#his stupid little useless buckles

[gremlingottoosilly]

bunny hybrid!reader who is very easily spooked and shy, so monster!konig kinda gaslights her into lowering her guard down when they’re starting to get to know each other , until he finally shows his possessive side and makes her take his eggs and claim her as his the first time they have sex 🩷🐰🐙🩷

In a world filled with horny monsters, he is a gentleman. Never yelling at you, even though you are practically useless in a monster world - no claws, ho sharp teeth, only fluffy years and a breedable body that makes monsters around you only value you for what you can give to them. Konig isn't like this - he is kind and caring, brings you food, and even gives you a cushy position in the forces, letting you handle the reports and giving you leaves for times when your heat is too much to bear. He watches over you, the way you'd become even more shy than before, your hips rubbing against each other because you're too horny and too quiet to voice it. He cared for you - gave you a really nice little burrow made from blankets and old clothes, let you sleep in his quarters, safe from others trying to force themselves on you. He pets your ears when you do his reports and sometimes lets you nestle on the soft bed he has, letting you relax in his wake. This is why the thing that he did hurt you so much. You're in heat, of course - he wouldn't hurt you otherwise. He waited until you were pliant and adorable until you were ready to open your legs for him and let him fuck you for all your worth. You cling to him, crying from need, rubbing your wet pussy against his crotch. He fills you up with his tentacles and you cry, not ready to let him in so easily. You're almost choking, barely able to control yourself as you beg him to fuck you. Poor thing, so needy and pretty - Konig laughs when you try to push him away, your body betraying your senses. You want him, as much as you hate to admit it. God, how much you needed him. He makes you dumb on his cock, your stupid bunny brain makes you buckle your hips against his and let his tentacles fill you up with eggs. You didn't even notice that the only reason he was being so nice to you was the mate courting - and now his quarters literally have your nest, the only place you'll ever be allowed in...but at least he is still a gentleman. Just makes sure you're filled up with his eggs as well.

[th3-c0rps3-r0gu3]

Arranged marriage

Chapter three

Royal au

Princess Natasha X queen autistic reader

Warnings: Natasha being a bitch. Natasha being jealous. Woman flirting with y/n. Swearing (minor) lemme know if there anymore. Natasha getting feelings? Oblivious y/n

Natasha pov

I want to rip out my eyes. Why on earth am I here. This is so stupid. Riding in a carriage with this idiot queen. Those are my first thoughts as I stare angrily out the window of the carriage me and queen y/n are sitting in. Said queen is hiding from the crowds of people outside the carriage. She's so backwards. Never wanting too many people around and only tolerating socialisation for a specific time frame before vanishing for sometimes days. In my opinion she's not fit to be a queen.

Fresh air finally. I think to myself as me and the idiot behind me climb out the carriage into the town square. People have crowded near the carriage. Ofcourse they have. Their "queen" is here. I grumble slightly as the guards help down y/n. Gods she can't even get out a carriage by herself what a useless idiot. I don't know why but my thoughts of rage and hatred have increased towards y/n. Perhaps it's to make up for the fact she's cute and her hands are soft and she really nice. Like right now with how she's thanking the guard who helped her over and over like the absolute sweetheart she is. What. No. Absolutely not. Y/n is a idiot on the throne and I will murder her. I don't find her cute I don't find her sweet and Queen y/n is not a sweetheart.

There's a wyvern on that houses roof. I wonder if y/n will notice it and rant about its species. I already know it's a wyvern because y/n said earl- why am I thinking that. It's just an idiot dragon. And boom y/n has seen it. She's ranting again. Gods I hate it. What on earth is a blood bellied wyvern and why does it matter. That dragon was black not red. I hate cobblestone too now that I think about it. My heels keep threatening to buckle beneath me. Good thing I'm an absolute goddess and can walk in heels anywhere.

Y/n pov

The carriage ride to the town square was quiet. I didn't want to interrupt Natasha too much. And if I spoke even a word I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to shut it anyway. Besides looking out the window was fun. I saw so many different dragons. I wish I could've been able to get a proper look so I could see what species they are. There's so many people outside watching the carriage though. I should've held this off until my social battery filled again. I am going to hate this trip. I really should stop letting Natasha's parents coerce me into stuff.

Finally the carriage stops and the doors open and fresh air hits me like a train. I go to step out but a guard offers me a hand. I have told them to stop doing that. They really should listen I can get out of my own carriage. But I accept his help not wanting him to feel foolish. The cobblestone streets are filled with people and horses and carriages. I like the town. Aside from the bustling people and market stalls scattered around the town square it's a nice break from the palace. A nice break from being a queen. Princess Natasha is scowling. Like always. I am pretty sure it's her default expression.

Me and the princess have walk a little now. Passed a stall selling dragon egg remains. I don't like those stalls. They often steal and break dragon eggs to get the product. I shudder slightly. Natasha hasn't been paying any attention. She's been grumbling about idiots and cobblestone. She wore heels so I guess that's why. Should've worn flat shoes like me. I did tell her so. I look up at the houses around us and.. no way. A blood bellied wyvern right there on the rooftop of a civilian house. They only come down this way in the winter! I've never seen one before aside from in books.

My mouth is running again. I never know why I do this. But I excuse myself mentally this time since I've never witnessed this dragon before. Their scales are reflective of their blood colour which is why they're called blood bellied wyverns. Well the belly part is because you see the actual veins and blood but still. I haven't had a single interruption from Natasha yet. She's just walking silently beside me as I rant. I slow down and pause looking at the queen feeling a bit bad now. I must've pissed her off in some way again.

"are you ok princess?"

I ask hesitantly. I don't like the way Natasha has paused. She's staring at me funny and I'm prepared for her to scowl and scream at me. She huffs instead.

"I'm fine just keep walking."

I blink surprised as Natasha keeps walking and I speed up to catch up to her.

Natasha pov

She's still ranting. Something about the wyverns scales reflecting their blood colour.. oh that's why it's called whatever it was. I can't help but steal glances at y/n. She's so annoying. So very annoying. And absolutely perfect at the exact same time. No. I won't go down that rabbit hole. I am not stupid. Falling in love is for pitiful useless peasants. Not royalty. Why does my heart not agree with my head. It's stupid. I'll fix it.

"are you ok princess?"

Y/n's voice stops me. That's not about dragons. I glance down at her attempting a scowl but I can't respond. She's looking at me with wide y/e/c eyes and I can't help but find her expression adorable. No. No no no no no. She's not adorable and she's not cute. I huff slightly shaking away all those intrusive thoughts

"I'm fine just keep walking"

I scowl again as I pick up pace once more. Y/n speeding up to get back to my side. She's so small. Like a puppy. No. Absolutely not. Puppies and y/n have nothing in common. I'll kill her. And I won't feel bad about it and I won't regret it. Everything will be fine. I go to yell at y/n as per normal but she's not by me anymore. I glance around and.. there. By a stall selling books and scrolls. I stand and watch her annoyed. Ofcourse she'd stop to look at scrolls and books. And judging by her expression it's dragon bullshit again. The woman serving her is leaning over the counter and talking to y/n about different species. That grin on the merchants face. That's not a friendly grin...

It's been ten minutes and y/n has not stopped talking to the merchant. She's bought atleast three books and five scrolls. And that merchant is clearly flirting with y/n. Doesn't she know the queen is engaged. To me no less. Why is this bothering me. I mean I should be annoyed it's taking so long that's normal but why am I pissed that the queen is being flirted with. Why does it irritate me more than the books. I want to tear that merchant's eyes out and turn them into a necklace for y/n to wear and I don't know why.

She touched her arm. That merchant touched y/n's arm. And I don't like it. Rage hits me like a brick. That bitch can't touch what's mine. There is a clear engagement ring on the queen's finger and it's public knowledge that y/n is betrothed to me. I storm over absolutely enraged at this pathetic sellers attempt to steal MY y/n. Swiftly wrapping an arm around y/ns waist I glare down my nose at this merchant. Watching in sick satisfaction as she backs up scared. Good to know she recognises me.

"back the fuck away from my fiancee."

I snarl. Pulling y/n closer to me. She's so small and she's looking at me shocked. I'll deal with it later. That merchant gets the hint and backs up mumbling apologies and handing y/n her books. I grab them and pull the queen with me away and back towards the carriage. I don't y/n until we are both in the carriage and leaving.

Y/n pov

I saw a dragons scroll and books stall. That looked fun so I told Natasha I was looking at it and went over. I haven't seen this stall before and it has so many books and scrolls. Most I already own but a few I don't! I immediately purchase the scrolls and books I don't have. It would be foolish if I didn't. A waste. Besides I'm the queen I can do as I please. The merchant running the stall is wonderful too. She's really friendly. Immediately we are in conversation about gilded bronze dragons and their subspecies. I haven't met a single other person who could talk dragons with me.

Don't recognise the touch at first. The seller just put her hand on my arm and smirked at me. I blink and smile back not really knowing what's happening before I'm grabbed into someone and the merchant is backing away. I frown wanting to continue talking about dragons and books still. I glance at the person who grabbed me prepared to tell them off for grabbing me politely because yelling at people is Soo mean and I don't have the heart until I realise the person who grabbed me is princess Natasha romanoff.

"back the fuck away from my fiancee."

Natasha scowls at the merchant as she pulls me closer. I didn't realise how much taller the princess was compared to me. Jesus Christ am I actually that short. I blink slightly and glance around trying to gouge out if this is normal or weird and nope this is definitely weird the townspeople are looking at us funny. I'm about to speak until Natasha grabs my books and scrolls and begins dragging me back to the carriage. I don't even argue with her I'm in a state of shock. I never thought I'd see the day Natasha would get... Jealous?

A/n: I am sorry this is so late I didn't like the ending originally and rewrote it like three times so I haven't been on much but I've started chapter four and I will go back to normal posting again I promise.

Tag list:

@cd-4848

@idkwhatever580

@gemz5

If you wanna be added to the taglist just ask in the comments:)

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Licence to Thrill || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: You give Charles the ride of his life when he’s running late to an important event. Warnings: 18+ only, illegal driving, sexual innuendos, fluff WC: 2.7k

F1 Masterlist || Based on this request

“No, no, no, shit.” Charles’ curses woke you up and you rubbed your bleary eyes as he tossed the blankets back, cold air rushing over your skin. You immediately missed the warmth of his body where he had been spooning you all night and grabbed your phone to see the time.

“Fuck!” Charles growled as his little toe caught the corner of the bedpost, again, and you leapt up to get dressed too. “We are so late, mon amour.”

He had been looking forward to the charity football game all week and the prospect of missing the kick off made him clumsy in his rush. While you pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt he struggled to get one leg into his team’s black football shorts, falling twice as he lost his balance. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured as you curled an arm around his waist to steady him. “I shouldn’t have kept you up so late.”

He grabbed a shirt before sparing a moment to press his lips to your forehead. “Don’t be, I enjoyed myself very much.”

“Oh, I know, and I’m pretty sure my neighbours know it too,” you teased as you took your shirt from his hands and tossed him the correct shirt with his name and driver number on the back. “Come on, get that sexy ass moving.”

He laughed as you squeezed his butt when he bent down to tie his shoes. “Hands off the goods, honey, I’m not a piece of meat.”

“Keep telling yourself that, handsome,” you shot back as he made for the stairs and you locked the house behind you.

