling from the way Richie had been acting that night, he logged into his porn account on his phone and scrolled through his dash for a grand total of thirty seconds before going immediately to internet-Richie’s blog. A thrill went through Eddie’s body when he saw that he had just posted. He’d written, “god my friends gonna fuckn kill me with that ass, i wanna plow him so bad” then reblogged it and added, “reminder that my asks and dms are always open if any pretty needy little subs need help getting off. please come be sluts in my messages.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when he saw that there was a picture, too, one of him gripping his hard cock, his boxers pulled down just enough for Eddie to see the dark hair around the base of his cock. Eddie moaned at the sight. His cock was so nice, so long and thick and pink. And fuck, his fingers. They were so long and slim, almost as nice as his-Richie’s.

Eddie scrolled a little farther down, his heart racing. There were a lot of reblogs, but some original posts here and there, things like, “what i wouldn’t do to have a pretty guy drooling all over my cock rn,” and, “in the mood to get someone dick drunk. wanna fuck a someone so hard they forget their own name.” One that made Eddie nearly choke said, “want someone i can pump my come into whenever i want, over and over again. want a sub i can keep full of my come all the fuckn time.” That post had Eddie getting out his lube.

It also had him thinking about internet-Richie’s most recent post, his post about his DMs being open.

Eddie bit his lip and thought about it. He’d sent internet-Richie some asks before from his porn blog (his blog didn’t have his name on it, just the teddy bear emoji, since he privately thought the teddy/Eddie rhyme was fun and clever, and also it was cute), and he’d seemed plenty happy enough to respond then. Still, it felt like a much bigger step to DM him, to talk to him just one on one. But the more he read his posts, the more he thought about his-Richie and how he’d touched Eddie that night, the easier it was to convince himself to shoot his shot with this stranger.

Eddie just messaged him a simple, “hi,” with a heart emoji. It was innocent enough, but his heart was still racing.

Internet-Richie responded a lot faster than Eddie was expecting. Honestly he hadn’t been expecting a response at all. But he said:

hiya cutie (; ive been hoping youd message me

Eddie flushed. He couldn’t help but hear cutie in his-Richie’s voice—especially given how often Richie used the nickname. really? he typed back.

fuck yes, ur cute little messages make me so hard. i can tell ur a pretty little thing just from the way you type

Eddie was blushing deep. Pretty little thing. That was hotter than it should’ve been. He wanted his Richie to talk to him like that, in that deep, sleepy voice.

there’s no way you can tell that from some messages :P, Eddie sent.

His heart stopped at the next messages internet-Richie sent.

oh, u dont think so?

why dont u send me some pics to prove me wrong (;

Oh my god, Eddie thought, his breath coming short. His head swam at the thought of sending this guy nudes, of showing himself off to someone who clearly wanted to see him, who would know how to take care of him and fuck him the way he liked, a guy with his crush’s fucking name and body type and hands. It had Eddie’s cock hard and leaking, and he slowly slid a finger inside of himself.

But just because the thought turned him on didn’t mean he was gonna send this stranger what he wanted so easily, even if he desperately wanted to.

you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

He fingered himself open as he waited for a response, working his way up to two fingers. It was nearly impossible to ignore his cock, but he didn’t want to come before the conversation even had a chance to start.

fuck ya i would, internet-Richie responded. Then, in a second message, whats wrong baby? you shy? ill show u mine ;)

Eddie's breath caught. God, this guy even made stupid shit sound hot, just like Eddie’s Richie. This was unreal.

i’ve seen yours, Eddie pointed out.

ya and you musta liked it if ur messaging me rn

Eddie bit his lip. ...maybe

aw thats cute sweetheart. u know i can see all the needy little tags you add when u reblog my stuff right?

Eddie blushed. He’d kind of always hoped he’d read them, but he never thought he actually did. i didn’t know you read those

oh ya, read them, jerk off to them. bit of a size queen, aren’t you? ;) it’s cute. makes me so fuckn hard when u talk abt how u want me to fill you up

Eddie whimpered out loud, sliding a third finger into himself. Fuck, he wanted that cock inside of him so bad. But right now one of his toys would have to do, once he was stretched out enough. He sped up his fingers, getting impatient. Gathering up all of his horny courage, he sent, show me.

what, no please? only good boys who use their manners get dick pics babydoll

Eddie pouted and whined to himself, making quick work of sliding his hot pink vibrator inside of himself—well, as quickly as he could without hurting himself. He moaned as it filled him up, making pleasure spread deep through his body. Slowly pumping it in and out, he reached for his phone. please, he typed, please let me see? wanna know what to picture while i fuck myself with my vibrator. He even added the wide eyed pouting emoji to really milk the whole begging thing. He knew he’d been playing a little coy, but now with the way internet-Richie was talking to him he was getting desperate.

well fuck baby since ur begging ;)

Eddie held his breath as he waited for the picture, slowly rocking his toy in and out, savoring the feeling. He wished it was Richie doing it, wished it was his cock. The lines between which Richie blurred; he wanted to get fucked by either of them, both of them.

