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aemondsbabe · 2 years ago

Text

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.”

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat.

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?”

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.”

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.”

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter.

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.”

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him.

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.”

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.”

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute.

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?”

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?”

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth.

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?”

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?”

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low.

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.”

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you.

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.”

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?”

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

“Do you?”

“Fine, yes.”

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables.

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?”

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing.

“You.” It comes out as a breath.

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.”

“None?”

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.”

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.”

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling.

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine.

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.”

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.”

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?”

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally.

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric,

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants �� both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment.

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?”

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.”

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.”

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?”

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release.

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.”

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down.

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

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formulafanfics13 · 4 days ago

Text

Topped Up - LH44, GR63, Toto Wolff 🔥

masterlist

The Wolff house was warm in the way only old money homes in the mountains could be, dim light spilling from antique chandeliers, the smell of spiced candles flickering through the oak-paneled halls, and soft jazz humming in the background like a memory that wouldn't quite fade.

You were curled into the corner of their velvet dining bench, hoodie sleeves tugged over your fingers, legs tucked beneath you as you sipped from a glass of red that had somehow stayed full all night. Dinner had ended hours ago, long cleared plates, now replaced by mugs of tea and crumbling squares of dark chocolate. The fire crackled behind you. Susie was nursing her third Earl Grey. George and Lewis had undone the top buttons of their joggers. And Toto had been silently watching you for the last half hour, that unreadable, faintly amused glint in his eye, the one he got whenever he knew something no one else did.

It was a regular Thursday. This happened more often than most people would believe. Quiet dinners. Team bonding. The Mercedes inner circle, stripped of lanyards and radio mics and performance reports. Just family.

Which was why the silence that followed your next sentence was so loud. "I have an announcement."

George glanced up from where he was dissecting a leftover slice of cake. "Oh?"

Susie smiled warmly, settling her chin on her palm. "Go on then, love."

You didn't get a word out.

"Which team?" Toto asked, not even blinking. His voice cut through the room like a blade, cool, casual, sharp. Like he already knew. Of course he did.

You blinked, then smirked, lips curving slowly and smugly as you swirled your wine. "Ferrari. Fred called me this morning."

And just like that, everything shifted. Lewis sat up straighter. George stopped chewing. Susie let out the tiniest laugh, the disbelieving kind. And Toto... Toto clenched his jaw, flexing it once, twice, before exhaling through his nose.

"How much?" he asked, low.

You tilted your head. "Less than Mercedes currently pays me."

It was quiet for a beat. Then:

"What the fuck?" George said.

"Wait, hold on." Lewis was squinting at you like you'd just spoken in code. "Why didn't you say 'less than you currently pay me'?"

You smiled sweetly. "Because Mercedes pays me. Toto tops me up."

Toto's mouth curled at the corner. A smirk. Sinful. Like the secret was his and no one else's.

George blinked. "What-wait, what do you mean Toto tops you up?"

"Literally what it sounds like," you shrugged, reaching lazily for a piece of chocolate and popping it between your lips. "Mercedes pay me well. Toto just makes sure I'm comfortable."

Lewis tilted his head. "Comfortable how?"

You chewed slowly. Swallowed. Then looked him dead in the eye. "He pays for my apartment. And covers all my travel costs."

Lewis and George looked between each other, then at Toto.

Susie didn't flinch. She sipped her tea.

George let out a low whistle. "Fuck me."

"Why didn't I get that kind of deal?" Lewis grinned, nudging Toto with his knee under the table.

"Because you're not twenty-two and holding the spine of both of my drivers together," Toto replied evenly.

"You're joking," George said, eyes wide. "You've been paying for her apartment? For how long?"

Toto's voice was casual. "Since the last physiotherapist quit and Ferrari tried to poach her. It was cheaper than replacing her."

Lewis raised a brow. "And the flights?"

"I don't like her waiting at airports," Toto said simply.

You didn't bother to hide your grin. You loved watching them unravel.

George stared. "Mate. I knew you liked her but Jesus-"

"She's the best," Toto cut in. "They're not getting her. Not for less."

You lifted your glass. "Fred made a good pitch."

Toto's eyes flicked to yours, something dark glittering behind the lenses of his reading glasses. "And you said?"

You leaned back, licking red wine from your bottom lip. "I said I'd think about it."

George groaned, falling dramatically against the chair. "You're such a fucking tease."

"She's worse than you, mate," Lewis added, grinning.

"Why are you here tonight then?" Toto asked softly, eyes still on you. "To say goodbye?"

You shook your head. "To see what you'd say."

He didn't speak. Just stared. Quiet. Calculating. Then, slowly, "Do you want more?"

You raised your brows. "More?"

"Money. Car. Driver perks. Do you want more?"

You smiled. "Not sure. Depends on what you're offering."

Toto set down his mug. Slowly. Deliberately. "Stay with Mercedes, and I'll buy you a better apartment."

Lewis choked on his tea. George just gaped.

You went still. "What?" you asked, voice quieter.

"A three bedroom apartment isnt big enough really, youve got a bedroom, a physio room and a home gym," he said. "If we got you a bigger place, say a five bed, you could have a whole room as a wardrobe and a spare room. You've earned it. You're not going to Ferrari for a salary cut."

"Wait," George said, waving a hand. "You're offering her a flat?"

"A penthouse," Toto corrected.

"You're insane," Lewis muttered, almost admiringly.

You didn't move. Your fingers had tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. Your throat felt hot. Your stomach buzzed. "That's not... normal," you said softly.

"You're not normal," Toto said simply. And for a second, one long, razor-thin second, the rest of the room didn't exist. Not the laughter. Not the heat of the fire. Not even the shadows of George and Lewis half-horrified on the other side of the table.

Just you, still in your hoodie and fluffy socks, blinking at the man who had, apparently, been playing a game of chess with your life without ever needing to tell you. "You know this is fucked, right?" you said finally.

Toto smiled. Susie cleared her throat. "Darling, if you think this is the most fucked thing that's happened under this roof, you really haven't been here long enough."

Toto settled back into his usual armchair, long legs crossed, one elbow draped casually over the side. Susie took the far end of the couch, tucking her legs under a cashmere throw. Lewis, barefoot, collapsed into the opposite end like a king returning to his throne, hoodie hiked up just enough to show a flash of tattooed hip. And George? George took the floor like he owned it.

Sprawled across the thick Persian rug in nothing but joggers and a t-shirt, he sighed dramatically, arms flung overhead like he was auditioning for a cologne ad.

"Fuck, my thigh's killing me," he groaned.

You raised a brow from where you were perching on the edge of the armrest, sipping your wine with a smirk. "So stretch it."

"Can't. Hurts."

"Then rest."

"Or..." George rolled his head back, flashing you a slow, shit-eating grin. "You could be a good little physio and sort it out for me."

Lewis laughed under his breath, barely hiding his smirk. Toto didn't even look up, just muttered, "Here we go."

Susie sipped her tea, utterly unbothered. "You're so predictable, Georgie."

You rolled your eyes but set your glass down anyway. "Alright, alright. Get your pathetic ass in position."

That was all the permission George needed. In one smooth movement, he kicked off his joggers, stripping down to his boxers without a hint of shame, then lay flat on his back right in front of the fireplace, spreading his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. You knelt between them, stretching your fingers out and cracking your knuckles, already regretting this, already knowing exactly how it was going to go.

Because this wasn't new. Not even close.

You'd fucked George more than once. Him and Lewis both. Sometimes together, sometimes not. Sometimes after race wins, sometimes after race losses, sometimes just because you were all bored in a hotel suite and the minibar was running low. It was never romantic. It was never planned. It just... happened. Over and over again. Like muscle memory. Like sin with a familiar face.

Your hands pressed into George's upper thigh, slow and firm, working deep into the tension while he let out a dramatic moan.

"Ohh my god-yes, there, fuck-right there-"

You snorted. "Jesus, George."

"You're magic," he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. "Fucking magic."

Lewis howled from the sofa. "Can you keep it down? Some of us are trying to digest."

Toto rolled his eyes without looking up from his phone. "He's always like this."

"He's worse when he's hard," you muttered.

"Am hard," George said cheerfully, eyes still closed. "Have been since you touched me."

Susie didn't even blink. "It's the wine. He gets like this when he drinks."

You looked down. Yup. Obvious. George had tented his boxers without shame, cock straining against the thin fabric like he was ready to fuck right there on the rug. His hips bucked slightly into your hands as you continued the massage, and you felt the shift, that flicker of heat behind the performance. He wasn't just teasing. He was aching.

His hand slid lazily into your hair. "Can you help me out or what?"

You tilted your head, amused. "Help you out how?"

He opened one eye. Smirked. "C'mon, sweetheart. You know how."

Lewis groaned into his hoodie. "He's shameless. You're so fucking shameless."

"She doesn't mind," George said, still petting your hair. "She likes me desperate."

You looked up at him, lips twitching. "I like you pathetic."

"Same thing," he muttered, rolling his hips again.

There was no protest in the room. No awkward glances. No tension. This was the fucked-up dynamic you all lived in, one foot in sin, one in safety. Everyone knew the lines had been crossed months ago. No one pretended otherwise.

You paused. Shifted forward slightly on your knees. Let your hand rest higher on his thigh, your thumb grazing the base of the bulge under his boxers. George exhaled hard, mouth falling open.

"Say please," you murmured.

He looked down at you, pupils blown wide, hair messy against the rug. "Please."

You let your palm press fully against him, slow and firm. He arched up slightly into the touch, one hand still tangled in your hair.

Lewis chuckled darkly. "So fucking predictable."

"He always begs," Susie added, voice light. "It's his thing."

Toto finally looked up, glasses low on his nose. "Can't even get a massage without needing to be milked like a fucking cow."

George didn't care. He was panting now, hips twitching up. "Fuck-come on, please-please-"

You pulled his boxers down just enough. Just to free him. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and leaking, twitching at the air. You stared for a beat. Took a slow breath.

Then you looked up at him and smiled, soft and wicked. "Be good, George."

His eyes fluttered shut as your mouth closed over him, hot and wet and slow.

The weight of George's cock on your tongue, hot and twitching and impossibly swollen, pulled every sound from him like a spell. His moans came loud, ragged, high in the throat — the kind of sound that would have gotten him kicked out of most hotels for public indecency. But here, in the heart of the Wolff mansion, with the firelight casting gold shadows across his bare stomach and your mouth stretched open over him, it was just another Thursday night.

He was falling apart fast.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" he gasped, hips stuttering up into your mouth, his hand still tangled in your hair. "You're-shit, you're so fucking good-don't stop, don't stop, don't you fucking-"

Your nails dug into the meat of his thigh, a wordless warning, and he whimpered like a kicked dog. You were still in control. You always were.