“Shit,” Charles groaned as he hit his head on the steering wheel. “I am stupid.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning over to see the dashboard. “You forgot to put petrol in again, didn’t you?”

“I was in a rush to get here last night,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’ll call Arthur to come get us.”

“I can take us.” You opened your handbag and found your keys as well as the remote for the garage door.

“Wait, you drive?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed as you climbed out of the Pista.

He quickly hopped out his side to follow. “I didn’t even know you had a licence. Why am I only just learning this now?”

“You never asked,” you said with a shrug, “and you always offer to pick me up.”

“Because I thought you didn’t drive.”

You giggled as you hit the remote and the door lifted up. “What did you think was in the garage?”

“Storage? Chérie,” he sighed as he followed you down the driveway that passed by the front door that he had a key for and he pointed to it. “I’ve never come in your backdoor, how should I know?” You cocked an eyebrow up with a smirk and he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, just so you know, the garage is where I park my car.” You waved a hand to the opened door and Charles whistled as he saw the gleaming black hood catch the morning sun. He automatically started walking to the drivers side and you tutted at him. “Don’t even think about it, love. That’s my baby.”

“But-“

“No buts, if you want to make it to the match on time you ride shotgun.” You grabbed his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the other door and he grumbled as he started to walk around. “If it’s any consolation, you can pick the music.”

The door creaked open and slammed shut behind him before he groaned and you laughed as you climbed in to see him holding his phone, the Spotify app useless with the old radio. “Forgot to mention, she only takes cassette tapes.”

“You know you can update the stereo,” he pointed out as he opened the glove compartment and rifled through the stacks of old cassettes. “Fleetwood Mac. Michael Jackson. There’s nothing from this century.”

“Hey, don’t hate on them. They are classics and this is a classic car.” You turned the key and grinned as he dropped the tape at the sudden roar that was deafening in the small garage. “You might want to buckle up, baby.”

“Why are there racing harnesses in here?” he asked as he pulled the five point harness over his shoulders and bucked it in.

“You probably shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” you admitted as you shoved a random mixtape into the radio and turned the volume dial up.

The kick drum intro to Ram Jam’s  Black Betty thumped from the speakers as you pushed down the clutch and put the ‘70 Dodge Charger into gear. The full force of the V8 engine drove your body back into the seat as the car hurtled forward and burst into the sunlight. Charles latched onto the handle above his door and while the other hand pressed against the dash and his knees tucked up like he was preparing for impact.

“I’m trying not to be insulted here,” you huffed as you pushed his knee down between shifting gears. “I may not have a super licence like some people, but I have never crashed.”

A terrified scream erupted as you burst out of the driveway and pulled the handbrake, kicking the back wheels out as you drifted into the quiet suburban street and took off with a trail of burnt rubber. Your neighbours wouldn’t be too happy but you didn’t care as long as you got Charles to where he needed to be on time.

You spared a glance over to your boyfriend and saw the whites of his eyes as they stared at the road ahead and his knuckles turned white from the tight gripe he held. “Chérie, road, road, cars, look, traffic, look at the road. The road!”

He turned to you wide eyed as you approached the busy intersection at full speed before hitting the brake. You held his eye contact as you shifted down the gears before coming to a gentle stop at the lines in front of the traffic light and he exhaled in relief.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he said but the words were warm and his smile was one amazement as the adrenaline hit him. His hands tugged the harness until it was snug and he settled into the seat as you waited for the light to turn green. “I’m ready this time.”

“Good, because we won’t make it if I stop for every red light.”

“Wait, what?” The light changed and you put your foot to the floor as Charles chuckled nervously. “You’re joking right?”

“If it helps, sure,” you shrugged, weaving in and out of the cars and ignoring the angry honks of their horns. “Do you think I could take your car for a spin?”

“Absolutely…not.” 

You narrowed your eyes as he got your hopes up and almost missed the turn that would shave a few seconds off the travel time. Any normal person would have struggled to stay upright in their seat but Charles’ line of work made it easy for him to tense his abdominals and neck so he barely moved as the mass shifted and the back wheels drifted behind the turn.

“What if I let you drive this?” you bartered as the road straightened out and you reached speeds high enough to instantly lose your licence and the car. 

“Oh, mon amour,” he murmured as he chewed his bottom lip and he debated the offer before looking at his watch. “If you get me there before kick off you have a deal.”

He should have known you wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity very few people got and the smile you gave him gave him pause as he wondered what he had just got himself into.

“It’s going to be tight,” you muttered as you saw the time, just catching the hint of a smile on his face. “But doable.”

Charles watched with fascination. He saw your eyes scanning the road far ahead, making plans and contingency plans for the hazards that you might face. All the while you blindly shifted up the gears with your feet working in tandem, releasing the accelerator as you double clutched for a smoother transition. 

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” he chuckled in disbelief as you took a corner with enough speed that he knew there had to be some g-force working against you, but you didn’t even notice as you gripped the wheel tight and exited the apex without slowing down.

“I’m pretty sure if you were dreaming we would be doing something else, not driving.”

“I’m not sure now, I’m finding this extremely hot. You could pull over and make that dream come true?”

“And miss out on driving your baby? No way.” You shook your head with a laugh before biting your lip. “It is tempting, but I have to think of the children. They would be very disappointed if you didn’t show up for the match.”

“And Pierre, I don’t think he would forgive me.”

“I said children didn’t I. Oh, shit.” You ripped the handbrake and did a 180 as you missed the street you needed. “Stop distracting me.”

The stadium was just up ahead and you could see the parking lot on the other side of the overpass but there was only one road to get there. Unless you wanted to drive the long way around but then you would be late.

“Amour, that’s a one way street,” Charles pointed out as you headed to the underground pass. “You’re going the wrong way. There’s traffic cameras here too.”

“You’re right,” you huffed before twisting the wheel a little to the left then all the way to the right. The suspension would not like the pressure you were putting it under but she spun around and you shoved the car in reverse and draped your arm across Charles’ chair as you looked over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to get a fine.”

The engine roared inside the tunnel as you pushed the limits of the gear and you swerved through the lanes. You were grateful that it wasn’t rush hour traffic so there were only a few drivers angry with your recklessness before you burst out of the tunnel, through the intersection and into the parking lot. 

The stadium was quiet since the event was only televised but there were still lots of media crews at the entrance and they all turned your way as the back of your car careened towards them. You reached the last row of empty parking spaces and pulled the handbrake, whipping the front around and coming to a stop beside the gate entrance.

“Twelve seconds to spare,” you laughed as you drummed your fingers on the steering wheel. “That will be twenty euros and a five star rating, s’il vous plaît.”

“Just enough time to change my shorts,” he joked as he pushed his door open.

“Good thing they are black this year,” you retorted with a laugh as you tossed him his boots he would have forgotten. “Go, I’ll meet you inside.”

He blew a kiss as he took off at a jog and waved to the stunned reporters who were still recording.

“Is that Y/N?” A female presenter asked her male colleague.

“Leclerc’s girlfriend?” He laughed and shook his head. “No way. This has to be some stunt.”

You drove more sedately to a spot a few spaces away where you spotted Pierre’s car and parked beside it before killing the engine and letting the silence settle. Adjusting your mirror, you saw everyone still watching, waiting to see who it was being the wheel.

“I told you,” the woman gasped as she elbowed the man. “It was her! Do you have a moment?”

“Sorry, games about to kick off,” you apologised as you rushed past and into the stadium just in time to see Charles faceplant. “Ohh,” you gasped along with the others watching before cupping your hands around your mouth. “Yellow card ref!”

“He tripped over himself,” Kika whispered as she joined you.

“Oh I know, I just thought he could use a little 15 minute rest.” You grinned as you gave her a kiss on the cheek. “He’s had a rough morning.”

“What happened?”

“He stubbed his toe.” Your phone started vibrating and you pulled it out of your pocket to see your twitter notifications blowing up. “Huh, that was quick. The devil works hard but F1 fans work harder.”

You showed her the thread which started with a short clip of your car thrashing it down the street, Charles holding on for dear life. You chuckled as you saved it to show him later, knowing he would get a kick out of it too.

“Yeah, I don’t think that was the stubbed toe, hun…” she hummed.

“Meh,” you shrugged, pocketing the device so you could concentrate on the game.

Charles and Pierre’s team won the match and you climbed over the baluster to jump down to the grass as the pair jogged over. Charles swept you up with a proud grin as he spun around.

“Well played, handsome,” you praised as you brushed his sweaty hair back into place before helping yourself to a quick kiss.

“Wouldn’t have made it without you, chérie.”

Pierre clapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head to the reporters waiting for a post match interview and he reluctantly placed your feet back on the ground.

“Well, this should be interesting,” you muttered to Kika as you waved to the camera that remained pointed at you until Charles said something.

“Just how bad was your driving?” she asked curiously.

“Bad? Oh it wasn’t bad,” you chuckled. “My driving is actually very good, if I do say so myself. It was just a little faster than he was expecting.”

She curled an eyebrow up. “He goes 200 mph for a living.”

“Yeah, funny right.”

Charles was still catching his breath when the microphone was held in front of him and could see videos of his entrance playing on the big screens around the stadium. Pierre’s eyebrows disappeared under his hair in surprise as he saw the black Charger spinning to a stop and his friend climbing out.

“No fucking way,” Pierre laughed as he looked back at you laughing with his girlfriend. “That’s awesome.”

“I know right,” Charles said with a proud smile. “You should have seen it, she was going full on sideways through these corners, it was insane.”

“So, Charles, I'm sure this comes as no surprise,” the reported began, “but we have some questions about your girlfriend, after the entrance she made.”

“You have some questions?” He threw his head back and laughed. “I have some questions! I had no idea she could drive like that.”

“Her father is a rally driver. Did you really never suspect anything?”

“My mother is a hairdresser, doesn’t mean I am good at cutting hair. Why do you think I wore a bandana during lockdown? I butchered it that’s why.” He brushed his hair back that had thankfully grown back after his terrible attempt and laughed to himself. “So no, I didn’t assume she could drive because her father can.”

The interview finally turned to the football match and then a little bit about the upcoming race before Charles was able to escape. He held up a finger and mouthed one minute as he made a detour to the few fans that had been invited. He talked with some of them, shaking hands and signing autographs.

You wolf whistled loudly as Charles took his shirt off and he grinned without even having to check who it came from before he gave it to a fan and waved goodbye. You knew you were staring as he jogged back and you knew you weren’t the only one, but he only had eyes for you as he gave you a wink and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“How cool is that shot,” he said as he looked up at the screens still playing a rotation of highlights from the game and your arrival. “There’s just one way to make it better.”

“Excuse me?” you dared him to criticise your driving but his charming smile only grew wider.

“Do it in a Ferrari.”

[kingofspadescos]

Astarion x Reader - All You Wanna Do

Warnings - ANGST WITH GOOD ENDING

TW - Trauma, Sexual trauma mention

ALMOST MADE MYSELF CRY FROM THIS-

So in Six we all know Katherine Howard's (the pink one) song right? '

'All You Wanna Do'

And it goes through her lovers but how they only used her for her body?

Tell me that isn't Astarion.