What Eddie received when his phone lit up was not a picture, but a video. It was short, just a few seconds of Richie’s hand dragging wetly, smoothly over his cock, but it had Eddie drooling. The room was dark, so he’d used a flash, and it made the mix of what Eddie assumed was precome and spit glisten as the swollen head of Richie’s cock disappeared and reappeared from behind his fingers. Eddie must’ve played it at least five times, fucking himself a little faster, before remembering to say something back. And to take a video of his own. fuck, I want you so bad, want you to fucking ruin me, he wrote back. A part of him couldn’t believe how openly desperate he was being, but he found that he liked it; he liked the way it made him blush, he liked the way it felt to beg, to ask for what he wanted.

Richie’s response came fast: show me kitten. show me how you want me to fuck your pretty little ass.

Eddie moaned at the pet name; casual little nicknames were such a weakness for him. He was already so far gone, just picturing Richie’s cock inside of him, picturing him stroking his cock to thoughts of Eddie. The attention had his cock hard and leaking as he thrust his vibrator even deeper inside of himself, pumping it in and out a few more times before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. It was hard to take a video from this angle, but he wanted to show off his ass and hide his face. Plus, there was something so hot about having his ass in the air and his face shoved in his pillow, looking like the perfect image of someone desperate to be fucked. He loved the way it made him feel, loved the thought of being so open for someone. For Richie.

He ended up shooting a short video as well, about ten seconds of him sliding his vibrator slowly in and out of himself, letting out soft little moans. He was pretty pleased with the way it turned out, his hole pink and smooth and wet as it stretched around his toy. The angle was a little weird, showing a lot of his room once or twice when his hand slipped a little, but overall he thought his ass looked amazing, if he did say so himself. He sent it and said, feels so good. do you want me to go faster?

As he sent it, he got settled on his back, forcing himself to go slow as he fucked himself while he waited for internet-Richie’s response. It was taking longer than before, and Eddie was getting antsy; it was so hard to drag it out, to not get ahead of himself. But whatever Richie was doing, Eddie knew it would be worth the wait. Still, he pouted as his cock ached, begging for attention.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door.

He groaned to himself and stayed put, fucking himself even slower as he waited for whoever it was to leave. But then the knocking continued, loud and incessant and obnoxious, and Eddie knew exactly who it was. He also knew he wasn’t going to go away any time soon, which honestly made him smile and blush. Richie had terrible timing, but Eddie would never be upset to see him.

Reluctantly, he slowly slid the toy out and pulled on his shorts, leaving his shirt off. He still had a pretty obvious boner, but his horny brain did not mind the idea of Richie seeing it. So he strode lazily down the hall, shouting a performatively annoyed, “I’m coming!” Finally, he opened the door, cocking his hip to the side and giving Richie an expectant look. “Can I help you?” he asked, a small smile dancing around the corner of his lips. He had to fight off a smirk at the wide eyed look Richie gave him as he ran his eyes over Eddie’s body.

“Fuck,” he muttered lowly, his eyes trained on Eddie’s cock, which was getting even harder the more Richie stared. Eddie bit his lip and grinned a little, making doe eyes at Richie. But Richie didn’t meet his gaze—instead he brushed past Eddie, his mouth still hanging open as he made his way urgently toward Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, a little let down that Richie’s hands weren’t all over him right now. But hey, if he was heading to Eddie’s bedroom he figured that was at least the right direction. He closed his front door and followed Richie into his room, where he found him staring at the bright pink vibrator on the bed. As confident and horny as Eddie was feeling, that still made him blush. He was only human. Crossing his arms, he said, bashful now, “I was kind of in the middle of something.”

Richie looked over at him, his cheeks bright red under his freckles. Then he got a glimmer of that trademark shit-eating grin on his face. “Eds, you fucking slut,” he said, sounding both delighted and breathless. “You are so fucking hot.”

Eddie flushed and tried not to squirm, but he couldn’t help but press his legs together, his eyes brightening. Fuck, was this actually happening? Shit, he needed to think of something witty to say. “You gonna do anything about it?” Okay, that kinda sounded like a corny porn, but he had to give himself credit for even being able to form words just after his lifelong crush and personal wet dream had just admitted his attraction to him.

“I think I already have been,” Richie said, still grinning.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

Eddie was expecting a confession. He was expecting something along the lines of you think I don’t notice how you look at me? or did you really think those were casual touches earlier? What he was not expecting was for Richie to unlock his phone and hold it up, showing Eddie the video he had just taken, the video he’d sent to internet-Richie.

Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god, that’s you?” Eddie cried in disbelief.

“You’re telling me you didn’t recognize this dick?” Richie asked, swaggering over to Eddie, clearly enjoying himself.

“How did you recognize it was me?”

