#have a pain-free monday

[trek-tracks]

*hands you all the painkiller of your choice with zero side effects because it's the future*

[morgenlich]

i know no one here is invested in the nail polish world asdcfv but watching 10 out the 12 polishes in holo taco's new limited edition collection sell out in 10 hours is genuinely insane....

[emile-hides]

I miss you gay people on my desktop

[fatelcved]

pls send me good vibes bc mine are so far gone today and the day has barely begun 😔

[northwestofinsanity]

I do not like having to go to the DMV… I do not like it at all.

[tsireyqs]

i don’t know who convinced me to take classes during the summer but i hope they sleep on the highway bc why would you do that

[descendantofthesparrow]

*screams in toothache*

[theehighwarlock]

just gotta love the "this kinda weird thing is happening and oh shit wait it's been multiple weeks now actually i thought it was like one week tops but hey my doctor is on holiday until next week and it's probably just my meds but what if i'm dying actually?" feeling i'm having atm

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[arandomao3user]

I need people to understand that it is crucial to me that Bernard and Damian get along so well that it p#sses off the rest of the family, not all of them, but most of them.

Dick going ??? I raised you for like six months, we made progress :( and Damian and Bernard DENY THEY HAVE ANY BOND.

—

Dick: Little D! Wanna go to the zoo this weekend? I have some free time!

Damian: Apologies, Richard, but Timothy's superior half has already offered to take me, and I cannot change plans last second.

Dick: Are... Are you choosing Bernard over me!?

Damian: ??? No, he just asked first. Don't be so dramatic, Richard.

*Monday morning*

Dick, on the phone with Dami: So, I was thinking we could have a movie marathon Friday night! I'll be in town, all the rogues are locked up...

Damian: Hm, yes, as long as Timothy and Bernard don't have a date planned.

Dick: I... What?

Damian: I like to attend their dates.

Dick:

Damian: What is wrong?

—

Tim: BRUCE! Tell your developed fetus he can't third wheel my dates!

Bruce: Developed fe..? I won't question that. Damian, why are you... Third wheeling Tim's dates?

Damian: Bernard says I can go!

Tim: He said that once and you took it as permission to go every time you know we have a date. You stole my calendar!

Damian: Speaking of which, you have a business meeting across the country in a couple weeks. Will Bernard be attending?

Tim: SEE!?

Bruce: The parenting books didn't prepare me for this one...

—

Tim, coming home late at night after patrol, slipping into his and Bernard's bedroom, actually exhausted:

Bernard and Damian, pausing like deer in headlights:

Bernard, holding up a laptop that was explaining a conspiracy theory:

Damian, who was actively taking notes:

Tim: Did... Did I inhale fear toxin?

—

Damian: —AND MY TRAINER TOLD ME IT WAS "NECESSARY TO ACHIEVE GREATNESS"!?

Bernard, painting his nails: Ugh, I remember when this idiot at the cult said the same thing, like pain would unlock my true self????

Damian, blowing at the wet nail polish on one hand: Oh, please, this absolutely icarus said something similar, that I would not know how to inflict pain until I've felt it. Luckily my Mother beheaded her.

Bernard, capping the nail polish and pulling out the top coat: Damn, my Mom didn't even question it when I came home with bruises and s#it.

Damian: Most disappointing. Shall I have Oracle hack her search history and send it to her boss?

Bernard: I might take you up on that...

—

Damian: Pennyworth, may I assist you in the kitchen?

Alfred, taken aback but also desperate to teach one of these kids to cook: Of course, master Damian. May I ask what inspired you to take up the culinary arts?

Damian: Bernard.

Alfred:

Alfred: Lovely.

—

Tim and Bernard, making out on the couch as they do:

Damian, slipping inside their window:

Damian: GET A ROOM, YOU WILD RABBITS!

Tim: THIS IS MY BOAT! You're in MY LIVING ROOM!

Damian: Semantics. Bernard! I need assistance with studying for a chemistry mid term!

Bernard: Aren't you in a family of, like, super geniuses..?

Damian: One does not ask them for help with school work...

Tim, having flashbacks to asking Bruce, Dick, and Alfred for help with homework:

—

Tim: You wanna play DND?

Damian: Why is this so shocking?

Tim: Last time I brought it up you called me a benign tumor that caused you mild discomfort and every time I spoke to you I was more likely to be removed to rid you of the irritation.

Bernard: Hey, Dami! Ready to play? Tim got it all set up.

Damian: Yes! I finished the character sheet you sent me and researched several hours of information on how to play!

Bernard: Nice! Ready, Timboo?

Tim, eye twitching:

—

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Guiding Light✨

Marcus Acacius x fem! reader

A/N: I was immediately inspired to write this after I saw the pictures drop Monday, and I conjured this up in one night. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading 🩷

Summary: You watch Marcus avenge himself week after week in the pit of the arena, but how much longer will it take to make you snap? How much longer can you go on watching when he’s the only man you want?

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Tags: Yearning, a little angst, soft dom! Marcus, feelings, confessions, jealousy, unprotected piv, oral (male/female receiving), fluff, reader’s nickname is Starlight

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The arena is drenched in dark crimson colors as the clash of silver armor and jagged swords collide in unison. The audience is obnoxiously loud as their rowdy shouts and chants fill your ringing ears.  

   Thump. Thump. Thump. 

   You can basically feel your heart trying to break free of your insides that pound uncontrollably as you watch Marcus take out another large fighter from his right with only one jab of his shiny sword that catches sunlight and reflects in your wide eyes.

   Come on, Marcus. Win, stay alive!

   You swallow back a trembling whine as you sit on the edge of your seat, fingernails digging into the tough stone as you watch the man you yearn for take another blow to the back. You gasp as you watch Marcus flip the fighter over and finish him off with one slice of his silver sword, barely any sign of pain or fear in his vision that’s focused on taking out every single enemy that stands in his way of freedom.

   You sigh out in relief, fear flooding your veins as your eyes stay glued to every careful move he makes in the arena of death. 

   He stands in the middle of the expansive, gruesome arena, dodging left and right, taking out man after man, completely pulverizing anything and anyone that gets in his way. He’s the best in the game, the most experienced fighter, the champion that never falters, never loses. So why are you a complete mess when he’s in that pit of death?

   You’re not lovers, not exactly. You’re his plaything, the woman he calls to his bedchamber after every battle, every night that suits his needs. He doesn’t care if you’re asleep, doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of other pressing matters, doesn’t give a fuck because you’re his property that he can do whatever he wants with. And you have to admit you find that sort of… hot. You’ll do anything for that man. He can use you all he wants, as long as that means you have him.

   Your pulse thrums in your neck as you watch him completely dominate the arena. The blazing sun rains down on his broad body, leaving him in damp, silver armor, sweat glistening down his tanned skin, greying curls sticking to his forehead, dirt covering every inch of his muscular arms, his sculpted legs, his large hands. 

   You so badly wish you could be every speck of that dirt right now so you could lick up and down every inch of him until you were completely consumed in him, until you could see nothing but him for all eternity, until he melded his own skin with yours as you fused into one. 

   When the crowd chants and the last man falls to his death, the only man left standing is him, General Acacius, the man you’re completely wrapped up in. You have to pull yourself back together as your core burns hot, slick collecting just thinking of what he’ll do to you later tonight. You know he’ll take you, hard. 

   His golden flecked chocolate eyes find yours in the crowd in a heartbeat, a celebratory smirk curling against his plush mouth as darkness and trouble swirl through those beautiful eyes. You know what that means. He’s won you, and he wants you, now.

   When your eyes leave his, you see the emperor’s daughter, Mina, looking over his broad body with those bright blue eyes, her ashy blonde hair flowing down her back, and she’s nearly drooling over his victory, thinking that she can get him with her daddy’s command.

   You flare hot with jealousy at the thought of Marcus and Mina tangling together, their skin caressing over each other’s in his large bed draped with gold sheets that swallow their bodies whole till they’re nothing but shadows dancing in the midst of the night.  

   You see it now. The long walks they take in the gardens, the secret slurs in each other’s ears over dinners with the entire court, an arranged marriage as he fights for her love each time he’s in the arena. 

   It’s only in your head, only a sick mirage your jealous mind has conjured up. He barely glances her way half the time, his heated gaze only locked on you each time you’re in the same vicinity. It’s stupid really, the hate you feel for her because you could never measure up to a rich, beautiful goddess like herself. You don’t come from royalty, barely have a cent to your name, and that is why he could never love you, you think. 

   Mina has it all, and you’re just… you. 

   You swallow the lump in your throat as the audience still shouts and whistles from every direction as Marcus is called out and awarded as the winner of today’s events. You want to stay, but you get up quietly and leave, knowing he’ll want you waiting in his chambers when he’s finished. 

   He’s safe. That’s all that matters. 

   You quickly leave behind the bellowing noise of the arena, trading it for a quiet walk through the rose garden, past the trickles of clear blue fountains, entering into a quiet overlay of towering architecture that’s trimmed in carved stone and marble pathways. A place you could never even dream of setting foot in on a regular basis. You’re just a commoner, not royalty, not wealthy, not anything but his to take. And that will have to be enough. For now. 