Imagine after escaping Cazador (or at some point) he tries to get back out into the dating pool. He just wanted something, anything to make the numb feeling go away. And he thought he found it, but every day he'd wake up to an empty bed and every time he could feel more and more of himself break. Its an endless vicous cycle that he tries desperstly to break but fails inevitably.

He gives up, slinking back to the shadows and watching from afar.

But then one day when he slips out at night to visit a midnight market he accidently bumps into someone.

And it just so happens to be you.

He tilts his head when you smile up at him

"Sorry, sir, apprantly the skill of walking has alluded me" you said.

He's dumbfounded, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue but unable to make it past his lips. How could it? You were truly breathtaking, the moonlight reflecting off your skin in a way he could only describe as ethereal.

And the way you looked at him, oh gods your eyes had him reeling. There was no hunger in them, no want, no lust, just embarrassment and genuine kindness, something he was not used to being the target of.

He could handle pure mindless need, but this? Such a sweet innocent little thing like you? Oh, no, he couldn't handle that. Not when you looked at him like he actually mattered in the world.

He barely managed out a stangled 'its fine' before dashing back to his dwelling...where he proceeded to lock himself away for days.

What else was he supposed to do? His heart was beating to another rhythm, a time that only meant heartbreak, anger, and self loathing. He couldn't handle it, not again.

But then, after a few days, a knock sounded at his door, and with caution he had opened it to find you there, holding his blade.

"Hi! You dropped this at the market a few days ago" you said "I asked around about you so I could find you, which was tremendously easy, apprantly there is only one known vampire around here."

And there that smile was again and those same eyes that had him crumbling.

"Thank you" he had coughed out, gently grabbing the blade. He wanted you out, far away from him as possible, just so he could function normally. But then your fingers accidently brushed his and he was almost done for.

Panic, excitement, fear, and hope came down on him in waves as he looked into your eyes again. He barely manged to stop himself from taking a step back as if the adoration and happiness that were captured in your eyes had physically pushed him.

"Well I should probably get going" you said turning to walk, and a new panic rose in his chest, the fear of never seeing you again.

"Wait!" He said too quickly for his own liking "come in for some tea, won't you? It's the least I could do to repay you."

From there you two go closer and closer, spending as much time together as possible. Each second he spent with you he felt his heart reach out towards you as if to embrace you and never let go.

But the fear was still there, the fear that he would get to close and you would leave him, just like everyone else.

However, the day came when you confessed. A new dagger in one hand and a rose in the other you looked up at him with those eyes. The same eyes he had yet to act normal about and told him you liked him and wanted him to be yours and you to be his.

The cold hand of panic that crippled his heart made an appearance, twisting the fear into his body and causing his knees to buckle. God's, he felt so stupid, felt so vulnerable and useless, but then a warmth surrounded him.

Your embrace.

You held him, arms tightly woven around his body keeping him secure to you.

"You can say no, you can tell me no" you had whispered, and he almost jumped at the out "but if you're willing to let me hold your heart ill shall cherish it til' the sun no longer shines and even then I shall create my own."

You had him in tears, hands clutching at you in desperation and head burying into your neck.

The rest of the night was spent with assurance and love, you guiding him through a simple kiss that led to nothing more.

And in the morning when he awoke, he cried again when he saw you curled into his side, hand clutching his with the intent of never letting go.

[wizardrousactivity]

Feel better now?

Warnings: Angst, mating press, mentions of self-harm, mentions of relapsing, Fem!reader

Pairings: König x fem!Reader

Note: I am not very proud of this one because of my STUPID WRITING!!! but I did end up spending 2-3 hours on this so I’m hoping some people would enjoy it. Mwah love you all 2.3k words! 

König felt his chest shrivel up once he saw your pouty lips and half-teary eyes, watching you storm out of the room while he was stumped.

Thinking of ways to apologize to his sweet girl flooded his noggin and he threw his hands out and fell back into his chair almost comically, grumbling and getting back to his paperwork while he tried to push away any other thoughts besides the box of his work. You shoved yourself into the bathroom, rubbing your hands all over your face to try to stop the tears that were making your face feel icky. Thrashing around to find your towel, the water running loudly in the background - the sounds couldn’t compare to how loud your thoughts were. 

The shower felt harder that day, the water burning the red lines you inflicted on yourself yesterday.

You sat down on the wet floor, head in your palms as you sobbed, the tears falling from your face entwined with the water and vanished along with it. On your knees you grabbed the shampoo - cleaning yourself should never feel this difficult, you’ve grown soft. 

Standing up, your body immediately planting itself onto the wall as your knees buckled. Nibbled lips, fingers clasped your mouth. Trying to suppress your gasps and whines. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve managed to do your hair and apply lotion to your body, since you’ve fixed yourself - you find that you’re capable enough to make dinner, putting on clothes you just washed, they’re warm and make you feel a bit better. The harm is visible, and you try to forget about it. Too drained to change into other clothes that hide your pink and white scars, busy prodding at your pajama shorts to make them just a little longer, even if it wont make a difference. 

Leaving the bathroom you walk into the hallway hoping to see König doing paperwork in his office, or holding out his arms for you. Instead what's in front of you is a closed door, making the air catch in your throat.  

The descend down the stairs feels melancholy, you feel as if your brain is off, walking only as if you’re a zombie dedicated to pleasing others. You want to make him happy, make him forget about your previous interaction with the blessing of food. 

This week felt like the final straw, constantly trying to please people at your job - you’ve been trying so hard. Nobody was there for you, König looked at you with a face of anger, eyes narrowing yours. Going on about how he has helped you while you try to squeak out your words, and he yelled at you. Piercing and loud, making you tremble as you looked up at him like he had betrayed you. He screamed at himself in his head, scolding himself for lashing out on you. Years of aggression had changed him truly, down to his entire system - he doesn’t know how to respond now. 

As soon as your hands touch the stove, you begin shaking, tears running down your face. You couldn’t find the energy in yourself to cook and it made you feel all the more disappointed in yourself, the walls of discipline you’ve built come crashing down.

Nails snuggled firmly into your arms as you sink down onto the floor, hyperventilating in frustration. 

You cry into your skin for the umpteenth time, biting into your flesh so the man upstairs doesn’t hear you. Nothing has ever made you feel so useless, and you can't get over that. 

A heavy hand on your shoulder makes you jump, interrupting your thoughts. You turn your back slowly, only to see the kindest pair of sleepy eyes looking back at your manic ones. Your eyelids shut tight, hands finding his shirt and pulling him in. “M’ so sorry..”  It’s muffled into his shoulder and he pats your back, hands resting at your hips. He shushes you gently, eyes scanning over the numerous scars on your legs that looked almost too fresh - and he swore his heart paused for a second. König punches himself in the head mentally once again, biting his lip. “Not your fault..I shouldn’t have yelled. Shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.” 

Your face digs itself into the small dip between his neck and shoulder, sobbing even harder - gasping for air between them. And he feels like a monster at this point.. “I’m sorry, mein Liebling, don’t waste all your tears on me.” König brings you in even closer, landing sloppy kisses to your forehead and cheeks. "I was wrong, never cry for me like that." He says, reassuring you in a stronger voice, yet it remains soft. König mumbles something under his breath, like he cursed himself forever, never to let you cry over something he failed to do - control his emotions around you.

You grab onto his jaw with need, locking lips with him in vast movements, and he lets it happen. Letting your tongue win the fight for dominance, hand gently resting  at the back of your skull, the salty tang of your lips stimulating his organ of taste. But he couldn't care less.

Hums vibrate into your mouth pleasantly, he taps your back to let you know when he needs to breathe.

The kiss is broken after only his lungs start to burn for air, you’re still hungry for more of it. His breathing is heavy as he claws at the soft skin under your shirt, massaging your lower back and pulling you even closer to his warmth, pleasantly surprised at your actions. “Need more-” You hiccupped, mouth-agape with feeble sounds. “Please.” 

“More of what? Tell me.”

“Want more of you- Need you.” You confess, and his heart cinches from its beat. Almost seizes to continue at the sight.

He simply nods, picking you up by your waist and putting you up against him - not where you're flat against his chest, holstered up enough so he can kiss your tummy, electrifying butterflies filling your abdomen. König plops you down on the bed, as gentle as he can possibly be - you look like glass to him right now as your legs hang off the side of the bed, you're sitting on the edge of it as he lowers himself.

He’s right in front of  you, crouched. He’s kissing your thighs all over, strings of apologies you can’t hear when he runs along one of your scars. “Can I please.. I want to show you how sorry I am.” You know what he’s implying when his eyes drift down to your pussy, clothed but getting absolutely drenched underneath. 

“Yes.. please.” A simple sniffle and he’s making snail work of your shorts with little kisses, pulling them off along with your panties. He’s purposely taking it slow with you, testing the waters. 

Successfully spreading your thighs, he salivates. One look at your perfekt swollen clit and he’s down on his knees, offering one long lick to the slick heavenly gates. “So good.” He groans, now flicking your bead with his tongue in vast motions - and you mewl out, high pitched and needy. He’s so good at eating your pussy, wrapping his lips around the whole thing once he made you sensitive for it. “König..” A pule of his name leaves your lips, sending blood straight to his cock once again. 

You gasp once you realize he’s rolling your hips onto his tongue, making you fuck yourself on his tongue with his hands. “Holy fuck-” Your toes curl, biting your bottom lip. The changes between flicking his tongue and sucking all feed into your upbuilding orgasm.

“König!” He stops abruptly at the last squeal of his name, right at the moment you felt yourself coming undone.

Standing at his full height you pout up at him. “I’m sorry- please, can’t let you cum yet. Need to show you.” He repeats, almost defeatedly, like he wants to fulfill your needs now.

König pulls down his pajama pants down to his ankles, before he positions himself in front of spread legs. Rubbing his tip against your clit, prodding against it deliberately. Making you sob, kick your feet against his back needily. “Uhuh. None of that, you’ll get what you want in a second.” Gentle, affirming.

“Gonna slip this in, slowly. You got that?” He affirms with you, and you're nodding your head urgently. It makes him chuckle, how pliant and needy you are. 

You throw your head back once you feel his stretch, a wince passing through your lips. "Er nimmt es so gut auf.." He praises with a moan, a hand gently caressing your collarbone from where he stands.

He’s trying to distract you from the feel of his cock spreading you open, you’ve tightened up so much since the last time. 

He finally gets the whole meat slab in with a plap, and you let out a sigh of relief. He finds it really cute, how you struggle beneath it. “You’ve got it.. Good girl, the best.” He dances his hips into yours, balls flat against your ass. “Made for my cock.” “So deep..” Your thighs tighten around him, begging him to start a pace already - the torture of slow, deep thrusts. “Hah- fuck.. Too slow Köni..” Ugh, you’re so fucking cute. Stop it. It’s taking enough of his willpower to not fuck you right into this bed. 

“H-Harder..” König chuckles, grinning at how feverish you are. “Dirty girl.” Your knees are then pressed next to your ears, he’s putting you in some sort of mating press - making you swallow in anticipation, a little fear maybe. This position makes him feel deeper than ever, you’re clenching around him.

 He swallows. “This is what you want? You can take it?” He doesn’t relent his rolls into you, like this is a casual interaction. “Yes- fuck- Please!” You beg and he immediately complies, making you jump up with every thrust of him into you, heavy balls slapping right against you. “You like this?” He doesn’t even need to have you answer, your mewls are speaking for you. 

