#god has left you for your filthy choices

[sumi-sprite]

@prinx-quail When he says no pickle, he means NO PICKLE!!!!!

Can't get good cafeteria service during a breach, it seems (all the more cuddle time with smokin' hot tatted up host)

Fiddling around with my artsyle and I lowkey love this version..

[notapradagurl7]

Hey girl I was wondering if you could do a fic with Aaron and basically him and the reader are married and just had a baby. Reader is having a hard time adjusting with the baby, work, etc and has a meltdown. Here incomes Aaron to rescue, and if you wanna end it with some 🍆 ✨(that’s fine by me 😏)

Bundle Of You.

Pairings: Black Fem!Wife! Reader x Terry RichmondHusband!

Summary: See Ask. You and your husband Terry just had your little one, and happily married. However you're having a hard time adjusting with everything, your mom babysitting. But your husband comes to the rescue.

WC: 3972k.

A/N: Here you go, I loved this, ask and you will receive, thank you for this! lovely anon, I had fun, that last part is fine by me too,🤭 but had something extra. 🩷 don't forget to like, comment, reblog and drop a request if you like, enjoy!

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @babybratzmaraj

@becauseimswagman1

@superheroprincess22 @pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn

@secretlifeoofmarpessa @dpennedit

@westside-rot @mymindisneverhere

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@5starr-staciii

@lady-olive-oil @23jammy @zillasvilla @yassbishimvintage @musicisme333

@chaoticcoffeequeen @saturnville @enchantedillumination @kaylalb @mogul93 @theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @fakxmbj @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani @mama-2001 @ororosdaughter

Warnings: fluff, filthy smut, sensual eye contact, a feral reader, spanking, praise, unprotected sex, a feral Terry, breeding kink, angst, dirty talk, consensual for both parties, a horny reader, mention of death, mention of suicide, cussing, stressed-out reader, creampie, meltdown, slight daddy kink, pet names, breast milk, nasty!Terry, rough sex, the reader being picked up, dacryphilia.

————

Your elegant black Honda arrived at your home's driveway, and you let out a sigh. You glanced over the charming single-story brown-painted house, which featured seven windows. Lush green hedges trim the house corners, neatly trimmed and short. Birds sit at the tips of the branches, singing a lovely tune.

“Another day is over, thank God,” you mumbled lowly, sighing in relief.

Grabbing your keys and briefcase from the passenger seat, you pulled the door handle and stepped with a groan of exhaustion.

On your first day back from work after maternity leave, it felt like chaos with your difficult boss breathing down your neck and colleagues inquiring about your baby, Terry, and your pregnancy, draining your energy.

You spotted your mom’s car parked in the driveway, rolling your eyes. Not in the mood to talk to her about anything but you needed someone watch the baby. You had a hard time adjusting with work, the baby, and your mom stressing you out, etc. It was so overwhelming. You couldn’t wait until your husband got home.

The last time you talked to your mom was an argument about Terry, the marriage and having a baby.

Your mom wasn't too happy about finding out about your marriage and baby through your cousin Raelynn at a family reunion who found through Instagram. You blocked her and every family member that day.

She believed she had the right to question your choice to marry a former Marine, and you gazed at her with a gentle look.

This originates from your mother's negative experience with your father, a former Marine suffering from intense PTSD, who would have nightmares at night. Screaming.

It left your mom crying, praying to God that the pain would away, but it wouldn't go away. Your father was tired of the nightmares, tired of the pain.

Until one night, your dad stood alone in the backyard with his gun in his hand, he wanted the pain, and the violent memories to end. Tears rolled down his face, He aimed the gun at his end and a gunshot aired out.

After that, you and your mom did your best to keep going, she was sad about your father but never mentioned him again, she would usually say that she was finally free of it. The two of you didn’t struggle but

Terry had endured so much, from the loss of his cousin Mike after he was stabbed in jail and battling the corrupt law enforcement in Shelby Springs.

But you made it clear that Terry was different, he was quiet and reserved about being a great dad.

Mentally it took a toll on him, after the court battle and eventually winning it, it wasn't enough to bring his cousin back to Earth.

If Terry could conquer heaven’s angels and talk to God Himself, asking The Creator to bring him back. He would do that in a heartbeat.

Hell, Terry would do the same with Satan and those rotten demons, if he had the power or believed in the afterlife.

But when Terry met you at a black-owned coffee shop, for him everything changed. He had a family with you, a daughter. He wished Mike could meet the little one.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the thoughts swirling in your mind as you stepped inside.

You opened the door and were greeted by your mom, and you responded to her.

As you made your way through the hallways into the bedroom, you tossed your briefcase onto your desk, grabbed a pen, and noted down important dates and names related to your work as an assistant in a cubicle.

Once you flopped on the bed. You heard your baby cry.

Groaning lowly, pouting your lips. You quickly raised up from the bed and hurried into the room where your mom was holding the baby in her arms. “Hello dear, how are you?,” she replied in a annoyed tone.

“I’m fine, You’re holding her incorrectly,” you shot back, flanking her immediately.

Raven’s bedroom was quite spacious, the four walls painted in chocolate brown, and white macaron cream, an armchair in the corner of the room, and her square-shaped baby bed was filled with three stuffed plushies of a star, swan and a teddy bear with smiling faces, thin blankets rested atop.

“Hello there, my beautiful girl, how are you?” You said, in a warm tone, gently taking your baby from her arms.

“Nice to see you too,” your mom shot back, her eyes softened a bit.

You and Terry were married along with your baby girl, Raven, her hazel green eyes and brown skin, her tiny curls framed her face, She was so beautiful.

Your mom mean-mugged you, arms crossed. “I raised you, I know how to hold a baby, and why the hell would you name your child Raven anyway?”

Anger boiled within you, “It’s our baby, Mom, why do you think we had a private wedding, private pregnancy, private proposal, we wanted it to be just us,” you explained to her, narrowing your gaze at her.

You gained the baby weight, your tittes got bigger and tried to work out with Terry since he was looking mighty delectable lately, he reminded that it was progress, not perfection. It didn't help that random women over the internet were lusting over your man.

But he’s all yours now, he was an amazing husband to you, a great father to the baby.

You cradled Raven close, her soft whimpers fading as you rocked her gently. In that moment, everything felt right, but the tension in the room with your mother was palpable.

"Mom, I appreciate your help, but you need to respect our choices," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Respect? You think marrying that man and having a child without telling me is respect?” she countered, her tone sharper than a knife's edge.

The baby began crying again, and you sighed. “See, you don't know what you're doing,”

You took a deep breath, fighting the urge to snap back. Instead, you focused on Raven's tiny fingers curling around yours. “He loves me, and he loves Raven. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Mhm, love this, love that,” she shot back, but the fire in her eyes dimmed just a little as she glanced at her granddaughter.

You backed away from your mom and sat down on the armchair, “Just leave me alone, I'm trying to comfort my child,” you pushed back, your tone laced with frustration.

Just then, the front door creaked open and closed shut, and there was Aaron, a breath of fresh air. Your dark brown skin shone underneath the light, your hair styled in black box braids, pulled back in a ponytail.

His tall frame filled the doorway, and you could see the weariness etched on his handsome face. His cornrows perfectly showing, his light skin shined under the light.

“Hey, my love, I'm home,” he called out, his voice wrapping around his words like a warm blanket. He pecked your forehead and your lips sweetly.

His eyes flicked toward the baby who smiled at Terry, once he picked up the baby in his arms.

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, and you felt the chaos in your mind begin to settle. As he stepped inside, you could see the way he lit up at the sight of you and Raven. “What’s going on in here?”

“Just a little family fight,” you replied, shooting your mother a pointed look.

Terry walked over, those warm eyes scanning the room before landing on you, his expression softening. “You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

You nodded, but the exhaustion was evident. “Just a bit overwhelmed. My first day back honey, you know?”

You sniffled and wiped your tears, “It is been so overwhelming lately, and i don't think that I can do this Terry, I…” your voice shaky and words stuttered, you got up and ran into the bedroom.

Terry finally put the baby to sleep, settling her in the bed, your mom followed behind the man into the bedroom.

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing you into his side. “You’re doing brilliant, babe. The world’s mad right now, but you’re handling it like a queen,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

Your mom huffed, crossing her arms again. “You call this handling it? She’s falling apart, Terry,.”

Terry’s gaze flicked to her, a hint of protectiveness in his stance. “And what do you know about it?” he challenged softly, but there was an underlying tension in his tone. “She’s just had a baby. This isn’t easy for any of us.”

You could feel the warmth radiate from Terry, and you leaned into him, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little. “I just wish…” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

You didn’t want to voice your insecurities, not now, not when he was trying to reassure you.

“Wish what, baby?” he prompted gently, his thumb stroking your arm soothingly.

“Nothing,” you finally said, but his eyes searched yours, and you could tell he wasn’t buying it. Your shiny wedding ring glowed brightly with the golden ring on his finger.

“Don’t lie to me, yeah? I know you better than that.” His voice was low, but it was filled with warmth and understanding.

You sighed, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I just feel so lost sometimes, Terry. I don’t know how to balance everything. I want to be a good wife, a good mother, and I feel like I’m failing.”

Tears falling down your face, crying softly. Feeling like the world was falling apart into tiny pieces.

He cupped your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “You’re not failing. You’re doing more than enough, and I’m here, every step of the way. We’re in this together, remember?”

His words wrapped around you like a healing balm, and you felt the tension in your chest ease. “I just need you, Terry. I need you to remind me that I’m not alone in this.”

“You could never be alone with me around,” he replied, his voice a low promise. “Let’s get through this together. And if anyone tries to come for you, I’ll be right here to defend you, baby. Always.”

Terry’s eyes flickered toward your mother, “And as for you, get the hell out of our house, now,”

Your mother’s mouth fell open, made an unpleasant noise, left the room and the house, and then slammed the door. You were bursting out in laughter with your husband.

“Now that is how you snap back,” You giggled with covering your mouth.

Watching Terry gently kissed her forehead, and gently settled the baby in her bed, hearing her softly snore peacefully.

The two of you quietly walk out of her bedroom, walking through the hallways and into the spacious bedroom. You grabbed your briefcase and settled it at the corner of the room. “I’m so happy you're home,” you coaxed softly, kissing his face.

As your mother left the room, Terry’s eyes darkened slightly, a playful glint appearing. “Now that we’ve dealt with that shit, how about we focus on something a bit more…intimate?” he suggested, a smirk playing on his lips.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and the flutter in your stomach ignited. “Intimate, huh?” you teased back, your voice dropping an octave.

“Yeah, baby,” he replied, stepping closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

“Missed me?” you echoed, your heart racing as he leaned in, his lips just inches from yours. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, baby”

He leaned in closely and kissed you tenderly, he unbuttoned your work clothes, while you helped him slide off his grey tee shirt that was drenched in sweat, his earthy yet cinnamon cologne still on him.

His full lips enveloped your nipple as his other hand kneaded and squeezed the other one; you let out a soft whimper when his fingers grazed the stretch marks on your brown skin. The curve of your ass smacked by his hand. Was this man trying to get you pregnant again? He couldn't be devious, right?

“T-Terryyy..” you whimpered softly in his ear. Your nipples were still sensitive after breastfeeding Raven last night, he fingered your pussy slowly and pulled out. “Pleaseee..”

His hands spread your legs wide apart for him, those dreamy ocean eyes of his focused on your wet pussy like he wanted to sear the image in his brain just like those damn acronyms from his service of the Marine Corps, he wished to replace each letter of it with the sound of you, taste of you, your pretty face and your back arching. “My beautiful wife,” he said with a smile, he groaned lowly, His dick jumped and twitched at the thought, he needed you so badly.

You had a small request in your mind, you had to get it out immediately. “Terry, can you be a little rougher this time?” you asked with a lip pout.

He offered a reassuring nod, a playful smirk on his face as he positioned his dick at your entrance, gently pressing the tip in. "You're already so wet for me; I love you," he said in a deep voice, prompting you to moan uncontrollably, your gaze locked on his. "I-I love you too, shit!" you exclaimed.

He leaned in to kiss the tattoo on your shoulder, then pressed his lips against yours twice more. As he pushed your legs back, he dove his dick deeper into you. "Just like that; you take me so perfectly," he continued, his eyes drawn to the mess pooling beneath you, with breast milk trickling down his chiseled abdomen. Breaking the kiss, you let out another moan as he gradually filled you, thrusting deeper with each movement. He groaned in response, the soft squelching sound resonating throughout the bedroom.

“Shhh, you should be ashamed of yourself for the mess you made on Daddy’s dick, that pussy sucks me right back in,” Terry groaned out feeling your walls latching around and pulling him in once he began to move inside you, he felt your pussy pulsate onto him, that little heartbeat kept him fucking you deeply, “So fuckin’ tight, that’s my girl..” he praised deeply.

Right, your baby was still sleeping peacefully, you couldn't risk that yet you were on the verge of giving her another sibling right now, you kissed him sloppily again, while he kissed you back passionately.

“Apologize,” He demanded with that deep voice of his, his fingers pinched your sensitive nipples again and milk dripped from them. Your legs shaking at an overwhelming sensation.

Terry gives you long deep strokes while sucking on your nipple torturously, “I-I’m sorry Daddy, I-I can't help it…you’re j-just s-so big,” you babbled with a raspy moan, tears burned through your eyes, hearing him slurp and swallow your milk as his hips swiveling, wetting his dick up. Was this man trying to fuck and suck the life out of you? He was!

Thankfully, your baby was sound asleep in the room opposite yours, and you couldn't afford to disturb her after Terry had JUST gotten her to sleep. However, Terry had incredible stamina; thankfully, your evening workouts with him prepared you, or you would have been exhausted from this.

You managed to match him in the bedroom and were almost on the verge of giving her another sibling; your hand flew to your mouth and your eyes rolled back as he increased his speed. “I love it when this dick is inside me, fill me up so good babyy..” You moaned wildly, biting your lip, rolling your hips with him.

Terry’s hushed grunts and groans were deep and slightly raspy, biting down on his sexy lips, he watched your pussy make his dick disappear as he went in and out. “Mhmm, Such a needy little thing for this dick, aren't you?" he trailed off, smirking.

A sharp gasp for air escaped you, from the feeling of his thighs rubbing against yours, “Yesss,” the brief tap of his balls hitting your clit made you scream as if you were dying, pelvis meeting at your ass and breast milk poured out after jagged sloppy thrusts, “ it was charged with heat as Terry picked up his pace, his thrusts growing more fervent. “Oh..my..fuck!” you muffled your moan, eyes rolling back, nails digging into his back.

Terry’s hand rubbed your stomach in circles, thinking of filling you up with his warm cum, making you pregnant again but he couldn't do that. You were already stressed out with everything that was going on, but the way you called out to him and your pussy gripped him tight, made him want to give you a boy. Nah, it wouldn't be right. Bad Terry, be good.

Wait, the bed was creaking under both of you, your hand tapped his neck three times, that was the sign to stop with your consent and Terry stopped immediately, breaking his thoughts, His head lifted to look at you with genuine concern, “The bed is too loud, it might wake up Raven,” you whispered to him.

With that, his hands slid to your thighs, holding them firmly as Terry swiftly hoisted you up in a front-facing piggyback, your arms encircling his neck. feeling his tip kiss your cervix repeatedly. “Terry, fuck, the noises..” you mumbled out, referring to the wet noises of his dick being swallowed up by your pussy. He loved every bit of this, pleasure flowed through both of you.

Terry chuckled darkly, gazing into your pleasure-filled teary eyes, relishing in them falling down on your face, your back arched in the air as if on cue. “You know we have no control over this baby, you hear that shit?” Terry said in a deeper tone, your nipples rubbed onto his, and milk spilled down his chiseled chest and onto his dick. His tongue gliding on your nipple again while gazing at you lovingly.

You were quickly climbing that familiar peak, every thrust felt deeper making you go dumb and dizzy, laying your head onto his shoulder, “T-Terry, I'm close, i’m on the pill,” you managed to gasp out, your body trembling beneath him.

“Good, come with me, Y/N, let me feel everything,” he encouraged, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned down to capture your lips sloppy again. “Fuck me till we both can't move,” you requested, “Your wish is my command,” he said, The kisses were passionate, and nasty with spit chains connecting and reconnecting between his plump lips and yours, he felt so damn good, you wanted to feel him.

His hips stuttered and twitched, and Terry’s merciless thrusts turned sporadic into you, your screams became loud and he moaned deeply, “You sound sexy Terry..” you groaned out, loving his raspy moans, you felt your body coil tightly before the dam broke.

You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room as you came undone around him. Your walls squeezed him tightly, essence spilled onto his thick dick, and the sensation pushed him over the edge as well. Wet noises and sloppy kissing were halted and remained silent.

Terry spilled his warm jets of cum inside of you, filling you up while your essence poured out your pussy, mixing with his cum, your breast milk dripped onto the floor, creating pools in between you. Your bodies shaking weakly together and flinch against each other after every move, “W-we really came together baby..” you babbled lazily.

After a moment of blissful silence, you both melted against each other, hearts racing and panting. You could still hear the faint sounds of Raven’s peaceful breathing from across the hall, and he gently laid you on your back on the bed, he pulled out of you, seeing his cum spill out of your pussy.

Terry brushed a few loose strands of braids from your face, his expression softening. “You okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes as he studied you.

“More than okay,” you replied, a smile breaking through the remnants of your exhaustion. “I needed that.”

“Now, let’s get cleaned up before the baby wakes up,” he said, his tone teasing as he helped you off the bed. Terry carried you into the bathroom, he cleaned up the mess in the bedroom and prepared a hot bath for both of you.

Terry got into the foamy warm spacious huge bath with you, sitting across from you while your back lay against the back pillow on the white marble tile, the warm water enveloped you both. Its soothing touch eases the ache in your body, thighs, pussy, everywhere.

You leaned back, letting out a contented sigh as you watched Terry relax across from you. His strong arms rested on the edge of the tub, the water and lights above glistening on his skin.

“You feeling better baby girl? Just us for a moment,” he said, a playful smile on his gorgeous face.

“Yeah, I am, I missed this, I needed this from Terry,”

Terry’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, the water sloshing gently around you both, “You know I'll always be here for you, right? No matter how chaotic things get?”

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude flow through you. “ I do, I just need to remember that sometimes. It's easy to get lost in everything,”

He reached out, his hand resting against your cheek. “Remember you can't be everything all at once, only yourself. You're doing amazing and Raven? She’s lucky to have you,”

“You know how to make me feel better Terry,” You replied with a warm smile, kissing his lips sweetly before pulling away.

“It’s what I’m here for,” he said with a reassuring tone, his lips pressed onto your forehead tenderly.

Both of you washed yourselves squeaky clean and dried off using the towels, getting dressed in Terry’s tee purple shirt, he slid on his grey sweatpants and got into bed, his wrapped around you protectively, both of you drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

————

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals part 2! viktor x fem!reader

(part 1)

author’s note: this is my humble, poorly proof-read new year’s present. banter, smutty smut and all that. what is this with me and semi-public vehicle (train) sex scenes. anyways. this was highly requested so i delivered. enjoy!

word count: 5,3k~

—

His mouth arcs into a sardonic smirk under your thumb, front teeth nipping ever so sternly—all fucked-out glimpses of insolence gnawing at your composure. So much for paying homage to the proper aftermath. It’s his penchant for prideful gestures that always gets in the way—a ticklish kiss that’s more self-pleased than it’ll ever be tender, lingering below your ear in a slick little trace and basking in the rigid sequence of breaths. Sinewy hands curl around your thighs and slide a ticklish trail home—a finishing touch to your undoing by his hands. A stunt he’s allowed to pull only when you sit astride him. 

“Fuck.” It comes out in a rasp—a trembling, gulping thing that you spit above his clavicle, fingers tearing at his shirt in the very same fashion he’d disposed of yours mere minutes prior. Gaze down and stubborn, even in its bleariness. “Lose the grin. I can’t stand it.”

“Am I not allowed to indulge in some self... acclaim?” Viktor holds a breath and lurches forward with a sloppy bob of his head, catching hold of your wrist just in time to brush your knuckles with the corner of his smiling lips. 

“You and your redundant swank. You might as well write it on your forehead. ‘Look, I made a woman cum for once!’”

That scores you an incredulous chuckle. And it’s a sweet taunt when he leans backward, watching you crawl out of his lap through weak-kneed splendor. Dizzy and struggling to find your shirt, but neither of you mind a little voyeurism—Viktor almost looks upset when you finally swing the thing on your shoulders, popping the buttons closed—so watchfully sluggish. Dragging it out until the side of your breast is finally out of his reach. The opposite of a striptease. 

“For once?” He chides with a huff. 

His lean on the desk is heavy when he gets up—has you frowning as he groans, straightening his back, and your shaky, helpful hands rush to put his cane back into his palm. You definitely ought to consider doing it on softer surfaces. 

And there goes your taciturn gratitude. Intermittent tenderness at its best—wrapping around his shoulders and kissing him on the mouth, swirling inside your chest in that one terrifying, anything-but-casual tingle. 

Too bad you’d rather drink his promised periodic table-flavored coffee than confirm your affection verbally, though.

“Maybe twice,” you concede, but that little mercy doesn’t please him. It’s a prickly antic when he trades the lovely squeeze of your hip for a warning pinch, and you have no choice but to sigh, clinging off his frame with a defeated, “Fine. Thrice at best.” 

“Try quadrupling that,” Viktor bites back, earning himself a scoff. “Although, I’m sure the received sum will noticeably deviate from the accurate amount.”

“That’s not plausible. We’re not fucking nearly long enough for you to even dream of that.”

“Ah, but you do admit that ‘thrice at best’ doesn’t do my accomplishments enough justice.”

“God, you’re so flippant. Remind me why I’m sleeping with you again?”

Truly, though, why do you keep doing it? Your rivalry is not exactly a fugitive—it was still there, jagged and swollen inside your gut, piercing through your temples whenever he dared to challenge you. And his contempt has never left, either—all tense veins threatening to snap out of his neck every time he towered above you with a new complaint. An ouroboros of aching vocal cords and heated profanities—mostly on your part. Mostly during those tedious hours of assembling the exoskeleton. 

Oh, but what a twist it gained.

A titillating, filthy thing that both of you couldn’t get enough of. Shamefully lucrative, too—both for the Inventor’s Competition and for your sanities—biting, bruising, binding your limbs together in whatever hate-fucking fashion he did it to you the first time. And the second one. And the third. You couldn’t exactly make out when it got diluted into something palpably softer, though. 

When the need to pound you senseless just to make the cooperation bearable was replaced with a mere ‘Would you like a distraction?’ When his name—once urging you to wash your mouth with soap for every shameful time you had to call out for him—became your favorite disyllabic moan, sultry and choked up beneath or atop him (and invariably followed by a sweetly sadistic tug on his tousled hair). When there isn't a single logical reason left for you to keep it up—because the prototype finally lies before you, complete and stunning, outstripping the deadline by two days, and the presentation is already approved by your mentors. Not without a plethora of mutual insults, but that part could never be avoided. And the job was done. Flawlessly so. That’s the only thing that matters. 

Except it isn’t.

Your temporary partnership was over. Sure, there’s still the main event waiting to be dealt with, but that affair is of a strictly professional nature. No twisted, romantic business allowed. Maybe you could still arrange a few superfluous recitings—more so to come up with another excuse to undress him and gently pull the device over that prominent spine, then to hastily get him out of it when one of you inevitably starts questioning the other’s intelligence (or decency). A maniacal urge to find something—anything to claim one more chaotic evening before it’s over. Before you lose every preposterous explanation for lusting after him. 

How very counterproductive of you.

Even tonight. Barely any science talk, yet so much redundant touching. Nonsensical anecdotes. Laughter. Insult-framed, jagged heart-to-hearts. Anything but a decent, last-adjustments-related workshop. And there was definitely no reason to finish as late as you did. 