Richie nodded toward the Thundercats poster on Eddie’s wall, then to the model train that sat on his dresser. “What other guy has decor like that and the ass to match?”

Eddie grinned and shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well pardon me for not being especially eloquent when I’ve just learned that the guy I’ve been masturbating to since I learned how to and been in love with for even longer has been masturbating to me too.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide, all thoughts of getting fucked leaving for a moment. “You’re in love with me?” he asked, his voice as soft as his smile.

Richie was not a bashful person, but the little laugh he let out just then was close to it. “Have been my whole life, but thanks for finally noticing.”

Eddie shook his head and stepped closer, until he had to crane his head up to meet Richie’s gaze. “I love you too.”

Richie’s eyes widened behind his thick frames. Eddie had only seen that look in Richie’s eyes a few times before, but he never wanted to lose sight of it again. He always wanted Richie to look at him like that. But then Richie was closing his eyes and leaning down. It only took Eddie a second to get with the program, drinking in the moment just a little longer before letting his own eyes fall shut as he pressed his lips against Richie’s.

It started gentle enough, if deep and passionate and intentional. But then Richie’s hands were on Eddie’s bare waist, skin against skin, and Eddie was gasping into Richie’s mouth, his hands coming up and resting against Richie’s chest. He curled his fingers into Richie’s shirt as Richie ran his tongue over Eddie’s lips, just before pulling away. He laughed at Eddie’s indignant little whine.

“Oh, you mean you don’t want me to take off my shirt right now?” he smirked as Eddie tried to pull him closer by the offending fabric. Huffing, Eddie conceded and let go long enough to let Richie pull the shirt off over his head.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice a little, awed moan as he drank in Richie’s chest. It wasn’t like Richie had never been shirtless in front of Eddie before, but Eddie had never felt like he was allowed to really look at Richie all those times. But now he could; now he could touch. And he did, running his fingers over Richie’s smooth, warm skin, over his acne scars and blackheads and freckles. “Fuck, Richie,” he sighed before pressing his lips to Richie’s collarbones, trailing them all over Richie’s beautiful chest.

Richie gave a breathless, almost shy laugh as he stroked Eddie’s hair. “Damn, Eds, never pegged you as a tits guy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie giggled, bringing his lips back to Richie’s. They both smiled into it, getting lost for a moment as Richie’s hands slid slowly down Eddie’s sides. His hands lingered on Eddie’s hips for a moment before he slid them further down and grabbed at Eddie’s ass, making him gasp.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who’s about to rail you ‘til you can’t walk?”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Eddie asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richie smirked. He gave Eddie’s ass a playful smack, making Eddie gasp again and fall into him, needing more. Richie’s voice was dripping with adoration as he purred, “Little brat,” and pulled Eddie against him, kissing him again. Eddie went with it easily and happily parted his lips to let Richie lick into his mouth. Richie had one hand gripping Eddie’s jaw and the other on his ass, touching him in a way that exuded a command Eddie was desperate to follow. God, Eddie knew Richie had big hands, but they felt huge on him like this. It was dizzyingly hot. And the way Richie’s tongue was teasing his had Eddie’s knees going weak. His dick was throbbing in his shorts, aching to finish what he’d started, what had been interrupted. When he thought about it all—about playing with himself for Richie, about the video Richie had sent him, about all those things Richie had said about filling Eddie up—he felt himself clench down on nothing, desperate to get fucked. Desperate to feel Richie’s cock so deep inside of him.

“Richie,” he whined into the kiss, pulling on Richie’s belt loops, “please.” He pressed himself urgently against Richie and rutted shamelessly against his thigh.

“Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was cocky and teasing, but there was an apparent undercurrent of wonder there as well.

Eddie shoved his face into Richie’s neck and whined, grabbing onto Richie’s wrists without even knowing what his goal was. “Richie,” he whimpered, sounding pitiful and ruined already.

“What do you want, baby?” Richie’s voice made it clear that he was enjoying seeing Eddie this wrecked, and that just made Eddie even harder. “Come on, tell me, use your words.”

Eddie squirmed as Richie held him close, but still not touching him in any relieving way. “I need you inside,” Eddie said, his voice high and soft as he squirmed in Richie’s grip. “God, please, Richie, need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can’t even think. Fuck me like I’m your little toy.”

Eddie could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and judging by the gasp he heard Richie let out, he’d caught Richie off guard too. But if the hard bulge in his jeans that brushed up against Eddie was any indication, he was apparently just as turned on as Eddie was. Besides, Eddie knew from his blog that Richie was really into that sort of thing too—and, apparently, really into the idea of doing those things with Eddie. The realization that Richie had been saying all those filthy things about him had him grinding against him with even more fervor, kissing his neck with a heated confidence. Richie moaned, and Eddie could feel the warmth of it spreading through him. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to feel me inside you? You think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed, looking up at Richie with wide, desperate eyes. He shivered at the new look in Richie’s eyes, the blue nearly entirely eclipsed by how wide his pupils were. He looked hungry for Eddie; Eddie wanted to feel it. “‘M ready, Richie, please, so open for you.” He looked to the toy on his bed pointedly, but Richie only gave a deep laugh.