As soon as he gets you where he wants, a hard thrust is battered into you - making you cry out at the sheer force of it. He’s not cruel though, bending down so you could hold onto his shoulders. He gulps, adams apple bobbing. “This is what you wanted? Tell me, please.” He needs to get confirmation from you, eyes scanning over your face for any signs of discomfort. “Keep going.” You take his breath away, good girl. Taking all of this cock. 

He bites his lip, denting your can roughly - the smacking of your skin is loud and sinful. His hands lay planted on your ankles, driving into you like a two dollar whore.

Broken moans escape your mouth as you constantly feel his dick ram against your cervix. ”Gonna show you how sorry I am.” Your body tensed up as you felt your orgasm approaching humiliatingly quick.  Your legs tried to kick at something, but that's impossible with them suspended in the air, unable to move.

He just wont stop thrusting either, watching you try to form a sentence underneath him. 

Waves of pleasure incinerate through your body, burning your insides with ecstasy and heat. The constant sliding of his shaft against your walls doesn't help it either, he's changed the angle which his dick hits to where its constantly drubbing your g-spot.

"Good- good pussy. I'm' hitting that pillowy spot." He laughs, orgasmic yet a little bit deranged in the middle of sex.

You gasp out, feeling a string in your stomach get unbearably thin. Your pussy clenches, it’s slightly nauseating from how tightly you’ve clamped. He moans, back arching from the feel of you squeezing him dangerously tight. “Fuck yeah, cum for me. Cum for me.. Ja..!” His head is thrown back, lost in just you completely. 

The coil finally snaps and you squeal, your juices coming out squelching and running down your ass. You’re drooling, lips coated in saliva. And he just wants to clean up all of that with his kisses, connect your saliva together. 

"Ah! König!" You yelp, vision turning white as overwhelming waves of bliss start hitting you like a truck.

Your toes uncurled once you’ve gotten off your high, signs of it still lingering around in your stomach - feels like your pussy is beating as fast and hard as your heart.

But you can’t forget, he’s looking for his release as well. Mouth open and panting above you like a mutt.  His moans announce his upcoming orgasm while rutting into your sensitive pussy like a bitch in heat. Your hand comes up to his chest to try and get his pace to relent - but it’s not possible to push past a brick wall. You’ve already started sobbing at this point from the overstimulation, mewls for König to be gentler goes in from one ear out from the other. Or if he can even hear you. 

With the clenching of your snatch he's throwing his head back with a broken moan. "Hng-auh..! It's been so long since he's had good pussy like yours, and you best believe he's enjoying himself.

A rumbling deep inside of him, lingers of an upcoming orgasm taking over his well-mannered self. Now his hands have moved up to your ankles, putting himself in a plank and pounding so hard you think you'd die.

König's trying to match your moans like an orchestral performance, seemingly like he's mocking you, yet it's full of honesty and neediness. "Close hmng- yes.. fuck m-" He announces before cutting himself off unplanned, spurting into your storage room with his buttocks clenched forwards to push semen further into you.

The mongrel of the house squeezing your ankles with a sob once he feels his high hit him like it did yours, keeping his shaft nestled in you while he finds himself in ecstasy - unknowing of your suffering from overstimulation beneath him. Beaten and battered pussy.

He doesn’t notice your trembling body underneath him till he hears you let out a feeble sound of his name. Looking down to your shaking legs, thighs covered in your splattered juices. And by god, are you a sight.

“No more..” You mumbled, unable to coherently speak to him anymore. He pulls out of you, a small squelch being heard from how good he's spread you out. "Ja, won't fuck you anymore." He gravely snickered, letting your legs down from the sore position they were in.

König practically purrs out his praises, running his hands up and down your body. “Let’s get you to the bathroom now, a bath?” He suggests, your ears perk up at the sound of a warm bath surrounding your achy body. 

Bonus ;)

[joffyworld]

COTL Freaky Tierlist

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP CHUCKLEFUCKS

I'm about to drop some life changing lore and if you can't handle it, that's tough titties my brothers, sisters and theys. If you don't agree with this tier list, you're either a normal person (in which case why are you here run for the hills) or you're so damn freaky that God forgot that was possible when he made me.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, FROM LEAST TO MOST FREAKY:

F:

Kallamar - Need I say more? This loveable twink is soft as his husbands knickers and by God would we not have him any other way. This fucker can't even fathom anything beyond the most painfully dull missionary imaginable, and that's just as an excuse to cuddle more afterwards. "But Joffy" I hear you say, "He's a renowned slut he should be in A!" Wrong. He couldn't be more vanilla, it's all an act and anyone with more than 3 spouses is just fucking lying at that point. Cmon, he may be a God, but deep inside that cowards octopussy is a love for the mundane.

D:

Heket - Controversial I know. But hear me out here. Heket has spent all her life getting fucked by life, she has literally no time for your stupid fleshy appendages, and to top it off she's the most desperately useless lesbian this side of the lands of the old faith. Renowned from Darkwood to Anchordeep, this bitch is fucking stupid when it comes to "rizzing a shawty" and it shows because she spends all her time yapping about the good ol' days. She's only slightly freakier than Kallamar because she's probably into being burned by cigarettes or some shit, but let's face facts. Inexperience guides this poor phrog into the D tier, despite her aversion to "D" to begin with.

Leshy - This stupid dumb stupid worm barely knows that sex exists, and if you asked him what his favourite position is he'd say "1st" and then promptly challenge you to a footrace. The God of Chaos has no time for ropes and rails, but he's at least got a good heart and is pretty gay for that cat. I've watched this stupid fucker get divorced in two different AU's because he couldn't live with the guilt, you think he's surviving post-nut clarity? No. Enough said, he's keeping it clean and calm in the bedroom, and that cat couldn't be happier about that considering his daily life is fucking mental. Keep the Chaos outside, inside? Domestic worm only.

C:

Goat - Now this is where it gets tricky, you might think that the gruff exterior of a mass murdering psychopath is enough to demonstrate a willingness to get tied upside down and spank the monkey till the sun don't shine. But brother, let me tell you, it ain't fuckin true. Don't get me wrong, this goat can fuck, and boy does he, but most of the time it's all bark no bite in the flirting department. Easily flustered, puts up an external image of punk-rock to hide that he's an utter cinnamon bun, the whole works. That being said, with a long term partner? Buckle up. That crown isn't dildo-purple for no reason, prepare for bliss and potential bliss-ters.

B:

Lamb - OKAY HOLD YOUR HORSES this is gonna be a tough one. You've gotta be thinking, that's either wayyy too high for this silly lil fella, or wayyy to low for this absolute cock devouring demon, but let me remind you, this one here is subjective. This is the only character I've seen written as everything from an asexual to a violent and sadistic cannibal, so what fairer rating than the exact middle? It truly does depends, if you're on your "cannibalism is routine and fun" shit then you're gonna be rocketing right up there, straight to S baby, unless you have some kind of twisted mentality you need checked by a licensed psychiatrist to somehow think that's tame; not to shame it mind you. But if you're more on the side of the lamb's that typically get posted by a cuter artist, than you're gonna be rocking a D or even an F. This little fuzzy fucker is traumatized, some type of gay no matter what, and certainly a wildcard, and what better way to celebrate that then with a middle-of-the-road approach? Besides, their most famous partner is certainly a bit more repressed, which leads us to:

A:

Narinder - Are we surprised? This fuzzy little furball has been trapped in prison for 1000 years with his two kids and NOTHING ELSE to do except hope he can get back on the market. The moment he's freed, it's gonna be hell unleashed, but thankfully 99% of the time he's either so angry or so oblivious it turns into a slowburn of passion with his fuzzy lil sheepguy that he definitely "doesn't" have a thing for. But, as the well versed know, this motherfucker has seen shit, and being the God of Death is gonna give you a weird taste in, well, "tastes" than a normal life will. I mean really, the guys fuckin surrounded by miserable dead people all day, he needs stress relief and his enthusiasm for revenge borders on the horny-sided. This guy fucks, but mostly gets fucked, and remains The One Who Bottoms in almost every AU. Cmon people, if you've read this far you've fuckin seen it with your own eyes, do I really to lecture about it more?

S:

The Mura™ - The fucker that started it all. I bet until now you thought I wouldn't include this loveable spider and awful mother-sibling of 4, but here we are. This goddamn spider has single-parented a family of genocidal psychopaths since history started being recorded, and to match that then had to almost literally kill one of their own brother-kid-things to save the others. Stressed and in need of relief? Check. You know what makes a motherfucker freaky? Repression, and this spider is goddamn dripping in it (pun intended) and is ready to burst. I myself may be a Shamura aroace truther, but if I have to put a letter on it, it's 100% in the universes where this spider fucks. Copulates, eats your head, kills your family mid-coitus, the whole shebang, but boy is that gonna be the best last nut you'll ever bust. This spider's an expert, literally the God of War and by God are they gonna wage war on your holes, not to mention ALSO being the God of Wisdom? I mean come on, somebody had to write the Kama Sutra, and it was this horny bastard

And that's it

You may have questions, you may have alternative takes, to be honest I'll probably change my mind the moment I hit post and remember that actually Heket deepthroated a glizzy on the 5th of October last year, but honestly? Who gives a shit. These gods be gay people, that's all that matters.

Goodnight, Lamb Bless, and may you never encounter The Mura during ovulation. Godspeed soldiers, amen.

[gottawhump]

Dogs

115

CW/TW: pet whump, BBU/WRU, noncon, drugging, starvation, food mention, vomit mention, biting. Multiple whumpers?

He shivers in the locked cage, in the cellar. The thin, coated wires bite into his skin. No blanket to warm him or to provide a bit of comfort.

Comfort is earned.

Warmth is earned.

Food is earned.

The owner graces him with a bottle of water each day. It’s bitter, and makes him sleepy, so that he wakes aching with a throbbing headache.

There’s shouting upstairs. Two voices, hers quieter but still raised, and the owner’s, enraged. Hard shoes stomping on the floor. Then down the stairs.

A few clicks, and the cage door opens. He lifts his head, and the owner clips a leash to his collar.

“You want to go out so badly? Come on.”

He’s allowed to sit in the passenger seat this time, and he looks out the window, unable to stop gaping at the unfamiliar sights.

The owner laughs. “If I rolled down the window, you’d stick your head out like some stupid mutt.”

He stares out at the city lights, and the night.

“Come on.” The owner tugs hard at the leash, dragging him forward into the dingy warehouse.

Inside, he blinks under the bright lights. There’s crowds of people here, cheering and yelling.

As they get closer, some greet the owner by name, slapping him on his back. In the circle, 115 hears snarling and growling. Then a scream. A breath of silence, followed by curses and cheers.

“Pretty lapdog you’ve got there, Did you bring him for bait?”

“Nah, I’m going to want him back. Though I’d lend him to the club as a reward bitch.”

An active participant in my owner’s desires. If there was anything in his stomach, he’d throw up, adding a new stain to the old concrete surrounding him. If there was some way to run, he’d run.

The only times he spent in the Facility clinic were after being given to Guard Dogs.

Fighting Dogs lost a lot of the inhibitions built into Guard Dogs, he’s heard. That’s why they were illegal.

He turns his head as the door opens. A big, bloodied man comes in, a slow smile spreading across his face when he sees 115. “Go ahead and run. I like it when they run.”