You didn't gag. You didn't choke. You knew how to relax your throat just enough to tease the edge of surrender, but never give it away completely. George wasn't just desperate—he was pathetic. Bucking his hips, gasping every time your lips slid to the base, cursing into the air as your spit dripped down his length and pooled beneath his tailbone.

Across the room, Lewis was silent.

But you could feel his eyes. The shift in the atmosphere. The static pressure of attention, not from George, not from Susie's amused glances, not from Toto's unreadable stare, but from Lewis. His presence was hot, magnetic, unmistakable.

You could hear him breathing.

George choked out a half-laugh as his thighs trembled. "She's gonna ruin me-Jesus-"

"She already has," Lewis murmured.

Your lashes fluttered. You didn't look up. Then Lewis moved.

You heard it, the creak of the sofa, the whisper of his sweats against skin, the subtle scuff as he crossed the rug. He didn't sit. He didn't kneel. He just lowered himself next to George's head, elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, watching.

"Getting comfortable?" Toto asked dryly, voice low and rich from the armchair.

"Yeah," Lewis said, eyes fixed on your mouth. "Don't wanna miss the show."

"She's got talent," George gasped, laughing, delirious, his chest rising too fast. "Fucking mouth of a god-fuck-"

"Mm." Lewis's eyes dragged over you, slow and dangerous. "She's definitely got something."

"You're both sick," Susie said mildly, but her tone held no judgment, only amusement. She unfolded from the couch gracefully, smoothing down her sweater, gathering her teacup. "I'll leave you boys to it. Try not to get bodily fluids on the rug, please."

George moaned even louder at that, which made her laugh. She padded toward the stairs, shooting you one last smirk as she passed behind you.

"You're the most expensive asset in Brackley, darling," she whispered in your ear. "Use it well."

And then she was gone.

You didn't stop. If anything, you slowed down, mouth working him with deeper suction, tongue curling expertly, hands pinning George's hips as he began to writhe beneath you.

Lewis shifted again. Closer. His knuckles brushed your cheek.

"You need a hand?" he asked, voice low, teasing, laced with a lazy hunger.

You hummed around George's cock, and the vibration made him cry out, a strangled, pleading sound. He was close. Soclose. One more flick of your tongue.

He came with a loud, broken shout, his whole body convulsing, fingers yanking your hair as his orgasm pulsed hot into your mouth. You held him down, took every drop. Swallowed. Then slowly pulled off, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

George collapsed into the rug like a man freshly exorcised. "Dead. I'm dead. I've seen God."

You sat back on your heels, breath steady, gaze flicking between the two men, Lewis, leaning in with that familiar glint in his eye, and Toto, who hadn't moved. Not even an inch. But he was watching. Oh, he was watching.

Lewis reached forward, hand brushing yours. "My turn?" he offered, cocky and casual.

You raised an eyebrow. "Your turn for what?"

He leaned in until your noses almost touched. "For some attention."

Your smirk curved slow and dangerous. "What, you want a reward just for watching?"

"I want dessert," he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth.

And just as you were about to kiss him, Toto's voice cut through the room. "Careful." Both of you turned your heads. Toto was still in his chair, still composed, but his gaze was heavy. Not angry. Just... possessive.

Lewis chuckled under his breath. "Jealous?"

Toto didn't blink. "Just reminding her how well she's paid for her loyalty."

That word landed like a hot brand between your ribs. Loyalty. He always used it like currency. Like a chain. Like a game only he knew the rules to.

You tilted your chin. "Loyalty doesn't mean exclusivity."

Toto smiled faintly. "No, it doesn't. But it does mean knowing who bought you the keys to your front door."

Lewis let out a low whistle. "Damn."

George groaned from the floor. "Toto's such a fucking sugar dad. Can I marry him instead?"

"No," Toto replied instantly.

You laughed. Stretched out, reaching for your wine. You took a long, slow sip, tongue dragging along the rim of the glass. "I'm loyal," you said finally. "But I'm not tame."

Toto's smirk curved cruel and soft. "No, schatzi. You never were."

The fire crackled. George was still panting. Lewis was still close, still touching you. And somewhere upstairs, Susie was probably pouring herself another drink, shaking her head with a grin. Lewis's hand. Light on your wrist. Thumb dragging against your pulse point like it was counting something it already knew.

You turned your head just as he pulled you toward him, slow but firm, your wine glass slipping from your fingers as he guided you down beside George on the rug. The carpet was warm from bodies. From fire. From tension.

"Been dying to do this all night," Lewis murmured, voice low, already leaning in.

You didn't answer. You just let it happen, his lips crashing into yours, hungry and soft and hot. His hands cupped your jaw with almost reverent greed, kissing you like he wanted to taste George on your tongue. And you gave it to him, opened your mouth and kissed him back like it hurt, fingers knotting in his hoodie, pulling him closer, closer, until your thighs spread under the weight of him.

You felt George stir beside you, a lazy hand sliding over your hip, his nose nuzzling your shoulder.

"Mmm," he groaned, voice hoarse. "She's still warm."

Lewis broke the kiss just long enough to glance down. "You got one in you, Georgie?"

George grinned without opening his eyes. "I'll always make room for her."

And just like that, the rhythm shifted again.

Lewis leaned down to mouth at your neck, tongue wet and slow against your throat while George pressed soft kisses to your shoulder from behind. Their hands were everywhere, tracing, teasing, dragging over your thighs and waist like you were the last sweet thing left on earth. You felt their contrast in real time: Lewis, commanding and focused, pulling moans from you with firm fingers and filthy words; George, messy and needy, suckling at your skin and laughing breathlessly every time your legs twitched.

"Fuck, she's close again," Lewis muttered, thumb circling where it mattered most.

"Course she is," George said, voice thick. "She's always been easy for you."

You didn't even care. Not anymore. The shame had burned off in the firelight hours ago. You were bare, stretched, worshipped, their hands working in sync, tongues trading off along your ribs and breasts and thighs until you were writhing, panting, begging.

Your second orgasm hit like a punch, raw and full-body, back arching, voice cracking as you gripped Lewis's shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered. George sucked a bruise into your thigh and Lewis kissed your jaw through it, murmuring nonsense against your skin while your body trembled beneath them both.

And then Lewis moved. He rose to his knees, breathing hard, eyes half-lidded and dark with hunger. His hands slid under your thighs and lifted you like nothing, your body pliant, boneless from release, dizzy with overstimulation.

"Come on," he murmured, low and hot. "Let's show him what his money gets."

You didn't even ask who he meant. Because there was only one man in that chair. Toto hadn't spoken in twenty minutes. But he was watching. Still. Unblinking.

And when Lewis carried you over to him, barefoot and smirking, your bare thighs pressed around his hips, your skin slick with sweat and spit, Toto didn't flinch.

He just looked up at you like you were a cathedral built for his pleasure. Lewis straddled you over him, placing you like a gift. Like a possession returning to its master. Your knees settled either side of Toto's hips, your chest flush with his broad chest, his hands instinctively settling on your ass as if they belongedthere. His grip was firm. Expectant.

"She's had two," Lewis said, voice gravelly. "Thought it was your turn."

Toto looked up at him, eyes amused. "How generous."

You were panting, still dazed. "You're not surprised."

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "Darling," he whispered, "I've been paying for this since the moment you walked through the door."

And then he kissed you, slow and brutal and owned.

The air had changed.

It wasn't just the heat, though the fireplace roared like a secret behind you, casting sweat-slick shadows across your skin and Toto's crisp black shirt. And it wasn't just the way Lewis had settled back onto the rug, cock out, lazily stroking himself as he watched you from below, his teeth worrying at his lip like he couldn't decide if he wanted to keep touching himself or touch you again.

No, it was Toto.

His grip on your hips was unforgiving. Not cruel. Not rushed. But intentional. One hand cupped the underside of your thigh while the other traced the curve of your ass with slow reverence, as though he were reacquainting himself with something he'd never really let go of. His touch burned with memory, with knowledge. Like he knew every way you unravelled. And tonight, he was going to remind you.

Because you were his. Not Mercedes's. His.

"You let them take their fill," he murmured, voice low and rich, his Austrian accent wrapping around every syllable like honey on glass. "But you still crawl back to me."

You tried to speak, some half-formed breath of a comeback, a moan, maybe a plea, but it disappeared as he gripped your jaw and turned your face toward him, eyes locked. His were darker now, sharper behind his glasses. Commanding. He didn't need to raise his voice. He never did.

"You don't come for Fred," he said softly, thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You don't come for a salary. You don't come for George, or Lewis, or praise. You come for me."

He lifted his hips just enough, just enough, to press the hard, hot weight of his cock against your entrance, and your body betrayed you instantly. You ached for him. Slick. Open. Wrecked from pleasure but somehow needing more. His presence filled every nerve, every cell, every hollow part of you the boys couldn't quite reach. Because they played. But Toto?

Toto owned.

"Say it," he whispered, rubbing himself against your folds, maddeningly slow. "Say who you belong to."

You exhaled. A whisper. A crack. "You."

He pushed in. The breath left your lungs like a prayer as he slid inside, inch by inch, stretching you with devastating control. He didn't slam. He didn't rush. He claimed. One hand at your hip, the other resting gently on your spine, guiding your body to take him the way you were always meant to.

George groaned from the floor. "Fucking hell-she's still so tight-"

"She's perfect," Lewis muttered, still stroking himself. "Look at her-look how deep he's in-"

You weren't looking at either of them. You couldn't. You were locked onto Toto, forehead to forehead, your palms flat against his chest, legs shaking where they were folded around his waist. He filled you completely. Like he always did. Like he was built for the inside of you.

He rolled his hips once. Deep. Slow. Purposeful.

You whimpered.

"You let them play," Toto murmured. "But this-this is where you end."

You clenched around him. He grinned.

"Every time," he said, voice a growl. "Every time you act like you're theirs, and every time I put you back in your place."

You wanted to argue. But you couldn't. Because he was fucking you with goddamn precision, slow, brutal thrusts that lit every nerve like a fuse. You could feel your orgasm building again, shamefully fast, the oversensitivity making every drag of his cock feel like lightning.

Lewis was moaning under his breath. George had started stroking himself again, hand lazy and uncoordinated. But none of it mattered.

Only Toto mattered.

"Do you think Fred would fuck you like this?" he asked softly, punctuating it with another deep roll of his hips. "Do you think he'd learn your body the way I did?"

You gasped. "N-no-"

"Do you think he'd pay for your apartment and your flights and your silence-"

You whimpered. "Toto-"

"Say it again."

You clenched your eyes shut. "I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours."

His thrusts picked up. Still slow. Still cruel. But harder. Your thighs started shaking again, your nails digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering helplessly around him as the pressure crested again, your third orgasm boiling in your gut like it couldn't bear to be held back.