“Oh honey, that’s cute that you think that little thing is gonna have you ready for my cock.” Eddie’s breath caught; that toy wasn’t small. Before he could gather his scattered brain enough to react, Richie was scooping him up and tossing him on the bed, the toy falling forgotten to the floor. Richie moved Eddie onto his back, and Eddie went happily, pliantly. Richie’s fingers were cool against Eddie’s burning skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s shorts, slowly dragging them over his hips and down his legs, tossing them to the floor. Eddie’s cock was dripping with precome, his chest flushed a bright red as he squirmed under Richie’s gaze. Eddie been dreaming of Richie manhandling him like this for he didn’t even know how long; he couldn’t help the way he reacted. And he especially couldn’t help the pleased little sound he made when Richie murmured, “God, you’re gorgeous, Eds.” Then Richie was grabbing him by the ankles, gently but firmly spreading Eddie’s legs, and Eddie let out the most pathetic, genuine moan he’d ever heard. “Fuck, baby, you sound pretty. You like when I spread you open?” Richie asked. He was smirking down at Eddie, but Eddie could see how flushed he was, could see the thrilled awe in his dark, hungry eyes as Eddie nodded.

“Richie, please,” Eddie whimpered. “I need you so bad.” He sat up, reaching for Richie’s belt, but Richie easily pressed him back against the mattress with a large hand on the center of his chest. The confidence in Richie’s dominance took Eddie’s breath away, and he stayed right where he was, nice and obedient, as he watched Richie get off the bed and slowly undo his belt, then his button and zipper. He took his time dragging his jeans and boxers off, enough time to let Eddie’s eyes linger on the reveal of the dark hair under Richie’s waistband. Then Richie’s cock was bouncing up against his stomach, hard and flushed and fucking long. Eddie moaned at the sight and fisted the sheets underneath him. He wanted so badly to get his mouth on Richie, to breathe him in and be nice and good for Richie on his knees. But he was also desperate to get fucked; his hole clenched down on nothing at the thought, and then it was all he could think about again. “Richie,” he repeated, whining now as he reached for him. “Stop being such a tease.”

Richie laughed as he moved easily out of Eddie’s grip and climbed on top of him. Eddie gasped softly at the sight of Richie above him, his dark curls surrounding his face, his full, pink lips pulled into the most beautiful smile Eddie had ever seen in his life. He ran his hands over Richie’s chest and sides, marveling at the fact that this was really happening. Then, his eyes flickering down, he tentatively brought his hand to Richie’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” they said, both at the same time, making them giggle together.

“Fuck, Eds, your pretty little hand looks so cute wrapped around my cock,” Richie teased in a low, rough voice. Eddie shivered; he couldn’t tell if Richie was praising him or degrading him, but either way it made his head fuzzy.

“‘M not that little,” Eddie grumbled out of habit. But he was clearly breathless. He’d never been good at pretending not to like Richie’s compliments, however teasing.

“Aw, but you are, baby,” Richie cooed, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute and tiny for me. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to fit my cock inside you.”

“I can,” Eddie whined, both indignant and impatient. He bucked his hips up, but Richie held him down. He gasped when he felt the warm, soft skin of Richie’s cock press against his stomach. Looking down, he saw that Richie had his cock lying on Eddie’s stomach, showing just how deep he would be once he was inside Eddie.

“You sure about that, babydoll?” While the teasing note was still there, Richie’s voice got noticeably softer as he said, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Eddie’s chest swelled at that. Cupping Richie’s face in his hands, he insisted, “I can take it.” Then he reached down and took Richie in his hand, glowing with pride when Richie let out a low moan. “Richie, please, I want you so bad.”

“Okay, baby,” Richie agreed, turning his head to kiss Eddie’s palm. “Fuck, I want you, too.” But he stalled. “Have you ever… like, been fucked before?”

Eddie flushed. “Well, not by someone else, but I have some toys. I’m not gonna break, Richie.” He huffed, but the way Richie was looking at him soothed any ruffled feathers.

“I’m your first?” His smile was soft, and while his eyes glittered, there was nothing teasing about his tone.

“I didn’t wanna do it with anyone else,” Eddie mumbled. He tried to look away, but Richie pulled him into a kiss.

“Fuck, I never thought you’d want me,” he chuckled. “Sorry, that was depressing, I just mean I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner, you know?”

Eddie beamed, a small, giddy giggle dancing on his lips. “Well it’ll happen sooner if you stop talking so much.” But his smile, and all of the little kisses he planted on Richie’s freckled shoulders told Richie that Eddie never wanted him to stop talking.

“Alright, alright, sheesh, I know I’m hot but you don’t gotta rush me.” Eddie was still giggling when Richie kissed him, and he could feel that Richie was smiling too. “Where’s your lube?”