And yet, it’s quarter to midnight when you’re finally packing up. His hand keeps slipping off the handle when he holds the door for you. And he stands there so tellingly disheveled, with his hair a mess like a screaming proof of your entanglement: he could never fight the allegation if someone were to walk in on you one of these nights. Certainly not looking like that. 

Knowing, astute eyes followed your languorous tease of a walk. He failed to swallow a scoff when you attempted to run out of the lab (the audacity of you to even consider leaving without kissing him goodbye!), and that stunt cost you a graceful penalty. 

Viktor’s scrawny frame found support in a quick recline on the wall. Had you squealing when something hard tugged on your waist. His cane, you realized, turning to address the bastard. But he exceeded. Weaved his arm around you and pressed your chest flush with his, grinning down when your fingers reached for his corduroy vest. And that smile—gummy and ostentatious—almost tore his mouth when you gave him a nasty glare from beneath tired lids. An oblivious passer-by would definitely mistake this for a lovely embrace in the doorway—if not for the way you pulled his tie and clashed agape mouths in a harsh nip of a kiss. 

“Asshole,” you grumble, going in for another toothy collision. His laugh bounces off your tongue and rolls down your throat in a vibrating little shake—and you giggle back, awkwardly waltzing him out of that dim room, face still clinging to his in a vile attempt to distract while he fumbles with the key. 

“Mmm,” Viktor hums, watching your tangled legs trip over his cane. “You should amend this obsolete dirty talk. Your semantics have become tolerably pleasant.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to endure them anymore.” 

He drops the keys with an awkward clang. 

And it’s a first for you—to face the taciturn side of him, smug face unscathed with usual complacency as he watches you bend over to pick up the dangling bunch—sharp shoulders hunching when he reaches to take it from your hands, praying that you miss the subtle shake of his fingers. 

“Anymore?” He clarifies. His voice echoes through the hall, so oddly strained—and for a moment you simply stare, unsure of how to pussyfoot your way out of this calamity. 

You shudder through it, sharply gnawing at your cuticle. Looking up at him with eyes full of puzzled radiance. Come what may. 

How does one confess to holding a sentiment? To a semi-former rival, no less? Is he even fond of you? He has to be. His sweet, yearning-ridden eyes tell you that much—so glassy under those shabby chestnut strands. So astutely askance. Surely, you can soften them. You just have to word it right. I want to keep doing this. You can make my eyes roll. Both in bed and because you’re so awfully irritating. Well, not in bed. In… chair. On the desk. The floor, too. In fact, why don’t we move this to our bedrooms? You’ve been promoted. I’d like to date you. Are you available to discuss the details? Right this instant?

“Yes. We finished the prototype, did we not? There’s no need for us to keep working nor sleeping together.” What the fuck. No! Shove that concise shit back into your throat and choke on it. Kiss him senseless. Redeem yourself while you still can—

But Viktor nods. Swipes his tongue over his freshly wounded bottom lip (thank you very much), and averts his eyes to ponder his shoes. So that’s how it is. 

“I thought…” He struggles to pronounce it. Stumbles over a digraph and hisses it in a most foreign way—and you’re sorry to have reduced him to shitty pronunciation, watching a hard gulp slowly bob down his throat. Why, just why did you have to blurt that out?

Viktor retaliates, though. Scratches his nape. Shuffles from foot to foot and coughs. A nervous tic you bear witness to for the first time, and, in a way, you gobble up his vulnerability—quiet and almost sacred, in the ambiance of this dark, long hall. 

“I thought…” He tries again but trails off to sigh. “Well…We’d already established that we shouldn’t limit our arrangement to, eh… strictly professional benefits. We may not have a reason to proceed, but wouldn’t ending it altogether be a… sunk cost fallacy?” 

Oh fuck. You do not take that well. In fact, it ignites a scoff—arms crossed over your chest and pressing hard enough to bruise your sternum. Heels clacking intimidation as you step closer, raising a brow.

“Ah, so that’s what you’re most concerned about? You simply regret investing time in me, is that it?” 

“What?” He huffs. His words—so delectable, you just want to eat them right up, especially when they gain that slightly baffled edge, all his vowels so sweetly round and pushy. “What gave you the impression?” Oh yes. Yell at me some more. Let's fight one last time and maybe I won’t feel bad about prioritizing my pride over keeping you. Bravo. How mature.

“Sunk cost fallacy?” You deride. “Seriously?” So close—almost mouth to mouth again, and you’re sure some of your spit must’ve landed on his cheek with the way you seethed it through gritted teeth—not that he minds, of course. That much was determined a long time ago. 

“Oh, since when are you so picky with your phrasings?” Viktor jeers. Pretty eyes already bleary with anger—there’s no turning back, and you know it’s a lost cause when his hand digs into his cane, twisting hard enough to strain a wrist.

Tremendous.

“I thought you wanted to keep doing this because you liked it!” You rant. Let him hover over your head (dejavu), hot breaths compounding. Scorching. 

“You’re ridiculous. I never claimed not to like it!” He concedes, hitching an exhale.

“Why won’t you admit it, then?” You pry again—nose bumping against his. There goes your decorum—straight into canines and itching to bite—right at that insufferable tongue of his. 

But he doesn’t retreat. Two can play that game.

“Why won’t you admit it? I haven’t heard a single verbal sign of appreciation from you, either.”

“Why would I spell it out for you?”

“Why wouldn’t you spell it out for me?” 

“Because the implication is there. I don’t like stating the obvious!”

“So you don’t deem me worthy of your confessions? That’s a shame. Am I to believe I’m not as special as you paint me to be?”

“Oh, you’re special all right! A special prick, that’s what you are!”

You don’t bother with confining that insult. In fact, you hope it lands precisely where you aimed—always his ego, that enormous entity you seek to tame at all cost.

But alas. That strikes a different nerve. Viktor’s teeth gnash when he takes a step back, his nasal, disappointed exhale tickling your face at last. And you don’t get to bask in the triumph. Because seeing him scowl feels anything but good—more so when he turns around, his head wagging in disbelief, eyes rushing to avert like he’ll throw up if they linger on you any longer. 

“I tried being patient with you,” he mumbles over his shoulder, ���but if you prefer useless insults over admitting your feelings… I shall not waste any more time on your immature antics.” 

And when he tops it off with a sad Goodnight, followed by a spiteful hiss of your last name, you don’t mutter anything back. 

You let the silent hall consume you, chewing your lip off to the faint thumps of his cane. Foretasting a sleepless night full of awkward agony and an even more insufferable trip to the competition. With Viktor. Side by side. In one tiny compartment. 

Come what may, huh? Well, how do you feel about that mindset now? 

—

Walks of shame have enough flavours to conduct a small study. You’ve tried every single one in a span of one day—first dragging your feet as you trudged to your dorm with hunched shoulders, the remnants of your vigour replaced with guilt. And then—a more potent one, crumbling you completely on your way to the lab as you mourned the sweet reminiscence in the morning—stumbling upon the things he did to you on those very surfaces, every corner marked lovely with your shared achievements. Reminding you of exactly what you’d fucked up the night before. A slap, but not on the ass.

There’s nothing left for you but to sigh, gently retrieve the prototype and see yourself out. Staying there even a minute longer would have you tumbling head in hands. And you were already almost late for the train. Running to the station with ragged breath and bumbling over your own feet—always a hot mess no matter where you go. Nearly slipping down to the rails when you finally arrive with your skirt all hiked up. Pulling tousled hair out of your face and mouth, hasty and inelegant. Gagging on a strand when someone (Viktor, of course) coughs behind your back and hums a reluctant greeting as you turn around, startled. Stern, ochre eyes meet spooked ones. They darken when you ogle him—a guilty pleasure, really—and you almost curse out loud, noticing his shirt (the shirt!): the thin linen thing he wore the very first night you spite-fucked him. Did he do it on purpose? Smooth enhancer. How dare he. 

“You’re late,” Viktor states. Casts a quick eye on his wrist—he’s wearing a watch today, the professional bastard—and gets back to judgmental peeking, scolding you from beneath arched brows. The embodiment of a harsh peer review. 

“I’m not late,” you argue, shaky arms wrapping around the exoskeleton almost possessively. “I’m just in time.” 

He looks at his watch again. Clicks his tongue—a meticulous, petulant tsk—and shakes his head, hair fluffing all around him as the train approaches with a peevish screech, all windy streams hitting you in the face. 

Just in time indeed.

You follow him into the cart, trip over the last stair and all but leap inside, face bumping into his back with a harsh squeal. “Sorry,” you mutter, skittishly holding onto the prototype. Not as fierce today, are we?

“Watch your step,” Viktor warns, denying you his tactful glare. Hell, even his over-the-shoulder one. He simply leads you to the compartment, so painfully casual. And you grudgingly tag along, staring at his nape with a choked up whine—so blatantly obvious in your pining.

Oh to brush your nose against those knotty little hairs. To taste the skin and smirk when he arches into the nip, whispering some indistinct Czech nothing. But you’re not allowed to. Not anymore. You did this to yourself, remember? 

He opens the door for you, nodding to your seats. Waits for you to squeeze inside (the invention is a bit chunky, after all), leaning on his cane with a tranquil grunt. He must’ve gotten to the station by foot—you can tell by the way he’s stretching out his leg, sitting down. 

You wonder if this morning would’ve turned out any different had you decided not to be a cunt last night—had you told him how you really feel, no filthy words involved (except for those he likes to drag out of you, if he felt like indulging in that to celebrate).

Would you go to his dorm or yours? Would you fight over what to have for breakfast? Would you catch a cab here together? 

But the conductor helpfully ruins your bitter daydream. You awkwardly fumble inside your pocket, searching for the ticket, eyes still set on Viktor and his polite little exchanges. Good morning. Yes, of course. Here you go. Have a nice day. 

But when you finally hand that lovely lady your crumpled ticket—she drops the smile and offers you a dry thank you. The hypocrisy. 

The conductor retaliates, leaving you alone with Viktor’s ambiguous silence. So captivating when he sits in front of you, staring out the window, piney shadows running over his face in all kinds of prickly shapes. You join in on the pondering, but the remorse doesn’t let you admire the woods. The view simply blurs into vertigo-like heaps of green. 

“Ahem.” Great. Resorting to fake coughs now. So much for getting him to talk to you. Watching the glide of his tongue behind a hollow cheek and resenting that cruel show-off. Sure, you do deserve a punishment, but the drollery is hardly necessary. Some heavy artillery is in order.

Your shoe invades his pants. Just the toe, but it’s a tight fit nonetheless—forcing its way inside the leg opening and pressing hard. Scratching him precisely above the sock and gobbling up the huff he draws out, angry pupils flaring at your audacity. 

His fingers flinch down and wrap around your ankle. So belligerently erotic. More so when he forces your foot out of his pants and yanks it in its place. All gritted teeth and confused pouts. Seething intimidation and something you can’t quite make out. Has your heart dropping straight into your underwear. So the spark is still there, you note. Good to know.

“Don’t,” he alerts. “I don’t feel like indulging in another quarrel.”

“That’s not what I’m after.”

“I don’t care what you’re after. I’m fed up with your aggravating drivel.”

“It’s a good thing I’m offering you an apology, then.”

That grounds him. Tempts him treacherously enough to fail at hiding his commotion, curious mouth dropping open. But you interrupt that speechlessness. Leaning closer and prying his fist lax, hands twining firm through sweaty reluctance. Thumbs circling each other skittishly. 

“I’m sorry.” You mean it. He knows you do—harsh decorum tumbling right that instant, no matter how convincingly he’s shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” you proceed, “for being so arrogant. I always expect vulnerability from you. But it goes both ways. Well, it should. At least I know that much. I should’ve never adhered to… whatever that was. It’s just that… I get so tongue-tied when feelings are on my agenda.”

Viktor smiles, albeit still curtly. “That outburst didn’t seem tongue-tied to me at all.” 

“May I please finish before you start with all the nitpicking?” You frown, shooting him a tumultuous stare. He chortles. So insufferable. But you love him for it, don’t you?

“Back to my apology, though.” You solemnly clear your throat. “Where was I? Oh yes, vulnerability. Well, perhaps it’s already too late to address it, but I do respect you. And I do like you. In every capacity. I’m sorry for insulting you when you were clearly expecting sweetness. And if you want nothing… unprofessional to do with me after I treated you the way I did—I totally understand it. Just no more of this stonewalling bullshit, please. I want to win that damned competition and maintain a decent relationship with you afterwards. No… how did you put it? Aggravating…?”

“Drivel.”

“Right. Aggravating drivel.” 

You both nod. So it’s settled, then? A flimsy truce? Just a quick, respectful split (too quick, even)—and you almost feel underwhelmed when he slowly slips away from your touch, bashfully averting his eyes at last. It’s over, you think. Or is it? 

And then—a change of heart, so sudden and so demanding—crawling back into your palm and prying shaky fingers loose, pushing himself right back where he’d just left you empty. Ignoring your incredulous Oh? and staring at you from the altitude of his seat, thin mouth quivering into an arc. Still so insistent on running his tongue over the very wound your teeth had sliced into his bottom lip. You allege to kiss him gently henceforth. If only he returns you the perk, that is. 

“Do you truly seek a decent relationship with me? Nothing more, nothing less?” He asks carefully. 

“It’s not about what I seek, Viktor. It’s about what you’re willing to give me. The decision is yours.”

“No.” He winces. “Quit it. You’re an atrocious liar. Where’s that volatile stubbornness I admire about you?” 

You grin. Admire. What a revelation. 

And you can show him stubborn if that’s what he wants—hands already swiftly sliding up his thighs and shackling them to the seat. 

Tenacious it is, then. Hovering over his lap and tacitly asking permission to slide in. Savouring the best of answers when he pulls you towards him, long fingers curling low on your hips. Shaking just from having you on top of him again. It’s where you belong, after all. 

“Is that stubborn enough for you?” You chide. He smiles up at you in the very way that always makes you weep for him. Well, not you, per se. Just the needy thing between your ribs. And between your legs. But you’re not sure if the ambiance is appropriate for those kinds of tears yet. You do have a relationship to establish, after all. 

“You can do better than that,” Viktor whispers. Avid lips curl against your shoulder and fumble up, puckering a sparsely chaste kiss into your cheek. A tender overture ante-inevitable. 

“Do you want me to do better?” You hitch, slurring the question. Fingers already lost in fistfuls of his hair and struggling not to pull—so unvirtuous when it comes to patience. But you’re willing to wait for him. Especially when he’s staring at you this closely, all clenched jaw and tense shoulders. 

“I do,” Viktor concedes. “Of course I do. And I owe you an apology, too. I should’ve never accused you of childishness when I was hardly sophisticated myself. If anything, I should’ve told you how I feel first.”

“Mmm, are we competing in confessions now? What is this with you always trying to outstrip me?”

“Lose the prefix. I only want to strip you. But that’s beside the point. I regret my hesitation. I simply wish I’d told you sooner. All competition aside.”

Oh well. 

If the man has spoken, all while looking at you so devotedly—surely you can give him what he wants? It’s not like you don’t want to hear it, either. It’s a dream come true, to have Viktor half a beat from spilling his heart out into your hands. Figuratively, literally and however else he prefers. 

You finally indulge in a sneaky pull on his hair. Keeping his head thrown back when you drawl a raspy, “Lucky for you, I feel very charitable today.” But the cheekiness vanishes when you bashfully add, “You can tell me now. If the offer still stands.” Handing him the stubborn baton through a kiss so soft that he shudders beneath you, treacherous tachycardia tangible in his very temples. But it’s a necessary risk. Conversation is a relay sport, after all. 

Viktor peers at the door. Suddenly, you’re reminded of your predicament, rocking sideways and adding to the delight of your giddiness—the compartment (whose tininess you had to thank for pushing you back into his vicinity) was providing you barely any flimsy privacy. 

Come to think of it, the lovely conductor may barge in to offer you tea any time soon. And god, the thought of her turning rouge to the sight of you gnawing at him shouldn’t excite you this much. It shouldn’t excite you, period. 

And yet it does. Heartbeat rolling back into your underwear and all that. You can see Viktor's pulse follow suit. You could even cup it through his pants—if you felt like it. Both of you have half a mind to get into it right that perverse instant, but, thankfully, his share of decorum proves bigger. And so he reaches behind your back, sliding the lock shut. Sharp eyes return to your lips, seeking resumption. 

You lick into him with the vigour of a farewell kiss. And a farewell it is—to whatever undefined mess you’d started in that lab two weeks ago. You’re changed people now. A tad clumsy with your gentle tongues colliding and tickling each-other’s palates unskillfully. But nothing is unmanageable to Viktor. He quickly gets the hang of it, figuring out a way around your mouth. Grinning against your tongue like a fool. And you humm, clinging to his hair with trembling fingers. Arching under his own when he crumples your shirt, finding a grabby hold of your waist. So greedy. 

It’s hard to fight the force of habit. To put your teeth out of the way. His content moan only riles you up, more so when you suck at his bottom lip, tasting dried iron where he still wears your crimes of passion. You shower those little wounds in guilty kisses, smiling. He pulls away, panting through a wheezy chuckle. Tributing the next moment to an enthralled staring contest before forcing your mouth open again, one hand besetting your neck, mindful not to choke, another daring to slip under your shirt and follow a shivering path to the underside of your breast. Nimble fingers outlining an aureole while his tongue traces your lip. Beautiful contingency. 

“I adore you,” he rasps. Licks up the thick saliva string connecting your mouths and marvels at you, contorted with horny desperation. Bedroom eyes glimmering under dark lashes. Bedroom. You really ought to take him there. Eventually. For now, he lovingly wrecks you on a train, bodies moulded together in a tiny seat. You laugh, pushing his tousled hair back.

“Do you?” 

“I do.” He nods. Kisses your temple and presses his thumb into your nipple, fondling it hard. “You and your superfluous, unwavering pride. The nasty things you call me with such genuine fervour.” 

“But you’re into that.”

“Oh yes. To a concerning extent, I might add.” And he places your hand on his crotch, knowing that you prefer physical evidence.

“Back to my adoration, though,” he proceeds. Gently nudges you off his lap, using your puzzled reverence to his advantage—legs bending as he slides to the floor, lurking between your thighs. Hunching over them to steal one more peck—it’s hard to resist, really—and pushing your knees apart, hardly even insistent. 

His cunning, unmerciful fingers engulf bashful shivers when he reaches beneath your skirt and hooks his thumbs into your underwear, swiftly gliding the soaked thing down. You wish you’d chosen a fancier pair, but alas: one doesn’t exactly plan ahead to have make-up sex on a train. 

“Viktor,” you whine a choked up warning. But he doesn’t just leave the lacey garment to dangle off your ankles. He folds it into his pocket with a grin so wide that it might just rip his mouth. Back to his bastard roots. No amount of gentleness could ever cure a perpetual asshole. 

“What?” He huffs. Feigned innocence slumping when you push your legs further apart, arching into the seat. Filthily inviting him to have a taste. He settles on having a look for now, hitching a whistling breath as his eyes roam—every inch of you swollen and ready just for him. More so when his lips brush your skin, leaving a wet kiss above your knee. Moving up, up, up and faltering when you grab him by the nape, shoving his face where you need him most. 

But he doesn’t oblige. Simply smiles at you and snakes a cruel finger between your folds, teasing the slit sloppy. 

“You—ah, stole my underwear,” you moan, nails sharply stinging Viktor’s neck. His finger curls inside you, trembling when you clench at the contact, every nerve taut and ready to snap. Especially when the heel of his palm flattens your clit, dull pressure like a sweet tingle making your legs feel numb. His free hand grabs your calf and pushes it in the air, and the stretch stings so deliciously that you have to bite your fist to muffle a moan. Oh the detriments of fucking in public. 

“I did,” Viktor concurs, bottoming out inside you. His thrusts are languid, as if intending to feel every crevice, that smart-mouth of his smiling wider with every dirty, sticky sound. You look away just in time to hide your embarrassment. 

“Will you give it back to me?” You ask, teeth almost slicing your cheek when he bends to steal a careful taste of your clit, tongue poking you almost too gently. 

“No,” he hums against you, staring up. Eyes hazy with awe at just how wet and pliant you are for him.

At how his fingers are always welcome inside you, no matter mouth or cunt. Perhaps other… orifices, too, but you’re yet to explore that. For now, he can only think of the needy task at hand. 

“You expect me to attend the competition with no underwear?” You mumble, clenching your jaw, but it’s hard to be mad at him when his tongue feels so good. More so when he does that little thing you like, tending to your clit in a circling lick, all while pumping his finger deep to the knuckle. Has you tilting your head back with your hand thrown over your damp forehead, mouth stretching in an O that could’ve been so debauched if not for your reticent calamity. What a loss.

“Precisely,” he answers when you almost forget about the question, his voice a raspy vibration against your skin. “I’d like to see you deal with that inconvenience.” 

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full,” you hiss, grabbing him by the collar. And being womanhandled suits him well—he meets your eyes with playful compliance, chin proudly tilted up. 

“I never claimed to be polite.” He shrugs. Smartass.

“Right. Is that why you’re putting me in that predicament or are you just a pervert?” 

“Both, really. But if you want me to elaborate—“ he sighs, leaning back to admire your face, “I want to be the reason for your predicaments and undoings. I want to have you as my partner—in life, science, crime, bed or this very compartment. I want to make your eyes roll, both when you cum for me and when I say something you find ridiculous—which, I must admit, is objectively implausible because I’m hardly ever wrong, but we’ll have enough time to fight over that later.” 

“Viktor—” You blush, letting go of his collar, heart stammering out of your ribs when he pulls away, promptly fixing his tie. 

“For now, though,” he interrupts you, stealing a quick glance at his watch, “I’d simply like to go down on you before we have to get off this train. So if you’re still feeling scandalous,” he teases, letting you kiss your own sour taste off the corner of his mouth, “relaxing and letting me take the lead would be most helpful.”

[zarnzarn]

TW: jumping on the manwhore au but aftermath, discussion of S/A, read carefully.

Three weeks pass.

Odysseus is carried through them with ecstasy and joy, reuniting and grieving and laughing and rearranging.

But then everything settles down, and-

It was him who'd ordered it. Ordered owls to be carved into every free inch of Ithaka, coveted shipments of the secretive birds for his personal menagerie, sold trinkets in the market. Made no secret of who favoured them, when he had half the houses painted blue.

But now every step he takes in his own home haunts him.

He cannot so much as look to the side before feeling the urge to flinch away, shame growing inside of him until it chokes him up. Cannot look at any owls. Cannot look at any of his men.

("Well, if our captain can't think his way out of it, at least now we know talking filthy works just as well!" One of the men chortles, unaware of how Odysseus' blood had run cold, standing with his hand raised to knock.)

("This day, you've lost it all, consider this as my goodbye-")

("Come on, she's a beautiful, powerful lady! How bad could it really have been, Captain?")

("Captain?" Eurylochus whispers, as Odysseus wipes the blood off his mouth and reaches for his cloak. The ships are silent, even though the roar of the waves has left. Eyes stare at him from all directions, wide and-

Pitying? Horrified? Odysseus can't really tell.

"Full speed ahead," He says, voice ruined, and keeps his chin high as he hobbles back to his room.)

(When the sirens come, all he sees is Penelope. It is nice, at least, to know that he can discard the intrusive thoughts creeping in about natural reactions and forced pleasures.)

("Please- please don't do this, don't make me choose, I'll do anything-")

("Leave me the fuck alone, both of you. If Penelope does not take me back after all of this, it's her choice. But I have to get all of us off this island and it's better me than you.")

"Ody- Your Majesty!" Odysseus reaches into his robes, pulls out the whittling tool and the wood, busies himself as he walks. It's one of the younger men, the ones who'd barely been boys when they left. "Listen, we were wondering if- if you'd come join us at the festival! The- all of the men, really, we've been- heh- missing you since we now have to share you with the rest of the kingdom. We could- we could sing together? Like we used to?"

Athena's prayers.

"You go ahead," Odysseus murmurs, eyes on the carving. "Next time."

"But you didn't come for the last one either!"