"Good girl," he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. "Come for me. Let them watch."

And you did.

You shattered.

You came around him with a cry, legs locking, head thrown back, your whole body twitching as he fucked you through it. Toto held you still, riding out your orgasm with steady, punishing thrusts until you were sobbing into his collarbone, too wrecked to move, too full to speak.

He came with a quiet grunt, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisting the back of your hair as he spilled inside you, heat spreading through your core in long, deep pulses. And still, still, he held you.

Slow. Possessive. Tender in a way that made it worse. You collapsed into his chest, shaking. George let out a groan beside you. Lewis whispered something that sounded like fuck, that was insane.

But Toto? Toto just smoothed a hand down your spine. And when he spoke again, it was so soft you barely heard it: "You'll never leave me."

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yanyandam · 3 months ago

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Call me an overthinker (which I am) but I think this panel speaks a lot about how each one lives 'Bonten'

-On the one hand, we have Sanzu, who doesn't mind smiling like that after killing someone: you can tell he's proud to be here and to be serving the 'king'. Not that he's cruel, not that he enjoys killing anyone, but he's doing it for a cause he holds dear. For him, even in its darkest corners, this life is all he has. So yes, if it's for this life, he won't hesitate to leave his humanity behind.

-Then Takeomi who is...Definetly...Who's this guy again?

-Kokonoi doesn't abandon his nonchalant character, and smirks with pride. We know him well, he's never joined a gang for love, friendship or loyalty. Kokonoi, even more so at Bonten, has always looked for where there's the most power and profit. What's more, his tattoo is easy to conceal: if an even more powerful gang were to emerge tomorrow, he'd have no trouble leaving his comrades if it meant making a better profit elsewhere. To hell with “loyalty” and “dignity”. He lives his life, his power grows, what's the problem if he has to sacrifice the 'weak'?

-Okay. Basically, I wanted to interpret Rindou in terms of his facial expression. However, I remembered that Rindou always had a RBF when he was passive and not in the heat of the action. So the argument doesn't really work. I'd like to think that even in the Bonten timeline, Rindou realized his dream of having a club. But at what cost? He just wanted to make money by seeing people have fun, now he has, but with the added bonus of illegal businesses such as drug, arms or women trafficking within the club. Honestly, he doesn't hate his life. But he's not living it to the full either. Look, Rindou has status, he's aware of it, so he gives himself a serious air of arrogance and cruelty, as if nothing could get to him. Because he survived all along his life, and he's got to keep on surviving. So he's managed to suppress most of his empathy, but still gets a twinge in his heart when civilians are drawn into his activities.

-Ran, unlike his brother, couldn't care less. Come on, who would say no to wealth, power and recognition simply because of some feat you did when you were 13? Because of the people around you? He doesn't give a damn, and even rejoice when his enemies are defeated, killed or punished. "They're the ones who chose this path, they're the ones who thwarted Bonten, I don't care if they die." However, it's more a question of power than loyalty. He stands back and enjoys what he has. He only shows off when he's given an order, and (lazy bastard that he is) sends some of his men instead if possible).

-Mochi remains serious, he knows what his job is, he carries out orders. He never complains, after all, he's the one who chose this path. Having always admired the world of the Yakuza, he's finally entered it! But the illusion was soon shattered: his job wasn't just limited to taking a gun out of his pocket and looking classy: sometimes he had to use it. Not just the way he used his fists on guys who got on his nerves, now he had to take responsibility for ending the lives of men he didn't even know. So, like Rindou, he strengthened his character. He forced a mean 'air' to become his whole self.

-Kakucho remains serious. He is only indebted to the man who put him under his wing. He had dedicated his life to Izana, and more broadly to Tenjiku: these two are over, gone. All that remains is their rebirth: Mikey and the Bon'TEN'. In the end, all this hell is just an enlargement, an emancipation from what used to be his kingdom, his Tenjiku. He now lives only by his loyalty, in the name of his dignity and his world. And if it's to show his loyalty, he won't hesitate to take up weapons. But unlike Sanzu, his limits apply to innocent people, women, children and civilians. Etc. He'd sooner rip off his own arm than raise a hand against someone of that profile. He therefore turns a blind eye to the prostitution trade, and avoids as far as possible getting any kind of profit from this category. In short, 'If it's someone whose hands are already dirty, and if they have to be destroyed, I won't hesitate'. However, he never feels 'pleasure' in doing harm, even to a traitor. He's remarkably cold-blooded - after all, he's only doing his job.

-I won't developp Mikey here because there is too much to say and honestly we already have so much info from the manga! I could still make a post someday. Thanks for reading my yap haha

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers x reader #haitani brothers #rindou haitani #ran haitani #bonten x reader #kakucho #hajime kokonoi #kanji mochizuki #sanzu haruchiyo #bonten gang #bonten kokonoi #tokyo revengers bonten #bonten tokyo revengers

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httpvomitello · 1 month ago

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Hii! Can you please write something where fem!reader is a kid (maybe nine or ten) who has been real close to tommy since she came to jackson a year ago and tried to adjust to it, and one time she accidentally calls tommy "dad" when they're doing something? Idk if reader will notice she said it or not, but I really wanted it to be on tommy's pov because I would be so curious to see how he would react to the cool town kid he's been friends with calling him dad

Oooh, i really love the idea of dad!Tommy, and i hope you like it ~ ♡

Just a Word .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: A year after the world brought a ten-year-old girl to Jackson, Tommy Miller still doesn’t know exactly how it happened that she became his shadow.

tommy miller & platonic!f child reader

Snow fell like the sky was trying to start over.

Tommy adjusted the collar of his coat and let the cold bite a little. Jackson was quiet this time of morning, just how he liked it. Coffee in hand, a to-do list in his head. Mostly minor repairs and a check on the greenhouse power—nothing dramatic.

Except she wasn’t where she usually was. Not by the dining hall. Not outside the stables. His boots crunched on fresh snow as he turned the corner.

Then he saw her. Same frayed jacket, sleeves rolled up like she was pretending not to be freezing. Perched on the corral fence like she owned the damn place.

“Hey!” Tommy called. “You tryin’ to turn into a popsicle out here?”

The kid turned, bright-eyed and smug. “Nah. Just makin’ sure the horses didn’t overthrow the town while you were late.”

He squinted at her. “It’s eight.”

“I’ve been out here since 7:58. That’s two whole minutes of abandonment.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “God help the people raisin’ you.”

She grinned, jumped off the fence, and fell in step beside him like always.

No one told her to. She just… did.

Flashback: A Year Ago

You were quiet when you first arrived.

Didn’t speak for almost a week. Only talked to Maria, and even then, barely.

Tommy wasn’t sure why, but you stuck to him like glue after a run to the stables one morning. Maybe it was the way he explained how to calm the horses. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t push you to talk.

Maybe you just needed someone who didn’t look at you like you were breakable.

“You can talk,” he said once. “Or not. I’ll still be here.”

You said, “Cool.”

And that was that.

She talked the whole walk.

About the “town drama” (a goat fight), about a girl who said horses were overrated (blasphemy), about her “top-secret project” she was definitely dying for him to ask about.

He didn’t. Not yet.

He knew her game. She’d cave eventually.

The wind picked up a little as they hit the edge of the gardens.

Tommy crouched down to check the side panel of the greenhouse’s power box. She stood watch like she was his unofficial bodyguard.

He liked the silence. When she wasn’t filling it, anyway.

But even her noise… it didn’t get old.

Hell, half the time, it kept him sane.

On the way back, they had to pass through one of the side gates. It was stiff from the cold, latch half-frozen.

She got there first, tugging on it without much luck.

“Can you get it, Dad?” she said.

Just like that.

No pause. No big deal.

And she didn’t even notice.

She kept talking, still rambling about Eugene and a llama or something—

But Tommy stopped.

Just for a second.

The snow, the wind, the world—all of it dropped into silence. His hand froze on the gatepost. The breath he took hitched in his throat.

She didn’t notice.

Didn’t even blink.

She hadn’t meant to say it. He knew that. It just slipped.

But it hit him so hard he felt his knees almost give.

Dad.

He shouldn’t feel like this. It wasn’t even real. Just a slip. Kids mix things up all the time.

But it did something to him. Tugged at something he’d buried a long time ago.

The idea of being a father had once terrified him. And then, after everything fell apart, it had become impossible. And now, all these years later, it was just… something that belonged to other people. To Joel. To the past.

But you’d said it like it was nothing.

And it felt like everything.

He opened the gate without a word. She hopped through like nothing had happened. Threw a thanks over her shoulder like it was any other day.

He nodded. Said nothing.

Something in his chest—something deep, buried, maybe long dead—stirred like coals getting kicked.

She had no idea.

And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

He walked her back to the barn. Usually she’d go off to help with the tool shed or check in on the kitchen deliveries. She was all over Jackson like a one-kid patrol team.

She glanced up at him before peeling off.

“You okay?” she asked.

Tommy blinked. “Yeah.”

“You’re quiet. That’s weird. Are you sick? Is it old-man sickness? Emotional constipation again?”

He let out a laugh—genuine, even if it felt like it scraped his ribs on the way out.

“There’s that mouth,” he muttered.

“You love it.”

“Don’t push it.”

You grinned wide and started to roll your sleeves down. “Time for me to go. Don’t wait up, civilian.”

Tommy reached out, gently caught your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You turned.

“If you ever need to talk,” he said slowly, “about anything—anything—you come find me. Got it?”

You blinked up at him. That smart mouth shut for once.

Then, softer: “Yeah. I know.”

He gave a short nod and let go.

You walked off, swinging your arms, humming under your breath.

That night, he sat on the porch long after the lights in town went out.

Cold cup of tea in hand. Mind still turning like a wheel stuck in the mud.

He didn’t tell Maria.

Didn’t write it down. Didn't even say the word out loud.

But it lived there now. Inside his chest.

And the thing was—you didn’t even mean it.

But it still mattered.

Maybe more than anything had in a long time.

Just a word.

But it was enough to make the world feel a little less broken.

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fuckyesbrucewayne · 3 months ago

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I was debating on whether to make this post or not, but then I realized that if I cannot be annoying about Bruce Wayne in my Bruce Wayne Sideblog™ then what's the point. So here are basically my thoughts on why Bruce's characterization on Batman and Robin: Year One doesn't work for me, especially on this last issue.

So without further ado, let's begin!

First things first, I'm going to show the panels that are the whole reason I am making this post first, and then analyze what is happening and why I think it doesn't work for a young Bruce that is just beginning. And yes, I will be using as a basis Golden and Silver age Bruce, because he's the blueprint whether Mark likes it ot not.