Eddie stretched his hand out and patted the bed for a moment, searching. After what was probably only four seconds but felt like an eternity, he finally found the bottle and handed it eagerly to Richie. “Oh, right,” Richie smirked, “you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Eddie moaned as Richie swiped his fingers over Eddie’s slick hole, pressing in just a bit. His fingers went in easily, and he pumped them slowly, drawing little, breathy moans out of Eddie. Richie’s fingers were a lot longer and thicker than his own, and they felt amazing, but they weren’t what he wanted in that moment.

“Richie, fuck me,” he whined.

“Aw, no please? Again?” Richie tsked and shook his head, curling his fingers against Eddie’s prostate, making him cry out. “I told you, sweetheart, only good boys who use their manners get fucked.”

“Please,” Eddie cried. He rocked his hips and grabbed at Richie’s shoulders, at his arms, not even sure what his goal was there other than to get Richie closer, to get his attention, to show him how desperate he was. “Please fuck me, please.” He sounded pathetic begging like this, but that just made him harder. And it made Richie’s pupils even wider as he slid his fingers out of Eddie and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Good boy,” he purred. Eddie moaned and arched into Richie’s touch, but he only gave Eddie one more kiss on his cheek before pulling back and covering his cock in lube. Eddie watched, entranced, as Richie’s hand moved smoothly over his cock, glistening and slick. Then Richie was gently spreading Eddie’s legs even further and pressing the head of his cock against Eddie’s hole.

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered brokenly, grasping at the sheets beneath him. “Richie, please.” Meeting his gaze, he said softly, “I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” Richie assured him in a voice that made Eddie feel like he was glowing. Richie took Eddie’s hand in his and entwined their fingers, using his other hand to guide his cock inside of Eddie, who gasped at the feeling. God, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe his first time was going to be with his favorite person. He couldn’t believe he was finally getting exactly what he wanted. Love flooded through him, warm and perfect, somehow both soothing and electrifying as he watched Richie’s face. Eddie’s mouth dropped as Richie pressed into him, deeper and deeper and still fucking deeper, until finally Richie let out a low moan and Eddie felt absolutely breathless. The stretch was intense, and he held onto Richie tightly as he caught his breath. “Are you alright?” Richie asked. His voice was strained, but the care and concern in it was clear. “You don’t have to take all of it if it’s too much.”

Eddie wanted to laugh at the remark or roll his eyes, but with how breathless and dizzied by pleasure he already was, he had to admit Richie had a point. “Just need a minute,” he gasped. Richie ran a soothing hand over Eddie’s skin, helping him even out his breathing and relax. The feeling of Richie’s cock twitching in anticipation inside of him had him letting out little moans as he adjusted, getting more and more used to the feeling until he felt comfortable enough to tell Richie he could move. Richie kissed him before he did, his lips soft against Eddie’s, a reassuring weight. Eddie breathed in sharply as Richie pulled back, grabbing at Richie’s shoulders.

Richie immediately stopped. “You okay, baby?” he asked, caressing Eddie’s face.

Eddie wanted to melt. Richie was always touching him, always jokingly flirting with him, but this unabashed concern and, well, love had previously been reserved for dire situations, like panic attacks or injuries. Eddie couldn’t help the dopey smile that bloomed on his face as he tilted his chin up and kissed Richie. “I’m okay,” he said breathlessly. “It’s just a little different from my vibrator.” They both gave a shaky laugh as Richie nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“Better, I hope?” he grinned.

“Can’t tell yet,” Eddie retorted. Another snarky comment was on the tip of his tongue when Richie pulled his hips further back, effectively sucking all the air—and attitude—from Eddie’s chest. And then Richie was pushing back in, and Eddie let out a moan he couldn’t have faked if he tried, relaxing back into the mattress as his eyes fell shut. It was the best thing he’d ever felt, pleasure and relief flooding through his body. They’d been building up this tension for years; Eddie had figured it would feel good to break it, but it really felt magical, like something had just clicked into place. Feeling Richie inside of him, rocking his hips carefully, feeling Richie twitch as he tried not to lose control had Eddie’s head reeling. Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Richie above him, on how flushed his face was. When Richie met his eye, pressing in deep, Eddie let out a small, “Fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Richie was smirking as he said it, but there was something else sparkling in his eyes. Something giddy and awed. Something that made Eddie sigh dreamily, “I love you.”

Richie’s eyes widened for a moment before he pressed his lips firmly against Eddie’s, his hands roaming over Eddie’s body like he couldn’t choose where to put them, where to touch him. “I love you so much,” he beamed, pressing a few more kisses to Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie giggled at the feeling, but then Richie’s hips moved just a little faster, pressing him in just a little deeper, and he was back to melting under Richie’s touch, clinging to him as he rocked his hips with Richie’s. “Fuck, you’re so amazing, baby, so fucking beautiful. You look so good like this, holy shit.”