He runs, useless in the small space. He’s caught, tackled to the floor, sharp teeth pricking his throat. He screams as his arm is twisted hard behind his back. Knees spread his legs apart.

This is only the first one.

The owner helps him into the car, tossing a rough blanket over him and buckling him in. His eyes are too swollen to let him see the rising dawn out the window.

Before they get home, there’s a stop, and then the owner tosses a hot paper bag in his lap. His stomach growls at the smell.

At home, the owner points to the guest bedroom. “Go clean yourself up. You can use warm water. Eat, then sleep. Don’t bleed on the sheets.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The words come out with a bit of a lisp, over his split lips.

“Maybe now you’ll appreciate how easy you have it, little whore. Maybe now you’ll be grateful.”

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue

[girls4yuuta]

𖦹 cw: dark content! (step/in)cest (not specified), oral (f receiving), ‘nii-chan’ usage, n.sfw under the cut… wc: 1k

choso loved being his little sister’s safe place. he doesn’t feel bothered when you’d crawl to him after a long day to ask for hugs or when you’d end up being a little snarky after a particularly bad night. you’re his dearest little sister; of course, he’d indulge all your little requests, humor all your whims, hug you to sleep, and wipe your tears away.

but tonight was a little… different. you’ve come home to choso with teary eyes and a crestfallen expression. apparently, your (now ex) boyfriend had dumped you for… a multitude of reasons. being too emotional, too clingy, too needy, too… everything. your ex claimed he felt like he was being choked by what you call ‘affection.’ he couldn’t even so much as glance at another woman without you being upset!

so now, here you are, being cradled and coddled by your beloved older brother. he engulfs you in a warm embrace, his arms a protective barrier between you and the world. his hand absentmindedly traced up and down your back. it felt warm. safe. it felt like home.

so really, who could blame you two when you fall back into old habits— the ones you swore to break the moment you entered the dating scene? before long, choso’s lips were on yours, eagerly kissing you like a starved man. his hands quickly found the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside carelessly. without wasting another moment, he peels your shorts away too, leaving you in your panties. he stares at you with a glimmer of awe in his eyes.

he says, “spread your legs wide.”

“nii-chan…” you whine, a little embarrassed. you can’t help but rub your thighs together with the intensity of his gaze, going against his words.

he doesn’t let you keep your legs pressed close for long; he takes the initiative, taking your knees and pulling them apart. he can see the damp spot on your panties, the evidence of your arousal.

“i’m glad he dumped you.”

his words feel cold, almost callous, but in his gaze is pure adoration and affection. he positions himself between your legs, coming face to face with your clothed cunt. he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent, and it garners a shaky breath from you.

you demand rather weakly, “stop teasing.” and who could say no to you? definitely not your older brother.

he licks a stripe through the fabric, tasting traces of your wetness leaking through it. then, he pokes the tip of his tongue where your entrance would be. he repeats the process a few more times until you’re squirming and near simply shoving his face against your pussy.

“nii-chan… i said stop teasing…”

choso gives you a low chuckle before briefly pulling away. he presses your legs together once more, just to slide your panties off you. he takes note of the way the fabric slightly sticks to your dripping hole, and he almost moans at the sight.

“i’ll take care of you. i’ll make you stop crying about your stupid ex,” choso says as he opens your legs again. you could feel the cold air as well the warmth of his breath against your core.

he doesn’t give a moment for doubts as he dives right in, parting your folds with two fingers and licking deep into you. a wanton moan escapes your lips, and your knees buckle at the sensation. it had been a long time— too long— since you’ve felt this.

“i bet he couldn’t make you moan like this,” choso says in a low voice, but it almost sounds like a taunt. “did he even bother eating you out?”

honestly? no. your ex had hated doing it, believing he was beneath such a ‘dirty’ thing. you shake your head no in response to choso’s words, and it makes him frown.

“what a useless thing. couldn’t even please you properly, unlike your nii-chan,” is what he says before he starts to give your cunt more attention that it had been missing for months. he eagerly licks at your folds, spreads them open, pokes his tongue in your pulsating core. he doesn’t let up— not even as his mouth and chin is messily covered in your wetness, not even as you make a fist around his dark locks, tugging on his hair. instead, he places his hands on your thighs, holding you open as he tastes you like a feast he’s long been waiting for.

maybe it’s the sensitivity of not having been treated to such pleasure in so long that makes your release build up quick. your legs close around his head and he doesn’t mind. that knot of pleasure forms deep within you, and before you know it, you’re shivering and begging for choso to stop to spare you from the feeling of overstimulation.

“stop, stop, please… i said stop!”

choso pulls away after hearing your frantic moans. he gently puts his hands on your waist instead and gives you a look that can only be described as pleading. he mumbles, “sorry… i’m sorry…”

you catch your breath and close your eyes as you try to regain your composure. as soon as your breathing evens out once more, you mumble a weak, “it’s okay. it’s just… too much. no more.”

choso looks not so different from a kicked puppy, but he couldn’t help it. he was quite eager to be with you again. still, he slowly nods, “okay.”

that was enough to make you bite your lip before sighing. you motion with your hands, spreading your arms so he could fall into you. “kiss me, nii-chan.”

just as quick, he perks up and leans forward to give you a kiss. you could taste yourself in his mouth, slightly salty, and it makes you moan against his lips. he takes it as a signal to wrap his arms around you too— and you know that your words ‘no more’ might as well have fallen into deaf ears.

[arcsimper5]

Hehe, the first kiss prompts are irresistible! 😂💙 I’ve got a request, if you find it inspiring, and if not, feel free to ignore!

How about hands on the cheeks… with whomever you are most feelin? 🥹 Just that deliciously satisfying yearning finally coming to fruition? 🙈

Fun to read if you choose to write it! 💙

AHHHH I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this, I've been so caught up in work and writing other stuff but AHHH I FINALLY DID IT!

I went with Hunter, because it just seemed right to me, I hope you like it!

Word count: 2626 Pairing: Hunter x Reader (no name) Rating: M (blood, minor injury, peril, darkness, lots of angst, pining, premature mourning) Please let me know if I missed anything! And thank you so much for the prompt!

“Look out!”

Hunter’s warning came too late for you to respond, the ground beneath you trembling with the force of the cave-in rapidly gaining on your position.

Damn Cid, you thought to yourself, panting for breath as you sprinted forward, Omega by your side, damn her and her stupid missions. The cache she’d bought the location for had been empty, and you’d already known this mission was going to be a disaster when the rain started pouring the moment you touched down.

Now, the rocks that made up the old cave system had finally buckled with the movement of the ground thanks to the water above, beginning with small creaks and groans, quickly turning into certain death, the rocks crashing behind you creating splintering crevasses in the ground.

You first felt your foot slip as the ground opened up beneath you, Omega’s shrill shriek ringing in your ears as the sensation of falling overtook you.

It wasn’t even a conscious thought as you reached for Omega, using all of your strength to grab ahold of her jacket and throw her away from the rapidly growing hole in the ground, her eyes wide as Wrecker caught her midair and turned to run, your footing failing you.

As Omega screamed your name helplessly, Hunter turned, watching in horror as your eyes met seconds before you slipped out of view, consumed by complete and utter darkness.

Rocks and dirt crashed around you, one last deep breath taken as you landed with a sickening crunch onto hard ground, eyes closing as you waited for the end.

The groaning of rock on rock above you made you flinch, like nails on chalkboard, screaming in your ears while tiny streams of dirt and pebbles pelted your face.

Raising your hand in defense, an utterly useless motion against tonnes of rock, you chastised yourself internally, you waited. And waited.

The noise of the collapse faded, the steady flow of dirt and rocks dying out as the world around you settled, no longer tickling your face.

Daring to open your eyes, you found the exercise useless; pure, pitch black surrounded you, blinding you to your surroundings.

Swallowing hard, you dared to move a little, breath hitching as a few rocks fell from the gaps in your armour onto the floor below.

Feeling around, your hands came to rest on a large slab of rock above you, tracing the jagged edges to the sides of the crevasse; it had been caught mere feet above you by sheer luck, your lungs burning as you inhaled a shuddering breath, barely holding back manic laughter.

You’d survived the fall, and narrowly avoided being crushed by the falling rocks, but now you were faced with another problem; escaping your new prison.

Slowing your breathing, your thoughts drifted to Hunter, Omega and the others, tears burning in your eyes.

They were safe. They’d made it out. But Hunter’s scream of your name when he’d seen you fall, the expression in his eyes as he’d watched helplessly… it only added to the regret building inside you.

You should have told him. You should have been honest. You should have admitted you loved him months ago, when you figured it out yourself, a night you’d spent watching stars with him on top of the Marauder, your head laid on his chest as meteors scorched through the inky blackness overhead.

His warmth had radiated through every inch of your body, sending pleasant shivers through you as his hands ran up and down your arms, trying to warm you even more.

You’d come so close to kissing him then, your eyes locked with each others, flickering down to his lips and his to yours, a question in his gaze you wanted so badly to answer.

But as you were about to meet, eyes fluttering closed, preparing to brush your lips together, you jolted apart at Wrecker’s shout as he came out to relieve Hunter of watch, clambering up onto the roof with you and joining in your star watching.

And now… Now you might never get the chance.

The thought awoke something in you, some deep determination you didn’t even realise you possessed.

You were not going to die like this. You were going to find a way out, back to your friends, you family. And you were going to tell Hunter how you felt.

As you nodded to yourself, a soft sound floated through the darkness, the loss of your vision enhancing your other senses to an almost painful degree. Holding your breath, you tilted your head slightly, hope flaring in your heart; it was water… Running water!

If you could find your way to it, there may be an exit to the outside.

With one last firm nod, you steeled yourself, drawing a deep, shuddering breath as you scrambled to your feet and began feeling your way along the walls of the cave, following the sound.

*-*-*

“You must calm down, Hunter,” Tech ordered sternly as he watched Wrecker lift their brother away from the bloodied rocks that blocked what was once the entrance to the cave they had just escaped from, the sergeant’s limbs flailing wildly as he fought against the grip holding him, tears streaming down his face.

“No, no! I need… we need to get her, to get her out!”

Wrecker’s expression was one of pure anguish as he sat Hunter down on a rock next to Omega the young girl’s legs pulled up to her chest, her body rocking as she cried silent tears of her own.

“Your current emotional state is of no use to anyone,” Tech informed him flatly, bending down as Wrecker stepped away, his hands held out as if trying to placate Hunter, like he might bolt back to the rocks at any moment, “we need to think about this clearly and rationally.”

Hunter shook his head, hands trembling as Tech tutted, grabbing his medkit from one of the pouches on his belt and examining his brother’s tattered fingers, the nails broken and ragged from clawing desperately at the rocks, small red rivulets dropping onto the floor below.

“I should, should have been there,” Hunter gasped, wincing as Tech sprayed his wounds with disinfectant, quickly adding bacta and beginning to wrap his fingers one by one, “I should… should have stayed close. She… she’s…”

Wrecker’s breath hitched as he collapsed on the rock Omega was sat on, shaking his head.