(To give some context Robin got himself kidnapped, but he saved himself. Alone, I might add.)

This scene begins... with not much promise. This whole comic makes it a point that Bruce is not only clueless about raising Dick (an idea I'm not entirely against) but also makes it seem like he's kind of forced to take care of the kid? For some reason?? The comic treats it like it's a chore he has to do, and that it falls more on Alfred's shoulders than anything... and Alfred is also not very good at it, but that's another story (I'm not completely against that as a characterization choice on Alfred's side).

My whole problem with this basis is that if Bruce is not only clueless but also kind of not interested in raising Dick... Then why did he even take him in in the first place? Like, what was he thinking, and more importantly, what am I supposed to get from this? Because I'm going to assume that the reason he took him in was because he saw himself in him, right? So... it was just a selfish act?? On a whim?? That's it??? You'll understand why I feel that idea is kind of shallow, at the very least.

But going back to the page at hand, we can see that Alfred is making a point of not interfering and letting Bruce figure himself out, but also letting it be known that he... Kind of doesn't like Dick either (which is surprisingly in character with Dixon's Robin origin story, so I guess there's some basis there).

Robin's first question when they're left alone is that if he's going to get fired, which I find "fascinating" that so many modern retellings focus on, because the idea of firing was not that important in the original stories. Like, the fear of being fired was less important than the fear of being abandoned by Bruce or being replaced, that last one was very common... But firing in and of itself wasn't necessarily that big of a deal, and it never was until that infamous story of Nightwing's second origin (which I think you can guess it's not my favorite, not when the first one was so good already... But also because Max wrote himself into a corner with that one. So you're telling me Bruce fires Dick because he doesn't want a young partner and then immediately accepts 12-year-old Jason. As his partner. What.). Anyways, Bruce's answer to that loaded question is "not yet", which is. A choice. Because what are we doing here, why is Bruce taking in an orphan who has lost every semblance of family he had but is also making his position in his household so... flimsy. There was a time when it was literally only the two of them against the world, and I understand we cannot do that anymore because of Alfred, but even then writers have made it a point to write about how these two were a set, a "do not separate" team. They're the dynamic duo for fuck's sake, why is Mark making a point to write Bruce reaffirming Dick's fears about his position being temporary, what am I supposed to understand here about Bruce's character as a caregiver. And also why is he making Bruce separate himself from Dick by saying that he is rich, that the money is his, not theirs. Why are we giving the 12-year-old or however old he is supposed to be here financial insecurity.

I know you will be surprised to know this, but Bruce has always been kind of a workaholic... but not surprisingly, and contrary to what everyone wants you to believe, in his earlier years it was not so exaggerated. He used to do a lot of fun activities with Dick! If Dick wanted something he would cave like a house of cards because that was his little boy.

They went fishing a lot, they had pillow fights, they went to the lake, to the beach, camping, they had fun a lot of the time, HE USED TO TELL DICK TO TAKE IT EASY!!!! Hell, they didn't even go looking for cases most of the time, they would go to a museum or try to relax and a bomb would fucking explode.

So... why are we making a point to show Bruce IN HIS FIRST YEAR WITH DICK telling him that "yeah actually every day matters and if you are not doing something productive you deserve to suffer or whatever". What is going on here. I'm not saying that Dick's workaholic tendencies don't come partly from Bruce, but we all forget that Dick has been a child star athlete since he was five at the very least.

Hell, this comic literally goes into a tangent in the next page about this.

And here we arrive to my last straw with this comic. I'm going to kill someone I fear. In what universe, in what fucking universe, is Bruce Thomas Wayne telling Richard John "Dick" Grayson that he made a mistake in taking him in. Why are we accepting and even praising this characterization. I'm not even going to say anything I'm just going to leave comic panels here.

But yeah this was the page, the panel, that ended it for me. We're not coming back from this. And if you think next page fixes it because Bruce is known to be very autistic blunt and say the first thing his brain is thinking without realizing it can be misinterpreted... Just look at this.

What is this, what is this supposed to be. What the fuck. In other circumstances the idea of "we're here to help each other" is something I wouldn't be against, but it's just the whole conversation before it that ruins it. So basically, after Bruce threatens to throw him out, reaffirms Dick's fears that his position is temporary and that Bruce has all the power in this dynamic, THEN he's like "we're here to help each other yippieeeee help me child" are we stupid. Are we stupid.

Basically I think I've made my point clear. But if not, my biggest problem is this: if Bruce has been a cold-hearted paranoid jackass since the beginning... then what's the point.

What's the point of Jason's death, of the accidentally good storytelling of Bruce going through traumatic event after traumatic event (Jason's death, Knightfall, No Man's Land, Fugitive, Identity Crisis, etc., ETC.) and coming out of them more cynical, more changed, more broken. If he's always been cold and callous, if there was never any fun, any whimsy, any love... then how did Dick become so devoted to him.

Why do they both miss the good old days if there is nothing to miss.

What am I supposed to be understanding here, about the dynamic duo's relationship. And most important of all... What's the point. If this relationship is based on abuse, if this relationship has nothing good going for it, if Bruce has been always an abusive monster and Dick a poor victim that didn't know any better, then what's the point. What is the point of Batman and Robin, if this is all there has always been. Is this all Bruce is allowed to be using this toxic view of masculinity as his basis. Is he not allowed to be fun, to be loving, to feel anything outside of anger or annoyance.

Why does he barely smile at Dick in this comic, even when they're out of the suit, if he is supposed to be in his first few years? Where's the tragedy then, in knowing he used to make him laugh.

Why does he suddenly not seem to like Dick for who he is? Because that's the thing, it just seems like he doesn't like him, like there's no reason he took him in other than a sudden whim, like they are not the fucking dynamic duo, like they are not the blueprint. They just feel like two people that don't even like each other and are forced to live together. And how is this dynamic more interesting, how is this supposed to be better than what we had. What's the point, man.

What's the point.

#dc #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman and robin: year one

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oshinsimblr · 11 months ago

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hey friends! i was unable to post all of my early access content bc i'm sick. but i was able to post this video, which in my honest opinion are the major features in this 'romance' pack.

IS IT WORTH $40?

DEPENDS ON HOW BADLY YOU NEED THESE FEATURES TBH.

this review is brought to you by the ea creator network. all of my opinions are my own. i must disclose this per FTC guidelines #ad.

*i do not cover everything in the pack, only the things that stood out for me lol. i'm sorry i'm not used to doing full reviews up here

the attraction system is helpful and expands dating (which is great, but we've had mods that could do this for some time: pick your poison). the romantic satisfaction is the star here. i love being able to create one sided relationships and actually take care of our romantic relationships with sims. this is a valuable feature for me!

cupid's corner is a nice "hey i don't need this mod" anymore type of feature. prior to this i was using lumpinou's meet & mingle which allowed me to meet with sims (platonic and romantic). i dislike that you can not write custom bio's for your sims. i love the way the app functions, i love saving sims and adding them to our rel. panel - and getting to know them through the phone first. i wish we could've defined our sims favorite music/foods/color etc.

i'll admit it, i'm a sucker for dynamics. family dynamics from the sims 4 growing together are so good (minus the fact that everyone wants to be f*cking jokesters after one joke lol). but i love them! they really do impact my sims relationships. the different romance dynamics are interesting. for example: a strained romance dynamic makes it VERY hard for your sims to communicate. it's like your sims will randomly hug each other, but then 5 secs later they're upset. they want to love each other so badly but they can't lol.

now onto random things that excited me. you can go to cupid's couples counseling. i did not know we'd actually be able to answer questions. these sims had a strained romance dynamic and it was so bad - the therapist suggested we come back. but when i tried to schedule it again, they were booked and i had to wait to schedule another appt. which is great, because in the meantime your sims are going downhill fast and you have to keep the peace until then (if you choose).

there are new pop ups and invites. there's even one for a reality dating show lol. you can turn these off in game settings. (if you're wondering, mr. landgrabb never showed up at the motel he wanted to meet at. he stood my sim up. don't judge me, i thought there was simoleons involved).

new crafted dates are cool. you can choose whatever you want to do on them. there's new social interactions based on the activities you choose. you can also invite other sims to these (double dates woohoo!) you can also create crafted hangouts. i like these, i got this cute picture as a reward after a succesful crafted hangout. if you're familiar with mws weddings, it's the same idea. except this works well and isn't as glitchy lol..

another random feature i never needed, but now i find it useful. you can create your own relationship label that will appear in the rel. panel

it's unfair how gorgeous this world is... because there's nothing to do. this is all set dressing.

you can declare your love here.. at the wall of love.

you can buy flowers or edible sweet treats at this shop in the background.

you can get local food here. there are 3 new dishes and spicy hot chocolate. now, i'm not mexican (the world is inspired by mexico) BUT 3 new foods isn't cutting it for me. technically only 2, because one is a vegan option. no pozole, enchiladas, guacamole, tamales?? i'm a foodie, so i take full offense to that.

you can woohoo or sleep at the motel.

you can travel.

go fishing or enjoy a swim.

sit here and chat.

view this for a moodlet.

travel again.

check in a penthouse.

there's a nightclub, gym and lounge. but you get the idea.. there's nothing culturally unique about this world which makes me sad. no festivals? i'd love seeing a mariachi band play at the lounge. something. otherwise, keep the world and add more features right? i would've loved table proposals (sims 2 anyone?). or frisky couch makeouts. so many missed opportunities here.

there's more i could say but i feel like this post should be a little helpful in deciding wether this is a pack you need right now, or wait for a sale! i personally love having a complete colection, so i've always wanted every expansion. though i recieve the pack for free, i owe you my honesty and i want to start doing blog/written content because it's easier to process my thoughts through the excitment. i will enjoy this pack, i do like it, and only time will tell as i integrate it with my current gameplay. i hope this was helpful!

* if you remember, use my code OSHINSIMS at checkout if you decide to purchase this pack. that way, at least i get a % of your purchase and EA doesn't get all your coins 😉

thank you! just keeping simming, always stay wavy, peace x

#ts4 #ts4 lovestruck #lovestruck #eacreatornetwork #ad

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fuctacles · 2 months ago

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Baby daddy 1/2

The long awaited sequel to Positives attract Finally finished it for @subeddieweek Hits "roleplay" and "dirty talk" from my @steddiebingo

E | 3.8k | cw: brief talk ab ftm pregnancy and abortion | transmasc Eddie, daddy kink, breeding kink, breeding fantasy/roleplay, fluff, smut, humor, established relationship, modern AU | Ao3 | 2/2

Steve is already tired after a full shift at work, but there's still a message of doom sitting in the inbox of his phone.

Congrats on getting out of jail party tonight!