Eddie smiled almost drunkenly at Richie’s ability to ramble even when blowing Eddie’s mind. “Feels so good,” he moaned, his voice breathy and just a little bit higher than normal. He wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist. “Please, Richie, please.”

“Fuck, baby, wanna make you feel like this all the fucking time,” Richie groaned as he picked up the pace. Eddie whined in pleasure at the change, and that just spurred Richie to go faster, harder, until he was well and truly fucking Eddie, both of them moaning with every thrust.

“Oh my god,” Eddie cried, “ohmygodohmygodhmygod, oh fuck, Richie, please.” It felt so amazing, Richie fucking into him like this, but he needed that little bit more. His cock was throbbing desperately, achingly hard; he needed to feel Richie’s hand on him. “Richie, please,” he whimpered, “please, please touch me. I need you, I need you so bad, please, Richie.” Eddie was pouting now, grabbing aimlessly at Richie, his legs still wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” Richie marveled, his voice sweet and condescending as he wrapped his hand around Eddie’s cock. Eddie nearly screamed at the contact, his back arching off the bed. Richie laughed a little, which just made Eddie even harder. The way Richie spread his precome over his cock, twisting his wrist just so as he stroked him had that familiar tension coiling in his lower stomach. “Aw, does that feel good? You gonna come on my cock, kitten?”

“Fuck, yes!” Eddie screamed. He gripped at the sheets as Richie stroked him, his voice washing over Eddie, mixing with the pleasure of Richie’s touch, of his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes, please let me come, please, please, please.”

“That’s a good boy,” Richie purred, and Eddie could feel himself tipping over the edge at the words, at how low and affected Richie’s voice was. He groaned out, “Come on my cock like a good boy, princess,” and pure pleasure crashed over Eddie like a wave. He arched his back and cried out as he came, his moans filling the room as he squirmed under Richie, grabbed at him, at the sheets. It was fucking ethereal. He felt somehow so in tune with his body and yet so detached, like he was floating. He was barely cognizant of what Richie was saying, but when he put the sounds together and realized Richie had just said, panting, “Fuck, baby, gonna come,” Eddie felt like a live wire again.

“In me,” he said urgently. His mind was still a little too scattered for full sentences, but he knew what he wanted. God, he felt like he needed it. Like he needed to feel that connected to Richie. “Richie, come inside me, please.”

Richie apparently didn’t need to be told twice; he let out a moaned, “Oh, fuck,” before burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breathy moans like music in Eddie’s ear. And then, as Eddie was coming down from his own high, he felt the holiest thing in the world: Richie’s cock, twitching inside of him, then his warm come filling Eddie up. It was unreal, being this close to him. Richie clutching at him as he came. It was even better than the little fantasies Eddie occasionally allowed himself. Richie was here, in his arms, pressing kisses to his neck as he caught his breath. Eddie was stroking his hair and rubbing his back as Richie nuzzled into him. Richie’s skin pressed against his skin, his legs wrapped around Richie’s waist, then falling to his sides, but still pressed to him. Still keeping him close. There wasn’t a single thought in his head that wasn’t about Richie.

Richie pulled him from his dreamy haze with light kisses pressed up his jaw, then over his cheeks. Eddie giggled at the onslaught of affection, still reeling from how fucking hot and euphoric what they had just done together had been. But he happily accepted Richie’s kisses, his heart bursting, then racing as Richie pulled back to look in his eyes. “Holy, fuck,” Richie beamed, his face flushed and blue eyes hooded from the weight of his orgasm, even as they sparkled.

“I know,” Eddie said, returning Richie’s grin as he basked in the surreality of having Richie on top of him, his dorky yet charming smile framed by lips that were red and swollen because of Eddie. His glasses were knocked askew, and Eddie instinctively reached up to fix them. With a sense of wonder, he realized that his touch was allowed to linger this time. He ran his fingers down Richie’s cheekbones, over his jaw, cupped his cheeks. “I love you,” he said. The words spilled out over his lips like he couldn’t stand not to say them. And while it made his heart race a little to say it out loud now that the adrenaline and tension was all worked through, it felt even better this time when Richie’s face softened and he nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“I love you so fucking much.” Richie’s voice rarely got that soft, that sincere; it felt like a blanket wrapping around Eddie. It felt safe, secure. It felt like a promise. And if there was anyone in the world Eddie knew he could trust, it was Richie. That feeling of everything coming together came back to Eddie as he lay there under Richie, their lips moving together, feeling light as a feather now that everything was finally out in the open.