   You slip past some guards, heading straight for his bedroom, his sanctuary so to speak. He calls it that because you are what he worships night after night in those sheets, inside those marble walls, against his broad body that makes every vibration buzz through your nerve endings. He is what makes this city even tolerable. 

   You throw the double doors open wide and slam them shut, letting the glow of the sunlight fade through the cascading window overlooking the city. The room smells of spice and aroma, the golden curtains sparkle as the sun kisses the see-through fabric and dips against the silky sheets that are bathed in a majestic golden hue. The king sized bed sits front and center as his grand bathing chambers lay to the right, just inside the hand crafted door that’s threaded with gold.

   This room, this place is exquisite, and you can’t believe the emperor is letting Marcus stay here after their falling out that happened just weeks ago. But the best fighter gets to stay in these living quarters. They get money, a title, a chance at freedom from the arena if they’re lucky. That’s what Marcus is fighting for. To be free from this hellish prison, and you just pray to the gods that no one will take him from you. You’ll surely wither and fade away the moment something goes wrong in those walls of torture and murder because he’s all you know anymore here in Ancient Rome. 

   Before you can delve into anymore feelings, you hear the crash of doors being opened behind you, and then you hear the disposal of swords and shields being tossed in a heap on the floor, then you hear the deep, ragged breaths of the one you’ve been waiting for. Marcus.

   You try to twist around, but strong arms envelop you from behind, and a warm breath blows huskily down the shell of your ear. “Enjoy the show?” he smirks as his meaty hands find the back of your long gown and rip, tugging it free as it falls to the floor around your ankles. 

   Your mouth drops open as warmth blooms in your core, hot and heavy like the room begins to feel. “Marcus! I liked that dress,” you pout.

   He grabs the back of your hair and tugs playfully while one hand snakes around your waist and pulls you flush to his silver armor, making you gasp as he cups your bare breasts and starts kneading them together, like he needs you right this very second and can’t wait any longer to get his experienced fingers on your burning skin. 

   “I’ll buy you another one. Not like I don’t already have one hanging in my closet,” he teases, pinching your pebbling nipples together as a slight moan leaves your lips. 

   “Needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, pulling you closer as one hand slips down and ghosts over the sheer panties, the only thing left on your bare body. 

   “For you, yes,” you whine, stifling a moan as his calloused thumb glides over your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you fight to keep standing upright. 

   “Greedy thing I see, wanting to come already?” he teases as he tugs his hand away from your slick center and rips your ruined panties in half, leaving you completely bare and absolutely wet with desire and famished for his touch. 

   “Turn around,” he instructs with a bite as he assesses you from head to toe, licking his bottom lip in anticipation the moment he sees how drenched you are for him.

   Your gaze drops over him, still clad in silver armor, his leather wristbands splattered in dried blood, his Caliga boots biting into his toned shins, the leather kissing his muscular thighs. He quickly loses the wristbands and stalks toward you, backing you up till your back is pressed into the corner of the bed, chest heaving as the possibilities swarm your hazy mind.

   “My armor, unthread it,” he demands as his dark brown eyes pierce into yours as sweat glistens across his tanned forehead, dirt still caking his dark skin as he stands fresh from a win of a long day in the arena. “Now,” he growls as he loses his patience while you stand there staring like a lovesick puppy.

   “Yes, sir,” you nod as your fingers get to work unlacing the gold threads of his armor, making sure your movements are swift and cordial, knowing he doesn't like waiting too long to have you. 

   His eyes follow you with every turn, every move, like he’s some kind of wild animal that’s stalking his prey, ready to pounce and devour at any minute. You have to keep your eyes off his as you unfasten his belt, the silver armor falling to the floor as you tug it off his broad body until he’s standing only in the leather material that covers his upper thighs and the boots that shine against his banged up ankles. 

   You stand there a minute and admire the gorgeous fighter that stands in front of you. Tall, extremely handsome, greying curls slicked back with the sweat from the sweltering sun in the arena, dirt etched across sculpted, tanned skin, eyes the color of bright sunlight and charcoal mixed together to make the prettiest honey-glazed eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. This man is like a god, and you’d happily get down on your knees and worship him at his beck and call. 

   His blazing eyes slide down your bare body and end at what’s left on his, nodding for you to finish the job. “Well, don’t just stand there. Finish undressing me,” he bites out with scalding irritation, clearly ready to forget his long day in an arena where hyenas bark at him day after day. He wants a release, and that release is you.

   You quickly tug the leather material down his legs, taking his underwear to the floor as his hard cock stands at attention against his sculpted abs, his coarse, wiry, dark hair trailing down the base of him as you gulp with wide-eyes.

   He’s so big, so thick, so very… god-like. 

   He sits down on the wooden chest that’s sprawled at the end of his bed, spreading his muscular legs wide as he points to his dusty battle boots. “Knees on the ground, Starlight,” he instructs firmly with a gravelly tone that makes you clench your thighs together.

   “Yes. Of course, Marcus.”

   “Sir,” he corrects as you bend down and start to unlatch the straps of his fighting boots, slowly stripping them off as you toss them to the side. 

   You idly sit there on your knees, one arm twisting around the back of his thigh as you spread him wider, almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock dripping precum around the angry red tip. Your mouth parts open, and you lose all train of thought. The only thing you want is to choke on that beautiful cock till he tells you to stop.

   He strips you from your fantasies as he grabs a fistful of your hair, leaning down as he bites out slow, deliberate words. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to be a good girl and wrap that pretty little mouth around my cock?” His eyes twinkle with a seductive glare, and his dirty words melt all the way down to your heated core until you can actually feel them around your aching clit.

   “Yes, sir. Wanna be your good girl,” you pant as you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

   He smirks and sits back as his rough hand guides you forward. “Then get to work,” he growls, tugging you forward with his hand wrapped around your hair until your lips meet his dripping tip.

   You take your tongue and run it flat up the base of him, following along the bulging vein as you lick up the salty precum that gushes around his swollen tip. 

   Gods, he tastes so good, even after a long day in battle without a bath. You actually prefer to go down on him like this when his musk is drenched around the coarse hairs at his base, sweat pooling down his glorious body as you bathe in the aroma of him. Battle and all, this is when you like him most, when he completely takes charge and dominates you around his chambers, instructing you with filthy words and crude actions. This is how you like it. All hot and sweaty and desperate and messy.

   He groans as you take him deeper, hollowing out your cheeks as you fill your throat with his thick cock, gagging around his massive size as he starts to bob his hips, fucking your throat in steady strides as his large fingers wrap around your soft waves. 

   “That’s it, right there, atta fucking girl,” he moans, tipping his head down to yours as he watches you through the black pits that consume his wide eyes.

    “Look at me,” he demands as he pulls you back up to breathe, letting a bead of saliva connect to your plump lips from the tip of him as you suck in a deep breath, feeding your lungs as you look up into eyes that could eat you alive. 

   “There she is, my good little Starlight. Sucking my cock just the way I like it, yeah?” he coos, threading his fingers through your hair and stroking the back of your neck like you’re a well trained dog on a leash just waiting for their master to give you orders.

   “Mhm. You just taste so good, all hot and sweaty,” you purr as your hand slides down the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls as he grunts in pleasure, tightening his grip on your neck as he pushes you back down. 

   “Yeah? Put those pretty lips to action then, gorgeous,” he growls. 

   He takes you to your limits, cock throbbing as you choke and gag around his thick length, drool dousing him as he fucks you hard and deep, taking exactly what he needs after going through hell and back himself in one day.

   You groan, tears licking your eyes as you swallow the salty taste of him, letting him move you at his leisure, making your body do exactly as he pleases. Before you can get another good taste of his deliciousness, he pulls you off and throws you on your back in the silky sheets, watching him grab some of the gold cords from his armor. 

   Your breath escapes you as he crawls over your body, the dirt caking his broad arms as his hungry eyes nearly devour you whole as he carefully binds your wrists to the headboard, stilling your writhing legs as he starts to slowly spread them. 

   Your heart is beating wildly like ocean tides collide with your body, and your core is humming for Marcus to touch you in every single place he can get his filthy hands on you.

   He takes the tips of his fingers and melodically strokes them down your neckline, skating between your peaked breasts, teasing along your inner thighs until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. “Marcus, please,” you beg, nearly panting his name raggedly as you beg for his touch. 

   “Sir,” he corrects sternly as he stares at you with dark eyes in warning.

   “Sir,” you apologize with a meek voice.

   He chuckles and drags his finger higher, teasing around your drenched folds as he hikes one leg over his shoulder, your other folding around his back. 

   “Now, I want you to look up and watch, can you do that?” he asks as you tilt your head and swallow a gasp as you stare into the reflection of you and Marcus in between the sheets that will soon be soaked.

   “Want you to see what belongs to me, what I own,” he growls dominantly as he sinks down to his elbows and breathes in your musk deeply as your pussy shutters at just the feel of his hot breath.

   You groan in waiting, and then his mouth is on you in a flash. He licks a thick stripe up your center as your wrists tug at the golden clasps, your fingernails digging into your skin as you moan in pure ecstasy when his tongue circles meticulously around your puffy clit. 

   “Oh, yeah,” you whine as the feel of his thick fingers curl up inside you, reaching that sweet spongy spot that makes you dizzy every single time.