He loves his friends, but it's a Friday afternoon and he'd also love to spend it doing absolutely nothing. Or, doing one person in particular, considering he hasn't seen Eddie for the past week, due to his quarantine. Unfortunately, hence the party. Turns out, boyfriends don't get dibs when Henderson has anything to say in the matter.

In the parking lot of his building, he spots familiar cars, letting him know he's the last one to arrive to a gathering happening at his own apartment. The buzz of overexcited nerds can be felt through the thin panel of his front door.

"Steve!"

Eddie is the first to notice him, running up to him excitedly and throwing arms around his neck.

"I've missed you so much, did you miss me? It's been torture," he wails, smushing their cheeks together.

"You've toured for longer than this," Steve points out, but wraps his arms around his waist to return the hug.

"Yes, but I was free," Eddie counters. "And now I've been trapped within four walls, going insane!"

Steve laughs, hugging him closer.

"You are insane," he reminds him.

"Insaner!"

"Sure." Steve gives him the same smile his young students get when they're doing something very child-like and stupid, but he doesn't want to discourage their growth. Eddie, of course, knows this, and huffs his displeasure into his hair.

"So you didn't miss me." He pouts, going limp in his hold.

"I did," Steve reassures him with a short kiss to his lips. "But I'm also very tired after working five days in a row, and there's a party in my house," he huffs, looking pointedly towards the lit up living room, where someone was blasting Todrick Hall from their Bluetooth speaker.

"Sorry about that." Eddie winces sheepishly. "Come on." He loosens his grip to pull him towards the commotion. "I'm gonna get you a beer. Max brought pizza, and there are cookies, they're really good. I'll humor them, and you only sit back and relax, okay?" He smiles brightly, like it could overpower the noise their friends are capable of.

"Okay," Steve sighs, and they round the corner.

"My baby daddy is home!" Eddie announces him.

Some are nice enough to just greet him, others are still enjoying his memorable group chat fiasco (Of course Eddie told them, the traitor.) with teasing laughs and smirks. But he barely pays any attention to them, frozen in the artificial light of his own living room like a terrified middle schooler on stage. His brain has short-circuited from the conflicting signals it just received. Because the presence of his friends, the smell of pizza, and Dustin licking sauce off his fingers, are the opposite of a setting appropriate for the heat flooding down his body and twisting low in his gut.

Baby daddy.

Steve just hopes it's a one-time joke.

It's not.

Eddie loves pet names and has called Steve every possible one under the sun, despite how short they've been officially dating. But today, all the Stevies and big boys and sunshines are gone. Maybe he's noticed the effect it has on Steve, because all he can hear is:

"Does my baby daddy want a top up?"

"Me and my baby daddy hated this movie."

"Hold this for me, baby daddy?"

Baby daddy baby daddy baby daddy.

Like an enchantment directed straight to Steve's cock.

He's glad for the excuse of being tired, because throughout the evening, he drifts deeper and deeper into his own mind, growing quiet while he focuses on thinking decent thoughts. Like not fucking Eddie in the room that's just a thin wall away from all their friends.

But eventually, his surroundings yank him back in the most brutal way.

"What do you think about James? Jamie?"

"Huh?"

"For a name," Eddie clarifies nothing.

"Baby name." Dustin grins at him teasingly from across the table.

And Steve is done.

He downs his drink and slams it on the table, making everyone jump in their seats and turn their heads. An aggressive riff playing from the speaker perfectly encapsulates the screaming in his brain.

"You guys are being jerks and I'm too tired to deal with it. I'm going to take a nap, nobody bother me," he announces, standing up.

Straight from work, he arrived to an impromptu party, so it's not like he's pulling the excuse out of his ass. He's old enough to need his decompressing period after getting home.

He catches Robin's eye and gives her a small, tired smile to let her know there's no intervention needed.

Eddie might need one when he's done with him, though. He's pointedly ignored when Steve leaves the room.

The door to his bedroom muffles the sounds of his friends and he has a pair of earplugs to help him if it wasn't enough. For now, he gets out of the work clothes that's become uncomfortable hours ago. He should have changed as soon as he got back, but Eddie's radiant smile has distracted him, and then he got pulled from one conversation to another.

He falls onto his bed with a sigh, suddenly realizing how tense all of his muscles are. As he breathes and relaxes, most of the tension leaves him. All but the ache between his legs.

The slide of cold sheets helps a tiny bit when he covers himself up, and with one spare glance to the closed door, he guides his hand towards his dick. As if the gentle pressure of his palm could help him survive the mortifying match of being horny beyond any sane thought and having his friends over.

He palms himself harder, but a thud too close to his bedroom's door makes him pull his hand back. It's enough to dampen his arousal so he turns on his side and closes his eyes in hopes the tiring day at work and the tiring dealing with his friends will be enough to make him doze off.

"—eve?"

Something warm is touching his face, and he instinctively leans into it, sensing a familiar smell of home and safety. He hums softly to let the touch know it's welcome and appreciated.

The touch chuckles.

"Hi, love. Do you want me to stay? Everyone else has left," it says, and Steve suddenly remembers who touches him like that, who smells and feels this way.

"Eddie." His sleepy lips barely move, and he has to force his eyes open, but the sight of his boyfriend makes every sacrifice worth it.

"Hi, Steve." Eddie smiles sweetly and leans down to place a kiss on his temple. "You can go back to sleep, I'll take a shower and join you."

"No," Steve protests weakly, and grabs his wrist to tug him down. Eddie laughs.

"I'm still in my clothes," he protests.

"Skill issue," Steve mumbles, rubbing his face higher and higher up the arm that's slowly succumbing to his pull.

Eddie snorts.

"Sure."

Accepting his fate, he uses the one hand left to him to unzip his pants and awkwardly pull them down, along with his boxers. He kicks them down and off, and sits on the mattress to pull off his socks. Steve is wrapped around his waist immediately.

"Does that mean you're not mad at me?" he asks quietly, caressing the arm around his stomach.

"Not really," Steve admits, voice muffled against Eddie's shirt.

"I'm sorry for teasing you in front of everyone," he says anyway, squeezing Steve's hand. "I know you don't like it. And I probably should have waited with the party until the weekend, but you know how Dustin is." Eddie twists in his hold to lay down as well.

"You should have," Steve agrees, readjusting himself to lay next to him, pressed along his side. "I've been waiting to get my hands on you for the past week, and you tortured me by inviting all our friends." Technically, Dustin did, but that doesn't feel relevant right now.

"Yeah?" Eddie smiles in the dark, his eyes glimmering with interest. "Had any plans in mind?" he asks curiously.

"A few," Steve admits, before swiftly throwing his leg over him, straddling his thighs to pin him down. "Like going to your place and spending the quarantine with you. Doing nothing else but fucking," he confesses, sliding his palms slowly down Eddie's arms until he can slot their hands together. As he kisses his knuckles, his hips start moving just as gently. Eddie's breath hitches.

"Day and night, the whole week, until I give you a baby."

"Ohfuckingjesus," Eddie whines below him, his hips making minuscule movements almost subconsciously.

"Would you want that?" Steve asks, pressing their entwined hands to the mattress, hovering above him. Eddie arches further into him, feeling trapped in the most delicious way.

"I'd love that."

"Say it. Say you want my baby."

Eddie exhales loudly to find his voice.

"I want your baby inside me. With your pretty moles and your pretty hair, and my stupid dimples."

"Oh fuck." Steve presses down harder, and Eddie can feel his hard cock inches away from where he needs it. He leans down, body heat acting like a magnet, but when Eddie angles his face for a kiss, his cheek gets bitten instead.

"Hey—!"

"I love your stupid dimples."

"How about you kiss me, then?" Eddie says grumpily, trying to wriggle out of his hold and get what he wants himself. His heart isn't really in it, though, and when Steve finally settles his body weight on top of him, he relaxes into a puddle of pale skin and tattoo ink.

He parts his mouth for a kiss, licking into Steve hungrily but easily giving away the dominance. As loud as Eddie liked to live his life, it felt good to give control to someone he trusts.

So he lets Steve take care of him, kissing him just right, soft enough to know he's loved but with passion that reminds him of why they are here.

To fuck like rabbits and fill Eddie's womb with cum.

He arches up into Steve, stuck between his thighs and frustrated that he can't wrap his legs around him and pull him close. His dick catches on the hardness between his legs, but the angle is all wrong, and his lower back protests the stretch. Eddie moves his hands down Steve's sides and slides them right under the waistband of his boxers to grab a handful of ass and move him however he likes.

Steve bites his bottom lip before moving away with a chuckle.

"Needy," he purrs, nipping at his lips, his jaw, his neck.

"Well, I was promised breeding." Eddie gasps at a particularly hard bite. "But you're still not inside me, ah—!" he yelps when Steve thrusts down hard, which must be uncomfortable in this position. Eddie's legs would definitely hate it. "Show off," he mutters breathily. "Come on, use these muscles, baby daddy."

Steve growls, and Eddie suddenly feels very small. He loves it.

"Say it again," he demands, hands sneaking under his shirt.

"My baby daddy," Eddie croons, and Steve's hips start pumping against his bare, hardened dick. "Oh, is that why you were so prissy?" he realizes, eyebrows quirking. "I was making you horny in front of our friends, and you couldn't do anything about it?"

"Mhm," Steve hums, too busy sucking a hickey into his pale skin.

Read full on Ao3

tagsies: @blasvemous @mugloversonly @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #mine #steddie fanfiction #transmasc eddie munson #sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #steddie bingo #cj x bingo #cj x subeddieweek #cj x steddiebingo #steddie fic #eddie x steve

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crosshairlovebot · 1 year ago

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welcome home / hunter x f!reader

pairing: hunter x f!reader

description: you return home to find hunter in the shower, and he shows you just how much he missed you while he was gone.

word count: 4,036

warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit sexual content. heavy scent kink. plot only if you squint. p in v s*x. oral s*x (f receiving). slight overstimulation. lots of kissing. slight body worship. cr*ampie.

the need to write a part two to that hunter smut a couple of weeks ago was so strong there was no avoiding it. the hunter feels gripped me so hard they're shaking me around like a rag doll. i have never written a full smut sequence like this before, so please bear with me if it's not as perfect as i would like! i'm doing my best!

although the previous part (which is not essential to read to understand this) was written with gender-neutral pronouns, this part is with a female reader. i wanted to make sure i could actually write a scene like this since i've never done it before. gender-neutral smut is something i'd like to try in the future once i feel more comfortable writing in this style :)

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You rode the slightly odorous lift up to your apartment floor, the doors sliding open slowly once it arrived. The hallway light flickered every minute or two as you approached the door to your humble abode, your body aching after working more overtime than you should’ve stayed for. Yawning, you pressed in the code before promptly walking into the still-closed door with a thud.