"I have-" He hears his own sharp tone, stops and swallows to soften it. He was terrible to all of them, he knows, those last few days aboard the ship, rude and sharp and brutal like all the other royals, where he never was before. "I have work to do. Have a good day. I've heard the new hound stock is coming in today, you should see if you want a pet."

He ignores whatever is said in response, walking on. He wonders, darkly, what they think of him. Do they still think he enjoyed it? That it was a privilege to be had by gods?

("He won't speak to us!" One of them hiss that night, when the lad comes back sniffling and downcast, like all the others. They'd grown up with Odysseus, almost like younger brothers, and all of the younger ones were taking the sudden frigid silence hard. They all were. Somewhere they had lost their friend, left him behind without noticing, until only their king returned. "He cannot possibly think we think less of him for sacrificing so much, for- the gods are impossible to hold up against, he can't think we blame him for-"

"We don't know what he thinks," Polites says, pulling his head out of his hands and wrapping his arms around himself. "He doesn't even look at us."

The men around the fire are all silent.

"He has to know, right?" Someone whispers. "He has to.")

"What did happen on the trip back?" Penelope says, voice quiet, sitting next to him. He jolts. When did he reach their bedroom? "Something did. You have barely touched me since that first day."

Odysseus opens his mouth, but for the first time, he has nothing to say. What can he? She had known, the first second he had turned his eyes from her in shame, and yanked him back in anyway with eyes blazing like a lion, growling that she didn't care what he had to do to come back, as long as he had.

Odysseus doesn't feel like he has.

Penelope carefully takes the whittling knife away from him, as well as the spear he'd carved. "And you have not prayed, after your return."

(He had tried. Had walked right upto the temple steps when everyone was asleep, and then turned around and thrown up in a bush.)

"Have you heard the story of the high priestess Medusa?" He murmurs, staring at the wall. Watches the shadows dancing across. "Athena used to tell me about her. One of her favourite devotees. I never understood why she cursed her, when it was not her fault."

Penelope puts a hand on his shoulder. Both of them are shaking. She has seen the scars, the ones that glow beautiful and bright, left behind by each god who touched him.

"A gorgon, snake-woman, capable of turning anyone she looked upon to stone, gods and humans alike. No eyes upon her, ever again."

The breeze blows in.

"At the time, I thought it to be a curse." He whispers. Remembers the story of the way she had screamed in the temple bower for Athena's help, insane, at the feeling he knows now is violation of self and celibacy both; Athena's chosen, ripped away from one of their ways of worship by force. "Now I know it was a blessing."

"But-" Penelope swallows. "Perseus-"

"Was a mercy." He looks at the ground. "She was pregnant. She did not wish to be. Athena granted her so."

"The shield is to honor her," Penelope murmurs. "Not a trophy."

He hums.

"I-" Penelope starts, voice thick. "I remember when you asked. When we first got married. If I was fine with not being joined with you in bed often, as long as I was satisfied. Was it-?"

"Only her priestesses can have true celibacy, her devotees less, me lesser. I had a crown to continue, so Athena accepted a more lenient vow, when I became her student." He stares out at the sea, the sky. "But I had vowed. I had sworn." A half-sob escapes him, some delayed noise of grief. It feels far away now, and the scars have all healed, but he cannot move past the violation, the stares, the whispers. The shame of betrayal. "I had an oath, Penelope."

"It was not your fault," Penelope whispers, taking his hand like he will shatter like glass. "Poseidon seems to target all of Athena's people. If anything-"

"We fought," He says, turning his head to press his face to her shoulder, shuddering as he confesses it. Abandoned by his own god. "She left. Maybe this is her punishment, all the eyes, all the time. Paranoid that another Olympian will jump out of the shadows, do it again."

"Or," Penelope says after a long pause. "She does not know. Only one way to truly find out."

Odysseus considers.

"Could you," He swallows, throat clicking. "Could you get me- the things from my shrine?"

-

He does not expect her to actually arrive.

He shakes in front of her, for the first time, feeling small and foolish and broken. Wishes he could go back to being twelve, do it all over correctly. "Lady Athena," He says, as formally as he can. "I beg your forgiveness. Please- please, is there anything I can do to-"

"About time," She interrupts, bored. "Finally willing to concede that I was right?"

Odysseus feels bile rise in his throat. "Yes, goddess. I was- stupid, to ever consider otherwise."

Penelope's hand is clenched tight in his robes, kneeling with him.

"Good," Athena says, pleased. "A war well won, all things considered. Our glory will go down in the history books." A pause. "Why are you on the floor?"

"What?" He chokes out.

"You've never kneeled to me once, even when I've taken you out at the ankles, you impudent brat," She snorts. Odysseus feels his pounding heart freeze in his chest at the- fondness in her voice. Fondness. She is not furious with him, not unforgiving. "What, do you want something else-"

She knocks him on the head, flicking him on the forehead playfully- then freezes as he looks up at her. Goes completely still, and he knows she can see what they did to him.

Penelope's hand reaches out to steady him.

"Only your forgiveness, goddess," His voice breaks. "Only that."

-

After, Penelope holds him, crying silently herself as she wipes at his cheeks. Athena sits with her head in her hands, helmet removed, anger finally under control but completely silent. Just sits there at the edge of their bed, bent over, face buried in her own palms.

Finally, she straightens, inhaling. Turns to look at him. "You may not be alive to see it," She tells him, quiet and furious. "But this is their last transgression, I swear to you. I will find a way to get revenge. They will die."

"I do not-"

"They will die. And no vows have been broken." She hesitates, hand hovering over his ankle. Odysseus crumbles, nodding desperately, and nearly passes out at the relief of the familiar touch, sharp and cleansing, godly and unlike the chaos of all the others. "You need not apologise to me about that."

He sniffs, turning his face into Penelope's shoulder. It feels freeing, some latent relief that Athena finally sees him, understands, forgives. She is not the terrifying goddess so far removed, cold and cruel, that he was starting to think she truly might be; bowed over in grief and horror for him, like a friend- he just wishes this was not the reason why.

Her eyes are gold at the edges. Crying. Nauseated almost, at the fact that- her uncle. Her father.

"Would you-" Odysseus wheezes. His heart hurts still, for their fight, for what happened after, for how hard he knows she will take it. "Can you-"

"Anything, champion," She says softly, strained. Gives him a half-smile. "My friend."

"The wings-" He whispers, feeling stupid, but-

"Slow," Penelope murmurs, reaching out to steady Athena as she climbs in close. Her voice is wrecked. She does not say anything more.

Owl wings fold around him, not white or blue or pink, patterned and brown like the mud; home. Home.

"No one will see you," Athena murmurs, and her voice is wretched, but caring. "No one can see you. Peace."

"Peace," Odysseus repeats, and leans into them both, letting the darkness shroud around them like an embrace. Peace.

Home.

[midnightshindig]

a platonic drabble for cecil who has a kid that’s just like him and also ends up majorly scarred while saving someone on a mission?

Cecil & family!Reader hcs

Oooooo I like this, you guys really wanna tear this guy apart

Hcs below the cut!

You're his pride and joy

literally the exact same as him like to the way you take your coffee and the way you button your cuffs

From the first time Cecil got called into the office because you "organized detention" to fit your whims

God he's so proud

You're the product of a one-night stand with a visiting alien gone very wrong, dumped at his doorstep at the ripe age of four

it's just been you and him ever since

Cut to years later, and your powers have manifested, and he's all but forced to put you in the field

"You can either send me on missions, or I'm gonna start roaming the streets to fight crime on my own."

God you're gonna give him a heart attack

and so he agrees to put you, his fifteen year old pride and joy, into the field

Donald finds him like completely hungover the next morning cuz he's just so fucking stressed

After a few good missions, though, you prove to be like him in other ways:

you're dependable, a good listener, you follow orders flawlessly and improvise like a pro

Well, he guesses you are a pro now.

You're going on missions relatively frequently, still smaller fish but your powers aren't too insanely useful, you're more like a glorified and enhanced spy than anything.

A lot like he was.

This mission is bog standard, local cult in Midnight City that Darkwing II has requested assistance with since he's too busy with Guardian stuff

And so you go undercover in this cult, robes, rituals, the whole affair

Why is it always Midnight City?

ugh.....

You're handling it like a champ, though, and Cecil's sending backup

The backup is ON. ITS. WAY.

"Do not engage, Y/n, the cavalry is coming, you did good, now just hang tight and don't cause a scene."

He can hear you scoff, not able to verbally respond due to your yknow, undercoverness

What he can't see is that this cult is in the middle of some mad witchy shit, super culty, ritualistic sacrifice aplenty and you're helpless to stop it, at least without a lot of people getting hurt.

You have no idea what's going on, but you overhear two cult members talking to one another

"So what's this ritual for again?" "The spiritual cleansing of the world, dumbass. We're going to rid this world of filthy sinners with the cleansing blood of our leader"

Oh. I guess that guy on the ritual table does look like the cult leader.

You squint from a few rows back to get a better look at him-yeah- yup, that's definitely him.

His blood flows through the grooves in the table, onto the spell circle underneath

Much to your surprise, the circle actually begin to glow a familiar glow

the magical glow of a pre-explo-

BOOM

Cecil only hears you swear quickly before his line gets cut, and its all hands on deck.

Shortly after the explosion, the backup arrives, their priority getting as much of you out in one piece

It's a similar case to Cecil, saving whatever skin they can and grafting it onto you, and offering you the choice to get it replaced with fake skin.

You can't do it, though, but not for the same reason as your father

oh my god you're such an asshole

Cecil teleports straight to the side of your bed, checking you for harm after the doctors finish their procedure on you

"Y/n- fuck- stay with me kid- are you okay? Tell me you're okay." He's a little fast talking, but otherwise he holds himself together remarkably well.

Unti he notices your face

From the bottom of your mouth curving around the left half of your jaw, and down your neck, is burnt skin

Your shoulder and hand on the same side have similar burn marks

"Why?" He asks, softly, praying he hasn't burdened you with the same guilt he's felt since his own incident.

You give him a wide grin, uncharacteristic of the stoic relationship you shared

"I did it because it looks sick as hell! Don't you think?"

Oh man, you're such an asshole.

He ruffles your hair and groans

"You pull it off"

and that's good enough for him.

he's never letting you on another mission ever again omg

[banj0possum]

Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

[ilovenewyork333]

thought of being a casual hookup with season 1 hopper. you meet at the bar and hit it off, it’s clear the two of you are only looking for one thing. so, he takes you back to his house; the two of you barely make it through the door before he’s all over you, kissing you and practically dragging you to his room.

he frantically pulls his jeans off, straining to contain his dick as it bulges through the fabric, watching you intently as you do the same. he’s hungry, desperate. when you see his cock, you’re not shocked at how long it is, but the girth really throws you for a loop. it must be the thickest cock you’ve ever seen. and by god, does he make sure you feel him stretching you out. he lays you down on the bed and fingers your tight hole, preparing you for his monstrous thickness.

“fuck, are you a virgin?” he whispers in your ear as you bite down on the pillow. you try to muster a response but his relentless digging into your prostate makes it impossible to formulate a simple thought. you just shake your head and groan as he slaps your ass before pulling his fingers out of you.

it’s viciously solitary, the few moments of being empty after he tortured you so sweetly with nothing but filthy words and three fingers. there’s nothing in this moment but you and him; him, and you, alone in his room, alone in the universe. at least, that’s what it feels like as he enters your hole so slowly you can feel every second pass. but you love it. if you had a choice you would never let this moment end. until he leans down and tells you how soft you feel around his cock. and then, until he thrusts down so perfectly that you swear every moment without him must’ve been some sick punishment for a crime uncommitted.

“i wanna keep you like this, on my dick like you can’t live without it,” he mutters, “you’re so fucking tight, it’s like your hole was sculpted to take my cock.” all this while he has you in a headlock, breath on your ear while he fucks you so hard the bed shakes. it is joy, it is agony, because even as he presses flush against you, so deep the world slows, you wish he was closer.

not much time passes before you’re both sweating messes. all thoughts have left both of you. nothing remains but the primitive need to be totally claimed by him. when he kisses your neck it’s too much, you gasp as you finish on his sheets, clenching around his perfect dick. he doesn’t last long either; he slams his cock inside you and grunts ferally my as he fills you with his seed. the two of you cling to each other, neither wanting to separate as you feel his load dripping down his dick and out of your hole.

eventually, as you gasp for air, he drags his cock out of you agonizingly. “fuck.” that’s all he can muster as he pants. he leaves one more smack on your ass before lying down with you.

“can i give you my number?”

[abusivelittlebunny]

I want you to know I read your blog like the morning papers. I read your filthy tags and sip my tea while doing so. An excellent morning read.

Funny that because I also am sipping on my coffee as I scroll through content and reblog with my nasty input. Cheers for a horny breakfast ☕ idk what you're interested in most particularly but here you go anon

Continuing the previous ficlet...

Warning for A/B/O & mpreg

"I gotta pay you back somehow," Charles chuckled into the phone instead of starting with a normal 'Hi' or 'Good morning'; Max preferred things straight to the point, Charles knew by now.

"Read the news. It worked that well, huh?" Max snorted, audibly sipping on something; he must be struggling with the no caffeine for the baby rule.

"He was," Charles bit his lip to suppress his giggle, rolling around on his king sized bed like a smitten teenager, his bruised body aching all over in the most delicious way possible, "just wonderful last night. God, he hasn't fucked me this rough since Vegas."

"Hm, you're a freak as per usual," he could hear Max's eyeroll through the phone almost. "Hope you're not planning on waltzing around today showing off a blackeye and a busted lip."

"He knows better than to leave such obvious marks. Well, for now at least." Charles traced the prints left on his pale thighs; galaxies of pink and purple from the belt and Carlos' strong hands. His lips curled into a too wide Cheshire cat grin. "No guarantee what he will do when he finds out the little surprise I have in store for him."

Max was quiet for a minute, but Charles could hear him shift and sigh, the weight of his babybump making it harder to get up from a sitting position. "Please tell me you didn't do something petty like key his car or take videos of last night with him beating the shit out of you for blackmail purposes. I can see a lot of speculations already about the belt; you better stay indoors if you don't want your soon to be husband to get publicly stoned by your fans."

Charles' hand caressed up from his thigh to his belly, rubbing gentle circles into his skin while he listened to Max. Instead of answering directly he hummed a coy question of his own.

"I really liked that little onesie you got from Checo. The baby blue one with the white stripes and cats. What brand was it?"

A pause and then Max spoke carefully, "I'm not sure I got a ton of baby clothes and stuff gifted to me in the last few weeks, I gotta check. Why?"

"Do you already know what you got? If the baby is a girl or a boy I mean."

"Charles, what are you on?" Max sounded irritated now, and Charles could hear him open up the fridge, no doubt looking for a sweet treat to make his overly hormonal mind calm down. Charles gifted him a whole freezerful of ice cream when Max first broke the news to the press; Max at first rolled his eyes at it but now he was munching on Charles' gift every day, his hips and tits growing even more plush as he entered the seventh month. "You know my stupid fucking gender reveal thing is not due until a month, you got fucking invited to it."

"I know, I know, just wondering. You can really tell the gender of the baby early these days. I admire that patience of yours." Charles traced his teeth with his tongue, unable to keep the grin from showing in his voice. "I couldn't wait to learn mine was a boy."

A clatter, a bang, and utter silence followed on the line. Charles hasn't told anyone yet, only received the news two days ago himself by his doctor doing the ultrasound. A strong healthy boy has been growing in Charles for the last twelve weeks.

"I just wanted to know, you know, that onesie was so cute I really envy the-,"

"Charles." Max cut his giggly rambling off with a strained voice, clearly trying to compose himself from the shock. "Don't tell me you-, you have to be kidding, mate."

"I told you, didn't I? One way or another, Carlos would have no other choice but me." Charles rolled out of bed and watched himself twirl in the wall length mirror. His belly was still completely flat, he was barely in the third month after all but he pushed his hips out and imagined how it will look stretching with his baby. He knew he could pull off a stylish pregnancy look, not get so soft and careless about it like Max. "He was always going to be the father of my children, and his transfer to Williams was just an unforseen bump in the road but nothing that could take his role away from me as my future husband."

"Does he-, oh my fucking God, Charles, how did you... Charles. What did you do?" Max wanted to sound stern but his voice was shaking a bit.

It was sweet of him to be concerned for his friend's career, he knew he'd be due in the middle of racing season, making him unable to compete. Max has already confirmed he'd compete in the second half of the season, basically robbing himself of another championship, but he told Charles how he didn't plan for his pregnancy at all either. He still didn't say who the father was, and Charles doubted he knew really.

Between Daniel, Checo, Fernando, Horner, and whoever else has found their way between Max's thick thighs, the babydaddy would remain a mystery, Charles mused.

Not that he was overly judgemental or Max giving up his cunt to any alpha that was into his bossy bratty omega ways, he admired it a bit actually for enjoying sex in such a carefree manner after he got enough championships under his belt that his daddy could no longer monitor his every waking move.

Besides, it meant he was in no danger of losing Carlos to him, since Max indulged in so many options. At first he was madly jealous, knowing Carlos had a very intimate history with Max, had proposed to him before too before Max's father shot the entire thing down. But Max reassured him they were just young and dumb, and Carlos left Redbull on his own volition not because Jos forbid him from ever seeing his son again.

They remained good although more distant friends, that's all. Just how Charles preferred it. So of course he'd be concerned and know that Carlos had zero clue about the baby.

"I stopped taking birth control about seven months ago, you remember? I got a doctor to sign off on it for performance's sake. So Carlos had to switch to condoms, and well-,"

"Don't tell me you fucking fished the condoms out of the bin, I swear-," Max groaned on the other line and Charles gave an offended squeak.

"Excuse you, I'd never do something so low, come on," Charles scoffed and waltzed over to his own kitchen for a sweet treat for himself, enjoying the soreness of his body with every step. "I just took a needle and pierced through the whole batch."

Max choked on the other side. He was coughing violently on his ice cream as Charles rattled on.

"I know, I know, it seems a bit much, but you know we were gonna have babies anyway, he knew I wanted some from the beginning, this is just a pleasant early surprise for him, you know? Just because he's in Williams now I can't let him think of other omegas as potential endgame, maybe even kick up our engagement." Charles scoffed opening a caramel fudge flavored tub. "Besides, you don't know how annoying it was, waiting for the birth control's effect to clear out of my system. He was giving it to me raw without knowing and I didn't get pregnant for weeks, it was fucking awful, not seeing the two lines. You never took birth control, did you? I know your dad was very strict on eliminating any performance reducing stuff."

Max was still wheezing softly, not saying a word. Charles felt a pang of irritation, thinking Max was judging him for what he has done. As if he had some moral highground, jumping from knot to knot for his satisfaction, not knowing who his babydaddy might be.

"Listen, I know you don't exactly approve, but still, we're friends aren't we? You're like my best friend, Maxy, you know I didn't do it maliciously. Carlos loves me. He will be delighted, I know. A bit mad at first, if he realizes the truth though, so please. Don't tell him, okay? This has to stay between us."

Max was quiet for a minute, then two before letting out a shaky sigh. "When will you tell him?"

"Not sure. Maybe after the wedding? But if he keeps pushing out the date I gotta tell him sooner. But I want it to be a public reveal. Make sure the fans see how happy and surprised he is; so they can see the wedding isn't happening because he knocked me up. I don't want them to think I forced his hand."

Max was silent on the other end of the line and Charles itched to know what he was thinking about. Sure, him and Carlos have been friends since childhood but their teen romance ended long ago, surely Max couldn't be jealous. He spent more time with Charles after all, barely ever interacting publicly with Carlos.

"Max, stop fucking judging me. You should be happy for me." Charles seethed on top of his kitchen counter, eyeing the clock. Carlos has been gone since before he woke up, but he should be back for dinner. He swallowed and took a gentler tone, "You know how much I wanted this. And now we'll be pushing our strollers side by side, and have little play dates with our kids together, go shopping, select kindergartens and everything. You won't be alone in raising your kid."

He hoped he didn't come across as too pitying, but still, Charles was the one between the two of them with a definite babydaddy.

"I know you've been having a tough time fitting in in Monaco since you moved here but I can help you with everything now while we're taking a break for our babies. It will be fun, I promise! It will be almost like they're siblings!"

Max was somehow even more silent on the other end of the line and Charles bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Max would come around, he just needed to settle his thoughts about the matter.

Charles felt a little insensitive; he didn't think about it until now but their wedding with Carlos would happen soon after Max's gender reveal party. And if he told the media about his own pregnancy right around the time Max gave birth, he'd overshadow him again. But maybe that was a good thing, Charles reassured himself. Max hated the headlines speculating about the father of his child.

"It will all work out, I promise. This will just strengthen our friendship and you won't even notice not having the father around, me and Carlos will be with you always! It will be so fun to raise them together and share their cute little clothes and-"

"I gotta go." Max hastily said, and Chsrles could hear the door of Max's bathroom open in the distance before he hung up.

Oh.

Charles mused to himself that maybe Max isn't as lonely as he thought. Of course all the alphas he was with would've been happy to step up as the father of his kid, but Charles didn't think Max was pulling towards anyone in particular in that regard.

Anyway, he was happy to know Max wasn't alone now. Maybe they could go out together baby clothes shopping once Max is calmer, just Charles, Carlos, Max, and his chosen alpha.

"Who was that?"

Max swallowed thickly and dropped his phone onto the counter, scoffing without answering the question, taking his ice cream as he walked back to the bedroom.

"Are you angry at me now?"

Max again didn't answer, just stood in front of the balcony and let the gentle late afternoon breeze wash over him.

A sigh behind him and then the tap-tap of wet footsteps approaching before a strong, tan, hairy pair of arms wrapped around him. Max grimaced at the feeling of cold moisture against his still warm body as he got enveloped in a gentle hug from behind.

"Not at you." Max finally sighed as he adoring kisses were pressed into the side of his neck, the stubble tickling his tender skin when his face was turned manually so he could receive some more kisses on his plump pouting mouth.

"Was that Daniel again? Or Horner? God, that pestering idiot won't let you breathe for a second." Max's robe was easily pulled down his shoulders as kisses rained down on him. They fucked three rounds already but that didn't seem enough to satisfy the alpha. "If the baby really is his, he'll make your life even more miserable."

"No." Max simply said, swallowing before putting hid treat on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I won't let him annoy you any longer-,"

"No, I mean the baby is not his." Max sighed, pushing the strong alpha body off of himself and moving back onto the bed. The alpha scoffed but followed, his mouth glued to Max's soft skin he loved so much; he's been more eager since the pregnancy started to show, instinctively attracted to the fertile omega beneath him. Max had a hard time peeling the man off of him now that he could fuck him raw as much as he wanted. Little did he know.

"You weren't so sure until now. If he does end up being-,"

"Horner is not the one walking around with busted condoms." Max snapped, eyes welling up with tears as he watched the alpha's brows furrow above him. "It's you, Carlos."

[thriftedtchotchkes]

the way we fight

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and joel love taking your frustrations out on each other—in more ways than one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, drug use, canon-typical violence, slight spoilers for minor tlou 2 cutscene, jackson era, enemies to lovers, undefined age gap, sloooow buildup, smut, grinding, rough oral (male & female receiving)

word count: 6.7k

a/n: no idea how this got so long, but here we are! generally my fics are based on song lyrics, so this one goes out to my girl ari and social house. this honestly took a while to wrap my brain around and idk how the end got so filthy but alas, i really hope y'all enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

It’s always an argument with him. He’s just so stubborn. Actually, Joel Miller might be the most stubborn man you’ve ever met. There’s never any room for disagreement or discussion with him—it’s his way or the highway. Half the time, you don’t even know what you’re fighting about, hurling callous, empty words at each other as if they don’t hurt. Immensely.

Maybe you really do genuinely hate each other. Or maybe it’s just for the fun of it.

It’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, which, in hindsight, hasn’t even been that long. Probably a year? Year and a half? In all that time, you’ve never managed to crack his tough exterior and, as far as you know, no one else has, either.