   He chuckles as he pulls you down further, your bound wrists biting into the cords as he swirls his tongue exceptionally fast, groaning at the taste of you as his messy curls fall against your thighs. You want to reach down and lace your fingers into those beautiful locks, want to hear him groan as your nails dig deep into his scalp as you moan his name around the spacious chambers of his living quarters, but you’ll work with this for now, until he says otherwise. 

   He pulls your bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, sucking and teasing as he looks up from under hooded eyes and stares at you playfully with his pupils expanding into dark pits the more he feasts on you. 

   You buck into his mouth as his fingers plunge in and out of you, creating the most obscene wet noises that reverberate off the marble walls. He releases your buzzing clit with a pop, licking the slick from his lips as he groans at the sweet taste of you.

   “This is exactly what I needed, Starlight. Needed to drink you down, taste the savory flavor of this sweet pussy, needed to drown in you,” he pants as he dives back in, licking and sucking and fucking two thick fingers inside your dripping hole until you start to see black dots flick across your vision.

   “Yes, come for me, Starlight,” he purrs, his gravelly voice melting your insides into warm lava as you snap and let the white hot heat take control.

   You throw your head back into the plush pillow and let your moans fill the room as you clench around his thick fingers and release everything you have to give him.

   “Just like that, Starlight. Fuck, yes,” he growls as he licks you clean, lapping up all the slick until you’re completely spent off the way he just demolished you.

   You feel his broad body climb over yours, carefully untying you from the headboard as your arms fall slack to your sides. You feel as if every wave of ecstasy just crashed into you, the high tides pulling you out to sea as you agreeably follow the darkness. Marcus pulls you out of the lapping waves and carries you back to shore where it’s safe and warm by his side.

   “Come here, Starlight. Just lay back and take the pleasure,” he purrs as he glides his massive cock into your slippery folds, spreading you wide as he starts to rock his hips back and forth, feeding himself inside you as your walls clench up around him. 

   You lay back into the dampening sheets as his body presses you deeper into the mattress, his hands tangled in your hair, your own legs wrapped tight around his broad back as you moan with every stroke of his cock. You feel the pressure inside you coiling tight, feeling as if you’ll come undone again at any second. This is what you love, what you revel in, what you need most in this world. It’s him. 

   You lay sprawled in the damp sheets, bodies tangled together like magnets colliding as you stare up into the wide mirror, the motions of his broad body reflecting in your wide eyes as you take the pleasure again and again.

   “Marcus,” you cry out, pleading for him, begging him not to stop as you watch him take you harder, your nails dragging down his back with every deep thrust he gives you as he kisses the back of your cervix repeatedly. 

   “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, Starlight?” he coos against the shell of your ear as he traces his lips up up up until he’s hovering straight over your lips, his mouth teasing as he nips at your bottom lip.

   “Marcus,” you repeat, your heart straining for him to kiss you.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. It’s all you want, all you need. Like air to fill your lungs, he’s all it takes.

   It takes him less than two seconds to collapse his lips onto yours like he’s as desperate for air as you, like he might die if he doesn’t fill the space between the two of you. You moan into his mouth, tasting salt and sunlight crash against your taste buds as his tongue licks inside your panting mouth. He groans into the kiss, tangling his large tongue with yours as you chase him and let him swallow you down like it’s his last night to live.

    He deepens the kiss, pulling you flush to his chest as he turns you around while still inside you, landing on his back as he laces his fingers through your locks, moaning your name with every lick and every taste he takes from you. It’s like the gods have blessed you, bringing you this man, this mountain of a man that feeds your every need. And gods, you don’t think you will ever get enough of him.

   He disconnects from your swollen lips, resting his sweat covered forehead on yours as he concentrates on his swift strokes inside you, planting his hands firmly on your hips as he takes you for the ride of your life. “Yeah, that’s it, Starlight, You’re almost there, I can feel how much you’re squeezing. Let it out, let me feel it,” he growls through clenched teeth, trying not to fall apart before you do.

   He speeds up his thrusts, filling you fuller than anyone else has before, rutting into you at just the right angle where you can feel him start to uncoil all your tethered connections as your body slackens against his hold on you. 

   One more hard, long thrust and you’re done. “Marcusssss,” you moan, feeling the heat slide down and spill over his entirety as you fall flush into his strong chest. He takes initiative and thrusts deeper, much harder than before, desperate to chase his own release.

   He threads his brows together and groans your name quietly, his lips lingering over the shell of your ear as he takes three more breaths and then spills ropes of hot white cum inside your sticky core. 

   You moan together in ecstasy, bodies entwined as he empties his seed inside you, chests heaving with exhaustion as he carefully pulls out from inside you and collapses on the bed with a thud, your body slack against his as the damp, dirty sheets shift around your naked bodies. 

   After a few seconds of ragged breaths, he pulls your back flush against his sweaty chest and drapes an arm around you, holding you close as you let the sun slowly slip behind dark clouds that paint the sky violet colors.

   “You need a bath,” you giggle as you lace your fingers through his.

   “So do you,” he chuckles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a huff. “Just let me lay here a few more minutes. I’m exhausted,” he murmurs as he pulls you as close as humanly possible to his warm chest. You cozy up to him and sigh, relaxing into his warm touch, reveling in this soft moment that seems more rare than nights you get him all to yourself. 

   The room is sweltering, his scent clinging to every part of your body as you bathe in the smell of sweat, dirt, spice, and something that smells a lot just like him. He’s like your very own glass of fine wine, the perfect combination of class and just downright filth. He’s just… perfect. Perfect for you, the only man you truly want. And maybe that’s because you’re in love with him. Maybe that’s why you cling to him as much as you can, afraid he’ll be taken from you at a moment’s notice.

   You can’t lie to yourself, you’re absolutely terrified each time he steps into that arena, knowing the emperor wouldn’t even bat an eyelash if a man slaughtered him to shreds. You fidget against the damp sheets, cringing at the thought of blood filling his lungs, his body parts pulled apart by barbarians as he takes his last breath and slips into the dark abyss. 

   You clamp your eyes shut, thinking of Mina dragging him off to get married, thinking of him choosing another woman over you once he’s offered to cut ties in the arena if he marries someone with a higher title. You tremble at the thought of him leaving you all alone, like you never meant anything to him, like you were just a ragdoll for him to control whenever he wanted, like you don’t mean a damn thing other than knowing you’ll always be there at his command when he wants to blow some steam off from the arena. 

   You fight the uncontrollable tears that lick the backs of your eyes, plead to not break down in front of him, beg the gods to have some mercy on your soul if you were about to lose this man. You can’t lose him; you won’t lose him, unless he walks away and tells you to stay like a helpless dog losing their only person they know will take care of them.

   You can’t stand it, can’t hold in the emotions any longer, so you let them flow, feeling the tears like icy shards spilling down your burning cheeks.

   “Hey, hey, hey. Are you crying?” he asks with alarm in his deep, gravelly voice.

   “No,” you croak out as another tear falls like raindrops on the bed. 

   “Hey now, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong,” he pushes softly, turning you around till you’re facing his direction, concern laced in his soft brown eyes.

   You stare at him with sad eyes, nervously twisting your fingers in the silky sheets that are now covered in grime and sweat. You can’t tell him you’re scared to lose him, you just… can’t.

   “Starlight, talk to me. Tell me what it is.” His fingertips brush off a falling tear, and you shake your head slowly. 

   “It’s nothing…”

   He cups your chin and tilts your head up to where your eyes are aligned with his, and in those eyes swims the most sincere gaze he’s ever given you in his entire life. “It’s not nothing if it’s making you cry. Now talk to me. I’m right here.”

   His fingertips feel like velvet dragging across your cheek, soft brown eyes weighing into yours as he gives you his full attention. And it’s no use now hiding your feelings; you need to just clear the air and get it off your chest.

   You take a deep breath and focus before you choke your words out. “I’m scared, Marcus.”

   “Scared of what?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he hears you out.

   “Of losing you…”

   He sighs and runs his thumb gently down your jawline, stroking it up and down as the soothing feeling seems to settle your nerves. “Oh, Starlight. You’re never going to lose me.”

   You swallow the thick lump in your throat, holding back tears as you shake your head. “I could lose you any day in that arena. The things they put you through, the people you have to kill, the absolute horror you have to go through just to stay alive!” 

   His eyes go wide, but he lets you continue. “I don’t want to watch you die, Marcus! I don’t want them to keep feeding you to the wolves like you’re some kind of mindless entertainment for the city of Rome!”

   He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, slowly opening them back up as he cups the back of your neck. “I know, baby. I know…”

   Baby? That’s new….

   “Just trust me that I know what I’m doing, and that I’ll fight like hell to win my freedom back,” he sighs, his eyes glistening with a look like pain etched in the crevices of those golden brown irises.  

   “What if your freedom meant taking a wife, marrying someone with a title…” you whisper, barely able to lock eyes as he scrunches his forehead together.

   “What?” he asks with lines mapped against his tanned skin, considering your ridiculous question. “What do you mean take a wife with a title?”

   “Someone like Mina,” you murmur quietly.

   “Mina?” he asks with wide eyes.

   “She’s been obsessed with you ever since you first stepped into that arena. The way she looks at you… she could have you with a snap of her fingers if only she asked her father. And Marcus, I don’t want…”

   “Whoa there, slow down. Mina? Where is all this coming from? I have no interest in Mina.”