“Don’t say it, Hunter,” he pleaded, opening his arm to his sister as she let out a sob, crawling into his lap seeking comfort, “please… don’t…”

“It’s my fault,” Omega sniffed wetly from his arms, every breath hitching as she cried into his chest, “if I hadn’t fallen, if she hadn’t come back for me…”

Behind them, Echo crested the small hill, coming back into view from his trip to the Marauder, a seismic scanner hung around his neck by a frayed canvas strap. He paused as he heard Omega’s sobbing, taking in the sight of his brothers, his jaw clenching.

“Hey, what’s with the tears?” he called sternly, moving to stand in front of them as Tech finished with Hunter’s bandages, the sergeant staring at the ground in despair. “I thought we were getting ready for a rescue?”

“She’s gone,” Hunter croaked, his tone utterly broken, “I… I can’t hear her. Can’t… can’t feel her heartbeat…”

He’d been straining himself since the moment he’d lost sight of her, the fear in her eyes scorched forever into his memory. The settling earth murmured beneath them, the clouds above swelled and flowed across the sky, the sound of a small river a few kilometres away drifted through the air, but that was it.

Every one of the Batch’s heartbeats rang in his ears, but not hers.

Echo frowned at him, waving the seismic scanner in annoyance.

“Why do you think I’ve got this?” he questioned, frustrated as he moved towards Omega, crouching down in front of her. “The rock is too thick for Hunter to hear through. She might have fallen in deep, but she’s tough, like us. We’ll find her using this, and we’ll get her out, yeah?”

Tech frowned, rolling his eyes at his brother.

“The likelihood of her having survived a fall and the subsequent rockslide, along with the risks presented by exposure and dehydration make her chances of survival…”

“Enough,” Echo snapped back at the engineer, snarling as tears conftinued to drip onto the dusty ground at Hunter’s feet, the cyborg letting out a sigh. “We’ve survived worse odds than this. We’ve been through the ringer, and we’re all still here. We’re not giving up, you hear? We’ll get her back.”

Omega nodded, sniffing away her tears and wiping furiously at her face, steeling her expression as met Echo’s gaze, nodding to the seismic scanner.

“I want to help,” she croaked, “tell me how.”

Echo smiled weakly at her, his own emotions welling in his chest. He knew the chances were slim, but so were his chances of survival the Citadel. And yet here he was.

“Atta girl,” he smiled, jerking his head back as he looked at Wrecker. “Tech will come with me. Wreck, stay with Hunter. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Gotcha,” Wrecker managed, forcing a smile as he let Omega down from his lap, clapping a large hand on her shoulder in comfort. “Echo’s right, kid. We’ll find her, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Omega replied with a weak smile, fighting back more tears as she latched herself to Echo’s side, the cyborg ignoring the pointed look from Tech as they moved towards the cave entrance, firing up the scanner.

Hunter remained silent as Wrecker came to sat next to him, unsure of what to do. He’d never seen Hunter in a state like this, almost catatonic.

“Ya… ya doin’ okay, Hunter?” he prompted carefully, frowning when his brother huffed in annoyance. “Look, I know it looks bad, but Echo’s right! We’ve been through a lot. She’s tough. If anyone could survive…”

“I should have told her,” Hunter interrupted him, Wrecker drawing back a little to look over Hunter, confused by the statement.

“Uh… Told her what?”

“How I felt,” Hunter breathed, closing his eyes tightly, more fat tears falling into the dirt, staining the earth with his grief. “I… I had so many chances… and I… I couldn’t. She deserves better than a clone. Better than me. I let her down. I’ve done it again, let her fall…”

When he finally looked up, meeting Wrecker’s gaze, there was an utterly broken look in his eyes, one that caused Wrecker’s throat to tighten uncomfortably.

“I love her, Wreck… I love her, and I… I didn’t… I’ll never get to tell her. I… I’m so stupid…”

Falling back into silence, Hunter looked up to the sky, drawing in deep shuddering breaths.

“Ya can’t blame yourself, Hunter,” Wrecker tried desperate, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “she knew what she was doing. She saved ‘Mega.”

“And I should have been there,” Hunter hissed through gritted teeth, anger growing from his sadness, “I should have…”

A sudden splashing sound caught his attention, distant, but clear.

Wrecker began to speak again, but quickly fell silent as Hunter shushed him, standing up and closing his eyes, listening intently.

Tech, Echo and Omega were still at the cave entrance, conversing lowly, the soft hum of the seismic sensor fading into the background as he focused on the faint sound in the distance, the sound echoing over the sand covered hills.

The splashing sounded again, this time accompanied by a gasp and a cough, spluttering and more deep breaths, a faint heartbeat vibrating through the air.

Hunter didn’t even speak, he simply opened his eyes and ran, ignoring Wrecker’s shout after him. He heard Echo, Tech and Omega call as well, their footsteps quickly joining to pursue him, but it didn’t matter.

Not when he could feel that familiar thumping, not when he could hear the clacking of plastoid.

He didn’t know how far he ran, nor did he care about the way his lungs burned with the effort, his legs trembling by the time he crested the hill just above where the sound was coming from, soft words beginning to float through the air, unmistakable.

“Havoc 1, come in? Havoc 2? Echo? Anyone?”

With one last push, he made it to the ridge, his knees giving out as he caught sight of her, the familiar outline, scent and voice overwhelming him.

*-*-*

A gasp of your name behind you made you jump as you pocketed your drenched comm, tutting in annoyance as water ran out of it, the electronics completely fried.

Wondering if you’d imagined it, you turned quickly, you breath hitching in your throat as you saw Hunter kneeled in the sand, his eyes wide, tears rolling down his cheeks as he panted for breath. He had obviously been sprinting, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead, his hair mussed, bandana askew.

“Hunter,” you breathed, the relief in your voice palpable. Scrambling towards him through the ankle deep water, you ignored the sting of the cuts and bruises that littered your body.

The escape from the cave system had been terrifying, being swept down an unground rapid system after wading through the river for some time, clutching at the walls in total darkness. And yet, you’d made it out, battered and beaten, but alive.

As Hunter called your name again, his voice broken with emotion, you scrambled up the bank, tears beginning to spill down your own cheeks as you got closer, his hands reaching out to you, as if he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real.

Within moments, you were out of the water, your clothes and hair still sopping wet, body trembling with adrenaline and cold, mere steps from him when he grabbed out for you, pulling you to your knees in front of him. A sob left his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, uncaring of the water that still dripped from every inch of you, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs resting on your cheekbones.

“C-Cyare,” he choked, closing his eyes, breathing you in, “I’m so, I’m so kriffing sorry. I should have been there, I should have been with you…”

“Hunter, don’t,” you pleaded thickly, leaning into his embrace, pure relief rushing through every fibre of your being. “I did what I had to, I needed to get Omega out, I…”

Your words were cut off as he tilted his head back, his lips finding yours, crashing your mouths together with a passion that caught you off guard. You whimpered into his mouth as he clutched at you, fingertips digging into your jaw, holding you so tightly it might bruise, like if he let go you might float away.

Moaning as he slid his tongue over your bottom lip, he took full advantage, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss, your own hands moving to cord through his hair, remaining tangled in the thick, sweat soaked curls even as you parted, both panting for breath.

“Should have done that months ago,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours with every word, his eyes focusing on yours, warm swirling pools of molten chocolate causing a swirling deep in your gut, “I should never have waited. I… I love you, cyare… Forgive me?”

As the roar of the Marauder’s engines drifted through the air, the ship growing closer with every passing moment, you simply sighed as you pecked his lips again, tears of joy painting your cheeks.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Hunter,” you reassured him, pressing your foreheads together once more, a shiver running through you both. “And I love you too.”

[shortnotsweet]

all bets are off [1/3]

Lucemond High School AU drabble [part 2], She’s All That (1999)

“Am I a bet? Am I a bet, am I a fucking bet?”

“Yes.” It comes out quietly, which makes it all the worse. Luke would have expected Aemond to sneer and look down his long nose at him like the Hightower side of the family had for most of their lives. Luke wishes he would. It would have made it easier. Aemond’s face reflects no relish, or even satisfaction. Instead, it is pale and unreadable. Fitting, perhaps; as it turns out, Luke had read him wrong this entire time.

“Would you have told me before it was over? Before you humiliated me in public?”

The silence speaks for itself.

“Alright,” he scoffs, “that’s it, then.” The bitterness in his voice has an unfamiliar edge, and it sounds mean even to Luke, but it’s right. That’s how he feels. “You played your little game, you had your fun. I get it. It’s over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s not over.”

“It is if I say it is. I don’t want anything from you, and you—you can shut up about debts, or what I owe you. We don’t have to know each other after this.” It’s true; they don’t have any classes together. They run in the same circles but that’s nothing some convenient maneuvering and strategic avoidance can’t fix. Their sides of the family voluntarily meet up for a miserable dinner once every three months and holidays. Luke can make it work.

Aemond’s remaining eye widens and his mouth thins. His face is readable now, at least; he’s livid. In a second, he lunges forward and grabs ahold of Luke’s wrist, trying to drag him back towards himself, to reel him in like he had all those months ago. Luke digs his heels into the ground instinctively, bracing away from the pressure. Luke used to like how big Aemond’s hands were in comparison to his own—the encompassing warmth, the difference in size—but now his grip tightens and locks like a handcuff, squeezing Luke’s wrist to the point of crushing. It hurts. He’s hurting him. Aemond is older and bigger than Luke, he always has been, and now he presses in like a storm cloud blocking out a clear sky.

“Luke, it wasn’t—it started like that, alright? It was like that in the beginning, but not now. It’s different now, I’m not—just look at me!” There’s something frantic in his words, the way he hovers over Luke like his shadow alone will cage him in. This isn’t the first time Aemond has struck the flight instinct in him, or the urge to fight, but it resonates through Luke’s core nonetheless. There is too much of him near. “I would’t have told you because there’s nothing to tell, not anymore.” Luke cranes his neck to peer over Aemond’s shoulder, searching out the best escape route. “It’s not over. You don’t mean that. We just…this is a rough patch, that’s all. It doesn’t matter how it started, it matters what it is. It’s good now, isn’t it? I’m good for you, I can be whatever you need, I’ll keep you happy. You like me, right? I know you do. I know you like me. Just get in the car, and we’ll talk about this later. Not now. Not like this. Look at me, don’t—don’t be like this. Luke.”

“I’m going home.”

“No. It’s late. You’re going back with me.”

“Let go.”

“Not until you listen.”

“Get off of me,” he snarls, launching himself backwards and ripping out of Aemond’s grasp. “Don’t touch me.” Aemond rears back at this rejection.

“Who else is going to do it? Lonely little Luke, eating lunch alone. Stupid, useless, weak. Can’t play sports, can’t speak in Debate Club, Mommy pays his tuition. He almost wets his pants when someone pulls the fire alarm. Who else is going to touch you, other than me?” Aemond’s mouth curls into a grin; he’s done it before, all sly and cruel. It looks ugly. He never changed, did he? How did Luke never see it before? “You didn’t fuck, didn’t drink at house parties, didn’t go to the beach past bedtime—hell, you probably never rode in a car without buckling the seatbelt. You were so eager for it, and I took you so easily. No one else could do that. No one else can touch you now, not like I can.”