The only things anyone knows for sure are that he’s Tommy Miller’s older brother and he’s got a daughter named Ellie. He hasn’t made a lot of friends here and it’s not hard to see why. He’s mean in a surly old man kind of way and rarely has anything nice to say to anyone—if he says anything at all.

Yet, somehow you still find yourself spending the majority of your time with him. It’s not something you do by choice. It’s a forced proximity thing.

You can’t tell if Tommy schedules you for patrols together because you’re the only one who hasn’t kicked up a stink about it or if he just thinks it’s funny to watch you both squirm. Most of the town thinks it’s hilarious, so you can only guess it’s the latter.

During your first few outings together, Joel wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary, and, even then, all you’d get was a grunt or some grumbled instructions. The silence got old pretty quickly. It wasn’t until you made your first mistake out in the field that he finally started communicating. Maybe a little louder than you’d hoped.

Now, Joel will pick a fight anywhere, usually over the dumbest shit. But his bark is worse than his bite—most of the time, at least.

On his worst days, his anger is explosive and it seems like he takes it out exclusively on you. It’s honestly a little ridiculous that you haven’t just asked Tommy to take you off his patrols already, but there’s a part of you that’ll never admit you actually kind of like your dynamic.

Not a lot happens in Jackson—it’s well-protected and even the community drama gets a little stale. Joel might be a dick, but he keeps things interesting, keeps you on your toes.

And it’s hard to ignore the fire in his eyes that makes you think he likes it just as much as you do.

It’s fucking freezing out and you haven’t even left for patrol yet before Joel’s muttering something condescending under his breath. Surprise, surprise—he’s in a bad mood and about to make it your problem. You throw him an unimpressed look over your shoulder, the best you can muster this early in the morning, and continue to saddle your horse.

“You wanna say that a little louder, Miller?”

He looks tired and annoyed and, god, you haven’t been awake nearly long enough for this shit. Today’s going to be trying enough as it is. You were assigned one of the longer routes and the clouds are already dark with the promise of rain or worse.

There are a few other patrol groups nearby gearing up to leave and their preparations suddenly slow, eyes darting between the two of you as if they can sense the impending argument. You barely notice their loitering, the small crowd inching forward to not-so-subtly eavesdrop.

“No, really, I’d love to hear to hear what you have to say,” you taunt him, hands settling on your hips. “Y’know, it’s really not like you to keep things to yourself. You sure you’re feeling alright today, old man?”

“Feelin’ just fine, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth, rolling his eyes. “Just hurry your ass up so we can get this over and done with. I’m not tryin’ to spend any more time with ya than I have to.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Sweetheart? That’s a new one. It sounded sarcastic as hell and a little patronizing but, still, that’s not something Joel’s ever called you before. Useless and annoying, sure, but never sweetheart.

Your stomach swoops, but you force yourself to ignore it; that’s not even remotely something you want to analyze today.

“Uh, yeah…whatever,” you eye him strangely, and he abruptly looks away, shifting his focus back to checking his saddlebags. It’s like he’s purposefully avoiding your gaze, and it’s weird. He’s acting so fucking weird today.

Sparing him one last glance, you throw a leg over your horse and start toward the gate at a slow trot. You don’t bother waiting for him to catch up.

“What’s our first checkpoint?” you call over your shoulder, but he’s somehow already right behind you, his horse falling in line with yours.

“You should already know that,” Joel sighs, brow furrowed in what you can only assume is irritation. Oh, here it comes—the inevitable lecture. He does this every single time you're on patrol, whether you’ve done something wrong or not. You must’ve really pissed him off if you’re hearing it this early.

Except—he’s not berating you. Instead, he pulls a map out of his backpack. “Alright, look,” he says, leaning in closer so you can see. “This is us right here, and—,” his index finger traces a route from Jackson, winding along a road that passes through a small neighborhood, and lands on your first stop, located a few side streets off a main road, “—we should end up here in about an hour if the weather holds up.”

Nodding, you look up at him. You hadn't realized how close his face had gotten to yours, and your lips part around an involuntary gasp. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long before he pulls away, folding up his map and tucking it back into his pack.

You try to convince yourself that you imagined it, that Joel Miller would never intentionally look at your lips like he wants to kiss you, but you can still feel his warm breath on your skin and it’s affecting you more than you want to admit.

This is…not at all like your normal dynamic and it’s throwing you off. Joel hasn’t raised his voice once today and, at most, he’s only made a few snide remarks that weren’t nearly as bad as they usually are.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you breathe out, creating a tiny puff of condensation in the air. “It doesn’t even feel like it's cold enough to snow, anyway. The worst we’ll probably get is some rain and we’ve ridden in way worse than that.”

All you get in response is a low grunt, and then he’s lifting the reins, leading his horse in the direction of your first checkpoint. You sigh. Guess you’re back to square one. You never thought you’d miss your spats, and can’t help but wonder what the hell happened to make him change his behavior so radically.

“Seriously, though, are you okay? You’re, like, really quiet today,” you prod, and his whole body tenses. He turns to you, expression angry, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There he is.

“Didn’t I already fuckin’ tell you I’m fine? What, you suddenly lose the ability to hear or somethin’?” He shakes his head in annoyance, and you’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore because you can’t suppress the grin that spreads across your face.

“This girl, I swear,” you hear him mutter as he trots away.

You don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the ride to the checkpoint. The crumbling attorney's office is basically the same as you remember from the last time you were here. It’s old, obviously, and musty, but it’s stocked with random provisions, like food and ammo, so patrol crews can replenish their supplies before heading out to their next destination.

There’s also a killer view of Jackson from one of the windows, and you get distracted looking out at the lights and mountains in the distance. It’s starting to flurry, so you drop your backpack on the floor and stick both hands out to catch some of the snowflakes in your palms. So much for rain.

“You dilly dallyin’ again? Just sign the logbook already so we can move the fuck on,” Joel’s voice startles you out of your reverie. Huffing, you turn away from the window, looking for the pen that’s supposed to be next to the notebook, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“You know what, asshole, you could’ve just as easily signed the damn thing yourself. You were there too, or are you getting forgetful in your old age?” you shoot back as you hunch down, getting on your hands and knees to search under the desk. You hear him scoff behind you.

You spot the pen towards the back, because of course it rolled that far, and bend down so you can reach out a little farther. Your fingers brush one end and then you’ve got it, sitting back up with your prize in hand. Looking over your shoulder, you just barely catch Joel’s eyes darting away from where you were a moment ago, basically puppy-posing on the floor. That’s…suspicious.

“The fuck? Were you just staring at my ass?” you ask incredulously. There’s no goddamn way. He snorts, arms crossed with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You wish, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly, and there it is again. That fucking word. So, he’s calling you pet names and staring at your ass now? There’s something seriously off about him today and you want to know what his deal is.

“You wanna tell me why you keep calling me that? You’ve been acting weird as fuck all day and it’s giving me whiplash,” you glower at him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and forgetting all about the logbook. He shrugs.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he says simply, and you squint at him.

“Seriously, Joel? You've called me sweetheart twice today and now you’re checking me out,” you hop off the desk and walk over to where he’s leaning against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better…,” you glance down at his lips, moving closer, “I’d say you were flirting with me."

Well, that made him angry. "Fuck you,” he growls in your face, and his lips are soft where they accidentally graze your cupid's bow. He’s trembling now, fists clenched at his sides, and you think he’s about to push you away when he grabs you by the hips and shoves you against the wall. Your head lolls back and you laugh cruelly.

“Yeah, Joel,” you roll your hips into his and he grits his teeth, tightening his grip. “I think that’s exactly what you wanna do.”

But before you can go any further, there’s a crash just outside the door accompanied by a familiar sound that turns your blood to ice.

It’s unmistakable. The clicking, guttural and stuttered, is followed by a high-pitched shriek that echoes throughout the small space, and you both freeze. You look up at Joel, terrified, and he raises a finger to his lips, eyes telling you to be quiet or else.

There’s no way either of you can unholster your guns—and reload, in your case—without alerting it to your position. Joel reaches for the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, and you move to do the same, only to realize it isn't there.

Fuck, it has to be somewhere. Probably in one of the dozen random holsters you have attached to you right now.

Frantic, you pat at your sides and legs—anywhere it could be—as your panicked intakes of breath gradually increase in volume. A hand slaps over your mouth, and suddenly Joel is crushing your body against the wall, halting your movements.

"Quit," he whispers harshly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you nod quickly.

The creature abruptly changes course, jerking toward the open window, and that’s when you notice something familiar by its feet. It's—fuck, it's your backpack. And your knife is gleaming from where it sits, nestled in one of the side pockets.

Stupid, that was so stupid. If, by some miracle, this thing doesn't kill you, there’s no doubt Joel will once he realizes your mistake. His hand drops from your mouth and he glances back over his shoulder at the clicker, gripping his knife a little tighter.

He looks resolute, and it dawns on you that he’s about to make a move. It takes everything you’ve got not to grab onto his coat and pull him back to you as he slowly shifts away, but then something else stops him in his tracks.

Another screech rings out from the other side of the room, and now you know you’re fucked. There’s only one option left now. Either you run, or you get torn apart. He reaches down to take your hand in his, warring emotions of anger and fear in his eyes as he looks into yours, and squeezes; it’s now or never.

The path to the doorway you came through is somehow miraculously clear, and Joel takes off at a sprint, dragging you with him but, to his horror, you decide to do yet another stupid thing.

For reasons you can’t explain, you find yourself ripping your hand out of his, swerving to snatch your backpack from where it lies just a few feet from the clicker.

Joel is yelling, or at least you think he is, and you vaguely feel his blunt nails scratch the back of your hand as he reaches out to stop you, but he can’t. You’re moving on autopilot, can barely register your body moving at all, until your fingertips skim the strap of your pack and the clicker is shrieking in your face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to one before, even dead, and it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. The world freezes for a moment and you freeze with it, unable to move or look away from the fungus erupting from its skull, teeth gnashing inches away from your throat.

And then you feel warmth—warm, strong arms wrap around your waist and tug harder and harder until you’re back out in the cold. Joel spots his horse a short distance away, likely spooked by the commotion, but you can’t see much farther than that. What was a gentle flurry less than a half hour ago has become a violent blizzard, and you’re both getting pelted by ice that burns as it scrapes across your skin.

There’s one horse—just Joel’s horse—but there’s no time to think about the fate of your own before his hands are on your hips, lifting you up and into the saddle, and he’s climbing on in front of you.

He urges his horse forward and you’re off without so much as a glance behind you, galloping away from danger and down a street that you realize you actually recognize.

“Joel,” you squeeze his waist and he ignores you. He’s shaking and it’s definitely not just from the cold. You can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves and it’s warranted. You fucked up big time. “Joel, turn right,” you say a little louder, and he’s still not listening. “Turn right! There’s a library up ahead, you have to turn now!”

He growls, and you think he’s purposely going to miss the turn until he’s yanking the reins to the right, nearly throwing you both off the horse.

“You better know what the fuck you’re doin’,” he all but shouts back, and you wrap your arms around his waist a little tighter.

“It’s safe!” you yell, struggling to speak loud enough for him to hear you over the wind. “Ellie’s been there before, loads of times, and she says it’s safe. “

And that’s all it takes to convince him.

The library’s completely boarded up and, with the wind howling against your backs, it takes more than a few hard tugs to yank enough of them off to get inside the lobby with Joel’s horse.

He hands you the reins before moving into the next room, crouching along the rows of aging books and knocked-over bookcases, and you peek in, watching him anxiously. Cracked bricks litter the ground, and he steps over a few as he crouches into place behind a broken book cart.

He picks one up and then shoots you a look, eyebrows lifting pointedly, and you realize he wants you to get back into the lobby, out of sight. You duck behind the wall, placing a soothing hand on his horse right as you hear the sound of the brick shattering against the ground, and wait. A few agonizing seconds pass before you hear him throw one more a little farther out, just to be sure.

When nothing startles or jumps out, Joel whistles and you know that’s your cue to come out from your hiding spot. Normally, that would piss you off immensely, him whistling for you like you’re a fucking animal, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

You’re exhausted now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the only thing you want to do is curl up into one of the torn-up chairs in the corner and pass out until morning. But that’s not what Joel has in mind.

“Y’think you’re off the hook for the shit you pulled earlier?”

You sigh, head tipping back and thumping against the bookcase behind you. “Do we have to do this right now? Joel, I’m tired and hungry, and fucking cold, and I really don’t have the energy.”

“Seriously? Sure looked like ya had the energy when you were runnin’ straight into that clicker’s mouth,” he scowls, reaching down to grab something next to the book cart and throwing it at your feet. “Thought ya might want this back since you apparently decided it was worth more than your life.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, eyebrows pinching together. Joel…he—

It's your backpack.

You were so sure it got left behind when he saved you from that clicker and yet, there it is. You lean over to pick it up, but Joel kicks it out of reach before you get the chance. He looks livid and now, you realize, you’re about to get that lecture you dodged earlier tenfold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? I'm not the one having an identity crisis! You’ve been nothing but distracting all damn day,” you scoff bitterly. “None of this would've happened if you hadn't had a complete personality makeover overnight.”

You can’t believe he…is he serious? There’s no way you’re taking the fall for this, not all of it. Yeah, you fucked up with the backpack, but Joel isn't entirely blameless, either. If you hadn’t been fighting again, you would’ve just signed the stupid logbook and moved on like you were supposed to.

"Yeah, alright, sweetheart. It's my fault you almost got us both killed. Maybe you’re forgettin’ I saved your goddamn life back there, somethin' I wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't gone and done something so fuckin’ stupid."

Sweetheart.

"Stop calling me that! I…fuck, Joel, I just don't get you. I get it—I know I fucked up, but…,” your voice cracks and you can feel your lower lip wobbling, but you can’t let yourself cry. That would only prove to Joel what he already knows—you’re weak. “I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want from me?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You really wanna know what I want from ya?” He crowds your space, leaning in slightly. His head tilts like he's going to kiss you, and your breath hitches. “I want ya to get your shit together and stop makin’ unnecessary mistakes,” he says cruelly instead.

Your jaw drops.

"No, you know what? Fuck this,” you seethe. “When we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to never put me on your patrols again. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Think I give a shit about that? Go ahead, you’d be doin’ me a favor!” he yells at your back as you storm away, and you flip him off over your shoulder. Behind you, he sighs heavily, sounding as worn out and frustrated as you feel.

What a load of bullshit. You don't deserve to be treated like this. There's a stark difference between the inconsequential arguments you normally have and whatever the hell that was.

And the worst part? It hurts so much more than you expected it to. Leave it to you to get attached to the asshole whose personal mission it is to make you miserable. This whole thing was fun while it lasted, but you meant what you said. You and Joel, it’s over.

You exhale wetly, tears still threatening to fall as you leave him behind in what the yellowing signs tell you is the romance section. Well, isn’t that ironic.

You quickly realize navigating the library in the dark is more difficult than you anticipated, even with your flashlight. Not even ten steps away from where you started, you trip over something protruding from the ground and almost land flat on your face.

Joel comes running over as you let out a frustrated noise and push yourself up onto your knees. His knife is at the ready like he was expecting danger but, no, it’s just you humiliating yourself even further. He lets out a relieved sigh, holstering his knife, but then just stands there glaring down at you.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you wave a hand from the ground. He shakes his head, reaching down to help you up, and his hand feels so nice in yours—big, strong, and calloused.

You curse yourself for still thinking about him like that, like anything at all, but you can't help it. And when his hand drops yours, it feels distinctly cold and empty.

Shaking it off, you aim your flashlight at the offending spot on the floor. “What is that, anyway?” you ask Joel as he crouches down to brush away some of the dirt and debris.

“A handle,” he mumbles, pulling out his knife again and digging it into a crack in the floor, tracing around what looks like…a door?

“Is that a trapdoor?” You lean over his shoulder to get a better look. He looks back at you and nods, looking a little less angry and a lot more concerned. “Well, should we check it out?”

Instead of answering you, he wrenches the door open and shines his flashlight into the opening. There’s a ladder leading down and you can hear something rumbling below that sounds like a generator.

“Stay here,” he eyes you sternly as he begins his descent down the ladder.

“Uh, yeah, that’s not happening,” you scoff, following him. The ladder’s longer than you expected, and once your feet touch the ground, you reach out to run your hands along the wall, searching for a light switch.

A few moments later, your fingers come across something vaguely switch-like and you flip it, a warm glow filling the room, emanating from about a dozen heat lamps hanging from the ceiling. Your eyes adjust and—

“No fucking way.”

Joel is silent beside you, and you glance over, his expression just as stunned as yours is. You step closer. “Is that…?”

“Weed,” he breathes out.

You didn’t mean to get this high. Really, you didn’t. But you're in a fucking grow room hidden beneath a library in some tiny, backwater town, and you almost just died. So really, what reason was there not to?

The blizzard’s still going strong outside and, at the very least, it’s nice and warm down here. There's also the added bonus of something fun to do while you wait it out.

…Yeahhh, so you might’ve found a mason jar full of already rolled joints between some couch cushions, literally just sitting there for the taking. What were you supposed to do? Not smoke them?

But what surprises you even more than the pot itself is that Joel is smoking it, too.

It’s cute how he coughs after every drag, eyes watering as you pass a joint back and forth. The air is thick with smoke and a strange tension that neither of you can really describe, but you’re not fighting anymore. Not yet, at least.

The couch you're sitting on is cozy and less tattered than the chairs upstairs, so you settle there for the night, sitting closer than you ever willingly have before. Enough time has passed that you’re beginning to realize neither of you plans on moving, either. That you’re actually enjoying each other’s company.

The warmth of him seeps pleasantly through your clothes, and he feels so solid and real against you. Unconsciously, you melt into his side, your fuzzy brain chemicals urging you to feel more, more of him, and he tenses only for a moment before lifting an arm to rest behind you on the back of the couch.

It's strange how readily he's accepting your touch now. With each drag, you feel a little braver and press more of your body into his, draping your legs across his lap and nesting your head in the crook of his neck. He goes boneless when you mouth damply at the skin just below his jaw, his throat rumbling under your lips as he lets out a ragged breath.

You’ve both loosened up so much since earlier. It’s an easy, comfortable sort of peace you’ve found down here, even after the horrors you experienced earlier in the day. Part of you wishes it could always be like this with Joel but, then again, that just wouldn’t be you and Joel.

Your relationship thrives on the way you fight, almost like you can’t exist together without the promise of battle. So, when the high wears off and the world feels less lazy and more dire, you’ll both remember with sharp clarity that you hate each other. The memories will fade away and the war will continue. That’s just how it is.

It’s a little sad when you think about it, but for at least a little while longer, you’ll still have this version of you and Joel. You’ll enjoy the way he feels pressed up against your body; the way he feels pliant and suggestible under your lips.

And you’ll ask the question that’s been eating away at you all day because right now, you’re positive your lips can convince him to do anything.

“Tell me why you keep calling me sweetheart,” you murmur against his skin. He freezes, clearly not expecting you to bring it up again. You lift the blunt to his lips and encourage him to inhale to calm his nerves. The smoke plumes from his nose like a dragon as he exhales, and you're enraptured by the way it swirls through the air before dissipating. He braces a hand on your thigh before responding.

"Well, I…uh—," he mumbles, his cheeks turning a deep shade of burgundy, and you can’t resist reaching out to stroke the heated skin with your fingertips. He breathes shakily as he continues, "I—had a dream about ya last night, and…you, uh—you were…"

He cuts himself off, and your mind goes fuzzy for a moment as you let that little bit of information sink in. So, Joel was dreaming about you last night…and now, he’s treating you so much differently. Calling you pet names, eyeing you up, touching you. It all makes sense—but now you need him to tell you everything.

"What was I doing in your dream, Joel?"

He meets your gaze, looking flustered and a little ashamed, and it's a far cry from the man who was yelling at you not even an hour or two ago.

"You, uh," he clears his throat, still hesitating. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, sucking it wetly into your mouth, and his eyes darken. He lifts a thumb to your mouth, tugging your lip down just slightly, and you can see the moment his apprehension disappears. "You were on your knees for me," he murmurs. "Doin' such a good job, too, workin' that pretty mouth of yours."

You inhale sharply and his thumb drops, but his eyes never leave your lips. Gingerly, you pluck the joint still burning between his fingers and take one last deep drag before flicking the rest to the side and crashing your lips onto his.

God, they feel exactly like you thought they would, soft and a little chapped from the cold, but so fucking eager against yours. You hold his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along the roughness of his beard, and he groans as you exhale into his mouth, tasting the smoke on your tongue.

Sighing, you lean back slowly, heavy-lidded eyes roving over his face to take in his kiss-swollen lips and that beautiful burgundy flush. He's so pretty, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his thick, graying hair as he pants heavily below you.

You need to feel more of him, all of him, so you climb into his lap, straddling his hips and grinding down against where he's already straining in his pants. He grips you tighter in response, working you steadily across his hardening cock.

"Keep going,” you moan breathily. You're already so wet, and heat blooms in your belly every time your clit grazes the seam of his jeans. It's a foggy, hazy pleasure, what you feel when he speaks, and you're addicted to it. “Keep telling me about your dream—a-about my mouth…I wanna hear more.“

You feel rather than hear him growl low in his throat as he ducks his head down to your neck, sucking and biting bruises into your skin.

“Your mouth…so fuckin’ wet—s-soft and tight around my cock,” he sucks hard under your jaw, and you gasp. “Takin’ me all the way down, like I always knew you could.”

Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back. The thought of him dreaming about his cock down your throat makes your cunt pulse, and now you're positive you're soaking through his pants.

You bet he thinks about it when you're on patrol together, too—that when you're fighting like you've both got something to prove, he's thinking about shutting you up with his cock. Fucking your mouth to show you that what he says goes.

"M-more, Joel…ngh, fuck, I need more," you reach down to shove his shirt up so you can feel him, his stomach flexing and unflexing under your palms. He starts to buck into your clothed pussy faster, like he's fucking you through the fabric, and you whine pathetically as he tugs hard on your hair, yanking your head to the side.

"S’alright, n-needy girl, 'm gonna tell you exactly how I was fuckin' that sweet mouth of yours last night…h-how you were—," he groans raggedly in your ear, voice cracking, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat racing between your legs. "…c-chokin' and gaggin' around my cock while I was cummin' down your throat…"

He keeps giving you what you asked for, tells you all the filthy shit he wants to do to your mouth, and his hips start to stutter like he's bringing himself closer to orgasm with his own words. It would make a lot of sense—Joel's always loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it's directed at you.

But you can’t hear much of anything anymore aside from the sound of your own stuttered moaning, suddenly so, so close to hurtling over the edge with him. You’re sliding so easily over his cock now and you brace your hands on his shoulders as your thighs start to quake around his waist. He digs his fingers into the plush curve of your ass, pulling you down harder, but you squeeze his shoulders roughly to get his attention.

“Y-you—Joel, you can’t cum,” you whine into his neck, and he all but snarls in response. “No…no, no, no. Want you t-to fuck my mouth—you have to cum in my mouth—”

He abruptly yanks you off his lap, shoving you back onto the couch and wrenching your jeans and underwear down in two hard tugs.

You barely have time to let out a squeal before he buries his face in your cunt, honing in on your clit and sucking wetly. He flattens his tongue, circling once, twice, three times, and then you’re cumming with a loud exhale, gushing as you grind into his face.

Your pussy’s still pulsing, locking down around nothing, as you tug him off of you by his hair.

“Joel—jeans..o-off…now.” You help him push them down just enough to free his cock, and then your mouth is on him, sucking him down to the hilt.

His hips buck off the couch of their own accord and he groans pathetically as you gag around him. He’s petting your head and saying something raggedly above you, likely apologizing for hurting you, but it’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

Instead of pulling off to reassure him that you very much want him to keep gagging you, you guide his hands to bury themselves in your hair and squeeze his thigh, praying he gets the hint. His fingers tense against your scalp as he holds you in place and, yeah, he absolutely gets it.

Your head feels like it’s disconnecting from the rest of your body as he starts fucking into your mouth the way he was probably dreaming about last night. He’s just so fucking big, and you feel a weird sort of pride bloom in your chest at being able to take him like this.