   You gulp, eyes dropping to the twisted sheets as you feel your heart stutter in your chest. “I overhear her all the time. The way she swoons over you, the way she dreams that one day you’ll notice her in the arena. And then… and what if you want to get married? Not even to her, but to someone with money, a title, someone royal, maybe someone that’ll get you out of here quicker? What if you…”

   You close your eyes tight, afraid you’ve spoken too much, afraid you’ve ruined everything as you lay in a heap with your heart pounding in your chest like a ticking time bomb. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did that, if you saved yourself from the brink of death. But I… I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, too. If you were to choose someone else…”

   You let the tears collect in your eyes, feel them slipping down your face as you try your best not to throw anything else frantic and chaotic into the stormy clouds above Rome. You’ve already said too much, too fast. You weren’t supposed to say anything.

   He lifts his head and stares at you, wordlessly assessing your fragile features as his eyes turn a soft brown, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes become glossy like yours. “Starlight, no. I don’t want Mina, I never did. And I would never ever leave you for someone else, even if it got me out of that pit faster. The only woman I want to see is you. If I haven’t made that clear before, I’m sorry. But… baby, you belong to me. You’re mine.”

   “I’m… yours?” you ask carefully, your tears spilling over the edges uncontrollably as you cling to his chest.

   “Of course you’re mine, Starlight. You’ve been mine since the first day I locked eyes on your beautiful face,” he whispers, curling a lock of hair behind your ear as you breathe in deep, surrounding yourself in the very essence of him as he tells you exactly how he’s felt the whole time this has been going on. “I’ve been yours longer than you know.”

   You whimper out a sigh, threading your fingers through his tousled hair as you stare into starry brown eyes that you’d really like to slip in and stay for all eternity. “Really?” you ask with wonder in your eyes.

   “Really,” he nods. “Do you know why I call you Starlight?”

   “No,” you whisper quietly, shaking your head as a fresh tear streams down your skin. He catches it with his thumb and caresses your cheek gently as his calloused fingers soothe your cloudy thoughts. 

   “Because you’re the brightest thing I see every single time I step into that arena. The only thing that keeps me fighting week after week in that bloodbath is you, so I can get back to you.”

   His answer leaves you completely breathless as you suck in warm air, your body still as you look longingly at the man that starts devastating wildfires in your heart.

   “Me?” you ask in a shaky breath.

   “You,” he nods with a smile. “The very first time I stepped into the arena, the first thing that crossed my vision was your eyes. Those beautiful, sparkling eyes were the only thing I focused on, the only thing that kept me from losing myself on that battlefield was you.”

   You gasp, his deep words taking the breath from your lungs as he confesses about the first time he noticed you, saw you, really, truly saw you. You weren’t invisible to him. You were never invisible. “Marcus…” you say shakily as he strokes your jawline lovingly. “But… I… I’m just a simple woman. I have no titles, no money to my name, no prospects. I’m just… me,” you state slowly.

   He sighs, cupping his hand around the back of your head as his fingers lazily stroke through your strands gently. “I don’t care, Starlight. I don’t care about money or titles or really anything about an important name. What's life of riches and freedom if I can’t have you?” 

   You swear your heart blooms like lush roses in your chest as you hear those words repeat again and again in your mind. He wants you, he wants you.

   “I want you,” he repeats, as if he can hear the sounds of doubt play in your mind like a music box that won’t stop spinning. 

   He cups both sides of your face and looks at you with pure intent in his glossy brown eyes. “I want you every day, every minute, every second, and I burn for you in that arena,” he promises as his lips graze over yours delicately. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting in the audience all wide-eyed and beautiful. And I want you even more now that I have you, want you by my side every minute of every day because I can’t stand the thought of losing you. And I’ll fight like hell to earn my freedom back because I love you.”

   He loves you.

   “Marcus, I…” 

   He crashes his lips against yours, a hot, needy, yearning kiss that nearly sends you soaring into the night sky as his lips surge like fire through your very veins. It’s soft like snow, kissing at your eyelashes as you let him pull you flush to his chest, needing to be as close as possible as love burns through your bodies, connecting them together as if this is the very first time you both ache to collide together. 

   “I love you, Marcus,” you whisper against his lips.

   He pulls you on top of his chest and sinks his mouth down on yours, slowly slotting his tongue in your mouth, drawing lazily circles as he drinks you down as you allow him to take all of you. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs from you he has. He tastes like the stars that shimmer in the sky, and you’ll be his entire galaxy, his Starlight that’ll guide him off the battlefield of the arena and back into your arms where he’s safe from harm.

   When he disconnects from your mouth, he stares at you, his soft brown eyes shimmering up at you as he runs his calloused fingers tenderly through your hair. “You’re mine, Starlight.”

   “I’m yours,” you repeat, smiling down at him as he brushes his lips against your forehead, kissing you with love written all over his touch as he pulls you up from the bed. 

   “Come on, my love. Let’s go take a bath,” he says softly as he picks you up and carries you to the bathing chamber, his strong arms cradling you against his warm chest as he places a lasting kiss to your forehead. 

   All your worries are shed, all false pretenses are gone, everything you were mourning over is suddenly lifted off your shoulders as they fly away into the night sky. This man is yours, and he’s never ever planning on letting you go. 

   Starlight shines brighter than any Roman Empire games, and you’re his guiding light back home.

[syoddeye]

oh ho ho! so simon calls and asks the bartender out...what are we thinking? does he go all out trying to prove he actually isn't a loser and can pull off a suave date? or does he purposefully plan the most off-putting date possible to get back at her for being a pain in the ass?

prev.

i love that you think he's going to call right away. nope.

simon sends some version of you up? after close, then stews for hours when you don't reply. he sits in the dark, phone in hand, grumbling to himself. the cigarette between his fingers burns low, barely making it to the ashtray before he lights another.

he lasts three days. three nights of drinking alone at home, refusing to go to the pub and show his face. the thought crosses his mind to go elsewhere, where it'd take him all of fifteen minutes to find a bit of skirt, but somehow, you've gone and sucked the thrill out of that.

his pride keeps him tethered in place, stubborn to a fault, but even that has its limits. on the third night, the ashtray beside him overflowing, he finally caves. he calls.

"so you can follow instructions. i was worried i'd have to draw you a picture."

he doesn't waste time. "sent ya an address. i can be there in ten." 

"yeah, i looked it up. looks like a classy joint. free wifi." 

"…you comin' or not?" 

"mm, got a policy. can't sleep anywhere lower than three stars." 

"s'not for sleepin'." 

"then let's do yours. got a bed frame?"

simon straightens, caught off guard. that's unexpected—that you're game. he expected more of a fuss, but if you're just in it for dick, things are back on track.

he glances at his bed. the rumpled dark blue sheets are half-pulled off the mattress, still on the floor where he's always kept it. it's never mattered before, but no one's ever been here, either. hotels keep it impersonal. neutral ground. they reinforce the rules. they do the cleaning.

"can't. i'll come over." 

"oof, i've got another policy." you chuckle. "can't have someone over until we've gone on an actual date. you know, to make sure they're normal. or close to it." 

you have no idea.

he imagines sitting across a table in some overpriced restaurant, squeezed into a tiny chair, with loud music pounding in his ears. wasting money on drinks and food. all that just to stare at the tits he knows you're going to hide underneath some layers while you make small talk. it makes his skin itch.

but. if your stupid little 'policies' don't exist solely to jerk him around, he'll earn passage into your world. your place. unknown territory, somewhere to plant a flag and humble you all at once.

forget his lack of a bed frame, he hasn't had a bird in her own bed in ages.

"fine. tomorrow."

"sunday," you counter, and he hears the grin in your voice. "i'm off monday. send me a better address, and i'll meet you there. no french food."

he scoffs. "that, we can agree on."

you laugh, teasing. "bring that with you—the sense of humor. you're gonna need it."

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 10)

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: oral, bathroom sex, strap-on, smut, mommy kink, little bit of angst at first

Author's note: so sorry this took so long to post lol things have been crazy

Taglist (hope I didn't miss anyone, and if I did, I'm so sorry!): @stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos @dorabledewdroop @toomanylesbiancouples @accidentally-made-a-sideblog @chiar4anna @lonelyhalfwitch

When you had found out your dad was cheating on your mom two years ago, you could feel the numbness seeping into every crack and crevice in your body. You remember looking at his phone while you two were watching a tv show and seeing the dirty texts he sent to a woman he used to work with. He was never very subtle about texting her, and you just had a feeling. Deep down, you knew what you were going to find. 

That didn’t mean it still didn't hurt. 

The betrayal, the anger, the sadness. They all rushed over you but you’re still not really sure if you actually felt any of it. You were in a daze for the rest of the day, the need to scream building in your throat gradually. 

You finally couldn’t take it anymore and you went for a run the next day, which is something you never would usually do. The thumping of your feet against the pavement sounded like why? why? why? Why would he do this? Why would he choose her over his family? You ran until it felt like your legs were on fire and your lungs were about to burst until you finally doubled over, bit down on your hand, and let the guttural scream claw its way out of you. Your teeth had broken your skin and you could still see the small white scar if you flexed your hand just right. 

After that, you locked the pain somewhere deep down inside you. You hadn’t even gotten to really confront him about it.