It would have been true five months ago. Poor, common-looking Luke, who blended in with the walls, kept his head down, and startled at car alarms. That Luke was surrounded by gems, by brothers and uncles and friends who excelled at something, who carved names out for themselves. The Luke from five months ago would have balked at this, would have shrunk into himself and cowed to the truth. That Luke thought no one watched him, but he would’ve known if he just looked up. The Luke from now knows what the truth is, for the first time, and it’s nothing that comes out of Aemond’s mouth. Luke knows himself better than he ever has, and knows Aemond like he never wanted to before.

“I don’t think that’ll be any trouble, Uncle. Don’t worry about me,” Luke snorts out without thinking. “If I need someone to give me a ride, it won’t have to be you.” It doesn’t. It won’t. “I can buckle my own seatbelt; better yet, someone else can buckle it for me.” The uncle in question stills.

“Say that again.” He blinks, a curious expression settling over his features. “Say that again.”

“I said, it doesn’t have to be you. Other people will touch me. You’re not the only one around here with a working dick and something to prove. You lost an eye, not an ear. I should’t have to repeat myse—” before he can even finish the sentence, Aemond grabs him again, fingers curling over his shoulders like talons. Luke’s breath stops in his throat. Aemond’s face is so close they could kiss. Instead of leaning into it like he might have a few hours ago, Luke cringes backwards. Never again. The wounded expression on Aemond’s face gives him some satisfaction, but then his mouth morphs into a snarl and Luke would bet anything—his mother’s money, his own life, or whatever Aemond must’ve taken when he made that bet in the first place—that both of his eyes are glowing right now. The prosthetic below the patch shines like a jewel in its socket anyway, but the working eyeball in his head works furiously, searching across Luke’s face for something.

“What did you say, you little shit?” Aemond seethes. “Is there someone else? You have someone else, you were thinking about someone else?” he hisses into Luke’s face and furiously shakes him like a child would a broken toy. “Who is it?” he demands, sounding desperate now. “When? Is it Stark? Aegon? Greyjoy, that waterlogged rat? Daeron? Did one of them touch you—did you let them? Did they kiss you? Tell me, you fucking bastard.” Luke tells him the truth.

“That’s not your business anymore.”

“Not my business? Not—hah, not my business?” He’s so angry he’s spitting. “Of course it’s my business. It always has been. You’ve always—always, there’s never been a time when—you little idiot. Don’t you get it? You’re mi—”

Luke slaps him.

[laurellerual]

ASoIaF: Arya’s change of clothes

AGOT 

Arya III: His claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. (...) Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running.

Arya V: Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak (heavy woolen cloak) (...) The silver bracelet she'd hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of good clothes (a velvet skirt, a silk tunic, some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her,  a satin gown) , snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her back, her wooden practice sword … and Needle.

ACOK 

Arya VI: "That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We'll have it off, and then you're for the kitchens." (...) Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again (...) They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes, and sent her off. (...) On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift,

Arya X: They required dressing like a page and washing more than she liked. (...) In her cell, she stripped to the skin and dressed herself carefully, in two layers of smallclothes, warm stockings, and her cleanest tunic. It was Lord Bolton's livery. On the breast was sewn his sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. She tied her shoes, threw a wool cloak over her skinny shoulders, and knotted it under her throat. 

ASOS

Arya I: She was still dressed in her page's garb, and on the breast over her heart was sewn Lord Bolton's sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. (...) "Who dressed the poor child in those Bolton rags?" 

Arya IV: They insisted she dress herself in girl's things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. (...) Lady Smallwood said as the women laced the gown up Arya's back. (...) one sleeve was torn on her stupid acorn dress. 

Arya IV: The dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. 

Arya IV: So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things".

Arya V: Then they stole all the clothes that Lady Smallwood had given her and dressed her up like one of Sansa's dolls in linen and lace. 

AFFC 

Arya III: In the black of night she rose again, donned the clothes she'd worn from Westeros, and buckled on her swordbelt. Needle hung from one hip, her dagger from the other. With her floppy (woolen hat patched with leather) hat on her head, her fingerless gloves tucked into her belt, and her silver fork in one hand, she went stealing up the steps. (...) She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she'd gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

ADWD 

The Blind Girl: The blind girl tied a strip of rag around her head to hide her useless eyes (...) The waif had shaved her head for her when they took her eyes; a mummer's cut (...)  she gave her pox scars and a mummer's mole on one cheek with a dark hair growing from it.  (...) The clothes she wore were rags, faded and fraying, but warm clean rags for all that. Under them she hid three knives—one in a boot, one up a sleeve, one sheathed at the small of her back. (...) A cracked wooden begging bowl and belt of hempen rope completed her garb.

The Ugly Little Girl: An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots. Last of all she palmed her finger knife.

The Ugly Little Girl: They brought a robe for her as well, the soft thick robe of an acolyte, black upon one side and white upon the other. 

TWOW

Mercy: She shaved, donned her smallclothes, and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up. (...) Her boots were lumps of old brown leather mottled with saltstains and cracked from long wear, her belt a length of hempen rope dyed blue. She knotted it about her waist, and hung a knife on her right hip and a coin pouch on her left. Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer's cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She'd hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last. A real blade, not a fruit knife like the one on her hip, but it did not belong to Mercy, no more than her other treasures did. 

[griseldabanks]

34 for Al and Hawkeye, please?

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompt: "I'll keep you safe."

Maybe they shouldn't have stopped for burgers and shakes. It was pouring rain out there, and the temperature was dropping fast. Might turn into freezing rain before too long.

But Five Guys was their tradition. Riza drove Al to speech therapy, and as long as he didn't drag his feet or have a bad attitude about it, they would stop for a late lunch on their way home. They even had a little ritual they ran through each time, just for fun. “Hmm, where should we go for lunch?” Riza would ask, pretending to think. Then Al would hold up one hand, grinning along with the joke, and Riza would say, “Five Guys?” as if she never would have thought of it on her own. Then they would both laugh like it was the best joke they'd ever heard.

The only time Riza got to hear her foster son's voice was when he laughed. It was worth it.

“Got your scarf and gloves?” Riza asked, opening her umbrella before putting one hand on the door.

Woolen blue fingers wrapped around her arm. She glanced down and saw Al huddling close to her as if for warmth, eyeing the door with trepidation. Riza tugged the hood of his blue coat over his head, then wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Don't worry, Al,” she murmured. “I'll keep you safe. Let's just run, and it'll be over in five seconds, okay?”

Slowly, Al nodded.

It was more of a huddling jog than a run, and it took more than five seconds because Riza had to juggle both the umbrella and the key fob, but they both made it into the car relatively dry. With a relieved sigh, Riza tossed the sopping umbrella to the floor on the passenger side and turned on the car, cranking up the heat all the way. She swiped her damp bangs out of her face and checked on Al in the rearview mirror. He was buckled in and shivering hard, hugging himself and rocking slightly. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be instantly transported home. How she wished she could spare him the drive.

Riza decided the best thing would be to get home as fast as possible, so she didn't say anything more to him, just started the windshield wipers and eased back out of their parking space. “These wipers are useless in the rain,” she muttered, squinting through the smeared windshield and turning on the defroster. She needed to text Roy and see if he could pick up some replacements on the way home.

As she headed for the highway, Riza mentally ran through her to-do list. Once they got home, she needed to call the phone company to see if the issue with the bills had gotten sorted out. She should peek into the boys' bathroom and make sure they'd cleaned it like they were supposed to, and then she needed to clean her and Roy's bathroom. By then it would probably be time to start on supper, and oh, was today a karate day and had Roy said he could drive the boys or—

The loud blare of a horn startled Riza out of her thoughts. A semi, slipping out of control from the left. Moving on pure instinct, Riza slammed her foot on the gas and aimed for the shoulder. The semi slipped and slid on its way, and they jostled and bumped over the muddy grass. Riza managed to stop before the ground fell away into the ditch. Hands shaking, she pulled the parking brake and turned on the hazard lights before letting out a long, slow breath of relief.

She looked over her shoulder to find Al hunched over in his seat, his gloved hands clawing at his face as he drew in shaky, shuddering breaths. “Al? Are you okay?” No, that was a stupid question. “Are you hurt?” she amended. “Alphonse!”

The twelve-year-old boy peeked over his hands at her, but she could tell that he didn't see her. It was like he was looking through her, to another rainy day in another car with another woman sitting behind the wheel as a truck came out of nowhere....

“Al....” Riza unfastened her seatbelt and clambered over the center console, squeezing between the front seats to get to the back. It was difficult and inelegant, but she managed. Better than opening the door and letting in all that cold wind and rain.

As she settled into the seat next to Al, she listened to his frantic, choked breaths that came faster and faster with every passing minute. He wasn't looking at her, just staring fixedly at the driver's seat. Occasionally, his eyes slid over to the front passenger seat as well.

Riza's heart clenched tightly as she imagined what he must be seeing. Trisha Elric, forehead resting on the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of her face, her vacant eyes staring into nothing. Ed, trapped under the twisted metal, blood spreading up his left leg. Still breathing, but so shallow, so erratic, eyes closed. No response to Al's screams. The last words Al had ever spoken, a desperate plea for his family to not leave him alone.

She hadn't been there. She'd only read reports from after the fact, and talked to Mrs. Rockbell and the boys' therapists. And yet, she could see it all as clearly as if she'd lived it herself. She could almost hear those screams.

“Mom...Mom...Mom....”

Wait. That voice, ragged and faint, wasn't just in her imagination. Tears sprang to her eyes as she heard that one word whispered in wheezing gasps muffled behind blue gloves.

She could have listened to that voice for hours, but Al was shaking so hard she actually thought she could feel the car rocking slightly. So Riza scooted a little closer, saying as gently as she could, “Al? Can you listen to me, sweetie? I need you to breathe with me.”

His eyes latched onto hers, and for the first time since they'd swerved off the road, he actually seemed to see her.

“That's right,” Riza said, reaching for his hands. “Just like we always do, okay?”

He let her take his hands in hers and pull them away from his face. Riza led him in a deep breathing exercise, and found that her own heart rate eased as well. The adrenaline from their near miss was beginning to wear off, leaving her feeling exhausted and limp. She almost wished she'd brought Hayate with them after all. They both could have used the soothing comfort of his soft fur and warm, wet tongue.

“We're okay,” she whispered, reassuring herself as much as Al. “You're safe now. We're both safe.”

Just like every time thunder and lightning put Ed on edge and sent Al skittering into their bedroom to crawl under the covers. Roy would get up to make everyone hot chocolate, Ed would crank up his music so they could hear it faintly through his headphones, and Al would curl up like one of his cats against her side, and they would all cram into the king-sized bed to wait out the storm.

“Mom,” Al croaked again, his voice rough from disuse. “Mom....”

Tears spilled over his cheeks, and Riza reached over to gently brush them away. “I know, honey, I know.” Hot tears stung her own eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“Mom....” Al raised one gloved hand and placed it on her cheek. He was looking at her so intently, so earnestly, like there was so much he wanted to say, but he was stuck on that one word, choking on the sobs that shook him head to foot. He put his other hand on her other cheek, as if to hold her in place. “Mom....”

A thought occurred to her, as sudden and shocking as the semi that had nearly hit them: He's calling me Mom.

Tears blurred her eyes till she couldn't even see him. “I'm here,” she whispered.

He flung his arms around her, squeezing so hard it took her breath away. She hugged him back, held him tight, squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. She rocked them back and forth, patting him on the back.