You frowned, suddenly more alert. You checked the panel and saw that you had just locked your apartment, not unlocked it. Living on Coruscant – especially in an area not known for being the safest corner of the planetary city – had informally trained you to watch for your safety almost constantly. And the possibility that your door may have been unlocked by someone who may or may not be waiting inside to hurt you was a red flag.

Heart beating faster, you pressed your ear up against the door, to see if you could hear anyone and your eyes widened when you heard a faint groan coming from inside.

Panic began to course through your veins, and you debated whether or not you should call the authorities before deciding against it. They wouldn’t get here in time to be of any use, and so many crimes happened on Coruscant that you doubted anyone would even come at all.

Instead, you steeled yourself and then typed in the code again.

Save for the single lamp you always left on; the apartment was dark. The yellow light bathed the small space in a soft glow that made everything look a little less like a standard-issue Coruscanti apartment and a little more like a home. You quietly dropped your bag by the door, picked up a vase from the entryway and crept into your apartment. It was then you heard the shower running and the soft hum of a smokey tenor echo through the apartment. Your shoulders instantly relaxed.

There was only one person who would break into your apartment and take a shower.

You placed the vase down on the kitchen bench, a smile biting the corners of your mouth as you walked to your small ensuite bathroom, the humming getting louder. Your smile only got wider when you saw his armour stacked neatly next to the dresser. You could hear the hum louder from here, and your heart squeezed itself against your ribs. He was happy.

You opened the door slowly, knocking softly even though he would sense you were there as soon as the door opened. “Hunter?”

The humming stopped and Hunter’s wet head poked around the shower curtain. If he was a sight when he was dry, he was completely ethereal when wet. His hair stuck around his shoulders and neck, water dripping down his tattooed face onto his neck. He smiled out the side of his mouth, eyes bright at the sight of you. “Hey, you.”

You grinned, just as pleased to see him. “Hey. You’re back.”

“I am.”

You nodded to the steaming shower. “Can I join you?”

He wordlessly pulled back the shower curtain as his answer, revealing half of his bare muscular body. You undressed quickly, piling your clothes on top of his blacks that had been kicked near the privy before stepping in with him. Almost instantly, you were engulfed in Hunter’s arms, his wet body pressed against yours as he pushed his nose into your neck, breathing deeply.

“Someone missed me,” you smiled, hands holding his upper arms and squeezing them gently.

You felt his breath on your neck as he nuzzled his nose against your skin. It was always the first thing he did when he saw you. “You have no idea how much,” the words buzzing against your skin.

At the feel of his half-hard length pressed into your stomach, and you chuckled. “I think I can guess.”

Hunter trailed his hands down your body, nose still buried in your neck. He loved the way you smelled. Something about it drove him crazy, though you weren’t sure what it was specifically. But you’d never complain.

You felt him pull you closer, and his wet hair fell onto your shoulder as he dragged his hands up and down your thighs and hips. The water cascaded over you both, and when his hand dipped between your bodies down to the place between your legs, you tipped your head forward to rest on his shoulder as you moaned. “Hunter,” you choked out as his hand moved in slow circles there, and you felt yourself slicken at the touch.

Hunter pressed light kisses to your neck and shoulder, marking a trail up to your ear with his lips. “Been waiting for you to get back.” His voice was ragged like he’d been running, rasping out of him all breathy.

His fingers still moved slowly between you, and you whimpered before telling him quietly. “I thought someone had broken in.”

Hunter pulled back to look at you, his hand stilling as he searched your face with a crease between his brow. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Sorry, cyari’ka, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and looked in his brown-grey eyes as steam continued to rise from the running water. “I heard a loud groan…what were you doing?”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth lifted before those eyes of his darkened. “What do you think?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

You hummed. The idea of him getting off in your shower as he waited for you to come home conjured up so many salacious images in your mind you had to squeeze his arms to steady yourself. The thought of him in here, cock in his hand as he stroked himself to just your scent…it only made the arousal building inside you burn hotter.

“Couldn’t wait for me?” You croaked out.

“Kriff, no. As soon as I stepped inside you were everywhere,” he continued his kisses, sucking at your jaw. “And it only got stronger. Every breath I took you were there, inside my lungs, seeping into my skin. You know how insane you make me, and it’s been months…” He drew back and brushed his nose against yours. “Are you mad?”

“God, no,” you breathed against his lips.

“Good.”

Hunter finally kisses your mouth then. His mouth slants over yours and it’s impossible not to moan into it. His tongue moves over your lips and slides against yours. To think when you met him, he had no idea how to kiss and now he knew the inside of your mouth better than you did.

He groaned into the kiss, and you knew his senses were in overdrive right now, the hot wet of your mouth only driving him crazier. He pushed you back against the tile, his solid body trapping you between the cool of the tile and the heat of his skin. His hands gripped your hips as you snaked one leg around his. With his now hard length pressing between you, it was so close to where you needed it. You arched into him, the need to have him as close as humanly possible so intense you could comprehend nothing but Hunter’s kisses and hands as he did everything he could to consume every part of you. Your only thought was how badly you wanted him to.

You had missed him too, after all.

Your hands went into his hair, tugging at the wet strands as he continued to explore your mouth. He broke away but only to resume his kisses down your neck, his tongue lolling out to lick the skin and the droplets of water in between the kisses. Steam from the water clouded your vision, or was that because of the sensation of Hunter’s hands against you? You didn’t know. You moaned as his kisses travelled down your torso.

“Hunter,” you choked out as you watched him lower to his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much,” he said again, the words vibrating against your skin.

You caressed his temple with your thumb. “I missed you.”

He groaned loudly against the skin of your stomach. “You smell incredible.”

You whimpered, so incredibly turned on as he moved his mouth down, his lips dragging across your skin, and you watched him descend lower, his eyes half closed and rolling back. You could see just how hard he was, up against his stomach. The water continued to flow down his shoulders and half-tattooed torso, down into the hair that covered most of his front.

You raked your fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp and you felt his moan on your stomach, and the sound ignited your insides with desire. It felt like your whole body was electrified, pulsing with need and he’d barely even done anything.

“Hunter, more, please,” you breathed out.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He groaned, standing up and shutting the water off as he kissed you once more. He pulled back, sliding the shower curtain roughly across its pole before picking you up effortlessly. Your arms and legs went around him as he buried his nose in your neck again as he walked to your bed, both of you still dripping wet but neither of you caring enough to do anything about it.

Hunter lay you down gently, moving you up to the pillows as he climbed on top of you. His hair fell forward, dripping onto your chest and he leaned down to suck the droplets off your skin.

You moaned as his mouth travelled to your neck again, kissing you there, his lips sucking gently, and you knew there would be a nice mark there tomorrow that you would grumble about trying to cover for work. But right now, the idea of him laying a claim to you made every nerve ending in your body tingle, especially the ones between your legs.

His lips then made their way to your chest, and he moved to one breast, taking the nipple between his teeth, making you whine before he circled his tongue around it, sucking gently. Your back arched off the bed and you felt his hand slide underneath you, between your shoulder blades, drawing you into his mouth more. He sucked gently, then moved on to the other one, repeating the same ministrations with his tongue.

You panted, mewling with every pinch of his teeth grazing your nipple. He was taking his time with you, as usual, savouring every single part of you. You knew he’d be tired after spending months completing gruelling missions, but he was still eager to pleasure you slowly, work you up until you were begging for a release only he could give.

Exhausted, but never for you.

He released your breast, wetness from his mouth glistening the peak in the dim light. He continued down once again, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he lowered himself between your legs.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with want before he sat back on his heels to spread your legs a little wider, holding the inside of your thighs down with his hands. His thumbs circled the soft skin there as he gazed at you all spread out for him.

He looked beautiful like his. His brown skin illuminated only by the light that managed to creep through the blinds, his tattoo etched down one side of his body which still shined with the water from the shower. His cock was so hard with need, precum already pooling at the tip – you’ve barely even touched him. He was just worked up over touching you, breathing you in. He was average in length, but his thickness set him apart from any other sexual partner you’ve had. You ached to feel it inside you, but if he was taking his sweet time with you, it would be a while before you felt him stretch you.

Hunter was nothing if not thorough.

“Hunter…” you whined, sitting up on your elbows.

“Look so pretty like this,” he told you, not an ounce of insincerity in his tone as he crept down to his elbows, arms wrapping under and around your thighs as he pushed his nose against your centre. He breathed in deeply, and the groan that erupted from the back of his throat buzzed against your core.

“So good…” he murmured as he pushed his nose against your clit, making you jerk. He placed a kiss there before gently bringing it into his mouth to suck. You cry out, hips bucking up into his nose and he moans again before his mouth finally moves over you completely.

You arch your back off the bed as his tongue moves artfully against you. The sensation continued to stoke the fire that had been building the minute he wrapped his arms around you in the shower. You moved your hands to his hair, clutching the roots with your fingers and pushing him closer as he licked and sucked like a man starved. And in a way he was. Your hand was no substitute for this. He licked a line up, before bringing his lips around the bud again and sucking gently. You couldn’t think about anything but his hot mouth and tongue against you. You ground into his mouth, needing more friction as the pleasure began to build in your belly, coiling in hot spirals as Hunter continued. He groaned into you through his ministrations, and when he felt you clench on his tongue, he pulled you impossibly closer to his mouth as he moved his tongue faster. Your breaths filled the room, pants loud and moans echoing in the space. You could feel the mattress move underneath you and you looked down at him with hooded eyes to see him rutting against the mattress, getting off to the pleasure he was giving you.

“Hunter, please, I’m so—” Your words were barely audible, but Hunter knew what you meant as he pressed his tongue harder against you, bringing your clit into his mouth and sucking one more time, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. You cried out, the band inside you snapping as pleasure erupted.

Your back arched and you cried out his name like it was an incantation, over and over as he continued to move his tongue through your undoing, groaning against you as you came all over his tongue. Your hands tight in his hair, you tugged as you shuddered underneath him until the tremors slowed, and you lay breathless, limbs heavy. You looked down at him as he emerged from between your legs, mouth glistening with your come, coating his lips and chin. He licked his lips and groaned. The sight of it was so obscene you felt your body flush.

“Good girl,” he told you before he climbed over you, capturing your mouth in a kiss. You could taste yourself in his mouth and you moaned at the way his fingers briefly dipped inside you. “So good for me,” he told you against your lips. “Always so good.”

“Need you inside me,” you mumbled back.

Hunter groaned and you watched as he drew back to lean on his heels again, using the fingers he’d just brushed through your folds to lubricate his length. He hissed as he circled the tip and down the shaft before he coated his fingers again and slid them in his mouth, sucking them gently with his eyes closed, savouring the taste. You watched him, mesmerised.

Was this man really yours?