But when Agatha says that your dad is having an affair, you feel your stomach drop and somewhere, the buried feelings start begging to get free, rattling on the bars of their enclosure. 

“What?” You ask quietly, a lump growing in your throat as you crane your head up to look at her. Your hand on her stomach stalls. She has a distant look in her eyes. 

“Monday night after you left, your dad couldn’t find his phone so we were looking for it. I found it on the kitchen table while he was looking in his office and he had just gotten a text. I glanced at it and it was from a woman.” Agatha doesn’t continue, but you can only imagine what the text said. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the lump getting bigger. You remember making that mean comment to her the first night you got dinner about him cheating again. 

She laughs ironically. “I guess I can’t be mad. I mean, look at us.”  

You glance up at her to meet her sardonic eyes. “Yeah, but look at who you cheated on versus who he did. I’m sure this other woman isn’t even half as hot as you are.” 

She softly smiles and then leans down to peck your lips with hers. “That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” 

“So what are you going to do?” 

She sighs deeply and starts gently tugging on the ends of your hair. “I don’t know. Confront him? Get a divorce? I’ve spent the last two days just trying to figure something out.” 

Her cold silence makes sense now. So does the way she fucked you earlier. 

You turn your head and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, because what else is there to say? “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Her fingers tighten in your hair and they pull to tilt your head so you’re looking right at her. “I can think of something,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. 

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow raises and she smirks with a daring nod. “Anything for my step-mother.” 

You kiss down her stomach, making sure to sink your teeth into her delectable abs and suck hard. She moans and arches her back off the bed. Soon enough, her midsection is littered with red marks and fuck, it’s hot. 

If your dad is too much of a fucking idiot to appreciate this woman, you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands. 

You settle between her thighs on the bed and slowly drag your tongue up the inside of her right thigh. A noise slips out from her lips and you do the same thing on the other side to hear it again. 

“Stop teasing, baby,” she warns in a low voice. She’s glistening. 

You chuckle and then lick up through her folds. She groans and raises her hips so you can get in closer. Your tongue swirls around her clit. 

“Fuck,” she swears under her breath. You begin to lap at her, heat growing between your own legs at the way her breath stutters and her thighs begin to shake. 

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” You ask, words garbled since your mouth is full of her cunt. But she rolls her hips on her face seemingly involuntarily, so you know she understood. 

“Never,” she says breathlessly and you pick up the pace, swirling and sucking, wanting her to feel good. 

She cums quickly and then she pulls you up into a deep kiss, tongue moving over yours to taste herself. 

“What does this mean for us?” You wonder aloud after she cleans your face and you both are cuddling again. If Agatha and your father get divorced, will this affair end? Will it become more?

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, because you don’t. “I like this, though.” 

She kisses your forehead and you can feel her smiling against you. “I do, too.” 

***

Dinner tonight with Agatha and I? is what your dad texts you the next day while you’re at school. You frown and quickly shoot Agatha a text about it. The two of you hadn’t spoken any more about what she was going to do about your father’s infidelity so you just want to be aware if you’re walking into a trap. You’re not sure you can take another dinner where your dad sits you down and tells you that he’s getting a divorce. 

Agatha responds that she hasn’t talked to him yet. You did know that he was away on business – although, that could just be code for having an affair – so he hasn’t been home. And you don’t think Agatha would be one to confront him over the phone. 

You text your dad back that you’ll be there. You’re curious to see what it’s about. 

The rest of the day passes quickly while you worry about what dinner could bring. You take a quick shower when you get home from school and put on a casual black dress. You don’t really care about looking nice for whatever restaurant you go to, you just want to look good for Agatha. Your mouth almost waters at the thought of whatever she will wear. She always manages to look ethereal. 

Your phone buzzes with a message from Agatha. Your father is meeting us at the restaurant. I’m outside. 

You can sense the tension radiating off the older woman the moment you step outside. She tersely watches you walk over to her car and slide into the passenger seat. Agatha’s wearing pants with a silky button down shirt and she looks hot. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“You okay?” 

She grimaces and puts her sunglasses on. “I’ve barely talked to him since he left on his trip. He just asked if the three of us could get dinner.” 

Your brow furrows. “Are you going to say anything tonight?” 

Agatha purses her lips and reaches over to pat your leg. “I wouldn’t do that with you there. I’m not putting you in the middle of this.” 

Your heart warms because your mother did not hesitate to put you in the middle of her problems with your dad. She had broken almost every boundary and turned you into her therapist, and it now fills you with immense gratitude that Agatha won’t do that. 

Even though you are very much in the middle of it, with you and her having sex and all. 

“Thank you.” 

You both launch into small talk until you pull into the restaurant parking lot, where you see your dad waiting out front. Your stomach begins to sink just at the sight of him. 

You can’t believe he did it again. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Agatha asks, voice tight with worry. She must see how you’re looking at him through the window. You’ve never opened up about your parents with her, but you can tell that she at least partly knows how you must be feeling. 

You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. “I’m good.” 

You try to not get angry when your dad’s face lights up at the sight of the two of you. 

“My favorite girls!” He booms and pulls you both into a hug. You can feel how tense Agatha is and you’re sure you feel the same. “How are we?”

“Good,” you mutter and Agatha says something along the lines of that as well. 

He made a reservation so you’re immediately led to a booth tucked in the back of the restaurant. You sit opposite your dad and Agatha doesn’t hesitate before sliding in next to you. 

“How was your trip?” Agatha asks, tone laced with something sharp like she’s trying to catch him in an act. 

Before he can answer, the waitress comes over. She looks a few years older than you, with brown hair and pretty blue eyes. Almost like a younger version of Agatha, you think. She takes your drink orders, her gaze lingering a bit too long on you as you ask for a sprite. 

You can see Agatha scowling at her out of the corner of your eye. 

Your dad starts talking about his work when she leaves but you suddenly lose all focus when Agatha slowly moves her hand to your thigh and grips it possessively. 

She clearly does not like the waitress, who comes back a few minutes later with your drinks. Fully aware of this, you reach out to take your sprite from the waitress and your fingers brush right in front of Agatha’s face.

Her nails dig into your leg and you subtly smirk at her. Her eyes have completely darkened. 

After everyone orders food, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve started throbbing from the tight hold Agatha has on you – both literally and figuratively – and you’re not sure you’ll last another minute without some relief. 

Just as you push open the door, someone grabs your wrist and shoves you inside. You gasp and whirl around, fear clenching your heart, only to find that it’s Agatha. 

She closes the door behind her and locks it. You’re so thankful it’s a single-person bathroom. 

Agatha advances and you step back until you hit the sink. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she hisses, trapping you against it by putting her hands on either side of you. 

“What do you mean, mommy?” You ask innocently, enjoying the way her dark eyes flash. Her hand comes up to wrap around your throat and a thrill runs through you. You’re sure you’re absolutely dripping now. 

“You were making eyes at that dirty waitress,” she accuses. “Looks like you need a reminder of who you belong to.” 

Before you can ask what she means, she flips you over so the sink is cutting into your hip bones and you can see the reflection of you both in the mirror. You look like a mess. And she looks like she is enjoying every bit of it. 

And then she grinds her front against you and you feel something hard in her pants. You watch your mouth fall open in the mirror. 

“You-” You don’t even have the words and the ache inside you is only getting worse. A smug smile spreads across her face as she reaches down to unzip her pants. Her other hand moves your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take it off.

She drags her strap-on up and down your slit, laughing cruelly at the way your hips move to try to get her inside. 

“Please,” you whine, feeling empty. 

She leans down so she can whisper in your ear, “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, mommy,” you say desperately and you let out a loud moan when she finally pushes into you.

“Be quiet,” she jeers and spanks you hard. You bite down on your lip to keep from moaning, but also to keep from telling her that spanking makes noise, too.

She sets a rough pace from the beginning, grabbing onto your hips with bruising force. You let out little gasps as she thrusts into you, over and over, already bringing you close to the edge. She reaches around you with one hand and starts rubbing your clit and your head falls forward in pleasure. 

Agatha pauses for a second so she can yank you back up by your hair. “Look at yourself,” she says, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror. She resumes her fast pace. “Look at how well you’re taking my cock for me. Look at how much of a slut you are for me.” When she calls you a slut, you physically can’t stop the sound that comes out of your mouth. 

“Mommy, please,” you pant, your entire body feeling like a livewire. “Wanna cum.”

“Do you think a brat like you deserves to cum after making mommy jealous like that?” 

“M’sorry, mommy, I’ll be good,” you practically cry. You meet every thrust, eyes rolling back in your head from how perfect she feels. Your body is on edge from all the effort it’s taking to not cum. “Need to, so close.”

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You, only you,” you sob. 

“Good girl,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Cum for me, sweetheart.” 

Two more thrusts and a rub of your clit and you cum all over her cock. It’s explosive and you bite on your lip so hard that you taste blood. She begins to slow down as you come back down to earth and you rest your head against the mirror to recover. 

Someone knocks on the door and you freeze since your step-mother is buried to the hilt inside of you at this current moment. 

But she just sweetly calls, “Occupied!” and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly. She pulls out of you and you wince. 

“Wow,” you say as she helps you clean up. “You know I wasn’t flirting with the waitress, right?” 