Tears are streaming down your face from the effort and you’re drooling all over his lap but, fuck, if he wants to do this every time you patrol together, you’ll let him. You take back everything you said before—if Tommy ever takes you off Joel’s patrols, you’ll kill him.

His fingers start to tug harder, painfully at your hair and you can hear him moaning something above you, his words slurred and desperate.

“S-so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, you’re…ngh—fuckin’ perfect,” he grits through his teeth, breath hitching as you wrap your lips tighter around him, flattening your tongue along the underside of his length. “‘m gonna cum…fuck, fuck—need you t-to swallow it all, sweetheart… know you can do it…so goddamn good.”

Humming and swallowing around him, you reach up to cup his balls and he erupts, pumping thick cum into your mouth and down your throat. Deep groans are punched out of his chest with every spurt and you can feel his cock pulsing against your tongue.

There’s so much of it. You try your best to do what he asked, to be good and swallow everything, but it’s starting to leak out the corners of your mouth and down his cock. Slurping up as much as you can, you pull off with an audible pop and lick off the rest of the salty, white streaks remaining on his skin.

When your watery eyes finally meet his, he’s looking at you like maybe he really has been dreaming this whole time. He’s still a little dazed, from both the weed and the intense orgasm, and he reaches out to cradle your face in his hands almost as if to prove to himself that you’re real. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture that kind of makes your heart ache.

Your lips quirk up as you lean into his touch, aching to prolong the moment, and he leans forward to press a sweet kiss to them, mouth coaxing yours open to taste himself on your tongue. You whine softly as his tongue runs along your bottom lip, and then he pulls back, hauling you into his arms to lie back on the couch.

Those heat lamps feel unbearable now. You're both hot and sweating, chests heaving from exertion, but you still refuse to separate from each other. Your brain’s feeling a lot less foggy, so you’re probably coming down from your high, which means Joel is, too. The realization sends a pang of worry through your chest like you expect him to suddenly come to and push you away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls your back to his chest, positioning your bodies more comfortably before murmuring fondly in your ear, "You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Maybe you’ll get to keep this after all—and without sacrificing everything that makes you and Joel, well…you and Joel. You twist around to shoot him an unimpressed look, but the burgeoning grin on your face betrays you.

“What, you’re just figuring that out? Took you long enough.”

He scoffs. “Listen, sweetheart—“ But you gasp, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. No, way. How are you just putting two and two together now?

“Wait…oh my god, wait—is this why you keep calling me sweetheart? Because it's what you called me when I was blowing you in your sex dream?” You’re grinning so hard it hurts. How the fuck didn't you notice that earlier?

There was plenty of time to work it out when you were all but fucking on the couch for the past hour. But then…he didn’t actually start calling you sweetheart until he was cumming, and the realization makes your cunt throb. You file that information away for now, but make a mental note to come back to it later—hopefully back in Jackson with Joel.

…who’s still mumbling irritatedly into your shoulder. You tilt your head back to press your lips under his jaw, and you're quickly learning that kissing that particular spot turns him to jelly.

“You can keep calling me sweetheart,” you start, thinking over your next words carefully. “But I’ve got conditions.”

“Oh, she’s got demands now,” you can hear the dramatic eye roll in his voice. You suck a bruise into his skin to stop the back sass and it works spectacularly.

“Oh, shut up. It benefits you too, asshole,” you glare up at him before continuing. “I want your dick in my mouth every time we patrol from now on. And next time, you have to fuck me.”

His fingers dig into your sides, and you’re pretty sure you just felt his cock twitch against your ass.

“…Y-yeah, I, uh. I can do that,” he stutters, suddenly demure, and it dawns on you how much you like seeing all these different sides of Joel. He’s been mean and angry, shy and tender, and so fucking sexy all in the span of a single day. It's not something you ever would've expected from him.

You used to think he was just some grumpy old man and that his one personality trait was being an obnoxious jerk, but tonight you were proven very, very wrong.

You pull his arms tighter around you, let yourself get lost in the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and hum contently. You’ll have to thank Ellie and her weed-grower friend later.

“Y’know, I almost thought you were gonna say no more fighting,” he says after a few seconds of silence. You look up at him incredulously, and he chuckles.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

thanks so much for reading! 🥰

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Eleven

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader x Ben (Soldier Boy)

Warnings: Smut, p in v, doggy style, dirty talk, language, finger sucking, smidge of praise kink, hair pulling, spanking, ass play, typical Soldier Boy behaviour.

W/C: 1,826

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, sweetcheeks, and I won’t stop. Not until your pussy pops.”

His words whipped around inside your mind, turning you on to no end. Without warning, the walls of your vagina clamped down. You shuddered, unable to stop it.

He had you now. And he would get what he wanted.

You pushed up on your hands, but a hard shove on your back had you faceplanting the mattress.

“I didn’t say you could kneel. Fucking stay there until I say so.”

Yes, sir.

Oh God. Your pussy clenched at nothing, your hands fisting the bedsheets, desperate to control the need raging through you. He dropped his hand from your jaw, body retreating off the mattress. Large hands gripped the band of your lounge pants. With one tug, he had them over your ass, along with your panties. He whipped them right off, and you heard two sets of material pooling on the floor the next moment.

Ben nestled above you again, bed dipping as he retook his position over you. His bare hands gripped your thighs, and he pushed your ass up.

Cool air met your heated core. It could not render the burning intensity of your arousal as your bare pussy was presented before him.

A thick, hot pole brushed against your inner thigh, causing you to jerk. A dark chuckle escaped from Ben’s throat.

“Suck on these.”

He pushed two fingers past your lips. And you did what he asked of you. You sucked the thick digits, swiping them occasionally with your tongue. A deep groan rumbled from Ben.

“Fuck, baby. Would you suck me off as prettily as you suck my fingers? I can imagine your hot little mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Your cunt twitched. Did his filthy mouth turn you on? Yes, it did. Mark had never said anything like that to you. He had never bothered trying.

Ben pulled his fingers free, and the next moment, they were sliding deep into your pussy. You moaned, duvet soaking up the sound. Mark hadn’t made you moan like that. Ever.

Your snug muscles clenched around him.

“Fuck me. You’re tighter than a nun. Jesus, it really has been a while for you.”

You whimpered, white-knuckling the sheets as he stroked. You shuddered through each stroke, cunt pulsing around him. His fingers curled, stroking against a soft pad of tissue. You jerked forward, pussy fluttering as pleasure whipped through you.

Your body trembled. Fire churned in your belly, flaming to your core. Heat lashed, swamping down, as intensity built, tightening in your gut. He had you whimpering through each stroke, pussy fluttering around his fingers.

“Looks like you’re gunna blow.” He chuckled.

Then you did. You exploded, gushing around Ben’s fingers. You cried out his name into the sheets, riding the waves as he stroked you through them.

“Didn’t clock you for a squirter.”

He was observing as you trembled in the aftermath, catching your breath.

His fingers retreated, only to grip your thighs, pulling them apart, leaving a wet, sticky mark on one. Thumbs traced your parted lips. You shook, whining and jerking from his touch. You were much too sensitive.

Your ass stung as a harsh slap landed on your left ass cheek.

“Don’t be a baby.”

He rubbed the hot crest of his cock between your parted lips, using your wetness as a lube. Then he pressed the head to your snug pussy entrance.

“Open that pretty little pussy for me.”

Ben nudged forward. Your cunt gripped him, muscles enveloping him, stretching tender tissue for him. He was so fucking wide. Wider than Mark. You shuddered again as pleasure-pain tore through you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You could tell he was heavy and thick from the crown alone.

His hand fisted your hair, and pinpricks of pain rained over your skull as he yanked your head up.

“You’ve got a greedy little cunt.”

You whimpered. What could you say to that? Thank you?

Ben’s cock suddenly surged forward, punching through nerve endings, only stopping to a natural rest once his balls smacked against your ass.

You cried out, your muscles clamped, sucking and squeezing as they desperately tried to adapt to his size.

Ben was larger in all ways than anyone you’d ever been with.

He groaned.

“Fucking perfect.”

You weren’t ready, but he didn’t care. His thrusts were powerful, smacking into you with full force, taking the breath from your lungs. The metallic bed frame creaked and banged against the wall with each of Ben’s hard drives. Heat swamped your belly. His strokes were like a constant strike of a match.

You’d never come like this. Never penetratively.

They were hard, brutal pumps. His cock forged forward, bottoming out each and every time.

You moaned loudly, unable to control it, unable to keep it in. You didn’t mind the pain along your scalp, the iron grip he had on your ass cheek, and you even liked the rugged, guttural grunts Ben gave with each thrust. It had your pussy slicking, allowing for his cock to surge forward with even more ease. The sloppy sounds coming from your cunt filled the room, mingled along with sweat and the scent of sex.

This was what it was like to be dicked senseless.

Your college girlfriends had gushed about it. You could never join in; sometimes, it had you green with envy. At times, you resented them. And Mark. Especially Mark. Mark hadn’t cared for your pleasure, only his.

Your cunt clamped down hard. Ben growled. You knew what was about to happen. Heat lashed down your body.

Teeth nipped at your shoulder. Then you were hauled up, his fist still gripping your hair. Your back arched, and with the change of angle, your cunt squeezed, gripping him, as you moaned out. You were more than close. Anything could and would send you over the edge.

“Squirt your pretty little pussy all over my cock. Come on, doll.”

His hand travelled up from your plump ass cheek, fingertips skimming over your moist skin, rudely pushing your bra to cup a plentiful breast. He squeezed and tweaked a nipple.

Intense pleasure shattered through your system, racing across your skin. The strength of your orgasm had you screaming his name, had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and whiting out.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, now, girly.”

You came to, a palm slapping your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered open, and a slight whine escaped your lips as you felt Ben’s cock stroking lazily inside your oversensitive pussy.

“On your elbows.” He commanded, and you did as he asked.

He smacked your thighs with the back of his hand, pushing them further apart.

“Good girl.”

A different type of pleasure rolled through you. You liked it when he praised you. A sense of satisfaction came over you, and you fought the smile on your lips. Which disappeared as soon as Ben pressed a wet thumb into your puckered starfish.

You whined, bucking. You didn’t like that. The harsh sting of a slap settled on your ass cheek.

“Don’t be a baby. You’re gettin’ my fingers in your ass.”

Ben refixed one fist in your hair and fucked you slowly as his fingers teased your asshole. He squeezed your globes, occasionally alternating as he slid fingers over your hole.

You whined. The angle of his cock had you chasing a second orgasm faster. His playing sent tingles spreading across your ass, settling into your cunt. Your clit throbbed, wanting that release, but you couldn’t have it. Not yet.

Ben pumped faster, managing to slide a finger into your rectum. The penetration of his finger alone made his cock feel tighter in your pussy. He’d taken up all the remaining space.

Ben stroked until you were a shaky mess, on the brink of another orgasm. You clutched the sheets, desperate for it. Ben added another finger in your ass. That familiar pleasure-pain whipped around like a swirling vortex.

“Please, Ben.” You begged.

You wanted to cum. Oh, my God, it was right there, right on the cusp.

Ben slammed back into you, striking that final match and fucking you into oblivion. You cried out, gushing everywhere.

Ben’s thrusts began to stutter. Both hands gripping your hips, grunting with each effort. He roared out as thick, hot ropes of cum lashed your inner walls. He didn’t stop until he had sunk every last drop within you.

You collapsed onto the mattress when he finally released you. You hoped Ben didn’t want another round. You didn’t think you could go again.

Drowsiness settled quickly, and you couldn’t fight as it took over.

*

It was dark when you awoke. The curtains were closed, and everything was quiet except for Ben’s snoring. You were in bed. Ben must have placed you there after passing out. The urge to pee pressed on your bladder. You didn’t want to get out of bed. It was so warm. But needs must.

You slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake Ben. He had left you in your bra and t-shirt, though he hadn’t adjusted your bra back to cover your exposed breast. From the din, you saw the outline of your panties and lounge pants, along with his sweats.

As your eyes adjusted, you spotted your pyjamas from the end of the bed. They were tangled up in the sheets on Ben’s side.

Just great.

You silently headed to the end of the bed and carefully detangled your pyjamas. Ben stirred. You froze. But he snored loudly and rolled over. Relief akin to the incredible orgasm you’d experienced earlier washed through you.

Thank fuck.

You snuck out of your room, picking up your panties along the way, opting out of using the en-suite for fear of waking Ben up. You walk along the hallway, hoping not to get caught by Dean or Beau. You had no idea what the time was.

You made it to the bathroom with no issues. Sitting on the john, relieving yourself, you peered down. Ben’s seed had dried on your thigh. You hadn’t even thought about protection. It hadn’t even occurred to you or Ben in the heat of the moment. You were an adult. It should have.

Idiot.

You could get pregnant.

Shit.

He was a Supe. You were a human. Becca and Ryan came to mind.

Oh God.

What had you done?

You held your head in your hands. Your brain scrambled to remember where you were in your cycle and how long ago it had been since your last period. You’d never been good with remembering. Except the week prior, as your tits would ache like fuck. That’s when you knew you were near.

What if he did? Would you keep it?

Would you? You had no doubt that in your mind, you would. Though with your luck, it probably wouldn’t take.

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-spinster-witch, @k-slla, @afro-hispwriter, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @ladysparkles78, @nescavaneck, @winharry, @stellasfictionalworld, @mishkatelwarriorgoddess, @freefallthoughts, @realityshifter111

[deviouz]

. . . jason todd and villain!reader !!

jason todd who opts to neutralize villain!reader himself rather than turning you in to the authorities because each time he does, you slip through the cracks of a crumbling justice system just to wreck havoc on the city the next night.

“you just don’t know how to stop, do you? can’t learn a lesson? fine. i’ll just have to teach you myself.”

jason todd who decides to back villain!reader to a corner, all of her gadgets and fancy tech smashed to hell in the dingy room of an abandoned building. he looks bigger than you’d imagine at this close of proximity, head tipped down to no doubt glare you down from behind that stoic, vermillion mask of his.

it’s pointless to even try fighting back. the red hood wasn’t someone you wanted to have up close and personal — and, unfortunately for you, he was close enough for the faint smell of his cologne to flood your senses.

“you’ve left me with no choice, really. it’s almost like you wanted to get caught by me. again. god, do you even sleep?”

jason todd who forces your front to the wall, face uncomfortably pressed into the aged brick wall. he has your arms twisted behind his back, wrists caught in one of his hands, while his knee slots between your leather-clad thighs. the smirk he wore was almost audible. the sound of your curses and empty-threats began to echo throughout the room, but that all came to a sudden halt when a rough hand grabbed at your hips and began to force you back and forth against his thigh. those venom-laced words transformed to quiet, breathy moans and feather-light gasps.

if you had your knife, you would have plunged it in him the second the faux coos started.

“that’s it. if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

jason todd who makes you work for a sweet release. why would he let gotham’s newest villainess off so easily, especially after the hell you’ve been putting him through? no, you have to work for it. he’ll deny release after release, whispering a plethora of filthy, degrading words into your ear until you finally give in.

“fuck, you’re soaked. dripping cunt’s got my suit all dirty,” jason almost laughs at the pitiful moan that rips through your chest, “we can do this all night, sweetheart.”

and when you finally give in, sobbing and hiccup because you just can’t take another denial in fear of losing your mind, he’ll allow you to use his thigh however you see fit. of course, all of that mindless grinding and high pitched moans of pure ecstasy are sure to be made fun of. you’re that desperate to get off on your supposed enemy’s thigh? really?

jason todd who grins when you slump to the ground, thighs pressed tightly together as you pant, body quivering. you’re an absolute mess, and he’s finally got you right where he wants you. pliant and obedient.

“c’mon, you don’t seriously think that’s all i had planned, right?”

[castielscaplan]

Fic Title Challenge

updated April 12. 2025 with NEW! choices!

For the Rules:

please reblog this post if you can

no need to follow me, but it's always appreciated.

Any Characters, ANY fandom!!

Use the Tag #TitlesForCaplan if you participate

Use warnings appropriately.

please put a summary!!!

If fic is above 400 words, please use ReadMore Feature

tag me in Author's note

if you post the fic and I dont respond within 24 hours, please message me

this doesn't need to be a one shot, can be a chapter fic if inspo strikes!

To The Rising Sun We Go

Into the Darkness We Fall

A Poor Man’s Feast

The HeartBreak of Loving You

The Cat's in the Bag Now

The Monster in Him

Assassination Destination

Big Boys in Small Cities

Not Your Kinda Love

Truly, Madly, Insanity

-

He Bit Me First

Your Blood, My Weakness

You Haunt Me Like a Lover

Fangs and Feelings Don’t Mix

You Said Forever, and I’m Immortal

Love Me Through the Curse

This Spell Tastes Like You

Bound by Magic, Tied by Love

His Darkness Felt Like Home

Death is Quiet When You Hold Me

-

Where The River Ends

Flowers For the Evening

Dead Daisies Don’t Talk

Below the Riverfront

Versace Curtains

Clover Leaves

Basement Lovers

Bottom of the Bottle

On the Basement Floor

Salvation For Greed

-

Deepened Troubles

Beta Luck Next Time

Fluorescent Moonlights

Okay, You've Got Me Now

If Only I Had You

The Dead One

Amnesia Problems

Alpha Remorse

Ten Ways to Bribe the Lost King

King’s Grief

-

How Not to Get Her: 5 Ways to lose the one You Love

Sever the Wealthy, Ride the Poor

Better Off Without You

It’s Never The Right Time

Belonged to the Sea Once

Golden Arch Weddings

No High Mountains

Dearly Reunited

Losing Him Never Felt So Good

It’s never been You

-

The One Where She Lives

Good Lovers Lie

But Just One Touch

Not Welcome in my Blood

Take A Number, it’ll Cost You

For Bribes in Death

A Sorrowful Justice

Gun For(e) Play

Heartless Honeymoon

Only Your Royalty

-

Family Affairs

Pine Needles and Campfires

In Harlot We Trust

Death of a Maiden

Love Her Never Again

Drunken Ships and Pretty Women

Beautiful Times in Saviors

Beta Denials 

Wealthy, Filthy, Clean

The First Anniversary

-

Disastrous Affairs

Toxic Dreams and Heartless Love

Dearly Detested

Less of a Being

Desperation of a Devil

Hooked Onto Her

Hit the Road, Damsel

The Lesser King

The Stolen Heart of Mine

To Be Open For Her

-

Trigger Discipline

Echoes of Command

Taught to Obey

The Cost of Loyalty

Built to Break

Collateral Devotion

Memory’s Weapon

In Your Crosshairs

Red in My Ledger

No Safe Word This Time

--

Glass in My Hands

Things We Don’t Say

Let Me Bleed, Then Stay

How to Love a Loaded Gun

Not Enough, Never Enough

I Only Remember the Goodbye

Mercy Isn't for People Like Me

We Were Beautiful Until We Broke

The Apology You Never Gave

His Love Came with a Body Count

-

The Soldier You Made Me

After the Fire

Controlled Burn

Your Orders, My Hell

The Ghost You Created

Steel Hearts and Golden Wings

Your Hoodie Still Smells Like Home

Kisses in the Quiet

Let Me Fall Asleep on You (Please)

You Talk in Your Sleep and I’m in Love

-

I Made You Pancakes, and Also Love You

Sunlight on Skin, You on Me

Snuggle Protocol Activated

Hearts Don't Break on Sundays

You’re My Favorite Distraction

I’d Let You Steal the Covers Forever

Say You Hate Me, Then Kiss Me Again

Loving You Was a Battlefield (and I Lost)

The Knife and the Kiss Came From You

We’re a Tragedy Dressed in Leather

-

Don’t Save Me Unless You Mean It

I Killed for You, You Left Anyway

Ruin Me Sweetly

Love Me Like I’m a Secret

I Burned the World for You. Did You Notice?

You’re My Favorite Regret

Made of Red Flags and Good Kisses

You Belong to Me (And You Know It)

I Love You, Now Run

The Devil Has Dimples, Apparently

-

Don't Trust the Way He Says Your Name

Bloodstains and Pillow Talk

You're the Villain, I'm Just Obsessed

He Carved His Name Into My Survival

Not My Hero, But God You Look Good Bleeding

I Should Hate You. I Don’t.

Same Old Love

Sick of Loving You

Why Is It Always You?

The Silence After You

-

The Silence After Goodbye

If You Loved Me, You Would've Stayed

Don't Pretend You Didn't Mean It

I’ll Love You From the Wreckage

The Way You Left Still Hurts

Only One of Us Survived This Love

You Forgot Me First

Almost Was Ours

This Love Tastes Like Ash

We Weren’t Built to Last

-

You Smell Like Home

Love Notes in the Sock Drawer

Five More Minutes (Then Forever)

Holding Hands Like It’s a Promise

I Like Your Stupid Face, Okay?

Good Morning, Always You

Your Hoodie is Now Mine

You’re the Calm After My Storm

Home is Wherever You Nap on Me

Love is in the Little Things

-

Mine, Even When You Lie

He Loves Me Like a Warzone

The Chains Are Velvet, I Swear

Kisses Laced with Blood and Honey

I’d Kill the World if You Asked Nicely

You're Not Going Anywhere

Obsession Sounds Better in Your Voice

Love Me, Even if It Hurts

Marked by You, Loved by No One Else

He’s the Devil, But He’s My Devil

-

Kiss Me Like You Hate Me

We Shouldn't Be Doing This (Again)

Your Knife, My Neck, Our Thing

I Hate You, Shut Up, Come Here

Battle Scars and Bedroom Eyes

If Looks Could Kill, We’d Both Be Dead

Your Enemies Are Too Pretty

This Alliance is Getting Out of Hand

Sworn Rivals, Shared Bed

The War Was Easier Than This

-

Programmed to Love You

Lab Rat with a Heart

They Put Wires in My Heart for You

You Were My Handler. Now What?

Tell Me I'm More Than the Experiment

I Remember What You Made Me Do

Control Me, Love Me, Set Me Free

The Trigger Phrase Was Your Name

We’re Not Supposed to Feel This

Monsters Aren’t Meant to Fall in Love

[hugsandharrystyles]

Are you wet right now? Pt. 2

Well... Here we are again.

Warnings: This is just really filthy and kinky, and a bit vulgar, so if you're not into like really dirty stuff, I suggest not reading. (I try not to give away the plot with the warnings, so this is my warning.)

Word Count: 6,000+

Tension. Burning tension.

It's been two whole days since you and Harry confronted each other's feelings, and the heat between you two is enough to kill. Your parents have left you both alone to do whatever you want while they do whatever they want, so you've been stuck with Harry glued to your hip for the last forty-eight hours.

He likes to think he's sly about it too.

The way he doesn't even bother 'sneaking' touches but full on putting his hands on you when it's not appropriate. You wish you could complain, but you physically can't.

He guards you like your precious cargo and won't let anyone so much as glimpse at you.

Through all of this, he still hasn't broke into the tension first, and neither have you.

"Where are you going?" You hear Harry's voice from behind you.

"It's an hour before the sunset, so I figured I'd go down to the private beach," You explain, ignoring his burning eyes on your body.

"Um, can I come too?" He asks, just in his swimming trunks. He comes behind you to lightly tread his fingers against the fabric of your bathing suit.

"Not like I have a choice, huh? You'll come anyway," You laugh and bat his hand away.

"Well, I thought it'd be polite to ask," He jokes and grabs your beach bag for you.

"That's a first," You comment and go to take your bag from him, but he moves it out of your reach.

"I got it, babe," He says and presses a wet kiss to your cheek. You sigh, frustrated, as he walks towards the door.

"Wow, there's like no one out here," You say in awe as you and Harry find your spots in the sand. You both smooth it out to lay your big towel down.

"It is a private beach, genius," He remarks, and you glare at him.

"Thanks, dipshit, but it's a private beach for us and other narcissistic people who can't go to the normal beach," You explain and lay down on your stomach on the towel to watch the sunset slowly start to meet the horizon where the ocean lays. You feel Harry lay his head in the middle of your back. "Hey! Get your big head off of me," You complain and roll over on your back. Harry now rests his chin on your stomach, right where your bikini bottoms start. His hands rub all over your thighs.