[imagineyourworld]

Truth or Dare

Rex x Genderneutral!Reader

Summary: A few members of the 501st play Truth or Dare and they may or may not get closer to uncovering a secret you and their Captain have been hiding

Warnings: Mention of sex, probably inaccurate Togruta anatomy (let’s just pretend their ears are where human ear are, ok?), reader is said to be younger than Anakin (I imagine him to be around 21/22 in this, so reader is still of age)

Check out more of my work here

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“Did you steal my lightsabers?”, Ahsoka asked, her arms crossed over her chest and a stern expression on her face. Just a couple of days ago she had spent hours looking for her lightsabers, and trying to hide the fact that she had no idea where they were from her Master, only to find them in the barracks.  “I did not steal your lightsabers”, Fives said, though his voice was too innocent for anyone to believe him. “But I may have borrowed them recently”, he finally begrudgingly added. He looked at the Padawan, sure she would lash out or at least give him an earful, but Ahsoka only smiled sweetly.  “You know, since we said you’re not allowed to pick truth two times in a row you’ll have to pick dare when it’s your turn again”, she said. Fives’ eyes shifted over to Echo, hoping for some help from his brother, but he just nodded. “Those are the rules.”  With a sigh Fives admitted defeat. How bad could the upcoming dare really be? “Captain”, he started, looking at Rex, who sat on the other side of their small circle. “Truth or Dare?”  If there was one thing Rex has learned the few times he had agreed to participate in the troopers’ games it was that Fives’ dares should be avoided at all costs, so he did the only thing he felt he could and choose truth. “You’re no fun”, his brother complained with a pout. Laughter rang through the room, a sound that made the blond clone smile. Not only because he relished seeing his brothers happy in these trying times but also because he could hear the sound of your laugh next to him, clear and full of warmth. He could swear that sound alone could chase away bad dreams and inner demons, to him it was the sound of all that was good in the world and it took all his selfrestaint not to look at you, not to reach out to you. “Alright, alright”, Fives grumbled, trying to get everyone to calm down, which they eventually did. “Tell us, dear Captain, when was the last time you got lai-” Rex knew where this question was headed and apparently so did Anakin, because he pulled Ahsoka, who was sitting next to him, closer and covered both her ears with his hands.  “Stop it, there’s a child present!” The expression on the Jedi’s face was both shocked and protective, he had gone into something you liked to call his Big Brother Mode, which he often used on Ahsoka and sometimes on you as well. While the clones seemed amused by their General’s actions you could practically feel embarrassment rolling off Ahsoka, who was now pushing her Master away from her. “I’m older than most of the others here”, she complained.  “That doesn’t count, you know clones age different”, Anakin argued.  Ahsoka, who had finally managed to remove his hands from her ears, just rolled her eyes. “You need to stop treating me like a little child.”  “I’m responsible for you, Snips, and as long as you’re a Padawan it is my right to treat you like a child”, Anakin continued.  By now everyone else had tuned out of their argument. It wasn’t an unusual discussion and though the topic was brought up constantly, it never really led anywhere.  Finally Rex decided that it might be best to continue the game. “Echo, Truth or Dare?”, he asked. He had been hoping that out of all of his brothers Echo would be the least persistent and might ignore the fact that Rex hadn’t answered his question yet. But it didn’t seem to be his lucky day, because Echo wasted no time pointing that little fact out.  The Captain glanced at Anakin, hoping he might prevent him from answering any suggestive questions while Ahsoka was near, but the two Jedi were too busy bickering to pay attention to the game.  “It wasn’t that long ago”, Rex finally said. He counted the days back in his head, knowing Fives would be expecting a precise answer. “Four days.”  Rex didn’t dare to look at you, knowing the loving expression on both of your faces when thinking back to the time the two of you had spent in your small apartment before you left Coruscant a couple of days ago would give you away instantly.  “The how come you still have a stick up -”, Jesse started before Rex rudely interrupted him.  “Kix, Truth or Dare?” 