She smirks and pulls you in for a deep kiss. “I know, baby. I just couldn’t spend another minute listening to your dad talk.”

“Join the club.” 

You feel like everyone is watching the two of you as you make your way back to the table, but in reality, they’re not. Your dad is on his phone texting someone – you think you see a woman’s name at the top – but he quickly swipes out of it when he notices that you both have come back. You glance at Agatha just in time to see her eye twitching. 

“There you ladies are! I thought you had gotten lost. Everything okay?” He asks. You think you’re just imagining the condescending tone, but Agatha stiffens next to you so maybe not. 

“Actually yeah,” she says. “I’m filing for divorce.” You gape at her as she spins on her heel and walks away. 

You turn your head back to your dad, who looks back at you, dumbfounded. 

“Sweet pea-” he starts but you hold up your hand to cut him off. 

“No. Fuck you. You don’t deserve anyone.” 

And then you leave to follow Agatha, feeling suddenly like the weight inside you has finally lifted. 

[ithebookhoarder]

Never Let You Go (Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader)

Description: Being married to Aaron (A.K.A. your boss and the love of your life) has both it advantages and disadvantages - and being reprimanded by him for risking your neck in the field is definitely one of the latter... 💔

A/N: Hi everyone. I'm alive! Sorry that this is so short but it sort of just wrote itself and was a nice way to help try and ease me back into writing again as it's been a hot minute here 😅

Warnings: Angsty Hotch, arguing, mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, implied murder, references to abduction, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

You knew when Aaron was angry. You knew the signs very well this far into your relationship, not only as a fellow member of the BAU but also as his wife. He didn’t even need to voice it for you to notice it, rolling off of him in waves… and unfortunately for you, you knew exactly what had caused it. 

You hadn’t meant to throw yourself into the proverbial frying pan, but when the Unsub you had been tracking had grabbed an innocent girl as a hostage you had simply acted without thinking. You had offered yourself instead, knowing your value meant he would not dispose of you as quickly as the others he had taken - and that your team would have to let him leave the parking lot you had chased him to. He knew it too, which was why he had quickly accepted, resulting in you being hauled into a van with a gun pressed against your head. 

Of course, the team had done exactly what you’d expected and located you within an hour. They had mounted a rescue and you had been safely back, unharmed, within mere minutes of the team arriving outside of the cabin. 

All in all, it was a win in your book… but not in your husband / boss’s.  

He had been the first through the door, intent on getting to you whilst Morgan tackled the Unsub into handcuffs. He had quickly cut you free, checked you weren’t seriously hurt, and escorted you back outside, tucked securely under his arm. However, the second you had made it back to the cars, Aaron had pulled away and hidden behind a mask of white hot fury. 

His silent temper had only got worse since you’d all got off the plane, with a thick and suffocating silence filling the car on the drive back. Everyone looked at one another anxiously, knowing better than to risk being the one to say anything and accidentally cause him to erupt in their direction. In fact, a minor miracle had occurred with Spencer not saying a single word until the whole team had spilled out of the elevator, even if it looked like it had caused him physical pain to do so. 

Hell, even Penelope had taken one look at everyone’s faces and done an immediate u-turn back to her lair, muttering she would ‘come back later’.

Unfortunately, you didn’t really have that option when Aaron was your husband and you both shared a car and a house… which was why you had watched as the others grabbed their belongings and finished debriefing, leaving their case files on Hotch’s desk for him to review on Monday. You’d followed along, the last to enter his office and leave your own on the top of the pile. 

However, your fingers had barely let go of the manilla envelope when you heard Hotch clear his throat, turning his attention squarely to the last two agents stood next to you. 

“Good work, everyone. Morgan, Prentiss, you can go. Have a good weekend - Y/N, stay where you are. We need to talk.” 

Shit. 

Your husband’s tone was calm but icy, telling you that this wasn’t up for debate; it was an order and god help anyone who went against him. It was why Emily and Derek made for the door without another word, although Emily shot you a final look over her shoulder, as if checking you were alright. 

You nodded subtly, trying to reassure her as she and Derek made their way out the door, closing it behind them. You knew without asking that the rest of the team would be watching from down in the bullpen, trying and failing to work out what was being said as Hotch ripped you a new one.  

Taking a deep breath, you crossed your arms over your chest and turned to face him. 

You hated seeing his beautiful face so hard and devoid of feeling. It was like a whole different man to the one who slept beside you every night, and greeted you first thing every morning. 

You gulped.

A cold sweat had formed on the back of your neck as he stepped closer slowly, deliberately dragging out the tension. You had to fight the urge to break off the staring contest between you, refusing to surrender to him just yet. It was probably why you opened your mouth first, desperate to beat him to the punch in case you lost your nerve. 

“Before you say anything, I know what you’re going to say, and I know what I did was dangerous and went against your orders,” you rambled, “I’m also well aware of the consequences and I won’t apologise for what I did, not when the option was risking that young girl and the rest of the team-“ 

“I am your superior here, Y/N. What I say goes. That is not up for debate, ever. You do not give me orders,” Aaron seethed, making you fall silent without even raising his voice - which somehow made it worse. It was as if your guilt was swallowing you whole. “What happened today will not happen again, am I understood? You do not ignore my orders whenever you feel like it, nor do you get to lecture me about why you did what you did. And above all? You never tell me to let you go, unarmed and alone, ever again. Is that clear?” 

Your eyes were glued to the floor, wishing silently for it to swallow you up.

“You know I was doing what anyone else on this team would’ve done. He had an innocent girl, Aaron, and he was cornered,” you countered. “He would have killed her the second he left the parking lot, or opened fire then and there. It was the only way to get him out of there, without risking the team and everyone in that area-“

“As the head of this team, I did what I would’ve done if anyone else had been in that position - which is tell you not to risk yourself - but as your husband,” he choked, “I cannot even begin to describe what I felt when he had that gun pointed at your head and that van door closed.” 

You gulped. You felt his pain drawing you in like a gravitational pull, making you desperate to reach out and soothe it from his brow.

“Aaron… You know I didn’t do this to hurt you,” you cooed. To your relief, he nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist and curling you into his chest as if needing to feel you were actually stood there in front of him.  

“It might surprise you to realise that I do know that. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make any of this easier.” You could feel the tension physically radiating off of him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I… I thought I’d lost you. I... I can't lose you... I won't lose you or someone I love. Not again.”

“I know. I’m so sorry… I’m right here, my love. I’m right here… Always.”

[innohurrytoshout]

i hope you're miserable ᥫ᭡ r. mattheo

when a misunderstanding with Filch leads to detention after school, you’re stuck babysitting Slytherin’s bad boy

who: mattheo riddle x ravenclaw!reader genre: fluff wc: 3,6k content warning: [this fic is the first part of a set, part 2 can be found at the very bottom] reader–riddle tension–matty has a crush ;) and he's a bit of a creep lol a/n: grrr this was perfect for the day i had, it was so sunny...enjoy!!

Birds cawed, and the air was growing slightly warmer–as you kicked your feet back and forth over the bridge at the edge of Hogwarts’ courtyard over the pond, your two friends were studying for the potions exam they had later today.

Your fifth year had seemed to fly past you. You meant to write to your parents about the upcoming break, but you were still deciding if you should go home or not.

“What’s that look for?” One of your friends spared you a glance.

You blew a lock of hair out of your face and shrugged, “Are you guys going home for the upcoming holiday?”

“Well, yeah.”

“My parents and I have a tradition, you know this,” your other friend butted in. She rolled her eyes, “My brother is being a pain, though.”

“Yeah, but…” a smile pressed to your lips, as easy as the light in the sky. “Don’t you just want to do something else for once? I mean, we’re always on a schedule.”

They frowned at each other, “That’s kind of expected of us, you know? You weren’t complaining when you beat Hermione last semester.” She pointed out, her blonde hair curling around her as if it were something come to life.

Your eyes rolled, and you leaned back on your hands, “That’s different. I don’t mean give up on school work completely.”

They shook their head and laughed, “Okay, sure.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, but they had already gone back to studying.

A few minutes later, the bell rang, and they had to get their things together, “wish us luck.”

You wave a hand, “Yeah, good luck…like you guys even need it.”

“Says the one with a free period.”

You snorted a laugh, “I’ll see you after school in the common room?”

“Yep! See you.” 

“Bye,” they murmured at the same time.

You watched them speed back toward campus. It was pretty warm out today, glancing around, you shrugged. Why not? You moved your bag to sit on the stony pathway and lowered your head onto the shoulder of the bridge, fixing your skirt when you were finally flat against the stone.

This is nice, you found yourself prying deep into thought. You weren’t sleeping, that would be too dangerous–but you were lost, reflecting on the world around you. It was as if time had stopped–as if questions about the universe seemed more significant than your DA quiz on Monday. But–the sun was hitting your face just right, it was shaded slightly?–wait–that wasn’t right–

You peeled an eye open, jerking back when you came face to face with Filch. “Ditching class now, are we?”

What? “No, I–”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, “I expected better from you, Ravenclaws.”

“But I–”

“Don’t even try it. Get your things,” he motioned toward your bag beside his feet. 

You scrambled to pick yourself up, “wait–that’s not, I have–”

“You fifth years–” he scoffed, “what you’re going to say ‘I have a free period’?”

“But I do!”

“Right, only 6th and 7th years have free periods.”