"I can show you real big head," He says, a mischievous grin on his face as he bites the fabric of your bikini. Heat is spread between your thighs, and you pray that he doesn't feel it.

"That has to be the worst thing you've ever said," You laugh and shove at his head, making the bikini bottoms snap against your skin as they're released from his mouth.

You moan.

God, you moan.

You can feel your face heat, and Harry's staring at you with wide eyes.

"Did you just-"

"Shut up," You cut him off.

"But-"

"Let's just watch the sunset," You plead, and he nods his head, suddenly quiet. You both move around, so you're sitting up with your arms propped behind you to watch the waves.

After a minute of silence, you look over at Harry who has his eyes closed. His cheeks are pink from sunburn and what looks like bashful blush. His abs are shining with light sweat, and you want nothing more than to lick him clean.

That's when, when you look a little further down, you see what he's concentrating so hard on in his mind- why his eyes are shut so tight.

He's hard.

He's large and plump in his trunks, and you can tell. You almost want to say something, but you don't want to embarrass him. You both feel the tension, the wanting.

To hell with it.

His legs are spread enough for you to quietly get between them, so you do. Your hands come in contact with thighs first, and his eyes are bulging out of his head. You're slipping your hands under the fabric to feel at his soft thighs.

"Oh, God. What are you-" He's breathless and out of words. It's easy to see what you do to him.

"I'm done with the games, Harry. I might've given in first, but I'm winning, so I'm going to do whatever I want to you right here on this beach, m'kay?" You ask, though you don't really care for a response. You're already leaning you're body weight on him to press him down onto the towel, so you can start your descent at his pretty face. His eyes are wide and begging.

"Yes- yeah- do what you want," He pleads, his hands fidgeting in the air.

"I will, sweet boy." You straddle him and take his hands in yours, playing with his much larger ones. You clasp your hands together and smile. "You'll be good for me, won't you? Let me hear all your pretty sounds. Know you're loud because you never stop whining, huh?" You ask, leaning down over him to talk against his lips, pinning his hands lightly above his head with your hands still together.

"I'll give you everything," He promises and puckers his lips to quickly press a kiss against your lips. You lean away before he could do it again, causing him to pout. You release his hands and run yours all over him. You press and feel against his abs before running your fingers up his warm body and tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Beautiful, beautiful," You whisper and kiss all over his face. He sighs before letting out a small, angelic laugh. You lightly flick your tongue over his lips, almost as if caressing him. His head is thrown back, and he seems to be succumbed to a state of euphoria.

"Kiss me," He whispers, opening his mouth to flick your tongue with his. For once, you listen to him and press your mouth onto his. It's wet and messy, but neither of you would have it any other way. His hands caress the soft skin of your body and find your hips to press you into his crotch. He bites down on your bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth. You can already feel how sore your lips are becoming, and it excites you. You pull him away from you by his hair, and he huffs in desperation. You start to kiss down his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking a harsh hickey into the skin there. His moans only spur you on. As your mouth is preoccupied with his neck, your hands slide down to his pecks, and you tweak his nipples in between your fingers. "Oh, fuck. No one's ever done that," He laughs but is broken by a moan.

"Want me to stop?" You mumble against his neck.

"No, please no," He whimpers. You smirk and kiss down towards his chest, now flicking your tongue against his nipple and biting down gently on it. His hips involuntarily buck into yours as he tries to find some relief for his groin.

"Impatient?" You giggle and press kisses down his abs, letting your tongue lick up the light layer of sweat that's secreted against his abs.

"Baby- fuck, you're dirty," He breathes. "Best I've ever had."

"You haven't even had me yet," You laugh and sit up to stare at him. Your hands press and skim all over his tummy.

"Already know. You do what you want instead of the same ol' boring shit. And, it's you, so," He blushes.

'Those girls not treating you right, hon?" You ask, faking sympathy and sinking your fingers into his love handles, something you've always wanted to do.

"They're so fuckin' vanilla. They rush into it and just want me to fuck em'," He pouts.

"Oh, you poor baby," You laugh.

"I'm serious! I'm not even hard when they want me to stick it in. What does a guy have to do to get some foreplay around here?"

"Okay, I'm leaving," You joke, but he plants his hands on your hips and squeezes.

"Let's get back to it, yeah?" He changes the subject. You nod your head with a grin and sneak your hand into his shorts. "Oh!" He gasps in shock when you wrap your hand around him and take him out of his shorts to where you can just see his length.

"Oh, you're a big boy," You say, already feeling yourself start to drool. Of course his cock is huge, and of course it's beautiful. "So pretty, wow," You sigh and weigh it in your hand, loving the heaviness.

"Stop it," He says, flustered. "Y/N, we shouldn't do this here," He whimpers, even though his body betrays him and bucks into your hand.

"No? Who's going to stop me? I don't see anyone, baby," You egg him on. "You keep lookout, okay?" You say and immediately bend down to take him into your mouth.

"Oh, fuck," Harry moans. He had totally forgot about the possibility of people seeing the two of you, but he couldn't find a bone in his body that cared enough with the way you were sucking on him. His hands found your hair and guided you down on him gently. He tried his hardest to keep his noises at bay, but he's already noisy in bed, and it's you that sucking his dick, so he's hopeless. His moans are loud and hot- needy and whiny.

"You gotta keep that pretty voice of yours down unless you want everyone to know what we're doing over here," You say, jerking him off as you catch your breath. His dick twitches in your hand. "Oh, you would like that, huh? Let everyone know who Harry Styles really belongs to," You say slyly and press a kiss to his tip.

"You have to stop talking," He whines, hips stuttering as he tries to make your hand go faster.

"No, I think you do," You correct him and with your free hand, shove two fingers into his mouth. He gags for a moment before moaning around your fingers, sucking on them like a good boy. "There you go, sweet boy," You encourage him and flex your fingers against his tongue. You jerk him off quicker and move your fingers from his mouth, instead letting your hand rest lightly around his neck as you put your mouth back on him.

"Baby," He whines, almost sounding like a cry. Your hand caresses the side of his neck lovingly, working him through the pleasure. "Fuck- suck on my balls, please," He cries. Never has he asked for that during sex, but he has a feeling you're super into the naughty side of things. You immediately obey his command, despite you being the one in charge. You suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth and fondle the other one, using your free hand to jerk him off rapidly. "Y/N- I'm gonna fucking cum," He cries, his hips stuttering. "I want to cum on your t-tits," He begs.

"Yeah?" You ask, your voice raspy. He nods his head quickly. You quickly sit up and undo your bathing suit top without hesitation. You throw it to the side before leaning down and holding his big dick between your boobs. "Fuck my titties, baby," You encourage him, and he moans before sitting up and fucking his hips up. You help him by squeezing your breasts around him and moving up and down quickly. You stick your tongue out to lick his tip whenever you can catch it.

"I'm cumming," He groans loudly and starts shaking. He's stopped moving but you're still moving your boobs up and down over him. His cum is painting your breasts, and it's safe to say you've never seen anything so hot. Harry is utterly beautiful when he cums- unlike anything you've ever seen before.

"Fuck, look at you," You giggle as he starts to come back down to Earth. His dick is still twitching, and you remove your boobs from him before leaning down and kitten-licking at his dick to clean him up. He's whimpering in overstimulation as you, as gently as you can, tuck him back into his swim trunks. You're on the verge of saying something until you're suddenly being pulled up to sit on his lap, and there's a warm tongue lapping at your breasts and chest where his cum is. "Oh, good boy. Cleaning up your mess," You praise and run your fingers through his hair as he licks you up, clearly drunk on you with his eyes closed and lazy mouth.

"Fuck, thank you, baby," He whispers before kissing the skin between your breasts. He reaches to the side to retrieve your bikini top, and he helps you put it back on. "Let me eat your pussy," He begs, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

You laugh before answering him. "Not here, baby. It's getting dark," You answer while leaning your head in the crook of his neck. He rubs your back soothingly and nods his head against your own.

"Are you wet right now?"

"Of course I am, but think of how much better this would be in a bed," You offer.

"You sure? Positive you're soaking your bikini bottoms right now," He says and gives your butt a light tap. You blush and shake your head, beginning to stand up.

"Let's get back to the hotel, and we can do whatever. Does that sound good?" You ask, and he nods his head quickly.

"I swear, the walk back up from the beach is always the worst," Harry complains as you walk through the hotel doors.

"It also probably doesn't help that I just sucked your cock until your legs started shaking too," You say bluntly, and Harry chokes on his own spit.

"You-"

"Y/N! Harry!" Harry's cut off by his own mother's voice. Yours and Harry's eyes are wide as you come face to face with Anne and your mom.

"We've been looking all over for the two of you!" Your mother exclaims.

"Eh, sorry, mom. We just went down to the beach to watch the sunset," You explain, leaving out the details.

"Well, I just overheard from a few tipsy teenagers that there's a party up on the roof lounge, where the pool is. Doesn't that sound fun?" Your mom asks, and you internally smash your face into a wall. Your wetness is starting to collect in your bottoms, and it's getting uncomfortable.

"Harry?" You say, not even look at him. You shove his shoulder when he doesn't say anything.

"What- Oh! Yes, yes. That sounds great," Harry smiles, and now you internally smash his face into a wall.

"What?" You ask and finally meet his eyes.

"I-"

"Great! It will be good for you two to talk to people your ages. Also, Anne and I will be using your room for girl's night until you get back, so don't come back!"

"Wait-"

"Bye!" Your mom and Anne yell in unison and head up to presumably, your room. Your glare is set on Harry.

"I'm going to kill you."

"I didn't even process what she said until after I had spoke! Sorry if I'm a little distracted!" He pouts sassily.

"You promised you'd help me, and now we have to go to a stupid pool party with stupid people and pretend to have a stupid good time!" You complain and stomp away from him, towards the elevator.

"I'm sorry!" He apologizes and grips your wrist.

"I'm horny!" You whine back, getting a disgusted look by an elderly couple who descend from the elevator. You and Harry walk in, tapping on the roof button.

The doors are barely closed when, suddenly, Harry full-on drops to his knees, pulls your bikini bottoms to the side, spreads your legs, and presses his face into your crotch.

"Oh my God!" You exclaim and try to gain your balance. His face is properly shoved into your pussy, and he's moaning as if you're the best thing he's ever tasted. His head shakes back and forth, and he shoves his tongue into your sopping hole. You watch nervously as the elevator floors continue to rise until it's finally coming to a stop. The ding sounds and Harry quickly gets up, wiping his face, and steps out of the elevator. Your mouth is ajar, and your legs are slightly shaking. He doesn't even look back, just holds his hand out to you. You shyly take his in yours, and he walks the two of you out onto the roof.

You're quite spaced out from his scene, and it makes it hard for you to comprehend anything happening around you. You're snapped out of it when Harry presses a kiss to your temple, making you blush harshly.

"Sorry," You mumble with an embarrassed laugh.

"I'm about to drop to my fucking knees and eat your sweet pussy right here in front of all these people," He whispers into your ear. You mask your gasp with a cough.

"Shut the fuck up," You whisper back.

"Harry?" You hear an annoying voice call from behind you. You and Harry both turn around to find the girl who Harry had taken to your room with looking between the two of you with a glare.

"Oh, uh- hey..." Harry says quietly. You roll your eyes and start to walk away, but you feel Harry's arm wrap around your stomach. His large hand splays against your stomach and holds you to him.

"It's Sydney," The girl says blankly, clearly annoyed. "I thought you two weren't dating."

"We aren't," You clarify because Harry hadn't made it official yet by asking the big question.

"No?" Harry asks, pulling you tighter against him. "I just shoved my face in your pussy, and we're not dating?" He whispers in your ear, and you elbow his ribcage. "Not yet, then," Harry finally answers the gawking girl.

"Well, just so you know, he called me some other girl's name while we were together. You're not as special as you think," The girl, who's name you've already forgotten, bites.

"Yeah? Who'd he say?" You ask, pushing your ass roughly against Harry's crotch.

"I don't know. Y/N or something like that," She says, harboring significant sass.

You laugh. You bust out laughing in the girl's face, and it takes Harry basically dragging you away to settle down.

"Funny is it?" He asks, irritation clear in his voice.

"Oh, it's hilarious! Poor baby was dreaming of me," You fake pout at him and pet his head.

"Let's get in the pool," He quickly changes the subject. Harry pulls you to the pool, never letting his hands leave your body. You both step into the expansive pool and are delighted by the water's temperature. "Over here," Harry tells you, and you both swim to the pool's waterfall. There's a couple people in the pool, but nothing like how crowded you thought it was going to be.

"Harry, I can't touch over here," You complain. He looks at you for a moment before reaching down and circling his hands around your thighs to lift you around his waist. You circle your legs around him and run your fingers in his hair. He presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. "You know, you still haven't asked me."

"Asked you what, baby?" He asks.

"To be yours," You clarify.

"You know your mine just as much as you know I'm yours," He expresses and goes to kiss you, but you dodge him. He grunts in response.

"I know, but I want you to ask," You laugh.

"Yeah? You want me to ask you to be mine forever? To be my girlfriend?" He asks, kissing your throat.

"Yes," You breathe shallowly.

(I recommend turning on "I want you" by The Beatles at this point)

"Please, baby. Will you be my girlfriend?" He practically begs. You nod your head, giving him your best doe eyes.

"You my boyfriend now?" You basically purr, lightly ghosting your lips over his cheek.

"Yes, yes," He whimpers. He suddenly twirls you around so your back is pressed against his front. "Hold you breath," He says in your ear, and before you could question him, you're suddenly under water, and Harry is taking you through the waterfall to the hidden side. You can't even get a word out or wipe your eyes of water before you feel fingers slipping into your bikini bottoms and pressing against your clit.

"Harry!" You whisper-yell. He doesn't say anything in return, just slides two of his fingers into you without warning. You quickly wipe your eyes and hold onto him by the back of his neck. "Harry, people are on the other side of the waterfall. A-Anyone could swim back here and s-see," You pussy clenches at the thought, and you're barely able to form a coherent sentence as his fingers pound into you.

"Didn't care about that at the beach," He bites back, suddenly kissing you roughly.

"There weren't-" Kiss. "People-" Kiss. "At the-" Kiss. "Beach," You finally get out while his lips are still nailing yours. He bites your bottom lip, and you whine.

"Turn around," He says quickly, and you do. His fingers sadly leave you, and you turn in his hold, rubbing your crotch against his. You feel movement behind you, and you're about to question him, but you're suddenly halted when you feel the thick tip of his dick push past your entrance.

"Oh!" You moan, and Harry quickly cups his hand around your mouth. His cock is so big and fat that it's taking everything in you to not scream. He's pushing in slowly to make you feel all of him. Your hand reaches back to push at his hip, but he just groans in your ear. Once it's finally all the way in, and his pelvis is pressed against your ass, he unclasps his hand from your mouth. "What are you doing?!" Is the first thing you say, though you grind your hips back against him.

"M' sorry," He whines and bites down on your shoulder. "I'm gonna cum- Oh, God," He whimpers.

"You better fucking hold it," You bite, and you feel his arms encircle around your stomach and squeeze you tight to him.

"It's s-so tight and warm. Y/N- fuck," He cries.

"Hold it," You demand and squeeze his hip. "You're the one that stuck it in," You say.

"Couldn't wait. M' sorry."

"Just fuck me, yeah? I want my boyfriend to fuck me in a pool filled with people," You beg, and he nods into your shoulder. He pulls out almost to the tip before, as harshly as he can with the water in the way, snaps his hips into you.

As he starts to consistently thrust, one of his hands reaches down and rubs your clit to give you more pleasure.

"I'm not going to last long, baby," He whines.

"Me neither, it's okay," You reassure him and twist your neck back to kiss him. He moans, and his hips continue to thrust into you. "Stretching me out so good- fuck," You cry against his lips.

"Best pussy I've ever had- Oh, God," He groans. "I need you to cum for me," He begs.

"It's okay, baby- just cum," You assure him.

"No," He whines, but you can tell he's close. His hips suddenly stop, and his hand is roughly rubbing at your pussy. The pain mixed with pleasure drags you so much closer to your own orgasm, and you can't help but squirm in his hold. Once he feels as though you're close enough, his hips start again, though his hand never stops. "Cum, sweetheart. I'm gonna cum," He whimpers. You nod your head and smash your lips against his so neither of you make a sound.

The orgasm that hits you seems to never stop, and the same for Harry. His hips are stuttering against yours, and you have to drag his fingers away from your clit to get some relief.

"Baby, breathe," You whisper in his ear, and you feel his breathing start to calm back down.

"Oh my God," He laughs.

"Harry?" You ask.

"Yeah?" He replies.

"How do we get out of here?"

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{What's Caleb been up to all this time????}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence

Chapter 21: Caleb's Story

Dedication. Devotion. These words are thrown around too carelessly by undeserving, careless people. Only Caleb knows what they mean. How far one truly has to go to be devoted to another. Sometimes he thinks, only he understands what it means to really love someone. 

Caleb remembers the first time he saw you. You were both so young. In a village on the outskirts of Philos’ golden kingdom. Poor, destitute refugees. The two of you were the same. Caleb could see that the moment he locked eyes with you. Two sides of the same coin. One single choice separating you. 

War had torn thousands of families apart. The two of you were no different. You had no family, and neither did her. Only he was captured and sold to raiders, and you were taken in by some nomadic tribe. Bought and sold like cattle for the use your young bodies could provide. In that village, he was barely a teenager and was holding a sword, and you were barely younger than him and hauling totes twice your size over your back.

He spoke to you, he had to. You were uncertain of him– him being armored and all– but you were kind. He knew you would be. He knew you would be kind just by your eyes, and if he had his way, he’d have left that band of raiders and followed you. 

Caleb knew he’d see you again. He just knew it.Knew he’d meet you again like he knew the stars in the sky. Knew it like the lines on his own palm. Carved in flesh and stone. 

He saw you again a year later, rushing out of one of the houses his raiders had lit on fire. From the back of his horse, Caleb felt guilt for the first time. How could he do this? If he’d known you’d be in this village, he wouldn’t have let the band attack it! 

He followed you into the forest, making sure you made it to safety. The leader of the raiders thought he was trying to escape and lashed him for it, but he took them stone-faced. You were safe. You were alive. That’s what mattered. 

Again he saw you, only this time he wasn’t with raiders. The raiders he’d been sold to had been killed by agents of Astra, and they had mercifully taken him in. A priest-in-training, is what they called him. They told him they would make him into Astra’s weapon here in the physical world. If it meant freedom sooner, he would do it. 

You didn’t meet his eye as you walked by him. Leading a mule and wagon with a few elderly in the back. Your group of refugees was small and pitiful, each one of you thin with hunger and filthy from traveling. The other agents of Astra offered food and clothing in exchange for devotion. Pledge your life in service to Astra, and receive endless bounty!

You looked at them with such venom it made his blood sing. 

Caleb held that vision of you. Fire burning in your eyes for years. Years he waited to see you again, looking over his shoulder as he rose through the ranks of those pathetic, mewling supplicants. The god of stories spoke in whispers to him, promising him the ending he desired if only he grew stronger. 

Honed into an inimical, personalized weapon, forged to fit the formless hand of a god. Caleb had no desire to serve, only to achieve. Violence in exchange for peace, and it was a small price to pay. 

He knew he’d see you again. He knew. 

Years later, Caleb spotted  you in the forest, shadowed, with beams of golden sunlight in your hair, and his heart stopped. You looked well. No longer gaunt with hunger but flush with life and vitality. A leather bag around your shoulders where you placed the berries you picked– a forest nymph, otherworldly with beauty. He had yet to hear your voice as an adult, and he longed for the song of it. 

Only, when he approached, there was another. A face he recognized, and a sword he would never forget. The Lightblade wielder. The Prince of Philos at your guard. And through the wind, Caleb heard fate laughing at him. 

Caleb’s blood boiled, and day after day he returned to that spot in the forest, But when he did not see the prince, he saw something worse. A beast that taunted you. Teased you endlessly while mocking your hard work. A fiend he longed to extinguish almost as much as the prince. 

Finding the entrance to your home was too easy. The wards that protected it were strong and made his stomach turn the harder he fought against them, but he was hardly stopped. What meager protection you had. The men surrounding you were judged by his violet gaze and found lacking.

You lived in a hole in the ground. A pathetic excuse for a settlement that stank of damp rock and moss. You deserved better than this humble existence, and deserved more than that wretched former agent of Astra could build. 

You deserved better. You deserved kingdoms and palaces. Silver platters of fruit brought you by handmaids and clothes tailored to fit you in every color. You deserve love that was not quiet, that was not hesitant.

Caleb didn’t mean for it to go this far. All he wanted was to be by your side. He just couldn’t take it any longer– living off of glimpses of you left him starving. His hunger for you was all encompassing, and it made him stupid. 

When he told Astra of the settlement, he’d done so to beg for his prize. Give her to me, and I will become your ultimate weapon. I will fell the rest of the Philos king’s army in your name, if you give her to me.

The plea of a child— Caleb would realize that soon. Do not beg the gods for earthly delights, for they will turn it to poison on your tongue. They will grant you power and strangle you with it. Astra in particular. The wretched god of stories loved a tragic ending.

You were promised. This fabled hidden priestess demanded as sacrifice to spare the sanctuary. Astra’s high priest– his voice– spoke words that made Caleb sick. When he heard of the envoy’s demands, Caleb vomited in grief and guilt. 

He had done this. He had brought hell to your doorstep for the promise of a glimpse. Astra would give you to him, but only for a moment. The god fully intended to take your life as an offering, and Caleb would not let that happen. 

He fled his army. His position. His life. Shed the skin of the life he had known, spat upon any semblance of dedication to that false god, and he ran to you. 

If no one else could, Caleb would escape with you. He’d drag you if he had to. Damn the others. Damn the sanctuary. You would live, if nothing else. 

Caleb could smell the magic before he even entered the sanctuary, slipping in between the cracks of unfocused energy and into a maelstrom. The feeling of this magic was familiar. Astra’s spellwork smelled of parchment, rosemary, and something acrid and corrosive. It burned his nose as he approached the haphazardly built house, and the sheer sweltering pressure of power made it hard to catch his breath. 

Swirling winds of the arcane tore around the house, light the color of jade and sapphires shimmered in the air, and the feeling of mortal dread expanded like a fog.

Caleb found the dark-haired man– the previous agent of Astra– performing what could only be a suicide mission. The power from the spell was tearing him apart. The ice of his natural-born power barely kept his flesh together as the sparks of matter-rendering sorcery tore from the book he wrote in. 

In the chaos, Caleb found you. Unconscious or asleep, it didn’t matter because he was at your side. Gathering you up into his arms to carry you far from here. Only, you weren’t alone. The other three– those three who would never love you as much as he did. The prince. The beast. And the siren. They held onto you, even in their unnatural sleep, and Caleb couldn’t detach you from them. 

A lash of magic struck him in the back, as sharp as a warrior’s spear. Caleb turned, heart pounding and fear rushing through him. What diabolical plan was this? Were they planning on destroying the cavern just so Astra couldn’t have it? 

Caleb covered you with his body as magic swelled again, and the ground rolled beneath them. An earthquake that shook the foundations of the earth and threatened to cave in this whole place. 

Turning, Caleb saw the runes the foreseer was writing. The frantic way he was trying to finish a passags, not in a book, but in the air in front of him. 

No. Caleb wasn’t sure whether he said it aloud or not, only that the desperation struck him like a fatal blow. He recognized those runes. Locked away deep in the annals of Astra’s arsenal. A spell only in theory, for in practice it resulted in the ending of the world. 

Rewriting a story. They were rewriting the story. Undoing all that had been done. They were going to take you away from him forever! Write a story where he had never met you. Never seen you. And all that work! All that sacrifice! It couldn’t– It couldn’t just end now!