He positioned himself at your entrance, holding himself above you with strong arms, face over yours. His eyes were so intense, their brown-grey colour boring into you. He gave you a look, one that differed from the wanting gaze he’d been giving you. This look was one of tenderness, one that asked if you were still good – still okay with this. You nodded and he pressed his lips against yours once more before he eased himself inside you.

You gasped as you stretched around him, clawing at his shoulders as you locked your legs around his. He groaned as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He caught his breath and when you clenched around him, he made a choking sound, swearing.

“Been too long,” he whispered.

“Too long,” you repeated before he drew himself back out slowly. He pushed his nose into your shoulder again as he groaned loudly. Then he slowly began thrusting, the sounds of your moans and groans filling the room, along with the indecent sound of his skin hitting yours as his movements increased in speed.

“Hunter,” you moaned his name, and he groaned in response. His hands found your hips and he adjusted his position so he could reach deeper, and he continued to roll his hips against you, your hands clutching at his forearms as the headboard hit the wall repeatedly.

Sex with Hunter always felt amazing. Full of the kind of passion that almost didn’t feel real. It was full of moans and groans and tantalising touches that built you up and up so when you finally let go, the fall felt so good it was almost immeasurable. It was filled with kisses and though he wasn’t much of a talker, he would whisper how good you felt against him. No matter how rough he was being, you felt safe in his hands and cared for – he made sure of that. Being in the throes of pleasure with Hunter was an all-consuming feeling for you both, one that you relished whenever you got the chance. His time home was so fleeting, that anything you could both do to tell each other how much you missed the other, how much you loved the other, you would do. Later, you would use your words. But right now, your bodies spoke instead; each press, clench, shudder, whimper, and groan said the words for you both.

You could feel those familiar hot coils building again each time he buried himself in you, and you could feel his movements falter slightly as he came closer to his own release. He’d come up from your neck again and you looked up at him, mouth agape as his hair, now half dry, fell over his handsome face and the curled ends tickled your cheeks. You reached up and placed some behind his ear, hand cupping his jaw.

“Hunter—”

Hunter nodded quickly, eyes dark and pupils blown. “I know.”

Of course, he did. His senses were so in tune with your body he could feel the subtle changes of your arousal and smell the way your body was on the precipice of falling.

Hunter’s hands held your hips and the headboard, and he rocked himself into you, faster this time. He panted, a husky noise from the back of his throat sounding with each thrust as he brought you closer. You rasped out a string of yeses as the sensation that had been building rose to its peak. You locked your legs around his thighs, clawing at his back as you clenched hard around him, crying out.

Your back arched into him, fingernails forming crescent moon carvings in the skin of his arms as you shuddered against him. His name fell from your lips as you writhed underneath him, riding out your orgasm as he continued to sink into you on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, cyare,” you whispered to him as you were still trembling. "Still got my implant."

It wasn’t a second later until he gave a ragged cry as he stilled, spilling inside you. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth gritted as he groaned loudly – the way you had heard him through the apartment door before. Half collapsing on top of you, he pushed his face into your shoulder again, this time biting the skin there as his thrusts became languid, drawing out as much of his release as possible. You hissed as his teeth claimed your skin, but no matter how worked up Hunter was, he always made sure his bites weren’t too hard.

When Hunter’s shudders stopped, both of you caught your breath. You could feel his breath tickle your shoulder, and this was the first time since you’d been home that you registered the familiar musky smell of his skin. You smiled and kissed his shoulder while he was still on top of you, the tangy taste of his sweat on your lips.

Hunter slowly emerged from your shoulder and looked down at you, eyelids heavy and hair all tangled. You smiled, still dazed, and reached up to push it out of his face, tucking it behind his ear again. He smiled warmly at you before kissing the inside of your wrist.

He hissed as he pulled out of you, and the loss of him down there was so prominent you felt an ache. Hunter rolled off you and lay beside you on his stomach for a minute, his eyes drooping shut for a moment before he forced them open again.

“Hang on,” he said and kissed your shoulder lightly before pushing himself up and heading into the bathroom. You giggled as you heard the cupboard door open and shut before the tap turned on. You turned on your side, still half-limp, watching him wet a towel and then re-enter the room.

He sat next to you as he wiped between your legs sleepily, the warm towel a gentle caress on your skin before he placed it on the bedside table and lay down next to you.

You smiled and pulled the covers back so you could get under them together. They were damp from your hasty decision to not dry off beforehand, but they would dry as you slept. You watched as Hunter nestled himself in the mattress, eyes closing, but when you didn’t move closer to him immediately, he peeked an eye open. He reached out to you under the covers, with a frown.

“Come,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I did. Twice,” you smirked as you let his hands circle your arms and pull you in closer.

“Shuddup,” he slurred, but he still smiled, kissing your temple as he tucked you against his chest. You breathed in the scent of him as you rested your head on him.

You chuckled. “You smell like me.”

“Good. Need to smell like you forever,” he pushed his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath in. “What is the name of this soap, anyway? Gonna place an order.”

You laughed. You loved he was like this – all soft and sleepy after you’d come together. It was a side only you saw, the shedding of that broody exterior he reserved for his service to reveal the tenderness that was a secret for your eyes only. “I think it’s generic brand vanilla and starflower.”

“Smells fucking incredible,” Hunter mumbled, making you laugh again. You kissed his chest and after a moment of silence where all you did was breathe together, he said, “You okay? I didn’t plan to do all that the second I saw you.”

You smiled. No matter how exhausted he was, he always had to check in with you.

“I’m really, really okay, Hunter,” you told him. “There are worse ways to be greeted upon returning home.”

“I at least wanted one conversation with you before I had my way with you,” Hunter murmured in your skin, kissing your shoulder again, this time where he had bitten you, his lips soothing the slight ache there.

“Talking is overrated,” you joked with a shrug, snuggling into his chest. You felt it thrum with a deep chuckle. He knew you loved to hear him talk.

“Tomorrow, we can talk. I have so much to tell you,” he breathed, lips brushing your temple.

You smiled. “Me too. Tomorrow.” You patted his chest gently. “Sleep now, cyare. I know you’re exhausted.”

Hunter hummed, on the cusp of slumber. “Tomorrow.” You felt his body relax. “Love you, cyare,” he mumbled into your hair.

You heard his breathing become deep and even, his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat steady against your palms. You smiled, closing your eyes. “Love you more.”

banner art by @vimse thank you for reading! <3 again, this is my first time writing a full smut scene like this so feedback (delivered kindly) is really appreciated!!

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @wenalena @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook

TAGLIST FORM

if you're a regular on my tag list but haven't been tagged, it's bc your age isn't in your bio/have said you prefer sfw fics.

#larissa writes #hunter x reader #hunter x reader fic #hunter bad batch smut #hunter x reader smut #hunter bad batch #huter fic #hunter bad batch fic #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch smut #tbb huter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb x reader #bad batch smut #hunter smut

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 months ago

Text

We've only just begun (a Mon-el introspective? Idk dont ask me) (Rhea's wedding plans succeed)

Mon-el jolts from his misery when the door to his cell clicks open, and shoots to his feet when he sees Lena Luthor on the other side. He blinks in surprise.

"How...?"

Lena flashes an access key, apparently palmed from some soldier's gauntlet. Her smirk is flat and humorless. "You should really have a talk with your guards."

Mon-el scowls. "They're not *my*--"

"Whatever," comes the dismissive retort. "Coming?"

Mon-el is certainly not staying. But he's not about to let Lena Luthor take the lead, either. He overtakes her brisk pace in a jog, and though she huffs with derision, she thankfully doesn't protest. Kara's heroics have rubbed off on him enough to know that if Lena got hurt while he lagged behind... well. The less said about that, the better.

Mon-el manages to take out the few guards they run into on the way to the nearest transmat pad, but their disappearance is noticed just as Lena swipes the access key across the final sensor keeping them from their escape.

A siren blares, echoing in the empty corridor. Closing themselves in the transmat chamber is no better-- there the pulsing wail of the alarm presses close around them, even as Lena surges towards the control panel.

"Damn it!" she curses, fingers flying over the control board. "Shit!"

"They shut it down remotely?" Mon-el guesses correctly. Lena glares at the console. "We're trapped then."

"Maybe not!" Lena shouts over the klaxon. "If I can--"

The door opens behind them, admitting a squadron of guards who swiftly spill into the room. Mon-el smoothly disarms one, then floors another with a strike to his sternum. He knows all he can do to aid their escape is to buy Lena time--

Three guards pile on him at once, driving him to the ground. In moments he's restrained in manacles and pinned to the floor with a knee digging sharply into his back.

"Step back!" a guard barks at Lena, aggression plain in his posture.

Lena ignores him, jaw tight as she focuses on her task. In horror, Mon-el watches the guard level his staff weapon at Lena, preparing to fire.

"Step back!" the guard bellows again.

Again, Lena ignores him, even when the weapon at her back whines with a building electrical charge. Mon-el twists against the guard pinning him, to no avail. Finally, he sags.

"Lena," is all he says.

At the sound of his voice, Lena's fingers pause. Then her eyes close for a long moment, lips thinning into a tense line. Finally, she lifts her hands from the controls, and steps back.

In an instant, the guard seizes her by the arm and yanks her away. She gives a cry of pain as she stumbles, her bare feet scuffing against the floor.

"Careful!" Mon-el snaps, even as his own captors heave him to his feet. The guard flashes him a glare, which Mon-el meets with all the haughty authority he can muster. "The queen won't be pleased if you damage her."

The man scowls, but his grip relaxes ever so slightly. Mon-el meets Lena's eyes briefly, and finds a heady mix of irritation and despair staring back at him.

"Let's go!"

The guards march them from the room. Mon-el expects them to be escorted to the throne room, where his mother would chide them like children, but to his surprise, his escort turns back towards the cells. Lena's, however, turns the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Mon-el shouts, digging in his heels to try and maneuver back towards Lena. "Stop!"

"Mon-el!" Lena calls back, twisting desperately against the grip on her arm. She knows that separation would leave them both vulnerable. "Let me go!"

But no one listens. As the distance between them grows, Mon-el cranes his neck to look over his shoulder towards Lena, only to have his stop plummet when he sees her growing terror. Unable to do anything more, Mon-el draws on the only reassurance he has to offer.

"Supergirl will come!" he shouts to Lena, even as her captor turns them around the corner out of sight. "She's coming!"

---

Kara doesn't come. Not soon enough, anyway. He waits and hopes while he sits in his solitary cell, while he wonders if Lena was unharmed, when a pair of servants deliver a set of fresh finery to dress in.

"For your nuptials," sneers one of the two guards now posted at the cell door.