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The game lasted for a couple more rounds, in which Anakin had to make a prank call, Echo admitted to sometimes sneaking sweets on long missions and Jesse tried a couple of moves with Ahsoka’s lightsaber, before it was finally your turn.  “Truth or Dare, (Y/N)?”, Ahsoka asked.  The only reason you decided to choose dare was that Ahsoka was one of your best friends, you trusted her not to make you do anything too bad, other than maybe Fives or even Echo, who had proven himself to be quite deviant throughout the game, if you were forced to fulfill one of their dares.  “I dare you to kiss your favourite person in this room”, she said with a smug smirk.  It was that smirk that told you that she knew she was on to something. Though there was no way Ahsoka knew about your relationship with Rex, she had to have guessed that you liked someone, maybe even that you were seeing someone, and given your few social contacts she must have a feeling that it had to be one of the men in this very room.  “That’s unfair, ‘Soka, you know you’re my favourite person in any room”, you tried to joke. “But I’m afraid if I went anywhere near you, Anakin would have my head.”  Low chuckles were heard around the room before every pair of eyes turned to you. While you were certain Ahsoka knew that you had feelings for one of the clones, you didn’t know how close she actually was to uncovering your secret relationship, or whether any of the others had any idea. So there were two ways you could approach this; you could kiss someone else, knowing Rex would be totally fine with it if it meant covering up your relationship, or you could kiss Rex and hope for the best.  And even though you knew the first option was a lot safer, the thought of finally showing Rex off, of getting to express your feelings in public, even if just for a spare second, was thrilling.  You turned to Rex, who was still sitting right next to you. Just like everyone else in the room, he was staring at you, awaiting your next move. But unlike everyone else there was a hint of longing, as well as anxiety, in his eyes. You leaned a bit closer, until your noses were nearly touching, and placed both your hands on the floor on either side of his hips to steady yourself.  “Are you okay with this?”, you whispered. You could only hope that Rex understood what you were really asking. Was he okay with you kissing him once more, even though he had never denied you? Was he okay with you kissing him as part of the game? Was he okay with you kissing him in front of his brothers, his General and his Commander?  Rex simply nodded and it was that small gesture that made you close the gap.  It wasn’t much of a kiss, more a small peck, a brushing of lips. But when you pulled away after just a fraction of a second it had your heart beating faster, your lips tingling and left you wanting more.  “You call that a kiss? I’m sure you can do better than that, Captain”, Anakin, who was sitting on Rex’s other side, said. He put a hand on the clones shoulder and pushed him a bit closer to you, which made the others holler and laugh.  “Ahsoka said a kiss, not making out”, you tried to defend both Rex and yourself.  “But that’s not what I had in mind. You could have kissed anyone like that, not just your favourite.”  You glanced at Rex, who was now sitting even closer to you than earlier. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, which usually meant he was either annoyed or deep in thought, but the expression in his eyes was unfamiliar. At least until they flickered to your lips and then up to your eyes.  All it took was one small nod from you for Rex to pull you close, closer than you had been earlier, and press his lips to yours.  At first the kiss wasn’t that different from the first one, but then he placed one of his hands on the back of your head to pull you even closer. You reacted by swiping your tongue across his bottom lip, which caused Rex to moan and open his mouth to you. Now it was your turn to pull him even closer. You put one hand on his hip and reached for his shoulder with the other, only to realise that it was too far, so without disconnecting your lips, you climbed into his lap. In your new position and with your tongues battling for dominance, there was no space between the two of you and nothing existed other than your lips, your tongues, your hands.  Only when you couldn’t breath anymore did you pull away a few centimetres, just enough to rest your forehead against Rex’s and smile down at him from your position in his lap.  “You think we gave them enough of a show?”, your boyfriend chuckled.  “I think you scared my poor Padawan for life!”, Anakin chimed in with wide eyes. Though one look at Ahsoka told you she was more smug than anything.  “You practically devoured each other”, Kix agreed with a small smirk.  “Who knew you had it in you, Captain?”, Fives grinned.  You felt a blush creeping up and it took everything you had to get off of Rex’s lap instead of hiding your reddening face in the comfy space between his neck and shoulder. You could feel his hands still lingering on your body and how reluctant he was to let you go, but you both knew that you had to act as if the kiss didn’t bother you in the slightest if you wanted to keep your secret.  “There really is no pleasing you guys. First the kiss too innocent, then it’s too heated”, you scoffed, hoping your pretended annoyance would cover the fact that you were still blushing and Rex hand was almost touching yours where it sat on the floor.  “Maybe, but I’m sure you were quite pleasing to the Captain, at least judging by the noises he made”, Jesse continued to tease.  Thankfully it only took one sharp glare from Rex to shut everyone up, though you could feel Ahsoka’s eyes on you for the remainder of the night. 

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It wasn’t until late at night that Rex managed to sneak into your private quarters. Though you were tired you had managed to stay awake until your boyfriend lifted the covers and joined you in bed.  “You should get some rest, mesh’la”, he whispered as he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.  Instead of replying you simply shifted closer to him until you felt his chest against your back and could intertwine your legs with his.  “We might need to be a bit more careful the next couple of days”, you sighed, sleep slowly beginning to overtake you now that you were in Rex’s arms. “At least until everyone forgets about the kiss.”  You could feel him nod and grumble a sleepy affirmation.  “We should probably tell the Commander though, she’s getting too smart to fool”, he added after a few moments.  You nodded as you yawned and snuggled even closer to him.  “You’re right. Plus Ahsoka might be the only one who’ll manage to actually keep our secret.”  Rex nuzzled his nose against your neck, breathing in the familiar scent. Though he knew it was safer this way, he hated keeping your relationship a secret. If it were up to him he would tell the whole galaxy that he was yours and you were his, but as long as he and his brothers were considered little more than property by most he’d make the most of the little stolen moments between the two of you.  “I love you”, you whispered between two yawns.  Rex pressed a soft kiss to your neck.  “I love you too, cyare. Now sleep, we both have a long day ahead of us.”  And without another word both of you fell into a deep sleep, knowing you were safe in the arms of your secret lover. 

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I had so much fun writing the playful relationships between everyone, and especially Ahsoka! Can we all agree that she is everyone’s little sister and yet the cleverest member of the 501st?  Let me know what you think, if you’d like <3