The final line was written, and the world around them began to fray. The stones of the house began fluttering into butterfly wings into the ever encroaching void. The emptiness of the space between books was growing closer. This story was being closed, and another opened. Caleb couldn’t let it happen. 

The man was so destroyed it took no effort to tear him away from the arcane manuscript. Dissolving into nothing but stardust and inkblots. Caleb glanced over his shoulder and watched in agony as you did the same, disappearing from this reality like nothing more than a short-lived firefly 

With trembling hands and tears striving his eyes, Caleb added lines. Rearranged the parts. Changed the ending. He wouldn’t lose again. He wouldn’t exist in a world where he only got glimpses. He would be the star of this next novel, as close to you as he could get. He would sign his name overlapping your own, illegible to everyone except for you two. 

The magic burned him, searing his fingers down to their very bones. And with one final, pen stroke. Caleb closed the book. 

This new world was peculiar, as all new things are peculiar. He hadn’t expected to remember his past life– the closed book was gathering dust on a shelf somewhere. Yet, he somehow remembered it. The war. The raiders. Astra. You. 

It wasn’t at first. Not until Ever had run his adolescent body through the ringer of experiments that he’d nearly died, did he wake up from his dream of ignorance. At seven, he’d awoken with the memories of a man who’d helped unravel a universe.

Glimpses. That’s all he had again. Peeks of you in the hallway of the Ever facility, or an hour at most when they would combine experiments with the two of you. Had he written it wrong? Where did he make a mistake? How could he have done this to you?

He wallowed in the agony of his miswritten story, in this futuristic, cruel world that poked and prodded you. Send you into oblivion with torture only to bring you back. Was this his punishment? For trying to rewrite fate and be close to you? Watching you die? Again and again?

No. No, he hadn’t failed. At eight, he was brought out of that facility with you at his side. Bandaged and traumatized, you didn’t seem to recall the place as soon as you left it, and for that Caleb owed Josephine a life-debt. 

She may have taken part in the torture, and so he wouldn’t protect her when the time came, but he also wouldn’t ensure her death either. Gran, as you called her and made him call her too, took you to a house and called it your home. And you– perfect and radiant– were so happy. 

What a perfect story this was. He got to grow up with you. He got to make you the food that you liked and see your face light up when you ate something delicious. He got to see that fire in your eyes when he’d tease you, or when someone at school did something you found unjust. 

You didn’t remember him– didn’t remember anything, it seemed. Perhaps in his desperation to write a tale of him and you, he forgot to add a dot to an i somewhere. It was fine, though. Seeing you happy was good enough. 

Only, then you had troubles with your heart. That was scary. Fear in a small child’s body hits the mind differently than the strong, adult form he remembered. He’d shake with it, sometimes. So terrified you die again in his arms that he’d simple tremble. 

And then, the worst of all, Zayne. Caleb recognized his unusual eyes and stoic face even in this new life, and even as a child. Zayne wasn’t much older than he was, and he didn’t seem to recognize you or him. That was good. 

Only, Zayne was still drawn to you. An asteroid helplessly caught in your orbit, and, of course, you were drawn to him too. Zayne and his too-stiff demeanor. Too cold. Too sharp for you. Caleb tried to get you to find other friends, but you were stubborn. He wondered if you were this stubborn in the past too. 

Caleb yielded to Zayne’s friendship, and eventually he found that the icy young man wasn’t so bad. He was quiet, but witty, and he could play a prank just as good as the next guy. His ice Evol wasn’t bad either, especially on hot summer days. 

It was nice being a child again. Lingering in the serendipity of youth in a world with no war, no Philos, and no Astra. 

Caleb lived the life he wanted with you at his side, cautious of Ever returning to claim their absconded test subjects. He made sure to find a career he could rise in and gain influence. He made sure you made plenty of friends, and became someone people would miss if you were taken. Ever would never be able to take you without causing a public outrage. 

Only they got bold. Like a wretched virus spreading silently through a population of sheep, infecting every edge of the flock. Caleb knew it was only a matter of time until Ever came for you. Came for both of you. 

Josephine was an unfortunate sacrifice, but she was old. She’d lived her life and fulfilled her purpose. 

He didn’t want to leave you. It left you too vulnerable, but Ever had to get someone in that explosion. You or him. And that decision was easy. 

Caleb hadn’t expected to be torn apart as much as he was. Losing an arm was a loss, but Ever made sure to supply him with a new one– mechanical and cold. Didn’t even bother with sensory input, what if he accidentally held you too tightly when he returned to your side? Would he never get to fully feel you again?

For that crime alone, they would pay. 

It took a year– a whole year to lay the pieces onto the board the way he needed them. Ever had to fall, but this was a world that didn’t respond well to bloodshed like his last one. He couldn’t just hire a few sellswords and raid their village and be done with it. 

No, it would take more than lighting cottages and razing crops to take down a beast like Ever. 

Only you had to go and get into trouble. You got suspended from your job– that wasn’t good. You had to stay close to your friends! Your circle of influence is what kept Ever from just snatching you! 

Getting kicked out of your apartment almost broke Caleb’s resolve. He’d made it halfway to you before he stopped himself. And he’d had to punch the carbon steel wall of his bedroom until his flesh arm popped out its socket to stop himself from going again. He couldn’t just run to you, it’d ruin everything. You’d be right back to where you started, both the victims of this wretched organization.

Caleb, playing the part of an indoctrinated soldier, listened to the piecemeal information the Ever agents gave him. Their desperation to get to you was becoming ravenous, their department was at risk of losing funding if they didn’t produce results, and they needed their number one subject to do that. 

So, he helped choose someone to follow you. One of the grunts at Ever with enough skill to go unnoticed by most but not by you. Caleb knew you’d know someone was following you the instant this idiot left the car. He watched the surveillance cams with barely disclosed amusement because you noticed within five minutes of the pursuit. 

Checking your phone to see him, pausing to make sure your assumption was correct, and then making several turns to see how determined he was. You were always so clever. Being a hunter was such good work for you. 

Only then the next disruption in Caleb’s story arrived. The silver haired beast came to your rescue, too liberal with his touch and smiling all too familiarly. The cover was blown and the mission failed, and the agent returned with nothing. Did they really think it would be that easy to capture you?

Caleb was torn between feeling proud of you for being so clever, and being wrenched apart with rage. Not only was Zayne in this story, but this dragon was too!? Looking into it more made Caleb sick, made him nauseous to find out you were living in some bachelor pad filled with men with familiar faces. 

It happened again. This story wasn’t any different than the last! Subsisting on grainy images of you and whispers of your voice through bugged calls, Caleb was once again shoved to the periphery! And those four got to live in your light! 

He should kill them. Just kill them and let you grieve them. They were nothing but a wrench in his plans. He could fix this. He could amend this blip in the data with a little minor tweaking. 

Only, you weren’t just living with them. You were with them. Seeing you go out with them to that karaoke bar made his sanity wane, and he’d done something foolish. He’d gone to see you. To see you with his own eyes and not through a screen. 

You’d stumbled out of that bar hanging off the siren and laughing with such utter abandon. Caleb counted the feet between you, and then counted them again. Anything to maintain that distance and not insert himself. 

The other three came out, and Caleb had to turn away– but not before making sure someone was sober enough to drive home. Zayne, as much as Caleb might want to hate him, was useful. Apathetic and far too cold for someone as warm and kind as you, but useful. He’d stayed sober to take you home. Good. 

Only, you saw him. You turned to look in his direction like he’d called out your name, and god his throat ached to do so. The desire to close the distance was as powerful as the urge to breathe, and it burned him to deny it. 

Caleb had to turn and run when he saw you get sick, because he was hiding in the alleyway and doing the same thing. Vomiting up the year of guilt and sin that had been building up inside him. 

He doesn’t regret bugging your phone. He’d done it years ago– after entering the Hunter Academy. It was just precautionary. Just to keep an eye on where you were and make sure you got to sleep at a reasonable hour. He didn’t check your messages or go through your photos– well, once, but that was after your birthday, and he’d missed it because of a scheduled flight and he wanted to see how much fun you had!

The little virus he’d planted in your phone let him know when you were on it– a little screen time log. You were using your phone a lot less lately, which made him worry you’d gotten a new one. 

It was a relief to see you pop back on, and he smiled as he watched the mirrored screen on his own phone start to go through photos. Pictures of you and your new friends coming up. You look happy. So very happy, and they look happy with you. It stings, because he can’t even pretend that they’re not good enough now. The house you’re in is lavish. You want for nothing. Doted on with clothes, jewelry, and affection…

Then you stop on a picture of the two of you, and hope blooms in his chest. Bursting like fireworks as he realizes you’re thinking of him.

Caleb rationalizes that you must be hurting without him, and he needs to see you. So he sent a little sign. Sending you to your old apartment. He could leave this little trail of berries for you in the forest for you to find, and he’d make sure you’d see those bugs Ever had planted in your old apartment.

He arrives at your apartment two hours before you do, and finds the bugs easily. Eleven, in total. They’d been deactivated since you moved out, but no one had bothered to gather the little scrap of tech. He crushes them anyway, but keeps one for you to find. He breaks the sconce and leaves it at the edge, enough to be hidden but easy enough for you to find. 

Another glance. Just a glimpse of you as you sneak into the building. 

Not much longer. He reminded himself. He’s so close to everything being ready. So close to being able to be back at your side. He grips the chain around his neck while you search your old apartment, and the cool metal of the tag grounds him. 

He lingers too long. Dammit. Stupid. Stupid fool! He curses his besotted heart for being so utterly addicted to the sight of you that you spotted him again. You saw him and dropped what you were doing and chased him. 

In another circumstance, what a thrill to be chased by you. It reminded him of being children again, chasing each other around the park and climbing up trees to outpace the other. 

Caleb couldn’t risk getting caught right now. If you knew he was alive, it would ruin everything. He had things he needed to do, but needed to stay dead to do them. If you saw him– if you called out his name and held him again, he’d be alive again. He’d draw breath and be Caleb again, and he can’t do the horrible things that need to be done and be Caleb at the same time. 

So he runs. He runs away from you despite his soul begging him not to. 

You're tenacious. You’re a hunter, and he knew you’d be hard to lose. You scale the fire escape with nimble grace, and he wishes he could take a moment and admire how ferocious your face looks. 

Jumping onto the adjacent rooftop had been a calculated risk. He could make it– he knew that, and he’d be able to catch himself even if he fell. A calculated, estimated, gamble. Caleb jumped and rolled to a stop and then he turned back to look at you. 

Don’t even try it. He wanted to shout at you. The fire in your eyes burned hot enough to melt iron, and he realized his mistake.

When you turned around, Caleb hoped his gut was wrong, That you weren’t going to try and follow him across the gap. But of course you did. 

Seeing you leap was horrifying. His very beating heart launched over a cliff, and he cried out to you. Sailing through the air, he reached out with his evol to push you further. Not down into the alleyway below, but close enough. 

The sound of your body smacking the side of the building would ring forever in his ears. When he meets his death and sinks into hell, it will be that sound that is played on look. The crack of your ribs and the halting, choked breath you try and fail to take. 

You scramble to pull yourself up, and he’s moving without thinking. Using his Evol to haul you up and onto the roof. 

He’s panting, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. Caleb worries he might get sick again as nauseous roils inside him. What has he done? What has he done?

You’re in and out of consciousness, and he takes a moment when your eyes are closed to assess you. Your breathing is slow and wet, blood-tinged drool leaking from your lip. 

The burner phone is pocket is pulled out, and he pulls it out, ready to call for an ambulance. Or better yet, carry you to the nearest hospital himself. 

The sensation of the Toring chip activating makes his muscle freeze. Too much adrenaline. Too much cortisol. It jolts his brain into a subdued state of focus, and he thinks. 

He can’t. He can’t help you right now. He can’t call and ambulance or carry you to safety. He can’t even move you. It’d give him away. Blow his cover to you, to those men, to Ever. Everything would be for nothing. 

So, he bites back bile and presses a hand to the back of your head when you try to lift up, “Don’t do that again.” His voice is a garbled mess, choking on the tears that stream down his face. 

 Caleb flees the rooftop, but lingers nearby. That crow that follows you is landing at your side the moment he leaves, and Caleb knows that means the dragon isn’t far behind. It takes them less than ten minutes to get there, and you’re being carried away to a hospital just as quickly. 

His fault. His fault. His fault. The mantra plays in his head in self-flagellation. He deserves to be pushed away. He deserves to see you in the arms of another. 

Caleb is mildly relieved when you and the other four men leave the city. He’s not entirely sure where you are, but he knows the general area. He could find you if he needs to, but he doesn’t let himself. Not this time. He deserves a time out for what he did. 

The Toring chip keeps kicking in more and more. His heightened emotional state jolted back into subservience. A weapon, that’s what he’s supposed to be. 

It kicks in so hard he actually doubles over when he finds the latest memo from that god-awful Antham woman. The head of the department which oversaw the torture and dissection of you and Caleb those years ago, the person he now pretends to serve. 

A statue from a decades old court ruling, which led them to a legal loophole. You and Caleb were considered Ever’s proprietary technology, and therefore, they could snatch you without consequence. Even if there was outrage, even if people missed you. Even if police got involved. It’d be legal. 

Caleb had to change his plans, alter things to fit this new development. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t over the moon to find an excuse to see you, but it worked. The shock of seeing him alive should be enough to make you realize the severity of the situation, and perhaps those four men who looked at him with such uncertainty would see it too. 

So he warned you. He told you to stay away. Hide in the deepest darkest corner you can find until it’s safe again. 

Caleb was wrong to trust Zayne, worse to trust the others too. Of course they couldn’t keep you safe, and of course he’d been sent on some mission to distract him. Deep into the deepspace tunnel they had sent him, but it wasn’t to find anything– it was to get him away. 

Antham had known Caleb would try to interfere with your capture, and so by the time Caleb returned it’d been almost a week with you in the hands of Dr. Clark.

Caleb stormed into Carlee Antham’s office and the chipper blonde woman smiled at him, knowing exactly why he was here. She didn’t stand from her overstuffed leather chair, his rage not enough to warrant a concern to her, it seemed. 

“Good evening, Colonel.” Through harpy red lips she spoke, “I don’t suppose you have an appointment?”

Caleb has to keep his hands fisted at his side, trembling in rage and so consumed by it his body doesn’t know what to do. The Toring chip keeps firing in his brain. Sending him careening into calculated malice, but as soon as he reminds himself of where you are, he’s back to blinding rage. 

Carlee giggles amicably and waves a hand at him, “I’m only joking! I’d never make you make an appointment! Isn’t that silly? Ah! Well I suppose I can guess why you’re here. You seem so tense, kiddo. Come sit down– do you need some tea? My assistant makes a mean cup of oolong. How’s that sound?”

Caleb takes a single step forward, and the weight of it makes Carlee’s smile fade. From his lips, one single word is uttered, “Where?”

The head of this torture department sighs, “We’ve been over this before. I thought you understood! She’s with Dr. Clark right now. They’ve barely even gotten started, and it’s important for her to incorporate into life here. I don’t think it’d be wise of you to visit just yet. It’d just upset her, you know?”

Caleb’s body takes another step, and with his altered arm he grabs the guest chair by the back of it and throws it out of his way. It crashes and shatters against the wall. “Where is she?”

“Now that’s so uncalled for!” Carlee screeches, standing up and crossing her arms like Caleb is just throwing a temper tantrum. “That was mahogany!”

With his other hand, he grabs the side of the desk and pushes it aside, making it slide violently until it crashes against the other wall. The knick knacks and pictures falling to pieces on the ground.

Carlee jumps back, finally– finally– with fear in her eyes, “You’ll be punished for this, Caleb. You cannot just–”

Caleb doesn’t let her finish the sentence. He uses the hand Ever gave him to grab her around the throat. With no sensory input he can’t feel the rabbit-like pace of her heart, or the way the tendons in her neck strain from the pressure. Her face starts to turn red as blood flow is cut off from her brain, and the color matches her lipstick. 

“You could have walked away. You could have let her go.” Caleb say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t want to have to do it like this.”

Confusion crosses the woman’s eyes, and he wonders if she hears the sound of her neck breaking before she’s dead. He lets her corpse fall to the floor in a heap. Wiping his hand of her filth off on his shirt, Caleb resigns himself to what he must do. 

This wasn’t the plan, but it’s the only plan now. You were here, and that changed everything. 

Faces blur together. White coats or well-fitted suits. If they’re here, they’re dead. Any who wear the emblem of Ever are dead. Their blood is new paint for this dull, gray place. 

He descends the floors down to the research levels. Dr. Clark takes up a large wing for his experiments, and you are not his only subject. 

Of course there is security. Guards with dark blue uniforms and silver Ever badges, point semi-automatics at him and their bullets meet a wall of suspended gravity. Lead pebbles that float uselessly in the air in front of Caleb until he hears the satisfying click of their empty magazines. 

It takes little effort to send their rain cloud of bullets back to them. A line of paid guards with a bunch of holes in them, and Caleb steps over their bodies without breaking a single sweat. Pin-point determination. That’s what he has. He doesn’t even need the Toring chip anymore, because there is no raise in emotion in killing these people. 

 Caleb’s only a hallway away from you when the world shudders. The ground beneath his feet shakes with the echoes of an explosion and a sensation hits his chest that feels too much like magic. 

There’s no magic in this world, Caleb reminds himself as he quickens into a sprint. The halls shake again, the lights flickering before going out altogether in a rain of sparks. The emergency lights come on around the floor, giving everything a soft warm glow. 

Caleb turns the corner and he smells the scent of burning oil, acrid smoke, and wet earth. Halfway down the hallway, there’s a crater where metal and tile used to be. The room you were inside, exploded outward in a large sphere, but where there should be rubble and cinders…there’s moss.

Caleb approaches slowly, and examines the destruction. The room you’d been inside is small, but was carved away by the blast of energy that had felt too much like Astra’s magic. You’re lying on your side in the center of a bed of flowery moss. Bluish rocks have replaced the metal floor underneath you, and blades of grass tickle at your unconscious face. 

Whatever had happened, it’d brought a pocket of that long forgotten universe here. A ten diameter sphere of your sanctuary surrounds you. The life you had to leave behind encompasses you like a bubble. 

There’s a shattered window at the edge of the room, and peeking inside Caleb sees Dr. Clark and his assistant’s dead from the explosion. Bludgeoned against the wall like flies against a windshield. Good. One less thing to worry about. 

Caleb holsters his guns for a moment and goes to you. He’d seen you breathing when he walked in– slow and easy and so his anxiety was eased. He gathers you up into his arm, carrying you close to his chest and rushing out of this god-forsaken place. His boots leave indents in the moss before the floor turns back to steel. 

The sirens are running and the entire facility is running on backup power, so Caleb carries you up a dozen flights of stairs to the world above. An underground facility is so cliche, and especially annoying when you have to climb creaky steel stairs out of it. 

There’s barely anyone left to face him when he finally reaches the ground floor. The world outside is within reach, and he’s not going to stop for anything in this world or the next. 

Only there’s a small platoon of soldiers waiting for him, and Caleb has to make a decision. If he escapes out a different exit, they’ll just follow him. He can likely take them, but not while holding you. You’re still unconscious, that would be frightening if you didn’t look so peaceful. 

Sleeping, just sleeping. He convinces himself. If he can get you out and then this is all over. 

So, he puts you down. Just for a minute. Only for a minute. It won’t take long for him to kill these hired guns and carve a path of escape for you. A minute tops and they he’ll get to carry you out of here. 

He makes sure you're steady leaning against the wall of the hallway before he leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. The feel of your soft skin is enough to motivate him to do anything. He could erect monuments to you, topple empires, and destroy civilizations.  

Caleb imprints the image of you into his mind once more. This will be the last time you part ever again. When this is done, he’ll never leave your side. In life and in death, you will be together. 

<- Previous Next ->

[farfromstrange]

Sub Space | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Requested by @taliaxxb !

Summary: After a particularly rough session with Matt, you slip into a different headspace.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, multiple orgasms, rough sex, degradation, subspace, sub drop, overstimulation, aftercare

Word Count: 1.9k

A/n: Thank you so much for your request, my love, and I hope you like this! Since you left me the choice, I chose reader to go into subspace, but I did mention Matt going through it too in the past. Once again, my tag list goes for requested fics now too.

Sex with Matt often varies. There are times he’s gentle, savoring every second and swallowing every single one of your moans with fiery kisses that leave your mind reeling. His thrusts are hard and slow then, always making sure you can feel him everywhere, but he doesn’t push past what both of you need. 

Sometimes, you make love. You hold hands and you get lost in each other’s eyes – as much as that is possible. 

But then there are times he tears your clothes right off and pounds into you like a madman, or he asks you to do the same to him. He takes control because he needs it, or he craves for you to be in control because he can’t keep up with the thoughts in his head anymore; sometimes, he needs an escape, and sometimes, you do, and then there are times that you both desperately need a break and it’s less sensual than it is wild fucking that almost breaks the bed and wakes the neighbors in the middle of the night. 

Your sex life never grows boring, and you value his attention to detail which never leaves you dissatisfied. He makes sure you enjoy yourself, and he does it perfectly. You often ask yourself if he’s real, but then you get to touch him and you’re reminded that he chose you and you chose him and that’s all that matters because you’re more than real to each other. 

Tonight is one of those nights where he’s come home after patrol, his suit cleaner than usual, and that tells you his night has been rather quiet – it frustrates him often, and there is a lot of adrenaline left for him to let out. His body quivers with it. He needs to let go of all of his anger and he needs to do it fast, so you know that falling back asleep is not something you want to do. He needs you in all the ways he can get like an animal in the wild. And you are more than willing to give it to him. His heaving chest and the look in his eyes are enough to get you worked up, to say the least. 

Your hands are tied to each side of the headboard, the fabric of the rope burning against your wrists as you try for the millionth time to move out of them. Matt is pounding into your abused cunt, and his words are like sweet poison in your ear. One second, you are his good girl, and the next you are a “filthy slut who’s only good to have her holes filled.” And he’s dragged four orgasms out of you already, your body and your mind feel like they’re floating in a space far away. 

Your velvety walls hug him so perfectly, but you’re tired and his cock brushes against your G-spot at an agonizing speed. You clench around him, your fifth orgasm of the night not far away. His hand collides with your ass cheek as he tells you to hold it. God, you try, but it’s so hard with the way he’s handling you. His hands are everywhere now, one around your throat while the other is still grabbing at your red ass cheeks, and the coil in your stomach multiplies to the point you can only cry. With every rigorous thrust, your clit bumps against the pillow under your pelvis. The ropes leave their indentations, but no matter how much you beg, he won’t let you go. His weight keeps the rest of you tied down, so now you can’t even move your legs anymore. It’s all so good yet so bad, and it hurts. You can’t hold it anymore, you’re sure you’re going to die soon, but then he pulls at your hair and his voice sounds nothing like the sweet Matt he can be when he growls, “Don’t fucking cum!” It’s a threat. 

You shiver. “Please,” you beg, but your voice betrays you. 

“Aw, listen to yourself. You’re so cockdrunk already. That’s pathetic. Your pussy is mine, do you understand?” He tugs harder at your hair, the pain mingling with the pleasure. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes!” you cry out. “God, yes! But I can’t–”

“Yes, you can. Be a good girl for me or I won’t let you cum at all.”

At this point, you’re not sure if that wouldn’t be a good thing. 

He keeps pounding into you, and his thrusts grow even harder. You can only lay there and take what he gives you and hope he doesn’t punish you too much if you do happen to disappoint him. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Matt takes a whiff of your skin. You smell like sex, sweat, and despair. 

You nod weakly. 

“Can’t even take my cock like a good little slut?”

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, your brain shuts off and you find yourself in a weird middle space where the dream and the reality of the situation blur, and the pleasure overshadows your ability to think with heavy fog. 

You drop, and you can’t find your way back out. 

Minutes start to feel like hours. Your body spasms with the orgasm that ripples through you. It sets your nerve endings on fire. The silk sheets burn against your skin, but you can’t move. Matt’s cum feels sticky as it trickles out of you, his body heavy on yours. You feel suffocated. 