“I know that,” you were starting to get a bit irritated, “but the Headmaster gave me a special cause. He gave it to a few other students this year.”

Filch halted, and you almost crashed into his back. You stepped away, making a face at his smelly robes. “You expect me to believe that?”

“...Yes.” 

“I’m not as gullible as I look, am I?”

It was useless, you would have to get Dumbledore involved. you were one of the few students who were offered a free period this year. You knew Hermione Granger had been one of the students, but it was clear by the way she seemed to rush back and forth and the way she was always studying that she had declined.

The other students were a mystery, well, you knew Draco Malfoy had one because you’d caught him in the library once. He was alone, looking solemn–to be honest, you hadn’t known he was that great of a student. You never really checked the scoreboards because you always knew you’d place high enough for your parents to get off your back.

“Listen to me!” You shouted after him as he began his marching again. He marched back to the castle while ignoring your pleas.

The next time you got a word out of him, it wasn’t directed at you– “Hey!” He’d shouted, jabbing a finger toward something.

“Stop right there!” He began chasing…something? You huffed, wondering if you’d have to follow him around for the rest of the day because he was on some silly goose chase.

“Aehehehe,” you heard his creepy laugh as you rounded the courtyard.

Filch gripped the back of someone's shirt in the open, stone hall–you snorted.

Both glanced at you when the sound echoed through the hall. Your shoes clicked as you moved closer to the scene. There in front of you was Slytherin’s esteemed prince, Mattheo Riddle, caught in the clutches of Filch. His annoyed expression said it all. He looked like a mouse caught in a cat's trap.

“What I would do for a photo of this,” you were grinning until Filch turned his attention back to you.

“You think this is funny? Well, you can join him.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” You crossed your arms.

“Skipping classes is not allowed.”

You felt your eyes rolling toward the back of your skull, “I already told you. I have a–”

“You already have one detention, you want another one?”

“But–”

“Ah-ah–”

“But!–”

“A second detention it is–”

A snort. You glared at Riddle. His cool, brown eyes met yours, a cheeky smile showing a single dimple. “Oh, you think that’s funny? You can join her!”

Filch let him go just as a groan escaped him, “I had plans later, Filchy–”

“You call me that again, it’ll be a third one for you, Riddle.”

Heh. You were smart enough to keep your amusement in your head this time.

“Come on then,” Filch cast a spell. You knew it, but you didn’t know it well–your body froze as. You could see Riddle in the corner of your peripheral vision, he was frozen, too. A second later, your body relaxed and you stumbled forward, catching yourself right before you fell.

You glanced toward Riddle, expecting him to laugh–he didn’t, but his mouth quivered, making you think he wanted to. You stuck out your tongue and spun around, readying more explanations of how this wasn’t fair–but Filch was already heading off, saying, “I’ll see you two after school.”

A hand shot out to stop him, but your words caught in your throat. Riddle began walking, and soon, he was behind you, leaning over your shoulder. " Just let him go. You won’t be able to convince him otherwise.”

“Have a lot of experience with him, do you?”

He opened his mouth, but instead of words, amusement took the form of a smile.

You started walking toward the Ravenclaw dorms, you would need to leave a note with information for your friends explaining exactly why you wouldn’t be hanging out with them this afternoon. It irked you–Filch had never given you any issues in the previous years, and he hadn’t been around much this year either.

“See you after school, Ravenclaw!” You held in the urge to shoot a curse at him as you stomped away.

She took his interest the moment he saw her. She was laughing, her head was thrown back, and she had a hand up as if she wanted to cover her smile. He didn’t want her to–Theo and the rest of his friends had paused.

He knew they had been watching him, trying to figure out what had made him stop so abruptly. They’d been walking through the second-floor halls, just coming from class with those idiotic Gryffindors, she must have just come from class as well, but she was sitting on one of the couches on the first floor, and as he’d just happened to glance over the railing, she’d caught his attention.

Her image had hit him so suddenly–at first he’d thought it was because she was pretty, but there were plenty of pretty girls in his year, so he knew that couldn’t be it. Then what?

Mattheo ignored the bubbling questions–his friends wouldn’t shut up the rest of the day, and whenever they passed her in the halls, they’d all glance at him. She never seemed to notice, though, which made him question–why?

Ravenclaws weren’t Gryffindors, they weren’t his arch nemesis–in fact, his father had mentioned something about how Ravenclaws were more similar to Slytherins than they liked to admit.

He found himself following her; he knew it was wrong and creepy, but again, neither her nor anyone ever seemed to notice–if they had, they hadn’t said anything–if they had said something, Mattheo would have heard and shut it down by now.

A huff escaped him, the sun was out–it felt nice on his face. He hadn’t planned to get caught by Filch–he hadn’t planned to follow her and her friends out there, though okay–it might not seem that way.

Draco had wanted to get some fresh air, “and by the looks of it, you could use some sun.” Lorenzo had joked, earning a back of the head smack from Pansy. Blaise had chuckled, and Mattheo had felt himself smile slightly, shaking his head–that was until Theo pointed out her and her friends.

“Isn’t that your little Ravenclaw?” 

“Don’t call her that,” Mattheo had rolled his eyes, but they landed on her–and that was–in fact–her, surrounded by her friends, but she’d looked different. Her smile wasn’t as bright–she’d looked almost…solemn.

He’d felt a pit in his stomach, he didn’t know much about Ravenclaws, he stayed very much to his home turf, but over two years, he could gather well enough to know that there was always immense pressure on them, not unlike what him and his friends had to endure from their own parents.

They’d followed them slightly, but as the Ravenclaws headed for the Hogwarts Bridge, Mattheo and his friends steered toward the forest. They had a small hideout their, they called it the Clubhouse–picked up from some muggle children’s book.

But soon, the bell had rung and they were heading back toward the school. Mattheo meant to track his friends, but then he noted the two Ravenclaws without their third member–and it occurred to him to wonder over to the bridge, just to make sure, he’d told himself.

It wasn’t just to make sure, he knew almost without doubt she would be there. He just wanted to see her–maybe this was his chance to talk to her, who would think it odd? Just two students who happened to be alone in the same place–that’s what his brain had convinced him of anyway.

Her face was calm, a complacent smile brightened by the sun hiding somewhere behind the trees that shaded her body halfway. He hadn’t realized it, but his heart began to slow. Watching her was relaxing, as he had come to know. 

Damn now he really did sound like a freak. He shook himself out of his stupor, okay, he was there, he was going to do it. He was going to talk to her–any second now–but he hadn’t moved then, and he hadn’t moved a second later, and soon it would be too late because Filch and his mangy cat appeared from seemingly nowhere and were now towering over her. 

It turned into something from a horror film. He’d watched them, laughing at her trying to explain why she wasn’t in class. He knew why, Dumbledore had offered a few fifth year students the opportunity typically only reserved for 6th years and up.

Mattheo found his amusement dying when Filch had began moving in his direction. He ran back to the castle, careful to not alert his fry-head of a cat– but it had been useless becasue Filch had seen him anyway.

He didn’t want her to know, he was afraid of what she’d think of him–afraid that she’d know just by looking that he’d been watching her. “Nervous?” He murmured, just now figuring out what it was he had been feeling. He scoffed, “No way…” but he couldn’t shake the thought, the way.

The bell for the last class rang and he sighed, sitting up. He was somewhere deep in the castle, to be hoenst, even he didn’t know how he’d found this place–it was in the attick of the castle, but Howarts had many atticks, he didn’t know which this one was, he only knew it was near Ravenclaw Tower, and no, he hadn’t planned it.

It had just been a happy coincidence, he’d found it in his second year–when Draco had finally begun to stop, “Potter this,” and, “Potter that,”–Blaise and Lorenzo called it his Pottymouth Year. A memory of them making fun of their friend lightened his heart–it made having detention two days in a row a bit easier, even though today was Friday and tomorrow was supposed to be a rest day.

Though, he’d only had detention a handful of times, he’d never been this elated, and perhaps a little Ravenclaw had something to do with it…he shook his head, wondering why his mouth was full of smiles today.

You drug your feet across Hogwarts, yawning as you made your way down the hall. The spell Filch had cast gave your subconscious the exact directions to where he wanted you to meet him after school. You had sat in the common room until the last bell rang, as soon as it rang, your body stood and began heading toward wherever Filch must have been.

Students were milling about, chattering everywhere you turned, and it lit a fire under your butt. This could have been you–it should have been you–it was going to be you–but because that dinglemutt didn’t have a clue as to his master's new proclamation, you were being unfairly punished.

You headed out toward the quad and rounded the castle, were you were going to the Quidditch field? Great–what could you possibly be doing? Cleaning gear? You whimpered just thinking about how smelly those locker rooms must be.

“Ah, she arrives.” You fisted your hands and set your mouth, but kept quiet.

“Where’s Riddle?” Your eyes floated around the grassy space, searching for the Slytherin.

“Don’t worry about him–he’ll be here.” Filch checked the time on his wand, “Now follow me.”

Mattheo was grinning. He couldn’t be grinning when he headed into the lockerooms. They were on the Slytherin/Ravenclaw side, so thankfully, he wouldn’t be cleaning some snot-nosed Gryffindor’s uniform. Mattheo shuddered at the thought–Filch couldn’t be that cruel…could he?