When he's dressed and finally escorted back to the throne room for the ceremony, Mon-el is relieved when Lena trails in just a few minutes later. She'd been given the same treatment, her dark gown traded for one of the richest red-- the color reserved for the very highest of rank. It is the color of Rao, and a symbol of his approval for the ceremony to come.

Lena seems defiant as she stalks towards the dais where Mon-el stands, but as Rhea commands the broadcast to begin and starts her speech, Mon-el feels Lena trembling beside him. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, and sensing his gaze, Lena looks back with apprehension in her eyes.

He hears Lena swallow thickly when Rhea orders them to face each other, and the fingers Mon-el takes in his own shake with the power of her thundering heartbeat. He wants to offer reassurance, but has none to give. This is happening, and nothing either of them can do will stop it.

A priest winds a silver ribbon around their joined hands, binding them together in the sight of Rao and his witnesses. As Rhea declares their marriage firm and final, Lena blinks, spilling a single tear down her cheek.

The broadcast ends, and Lena yanks her hands from Mon-el's the instant the ribbon is removed. She scrubs the tear away with the heel of one hand, swallowing again to steel herself as Rhea approaches.

"You performed beautifully, my dear," his mother says. She reaches out to brush Lena's cheek, who sharply pulls her head away from the touch. Rhea tsks. "Ah, well."

She turns to address them both. "I would have allowed you to spend your wedding night together, however after your little escapade, I don't trust that you won't cause trouble."

With a clap of her hands, the guards step forward once more, gripping them both tightly. Mon-el keeps his attention on Lena, watching as her gaze goes flat-- numb.

"I'm sorry," Mon-el says before Lena is dragged away, and he himself soon after. It echoes in his ears as they return him to his cell, and thunders in his head when his helplessness closes in around him.

I'm sorry.

----

Supergirl arrives a week later, after coordinating resistance against the Daxamite soldiers on the ground. When she arrives in the cell block where Mon-el waits, Kara's brow furrows in alarm.

"Where's Lena?" she demands.

"I don't know," Mon-el replies dully. "She may be in the royal wing, but I'm not--"

"Let's go."

Kara barely spares a moment to wrench the doors apart before marching away, and Mon-el is all too willing to follow. Backing Supergirl is something he can do-- now, he can finally help. He leads them to the most lavish of the court's chambers, correctly guessing that his mother had extended her the luxury of a high noble.

Within the chamber they find Lena, now changed from her red wedding gown to robes of deep purple. Between that and the way her hair is styled in the fashion of Daxam's courtiers, she looks every inch a Daxamite princess.

Lena turns from the window at their entrance. Her gaze bounces between them briefly. "Supergirl."

Kara is already closing the distance between them. Mon-el sees the way her arms lift to embrace Lena, only to redirect midway to grasp her friend by the shoulders.

"You're all right?" Supergirl asks.

Lena nods. "Yes, thank you."

Mon-el wonders if Kara can hear the distance in Lena's voice. If she does, she gives no indication as she shifts to the task at hand. "Let's get out of here."

Taking Lena by the hand, Kara guides them both from the chamber. With Supergirl as their escort, not a single guard can stop them: each one ends up crumpled at their feet, senseless or dead-- Mon-el isn't sure he wants to know which.

To his surprise, Lena slips her hand from Supergirl's after the second guard goes down, scooping up his sidearm as she follows the hero's path. The fact he hadn't thought to do the same pricks at Mon-el's pride, as does Supergirl's swift dispatch of any opponents they run into. But he keeps it to himself, aware that they are only this close to freedom because of Kara's help.

The alarms sound a few corridors away from the transmat room, and Lena's shoulders stiffen. "They'll have locked down the consoles," she says stiffly. "But if you can--"

"We don't need the consoles," Supergirl delivers with a smirk. She plucks a small fob from beneath the neck of her suit. "Different exit strategy."

At that, Lena's features spread into a conspiratorial grin, and for a moment Mon-el feels entirely out of place. Then Supergirl turns to him, nods, and cocks her head towards the end of the corridor.

"This way."

They make it to the far end of the ship without Lena having to fire a single shot. Reaching a deserted room, Kara guides them inside, then clicks the button on her fob just once. Instantly, the ship melts away, and the world coalesces around them once more into an entirely different scene.

Suddenly-- still-- attuned to Lena, Mon-el registers the moment Lena realizes where she is. Her eyes widen in surprise, scanning the icy fortress around her. In that scan, Lena's gaze lands on a tall, slender woman who must have activated the device to bring them home. In an instant, Lena's features shutter once more.

"Mother."

The woman saunters forward, and in her regal stature and haughtily bemused features, Mon-el sees his own mother. And just like with Rhea, Lena recoils when her mother reaches to touch her cheek.

The woman sighs at her reaction. "Even now, Lena?"

"Don't pretend you're here out of the goodness of your heart," Lena snaps.

"I'm here for you," her mother delivers firmly. "For my daughter."

"So you'll leave without me?"

At this, the woman frowns. "They are the reason this happened, they cannot be trusted!"

She reaches for her daughter's arm, only for Lena to wrench herself out of reach.

"*I* am the reason this happened, mother," Lena hisses. She glances guiltily towards where Kara has stiffened in surprise, but powers through. "*They* are the ones who will help me fix it."

"That's absolutely out of the question--"

"Your opinion means nothing." Lena bristles with obstinance, as though all the resistance she'd been unable to enact on the ship had found its outlet in this moment. "Now leave, so the rest of us can go home."

The woman scowls. "You're making a mistake."

"Not this time," comes Lena's firm reply, only for her mother to lift a knowing eyebrow.

"We'll see."

---

Once the woman leaves with her henchmen, Supergirl removes her cape to wrap it around Lena, whose thin gown offered little resistance to the Arctic cold. Lena accepts the gesture with a thin, shivering smile.

"Thank you."

Kara nods in reassurance. "Let's go home."

Outside a DEO helicopter waits for them with a pilot standing by. The trip feels long to Mon-el, spent in awkward silence seated between his girlfriend and his new wife.

Wife.

That means something to him, he finds. He watches Lena carefully throughout the ride, though she largely ignores him in favor of staring out the window. Supergirl, for her part, studies the both of them. The helicopter lands twenty miles from National City, not trusting the Daxamite fleet wouldn't shoot them from the sky on approach.

When they disembark, Mon-el sees Lena's look of surprise when he turns to help her down from the helicopter. But after that moment of hesitation, Lena accepts his assistance by placing her hand in his.

The last leg of their journey is spent in the back of an SUV, and Mon-el's shoulder brushes Lena's as they speed down the interstate. When the National City skyline comes into view, Lena stiffens at the columns of smoke still rising from the city. It looks like a scene from one Winn's movies, but it's not. It's real, and from the way Lena barely seems to breathe, the reality presses on her just as heavily.

They arrive at the alien bar with little fanfare. But even the quiet embraces Alex gives Kara and Winn gives Mon-el leaves Lena standing pointedly alone. Upon seeing Lena draw Supergirl's cape more securely around herself, Mon-el extricates himself from Winn's tight hug.

"Perhaps you have some clothes more comfortable?" he asks. Winn follows his gaze, seemingly only then noticing their final guest.

"Oh!" he chirps. "Yeah, of course! Hi, Miss Luthor."

Lena offers only the smallest upturn of her lips in gratitude. Her eyes flash to Mon-el, her features inscrutable in the barest of moments before she allows Winn to lead her inside. Mon-el almost follows, but lingers when Kara does. They finally embrace, and Mon-el releases some of the tension he'd been carrying with a sigh.

"Thank you," he murmurs quietly.

"I saw the broadcast," Kara says. When she pulls away, her face is creased with worry. "The wedding. Are... are you okay?"

Mon-el pauses, and realizes he doesn't quite know how to respond. For want of an answer, he deflects.

"Lena spent the most time with my mother," he says, half jokingly. "She's the one you should worry about."

Kara frowns, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "I can worry about you both."

"I'm fine." As he says the words, Mon-el can feel how untrue they are. He tries again. "I'll be fine when my people have left this planet for good."

Kara's gaze searches his, but thankfully doesn't push any further. "Now that we have you both back, we might stand a chance."

---

Their chance, as Mon-el had long suspected, is entirely Lena. When Mon-el follows the team to the DEO, Lena parts ways, heading for L-Corp. That she would go to her place of business instead of her home carries a meaning Mon-el can't quite define. Perhaps it is to Lena what the throne room is to his mother: a place of power, control... both of which Mon-el is certain Lena feels the need to regain.

Even so, he's relieved when she returns just a few hours later with a plan. His heart drops when he learns that plan is to poison Earth's atmosphere with lead, but when his gaze connects with Lena's, he finds no malice. If anything, she seems reluctant to offer the plan, clearly a last resort.

"We won't need it," Supergirl declares. She is sure of two things, where Mon-el is only certain of one: Supergirl may win the Dakam-ur, but Rhea will not honor it.

For the first time in his life, Mon-el wishes he'll be wrong.

He isn't.

---

Supergirl is the one to press the button, but it's Kara who says goodbye. Her eyes are full of tears, and even as he chokes on the air in his lungs, Mon-el wants nothing more than to wipe them away.

"I'm a better person, because of you," he coughs thickly. "Kara, please..."

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

Mon-el shakes his head. There's nothing to forgive. Instead, he has a request of his own.

"Take care of Lena."

Kara stares at him, confusion clouding her tear-filled gaze. "What?"

"She's going to need you," Mon-el gasps. "And you'll need her in return. Let her be what I couldn't."

"Mon-el..."

"Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her... I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to be the person she needed me to be. The person you both needed me to be." He wheezes painfully, every breath a thousand knives prickling his throat and lungs. "I should have stopped the wedding. You would have."

Kara shakes her head, but Mon-el knows. Had it been Supergirl in his shoes, she would have thought of some way to thwart the ceremony.

He should have thought to challenge his mother to the Dakam-ur himself, right there on that dais.

"Don't let Lena blame herself," Mon-el continues. "And don't blame yourself either. You made the right choice."

He doubts Kara believes him now, but in time, in the months or years it takes for the ache to fade, he knows she will. It is the right choice.

His final goodbye is a wave through the shuttles window as it lifts off the ground. Pre-programmed to exit Earth's orbit as swiftly as possible, he soon loses sight of Kara as the pod lifts through the atmosphere and into the dark of space.

In that void of expanse, Mon-el knows that whatever else, the two women he leaves behind will be fine. His wife and the love of his life will find their way through, together.

#supercorp #mon-el corp?#adjacent?#mon el introspective #like i said i have no idea how this happened #i just saw that idea from way back and was like-- okay bet #so...#come talk at me?#pls validate me #i guess i dont actually hate the idea of mon el #i just hate how he was written in canon #but dont worry i fixed it #i think #i dunno #do you think hes tolerable here?

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