He calls your name, but you can’t answer. 

He’s quick to pull out and untie your wrists, his once so-dark features now riddled with concern. 

You zone out. 

“Sweetheart,” he tries to coax you out of it by rolling you onto your back. “Hey, look at me.”

Your chest deflates. 

“C’mon.”

Wherever your mind is stuck, you can only hear him, but you can’t answer. You’re paralyzed to the point you even forget how to breathe.

He feels the heat radiating off of you and how the oxygen gets stuck in your throat. His hand hovers above your chest. You’re panting. “Baby, breathe,” Matt urges you. 

How do you breathe again?

“Listen to my voice. You’re okay. It’s over. You did so well…”

On any other day, the praise would have gone straight to your head, but right now you’re shaking, quivering and you can’t breathe, and that makes it impossible for his words to take their usual effect.

“In and out,” he says. 

You try to focus on his voice this time.

In and out and in and out. 

The pulse between your legs jumps. Your clit is so sensitive, even the air on it hurts. You clench your legs, your face contorting in an expression of pain. But even the motion itself hurts. It hurts while at the same time, it sends shockwaves of a much higher caliber through your being. 

Eventually, your breathing evens out, his words guiding your lungs back to the point of functionality.

“There you go. Good girl,” he says. He reaches beside himself and grabs the water bottle you often keep there for your nightly thirst.

“Here, drink.” Matt guides it to your lips. “I need you to get some water into your body, sweetheart. Please. You’re dehydrated.”

He’s not wrong. You take a few hesitant sips, your throat thanking you in the process. 

“Can I touch you now?”

You don't know much, but this you know. You shake your head. 

He nods. He understands what it’s like to feel like you’re being tortured by even the softest brush of fingertips. The sex was rough and he went further than you usually do when he’s not fully himself, but you both agreed to this, and you didn’t want to use your safeword because you didn’t need it. This wasn’t his fault, it’s your brain that has slipped into a black hole and blurry oblivion, and that’s all hormonal, you know. 

“I’m gonna get a towel and clean you up now, okay?” he breaks the silence. 

You don’t trust your voice just yet, so you just nod. He reads your body language like an open book. 

As he comes back from the bathroom, he starts wiping you down with a warm towel, making sure not to touch your overly sensitive areas just yet. He’s careful, extremely gentle, and every once in a while he listens to your heartbeat as if to check if you’re still conscious. 

When it comes to treating the burns on your wrists, he uses the aloe you have often used in situations like these and starts applying it to the wounds. The guilt is written all over his face, but you don’t have it in yourself to comfort him. You couldn’t have even if you tried. 

You’re not sure for how long you just lie there, but it must have been a while. Matt finishes cleaning you up, wrapping you in the blanket, before returning to your side. His unfocused eyes are directed at you, and you can tell from the look on his face that he’s watching you in his own unique way.

This has happened before. Once, to be exact. You were trying out a particularly rough kind of breath play and the things he did to you released so much dopamine, you found yourself drained, and you disappeared on him. It’s been a while since then, maybe that’s why he looks so worried. 

He can’t deny that it hasn’t happened to him before either because it has, but with Matt, it is often overstimulation that puts him into sub-space, and it takes a lot more to coax him out of it because every time he slips, his body is on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he strokes a strand of hair out of your face. 

You finally meet his eyes, and your breathing has returned to normal. You’re tired, and every muscle in your body aches, but you’re aware of your surroundings now. Your thoughts have sorted themselves out. 

“I was too rough tonight.”

“No,” you manage to say. 

“Yes,” Matt shakes his head, “I was.”

“I’m…okay.” It’s not a lie, you just feel… weird. 

His thumb strokes over your cheekbone. “Where did you just go?”

“I don’t know. Just… too much.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am now.”

He takes your hand in his and you return the sentiment before curling into his side. It’s like you need him to breathe. Your demeanor changes and there is nothing you want more than to be close to him right now. There is a fine line between overstimulation and being needy, and now you just need to be held because it feels weird to be so empty and yet fulfilled at the same time. Your brain is fuzzy. You don’t know a lot, but you know you need him, and he would never hurt you. 

It’s a natural response, and Matt knows that too, deep down. 

He holds you close to him, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “What do you need?” he asks. 

“Just hold me,” you whisper. “That’s all.”

“Okay…”

“And then a shower.”

“Okay,” he says. 

Your lips part as you get lost in his embrace. “I love you,” you say. 

“I love you too,” and Matt leans down to press another gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. 

He’s here for you and he always will be, which is exactly why you feel safest in his arms. And when the same thing happens to him, you won’t hesitate to do the same for him. 

Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked

[dewdrop-writes]

Blood of Ambition - Chapter 4: A Step Above, A Step Apart

Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)

<<First || <<Previous || Next>>

Dear (Name),

—

I promised I would write, and I am a man of my word. Though London boasts its so-called charms, I find much more solace in the vast and spacious halls of the Joestar Manor. For all its grandeur, London is so very filthy and cramped. The grime of the city has clung to every cobblestone and sullied far too many people. I do wonder how we ever endured it. I must commend you for your fortitude in persevering. Still, I do hope you are on guard. You and I know all too well what the people of London can be like.

—

It pleases me greatly that you find time to answer my letters. While I do enjoy the liberties and luxuries of the manor, it can get incredibly dull and your words offer a reprieve from the monotony of it all. I have taken to preparing for the next chapter of my education.While I have no doubts regarding my inevitable admittance, I must ensure that I have a headstart on the others. After all, it is not in my nature to settle for mediocrity. I suggest you adopt a similar mindset.

—

Dio had grown restless upon his return to the countryside. There was no joy to be found in revisiting his childhood. He was ashamed of the circumstances of which he had been born into and all too eager to erase those chapters from memory. That life had been barren of joy and luxury. His father had been a cruel drunkard and his mother was far too naive for her own good. He had fought tooth and nail for survival. Every meal was uncertain, and the warmth of a flame to ward off the cool night was not guaranteed.

And yet…

He should have felt repulsed by the physical reminders of his past, should have wanted to distance from them as much as possible. But he couldn’t. Ever since seeing you at the bakery, you had haunted his thoughts. It was as though he was trapped in a nightmare from which he could neither escape or awake from. You were a painful reminder of all he had endured. 

But God, you were also a reminder of the few bright moments of his bleak life. Despite the filth and squalor you two had lived in, not a single moment of his current life could hold a candle to the reckless joy of carelessly weaving through crowds after a successful theft. 

You had seemed so wary around him when you last met. Fidgeting and nervous, your gaze flickering to and from. It was nothing like the carefree days of bygone times. He had attempted to coax out the person you had once been and he could see flickers of your resilient soul, yet you had remained guarded. He couldn’t deny doing the same. There was a vast gap between you two now and years of distance had only widened it. 

He should have simply had a meal with you and left it at that. However, he had been unable to stop the words from spilling from his lips – an offer to write. He left you little choice to choose your answer, knowing his insistence would hush your hesitance. The next few days had been a haze. He cared little about the doings of his adoptive brother, pausing his machinations momentarily. All he could think about was that damned bakery. 

You were no refined nobility. While you had certainly cleaned up, you were not of his world anymore. He had risen above you in rank. The establishment you called home now was passable, but flour coated your hands and apron. The skin of your hands was calloused from years of labour and poverty. 

He found himself studying his own hands on the ride home, searching for similarities. He had been scruffy when he had first arrived, albeit a little cleaned up. His fingers had been bony and his hands marred. Only under the direct, bright light of the sun, could he see the faintest little reminders of those times etched into his skin. 

It took no more than a few days of restless introspection before he caved to the impulse and penned his first letter. The act itself came easy but awaiting a response was a different ordeal entirely. He had prided himself for his patience, yet now, he found himself growing antsy.  Each day left him feeling on edge.

For a week, he fought to hide his anticipation, eyes flickering to the servants as they brought in the mail each morning. He loathed this newfound sentimentality within himself, so shamelessly tethered to the response of another. Finally, he was allowed relief when a letter was handed to him at breakfast one morning. 

No muscle in his face twitched to betray his thoughts outwardly. He simply excused himself to his study, delicately closing the door behind himself before tearing open the letter with a hunger he had not known in years. Your response was modest and brief, the lettering shaky and lacking the refined elegance of his own. 

But that mattered not. What mattered was that you had responded. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury to feel joy at the fact.

And so, your correspondence began. At first, Dio had assumed his interest would wane soon enough. You lacked the refinement of noble education, nor were you particularly well-read or worldly. You had little to offer in terms of cultured discourse or debate. By all logic, he should have tired of you well before he sent out the third letter. 

However, inexplicably, he found himself drawn to the details of your life. Your humble anecdotes of little significance intrigued him in a manner he could not rationalise.

His own letters, of course, were well measured and careful. He had no interest in sharing the intricacies of his machinations or the darker corners of his ambition – much less in written correspondence. Instead, his words leaned towards the superficial and surface level, utilising a fine balance of charm and wit. He was skilled with his words and used just the right amount of flattery and persuasion to coax you to share more of yourself.

He wanted to know of your plans, how you spent the fleeting hours of your day and with whom. His curiosity surrounding you was illogical. There was no practical value to the information gained, and yet, he persisted. 

Perhaps it was the contrast of your worlds. Your life was so simple and quaint in comparison to the grand schemes of his own. Perhaps the easy and honest way of your life held an alluring charm to it, offering his mind a reprieve. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, something he was unwilling to entertain. Whatever the reason, he was soon penning a letter every week or two.

A year had flown by in what felt like the blink of an eye. Your days were consumed with ceaseless demanding work and nights, while quieter, brought the pressure of crafting responses to Dio. He had turned out to be a surprisingly persistent correspondent, despite his initial detached demeanour. 

You often feared that you were out of your depth. His words flowed elegantly across the page with dazzling vocabulary you could not even dream of emulating. Yet, despite the mundanity of your life, Dio seemed unwaveringly intrigued. His questions came with such insistence, paired with lovely words, that you couldn’t help but indulge him. You provided him with the meaningless details of your day-to-day life, often leaving you wondering if life in the countryside was truly so dull that the gossip of a baker’s assistant could hold so much appeal?

Of course, you didn’t mind. It was a comfort, being able to converse so easily with an old friend once more. The richness of the parchment and flourish of his cursive aside - there were moments where you felt as though you were children once more, giggling over the happenings of your days. 

Yet there were times where Dio’s words left you with a sense of unease. Dio’s insistence to be notified of every happening of your life, while flattering, felt a little invasive, at times. His tendency to show others his disdain and speak down to them, while always part of his personality, carried a sharper edge now with his elevated status. There was a subtle condescension in his tone, as though his raise in status was only the natural progression of things.

He seemed particularly fixated on your “lack of ambition”, as he called it – a jab that hurt a little more than you would have cared to admit. As if ambition were a luxury you could afford. You had clawed your way up from being a beggar and a thief, going from risking your freedom just to get by, to having a secure roof above your head and a steady income. That alone, felt like a triumph. To speak as though there was something lacking in your achievements was only further proof of the gap between your lives that no amount of letters could bridge.

You were tidying up the bakery as a lull in new customers rolled in. In these slower moments you preferred to busy yourself to make the hours slip by quicker. Your gaze swept over the selection of treats, taking in the stock. You would have to make note of which pastries sold better and which adjustments would need to be made for the coming days to meet the demand.

The sharp chime of the bell above the door startled you, cutting through the serene silence and drawing your gaze to the entrance. Turning on your heel, you froze in place as you came face-to-face with a familiar figure.

A mop of perfectly groomed golden hair catching the sun gracefully, accompanied by sharply tailored clothing. Your breath hitched. Dio.

 Your shock must have been evident as you scrambled to compose yourself under the weight of his steady gaze. A knowing, smug smile spread across his lips.

.

“Long time no see, (Name)m” he greeted, his voice richer and more mature than when you last met. It sent a shiver down your spine, making the rather spacious bakery seem like a cramped hallway around you. He commanded an air of elegance and superiority as he waltzed in, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a thud that echoed through the building.

A breathless laugh stumbled past your lips as you took his visage in. He must have grown even taller and stronger in his absence. 

“I wasn’t aware you’d be in town,” you spoke softly, wiping your hands into your apron nervously. His last letter had only just arrived - you hadn’t even had time to craft a worthy response yet.

“It was a last-minute decision. My father had business in London.” His crimson gaze swept across you calculatingly. “I thought I’d pay a dear friend a visit while I’m in the area.”

Dear friend. The words hung in the air heavily, making your chest heave with a swirl of emotions. Despite the slight unease you still felt, you couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through you.

He sauntered over slowly, catlike in his movements. His steps barely made any noise as his feet moved ever so gracefully.

“What have you been up to?” Dio asked, his tone casual, but his piercing eyes anything but.

“The same as always, Dio. Busy with work, running errands and such,” you managed to stammer out, voice steady but your nerves betraying you as your body tensed. You resisted the urge to step back, to recreate the distance between the two of you.

He hummed thoughtfully in response, eyes drifting lazily across the pastries on display with thinly veiled disinterest. “How about we go for a walk about town? The weather’s nice.”

You scoffed, giving him a pointed, exasperated look. “I’m working right now, Dio” 

His brow twitched at your rejection, the only sign of displeasure on his otherwise composed face. “Is it just you here?”

“No, but Mrs.Haverford is-” 

Before you could finish, he turned away from you and bellowed towards the kitchen, “Mrs. Haverford!” 

His voice rang out, sharp and commanding, bouncing off walls of the bakery like a thunderclap. You shot him a horrified expression, only further stricken as his expression morphed into something undeniably mischievous. 

“Dio!” you hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalised, (Name). I’m only helping you secure a break.”

You wanted to reply with a sharp retort, but the words died on your tongue as you heard hurried footsteps shuffling into the room. Mrs. Haverford looked flustered, brows furrowed in annoyance as she took in the sight of you two.

“What’s all this shouting about?” she demanded, her gaze bouncing from you to Dio. You could see the flour clinging to her hands - she must have been busy with preparing something before Dio oh so rudely demanded her attention.

Dio faced with a polite smile, turning his charm up. “My apologies, Mrs. Haverford. I meant no offence. I was simply hoping to borrow my friend (Name) for the day.”

Mrs. Haverford’s gaze softened as she studied the handsome, undeniably wealthy man. Her eyes flickered to meet yours and the barest hint of a teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“I see…very well, then! The rest of the day will likely be just as slow.” She dragged her attention back to Dio. “But stay out of trouble. And try to be back before dark, (Name).”

Your jaw tightened as you shot a glare at Dio, who was already moving towards the door, head held up high from his victory. With a quiet farewell to Mrs. Haverford, you ran after him, finding yourself by his side on the street.

“You’re insufferable!” you hissed, although you could barely keep yourself from smiling.

“And yet, you’re here,” he replied, smirking as he offered you his arm with exaggerated flourish. You could only sigh, finally allowing the corners of your lips to raise as you took his arm.

Dio navigated the streets with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Each step seemed purposeful and calculated as he weaved past crowds. His towering frame, accompanied by his impeccable clothing commanded attention, crowds parting for him as though recognizing an unspoken authority. It struck you as unfair - how effortlessly privilege carved out a space for itself in the world at the inconvenience of others.

You clung to his side, curiosity burning at the forefront of your mind. Where on earth could he be taking you? Studying his expression gave you no hints, a knowing smirk resting on his lips as he glanced your way.

Soon enough, the scenery around you began to shift. The modest and practical buildings of the middle class began to fade out, making way for elegant town-houses with wrought-iron fences. The streets widened and the atmosphere shifted, an unfamiliar quiet ruling the area.

It was impossible not to feel out of place. Your modest, practical clothing felt much too dirty and shameful with a backdrop of such finery. Dio, however, made no note of the shift, guiding you along without a care in the world. This was his world now, after all.

He led you through the streets with ease. Crowds seemed far more eager to part for someone as tall and well-dressed as him. You supposed such were the privileges of the upper class. It was hard to quench your curiosity as you travelled through the streets, wondering where on earth he could be taking you. The modest middle-class buildings were slowly disappearing, making way for much grander and nicer ones.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” you finally asked, allowing your curiosity to take control. Dio sent you a wicked smirk as you rounded a corner. The buildings looked lavish - boutiques and specialty stores coming into view.

“Patience is a virtue, (Name).”

You huffed indignantly. “What kind of game is this?”

He hummed in thought, the smirk never leaving his lips. “It’s no game. We’re almost there.”

You finally came to a stop before a lovely pale building, its facade prim and inviting.  Stained glass adorned a few of the windows, catching the light in soft, colourful hues. From a brief glance inside, you caught sight of impeccably dressed patrons seated at elegant tables, their muted laughter and chatter barely audible from where you stood.

Your gaze snapped to Dio, panic rising in your chest. “What is this place?” you asked, your voice faltering despite your best effort to sound composed. The slight tremble seemed to amuse him, his smirk deepening.

“A tearoom,” he replied casually, already beginning his ascent up the stairs leading to the entrance.

Your stomach dropped. “We’re not going in there, are we?” you asked, dread creeping into your voice. You couldn’t help but glance down at your plain attire, your insecurities roaring to life. The shame of your appearance burned brighter against the backdrop of such opulence.

Dio paused mid-step, turning slightly to regard you with a raised brow. “Of course we are,” he said, as if your question were absurd. “Do you think I brought you all this way to simply loiter outside?”

Panic bloomed in your chest as you looked down at your attire, feeling so very out of place in comparison to the elegant building and the wealthy clientele. “No, I can’t! I’m not-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dio reassured you, although his words did little to calm your nerves. “You’re with me. If I say you’re welcome, you’re welcome here.” His tone was commanding, leaving you little room to reject the idea as his arm looped around yours once more. As he led you up the short flight of stairs, you could feel your chest tighten with worry.

“You’ll enjoy it. Don’t worry about it.”

You could only heave a shaky breath as you leaned into him ever so slightly. It earned a faint smile from the blonde as he pushed the doors open.

The interior was even lovelier than the exterior. Ornate wallpaper lined the walls and the ceiling stretched much higher than any you’d seen before. The room was spacious and beautiful, with decor you’d never seen this close before. Your gaze swept across the others seated at their tables and you felt your heart drop. Despite Dio’s reassurances, you would undeniably get looks from them. You were ready to turn on your heel and rush out, but Dio’s hand caught yours.

“Relax.” He led you towards a more secluded table. “You look like you’re about to face the gallows.” You shot him a distressed look which he simply shrugged off with a chuckle and pulled out a chair for you, allowing you to take a seat. Once making sure you were sitting and not about to bolt, he sat down as well. 

“Why would you bring me here?” you hissed under your breath, glancing at the genteels seated at their tables. “To embarrass me?”

His brow twitched, offended by the notion.

“Nothing of the sort. I wanted you to get a taste of my life,” he spoke, tone surprisingly earnest. There was something darker in his gaze though, something calculating. 

“Why?” you asked cautiously, trying to make sense of his motives. He sent you a charming smile, not bothering to give you an answer as he waved over a waiter. You had no choice but to chew on your lip nervously as you felt the waiter’s brief, questioning gaze on you. It was easy to tune out Dio’s conversation with him as you bore holes into the table with your eyes, cheeks burning up from shame. Your blonde companion must have noticed, making the decision to order on your behalf. Only when the waiter turned to leave, could you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

This was going to be a difficult outing.

Despite the plethora of odd looks you had received, your overall experience had been rather…pleasant. Your companion had spared no expenses, allowing you to experience a wide variety of new flavours. He’d given you an odd look once or twice, something you could put no name to. While he was quick to conjure up a charming smile and keep up pleasant conversation, his unassuming facade slipped here and there. As was customary in your written exchange, he had not been too forthcoming about his own happenings. Of course, he had shared plenty of anecdotes, but there was a layer of superficiality over them. Something that was never there in your childhood.

Your arm rested lightly in the crook of Dio’s as you walked back towards the bakery at a leisurely pace. His eyes shifted to you with a sideways glance, studying your expression curiously. His gaze was intense, almost as though trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts.

“You seem to be burdened with something,” he finally spoke, breaking your train of thought, tone casual but not probing. Your eyes shot up to meet his, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face.

“Ah, sorry about that.”

“Did you not enjoy the tearoom?” he pressed, gaze unwavering.

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “No, that’s not it. It was lovely,” you assured him, but your voice faltered as you thought back to the scrutinising gazes of the wealthy clientele.

“But?”

A nervous chuckle escaped you. “Well, I felt like an intruder.”

Dios lips tightened, his only response a noncommittal hum. His gaze travelled to the horizon, the silence between you tense with unspoken words.

“Do you not feel worthy of the finer things in life?” he asked abruptly, his tone more serious now. You could only swallow nervously, feeling the weight of his calculating stare settle in your chest.

“Well…it’s not that.” You struggled to find the right words, unease creeping back into your mind. “But I’m not stupid. The others were clearly unamused with my presence. I don’t exactly fit the bill of that crowd.” 

Your words hung in the air. You find yourself wondering if he could understand.Once, you had both shared a similar life. But now? Now, he felt so far removed from that. Did he even remember those days?

Dio barked out a dry, humourless laugh.

“That should be of no concern to you,” he said dismissively. “When I first entered these spaces, I was met with the same disdain. Mr. Joestar was accommodating enough, but the others? They saw me as nothing more than a dirty orphan boy, despite the fine clothes I’d been given.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he recalled it. “I had to claw my way up to be seen as an equal. Even despite being a Lord’s ward, I was not spared their judgement..”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, his steely expression betraying an old wound. You couldn’t help wondering how it had felt for him.

Had he been lonely? Afraid?

“In this world,” Dio continued, his voice hardening, “you can achieve anything you want. But you have to fight for it. Sometimes that means mastering their ridiculous games of etiquette. Other times, it requires more drastic measures.”

His eyes locked with yours, unyielding and commanding. “If you know you are worth something, you should never settle for less.” 

His tone had lost any edge of casual playfulness, gaining an undercurrent of something dark that made your stomach turn. You felt almost as though he was staring into the very depths of your soul. There was something dangerous about his conviction.

Before you could respond or delve deeper, the moment shattered as a familiar voice called out your name, startling you both.

“(Name)!” 

The familiar voice jolted you, and you looked up in surprise to see your regular, Charles, beaming at you. His hands were clasped around those of his two younger sisters, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Your lips stretched out into a grin, instinctively slipping your arm away from Dio’s as you surged forward, feeling relief at the interruption.

“Charles! Running errands for your mother again?” you asked, tone bright as you tried to shake off the unease from your interrupted conversation.

“Yes,” he replied, nodding eagerly. A boyish grin swept across his features. “We’re just finishing up now. We stopped by the bakery for a treat and noticed you weren’t there. I didn’t realise you had the day off!”

A sheepish smile made its way onto your face, eyes flickering to Dio, who had remained a few steps behind. 

“Not exactly. An old friend invited me out for a bit,” you explained, feeling a slight warmth rise to your cheeks.

Charles’ gaze followed yours, eyes widening slightly as they landed on Dio. The contrast between your modesty and Dio’s radiating elegance was staggering. Sensing the boy’s curiosity, Dio finally stepped forward, his every move deliberate as he came to stand beside you, his height and demeanour commanding attention.

“I wasn’t aware you had friends in such…high places,” Charles remarked, his voice hesitant as his eyes flitted between the two of you.

“You are now,” Dio responded in your stead, voice smooth and tone measured. That being said, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke, as though trying to make himself bigger and more imposing. 

The air grew heavy with an unspoken challenge as Charles met Dio’s unwavering gaze. The two men seemed to size each other up, and you felt caught in the middle of an invisible battle.

Clearing your throat, you broke the tension. “I should really be heading back to the bakery now. Would you accompany me, Dio?”

Dio’s sharp eyes snapped to yours, his expression softening into a polite smile as he offered you his arm once again. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Let’s be on our way.”

As you resumed your walk, arm in arm with Dio, the lighthearted moment with Charles and his sisters quickly faded. You couldn’t ignore the sense of unease pooling in the pit of your stomach, a dread that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud ready to break.