Best to not find out. Someone–definitely Filch–cleared his throat and stepped outside, eyeing him expectantly, “Well, go on. She can’t clean them alone, can she?”

Mattheo resisted the urge to roll his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets before walking in. 

She had her hair pulled back with a clip–Mattheo had never seen her like this...well, okay, he’d seen her with her hair pinned up–but she was all sweaty and her sleeves were rolled back, his eyebrows scrunched together–why was it so hot?

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Are you trying to off yourself before the OWLs?”

You glared, watching him pull out his wand. You bit your cheek when he cast a silent spell. You were still working on those–it peeved you and your nails dug into your palms, just another reason to hate him, you supposed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He cooed, beginning to unbutton his sleeves and roll them up. It seemed he’d had the same idea you had. He only wore his white uniform button-up. It was weird, seeing him without his regular attire; he looked different, though you couldn’t be sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Wind hit your face, and your sweat began cooling. You paused, dropping the scrub on the space near the sink.

“It’s nice, right?” He saddled up beside you, and you stumbled back, surprised. “I don’t bite,” he frowned, looking…annoyed?

He was aware of who he was, right? Nevertheless, he didn’t…he wasn’t–you shook your head, “I’m not afraid of you, you just startled me is all.”

“Oh, really now?” He raised a brow.

“Really.” Your jaw locked. He watched as you stepped forward, standing your ground–it was cute. His frown turned into a lopsided grin, which only made you huff.

“Why aren’t you using magic?” He glanced around the room, “It’d be much easier.”

“He disabled my magic,” you frowned, looking at your wand in the side pocket of your skirt dissappointedly. Riddle craned his neck to follow your gaze, he leaned over you slightly and your heart began to pick up pace.

He smelled good, like mahogany teakwood and morning dew. You didn’t know why those two specific smells came to you–it didn’t seem right for the Dark Lord's son to smell like something as innocent as morning dew, and yet here he was.

“What?” His head turned slightly, and he was glancing down at you, his body slightly over yours. You swallowed and shoved him away, averting your gaze back onto the uniform, “are you going to stand there and help or what?”

Mattheo paused as a thought came to him. “Whose uniform is that?”

“I don’t know, why does it matter?” You picked the sponge back up, but he snatched the top from the sink before you could, “hey, you’re going to get water everywhere.” 

He waved his wand in front of your face, and you frowned. Apparently, Filch had favorites.

He glanced at the number, his shoulders relaxed a bit, and he handed it back to you. “Someone you know?” You snorted, taking back the uniform.

“You could say that.” He threw you a cheeky smile before spinning around and using his magic to clean the rest of the uniforms.

“So not fair,” you murmured, shaking your head.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you were caught skipping classes.”

“I wasn’t skipping classes!” You shouted, “I. Had. A. Free. Period.”

Riddle shrugged, “You heard what Filch said.”

“You are really starting to get on my nerves.”

He held his hands up, pressing both lips together to suppress another smile.

You ground your teeth and, without thinking, threw the sponge at him. He blinked as he bounced off his cheek. A gasp escaped you and your hands shot to cover the laughter that threatened to trickle out, “I am–” you snorted, “–shaho–” another snort, “sorry?”

Riddle’s mouth dropped open slightly, and his tongue circled the inside of it. His eyes landed on yours again, and he watched you watch him wipe the soap off his cheek. “Are you asking for a war, ?” he called you by your surname.

Your heart studded…you don’t remember ever giving him your name. “You know me?”

His amusement died instantly. “What are you talking about? I don’t.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, frowning, “Did you not just call me by my name?”

“I–” he stepped backward as you walked toward him, cornering him into a wall.

“You knew my name.”

“So, I know lots of people's names.”

“That a shit exuse, Riddle.”

As you got closer, you noticed something…something on his face, it was a shade redder…was he blushing? You couldn’t believe your eyes–your footsteps halted. You weren’t dumb, you could connect the dots easily enough, “Mattheo Riddle, do you have a crush on me?”

His eyes jumped out of their sockets when his head jerked up to face you again, “what–no–I”

“Mmmhmmm,” it was odd–this was a side you were certain no one had ever seen from him–he was a Riddle for Merlin’s sake–a Slytehirn–but right now he didn’t look like any of the things either of those titles were known for.

He looked different from your everyday point of view of him, he looked like…any other boy in your year, you stepped closer and, without thinking, leaned over and poked his cheek. He watched you do it, and he didn’t move. A cheesy grin spread across your face, “Mattheo Riddle, were you stalking me?”

He stayed silent, but his face darkened in color even though the locker rooms were pretty chilly now. Noise startled him out of his trance, you watched his cool facade slide over his boyish embarrassment. But it was too late, you had seen everything you’d needed to.

“Mattheo?” You recognized that voice.

“Hey, you’re here already?”

“Yep, Coach wanted us in early–we sent Draco's owl to find you–what are you doing here?”

Soon, the locker room was filled, and eyes were all on you–your lips pursed and, though you didn’t know why, you glanced at Riddle as if he were supposed to give you orders on what to do next.

Nott’s eyes widened when they found yours–soon they jumped back to Riddle’s and he jerked his body around, laughing into his elbow. You ignored Malfoy’s curious gaze and every other interested one.

“Right, you should get going now, the uniforms are cleaned so…”

“But, I,” you turned back toward the uniform you had been cleaning.

“That one’s plenty cleaned,” he walked passed you, unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and you glanced away, embarrassment clinging to your every being. You felt his friend’s eyes on you, but you kept your eyes on the ground.

“You can look now, ,” he murmured your surname. Your head jerked toward Riddle, glaring as his snort sounded throughout the room.

“That one was yours?”

He glanced down, “Isn’t it obvious?”

You scoffed and shook your head, wagging a finger at him, “Next time I see you, Riddle.” You spun around expectantly, “Well? Make some room, I can’t push through the lot of you, can I?”

As you moved through the gap created for you, Riddle called out, “See you tomorrow, Ravenclaw!”

“Screw you Slytherin!”

a/n: let me know what you think!!

vol ll kissing cherries in the rain

[bunny-jpeg]

i've had a horrid idea in my head, don't look at me! (maid!reader feat. soap & ghost)

so basically

you get hired through the cleaning service that you work for, to help keep a house outside the city nice and clean. you are a bit confused why whoever hired you needed a maid who lived over two hours away. but, you were assured that it would be worth it and shuffled off.

you thankfully only had two go twice a week, mondays and wednesdays with your day off in the middle. the pay was above standard, pictures of the home were shown, along with profiles of the owners.

simon riley and john mactavish. they were army men who wouldn't be at the house as much as most customers. which was a relief. this was not however the case, as the more you spent coming over the house to clean, the more they seemed to be around.

the blond one with the face scars was simon and the burnette with the mohawk and the scottish accent was johnny (he made you call im johnny). it would taken several months before they made the first move.

it started with johnny brushing up against your backside while he was in nothing but pajama pants. his erection against you.

then the snowstorm happened. you were about the go home, determined to drive when the snow came down in heaps. the snowflakes were almost as big as a two pence coin.

you ended up staying, and johnny brought out the whisky! he told you it was the good stuff from the highlands as he served you a healthy glass. it still burned like a bastard when it went down, the disgusted face you made caused the other two men to laugh. when you tried to use the bathroom you heard simon's voice ring out, "oh, there she goes!". as the snow hit the ground outside, you got drunk with your customers.

which then resulted in coy kisses, followed by loud fucking in simon's room. it had the bigger bed but it didn't matter because your hands and knees ached by the of the night. as did the back of your throat (you couldn't talk the morning after) and your pussy (you sat in weird positions to ease the pain for a week after).

simon and johnny were bullies to you sexually. you were twisted like a pretzel as both men just fucked you without abandon. you were left gasping and it didn't help that it turned you on too! you were such a bad maid, but it was hard to believe yourself when both men grumbled your praises as they moved you once more to get at just the right angle.

you tried to give the appearance of keeping it professional, but when you ended up back at work your boss told you that simon and john needed more help before their deployment, so she had moved your customers to other maids.

your priority was to help those men anyway you could! "they're serving our country! they need as much as they can before they leave once more!"

it wouldn't take long before you pretty much moved your life into their home. when you called the resign from your job at the maid agency, johnny was between your legs while you were sitting on the kitchen counter. your free hand was in his mohawk, yanking on the strands. he had spent all morning encouraging you to quit your job, which mean being laid out behind you with his hand down the front of your panties. his calloused fingers rubbing your clit until you were practically yelping from the overstimulation!

one night when you were "helping them" simon was gone for several hours and came back with boxes of your stuff. everything was put in neatly, when you tried to ask why he simply said, "you can't be wearing our civvies forever." (as if the two men weren't going to buy you clothes or anything else you needed). but it was nice to have some stuff with you. you never asked how he got into the apartment though.

sometimes the boys will still play maid with you. johnny liked it when he got to push up the skirt of the maid's dress you were wearing and simon liked when he got to tear the garter under the skirt right off. johnny's cock was soon balls deep in your while simon licked your clit.

paycheck wasn't necessary anymore, not while you were living with them full time. living in the city was nice, you would always cherish your time in it! but it was a lot nicer being sandwiched between two burly men who would capture the sun and the moon and serve it to you on a silver platter. <3