Riza had always known motherhood would be strange for her, who had never known the gentle touch of a mother. When she and Roy had first talked about starting a family, she had been plagued with doubts about whether she would be able to manage it. A thousand times, she'd tried to imagine herself rocking a baby to sleep, kissing the skinned knees and bumped foreheads of a toddler or two...and she'd always drawn a blank, since she'd never had that herself. What if she could never get the hang of it? She was a soldier, not a mother.

And yet, sitting in this car on the side of the road, holding a twelve-year-old boy sobbing his heart out...it didn't matter that she hadn't given birth to him. It didn't matter that they'd only known each other for a little over a year. It didn't matter that they'd never once had a normal conversation.

This was her son. She loved him so much she thought her chest might split open with the force of it. And judging from the way Al kept sobbing that name over and over again, clutching at her like his life depended on it...he felt the same.

[it-one-line-at-a-time]

hi you gave the go ahead on sending you reddie asks so uhhhhh hi im here now

the losers club is one giant love heptogon. like poly qpr with romantic subsets

because everyone loved bev romantically and vice versa (cough cough sewer sex scene cough)

and richie loved eddie but he also had a crush on mike and definitely thought ben was hot (voiced this himself) and he has self worth issues and hides his insecurities with jokes (insecure hes bi so makes im-so-straight jokes, insecure hes ugly so makes im-so-hot-and-deffinatly-pull jokes) and even if hes stupid people love him because they KNOW why hes like that so thet play into it to make him feel better BECAUSE THEY LOVE HIMMMMM

and ben has always been just this little socially awkward idiot filled with love and definitely loved everyone in the losers club and hes emotional and i personally think hes arospec and feels unreasonable amounts of intense platonic love, to the point he mixes it up with romantic love (like me!!)

and mike definitely thinks hes not enough if he doesn't help people. he thinks if he doesn't help everyone around him hes useless and unloveable but at the same time only cares about the opinion of people hes deemed important (people that can hurt him and his friends) so of COURSE he helps his friends and hes the guy who keeps them safe (assuring they have weapons, making sure everyone is present and accounted for, ect) and everyone else loves him because hes there when they need protection and thats enough<33333333

and everyone loves bill to. how could you not hes just a stuttering dumbass little baby that need protected. plus he loves his friends for being there when he needed it (when georgie died, ect)

and eddie worrys about all his friends safety because they might be dumb and disease ridden assholes but there HIS dumb disease ridden assholes. and everyone loves eddie because hes like a weird overbearing jerk and he CARES. he CARES about there safety and no one else does.

and stan. he has some form of religous guilt. so when he found people that thought of him as stan and not stan the jewish kid he was over the moon. and everyone loves stan because even though he has his issues theyd NEVER leave him

sorry im just really fucking mentally ill and think my gay children need hugs and that my old man yaoi should have been allowed to be happy (reddie fix it fics save me. reddie fix it fics. save me reddie fix it fics)

Yikes, this got longer than I'd expected. Buckle in.

I read the sewer scene for the first time at school surrounded by my friends, and I think it was the one time I've read something that genuinely horrified me so much that I couldn't bring myself to be over-the-top scared of it to be funny. I have a younger brother who's turning eleven soon and the thought of it makes me wanna take a bath, if you know what I mean!!! Hm.

Also you are SO right about the Losers all loving each other. Yeah, there's the romantic pairings - Richie + Eddie, Bev + Bill (at least as kids) - but honestly they all love each other sooooo much it's kinda crazy. I'm kind of obsessed with how they conveyed how much they care for Richie in particular to the films - when he's crying after Eddie's death and they all hug him and he's like, 'Hm? They know I'm gay, and they still love me?', and he looks down at them genuinely confused for a moment - because it's so subtle but my God it's done so sweetly.

Speaking of sweet, HELL yeah Ben loved them all! My boy literally has love rolling off him like Sisyphus' boulder off the mountain. Whether it's platonic or romantic is personal opinion, but literally nobody can dispute that after Bill and Eddie (and Richie, in the film) took him into the Losers Club, he fucking adored them, man. Of course he loves Bev, that's kind of the most given thing to ever be given, but to be honest I think both he and Mike are the most symbolic of the Losers' love, because they were outsiders who found their family within the group.

Talking of Mike, he is the personification of 'the glue that holds the group together'. Literally, yes, when he calls them back to reunite after twenty-seven years, but you're right that it's in more subtle ways, too; the way he has the bolt-gun and ammunition, the way he is willing to sacrifice himself in the movie because he knows he messed up big time. And that last bit, too, is one of the biggest pieces of evidence in my opinion about your theory, dear asker who is definitely not a raccoon in disguise, that he feels inadequate if he doesn't actively protect the group. But they love him for it! <3

Ahhh, Billiam my boy. The one that every one of the Losers was genuinely a little bit in love with. The one who would not only readily die for any one of them, but who would die for a random kid with a skateboard who's only ever been rude to him! Of course in the book it is explored how much Georgie's death really affected him, of course it was, but that scene in Chapter 1 where he finds Georgie's raincoat and the Losers all just hug him without saying anything while he sobs is so fuckin' special, man. And that's the Losers Club, them all together, unconditional love and respect and love and love.

Eddie hiding how much he adores his friends under a mask of worry and ill-tempered arguments is genuinely such a lovely character trait. It doesn't take a genius to see that "You guys know that alleys are known for dirty needles that have AIDS, right? You guys do know that?" is a masked-up version of "Guys please don't go into that alley, I don't want you cutting yourself and getting this awful and scary disease going around". It's literally just him saying, in his own little way, I fucking love you guys, don't get hurt, and taking it upon himself to keep them all safe forever. Bill's "He'd be looking out for us... the way he always was." is in NO way lost on me, man.

One thing the book did that I thought was so so good and so so interesting was looking at religious guilt, through Patty, but it's not difficult to imagine that it extends to Stan, too. I swear there are some points - usually from characters like Henry Bowers' points of view - where Stan is kind of just, 'the Jewish one' (like how Richie is the loudmouth, and Ben is the fat one), so I reckon you're definitely right that when the Losers got to know him as Stanley Uris, rather than 'the Jewish kid', it was probably like a huge weight off his shoulders. And that's one of the reasons that he loves his disjointed little group, because they were the first to accept him and his religion as one.

Anyway, yes, the Losers love each other and they would die for each other and I would die for them please and thank you.

(Also, I agree that Reddie fix-it fics were put onto earth by God Themself.)

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"The Lost Hero" - Crippled Hero Presumed Dead part 8

Warnings: crippled hero, hero with disabilities, retired hero, reluctant hero, Supervillain final battle

Is Hero... dead?

His heart froze when his gaze landed on the two unmoving figures in the center of it all, a charred corpse crumpled on top of a mostly-untouched Hero. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Logan was in too much shock to move, staring numbly at Hero in her old hero suit. He was rooted to the spot.

Please be alive.

He watched for an eternity, until finally -- movement. The lifeless corpse shifted, and then slid off Hero's chest as Hero slowly sat up, hunching over herself, head bowed low.

A massive wave of relief and happiness crashed over Logan, and he jumped to his feet, stumbling over to Hero and dropping down next to her. "You did it..." He breathed in disbelief. "You really killed Supervillain..." Logan stared down at the body of what was once the most powerful crime master, ruler of the city he'd held hostage, now unrecognizable with burns covering every inch of him, clothes completely incinerated.

Logan turned to look at Hero, and was taken aback by the devastation etched into her face. Something wet glistened on both of Hero's cheeks, and he realized she was... crying? It was a strange sort of crying, near-soundless sobs more noticeable by the hitching breaths that accompanied them.

"Hero, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Logan's eyes swept over her battered appearance. It was a stupid question, of course Hero was hurt after the fierce fight -- but nothing life-threatening, to his relief.

Hero's mouth opened and closed a few times, before her face twisted with anguish and she shook her head, fresh tears rolling down her bloodied face. Then, she reached out and opened a trembling hand with another choked sound. And there, in her palm, was a piece of warped metal, black with char marks.

Hero's pained eyes found Logan's, and she tilted her head -- running a finger along her neck, over the only part of the metal device in her throat visible from the outside. And Logan suddenly realized what was wrong. The fried piece of metal in her hand was the advanced technology disk that magnetized to the part in her neck... that gave her her voice. Without it--

"Oh Hero, I'm so sorry..." Logan croaked when it hit him. Hero couldn't speak anymore, the special disk that Villain had once made had somehow been fried by Hero's own powers during her last ditch attack. And the technology in that disk was unique to Villain's genius design, it was impossible to recreate. Irreplaceable, as far as Logan knew.

Hero cried harder, her shoulders and whole body shaking with heaving breaths as more silent sobs escaped her, uneven breaths the only outward sign of it aside from the tears tracks.

Tentatively, Logan reached out and put a reassuring hand on Hero's shoulder, not sure how she'd react to being touched. Hero flinched, but didn't recoil, and Logan pulled her into a tight embrace, offering what little comfort he could as the two of them hugged in the middle of the damage.

Hero's suit was rough against Logan's face as he buried it in her shoulder. A few holes were burned through it from where her powers had slipped her grasp slightly, but otherwise she was almost entirely untouched.

But then Logan pulled back, and his eyes landed on Hero's bad leg, and his chest twisted sadly. The brace Noah had invented for her was ruined too, the metal severely warped and crooked from the intense heat, half-melted and so brittle parts of it had broken off completely, making the brace utterly useless.

"I'm so sorry," Logan whispered. "...Do you think you can stand? We can get out of here and meet back up with Noah. He might be able to create a new brace for you."

Hero hesitated, then nodded wordlessly, getting her feet under her to stand. Her legs instantly buckled the moment she put weight on them, and Logan barely managed to catch her and hold her upright until she found her balance, though she was trembling violently. Hero leaned heavily on him for support as he helped her limp and stumble her way out of the Grand Hall, leaving Supervillain's mangled, charred body behind.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

46 + 67 for the trope mashup please? 💖

Is there anything more ooey gooey than a sick fic?

46 Sick!Fic/Injury + 67 Casual Intimacy/Physical Comfort

“You didn’t get enough milk as a kid,” Mickey pointed it out. “Your sister always watered that shit down.”

“Is that right, Mickey Milk?” Ian asked teasingly through the pain meds as the nurse wrapped his arm up in the hardening cast.

Mickey nodded with his eyebrows raised and his lower lip pinched with two front teeth. Ian was just glad he was back to teasing, he’d been a nervous wreck from the second Ian had cried out in pain, and nearly fainted at the sight of bone where it was sticking out from under Ian’s skin. 

Ian learned a long time ago that Mickey could go a little batshit when it came to protecting his nest, and Ian was a very big part of his nest. He’d already talked to Mickey about not being a total fucking dick to the nurses, because his husband was an asshole and Ian had to have surgery to reset his arm so naturally Mickey was a bit well, high strung.

“Why’d you have to break your right arm, man?” Mickey whined once they got back to the truck, annoyance not shown in the gentle way he was buckling the seat belt around Ian’s sling. “I’m going to be wiping your ass for weeks.”

“You’re not going to be wiping my ass,” Ian said indignantly. “I mean, I’ll need a little help-”

“Ian, I’m joking obviously. That’s the whole point of having a husband, when I become a demented fuck from all the headshots I’ve taken over the years you’ll be there to remind me who the hell I am. We do need to stop by to show Franny that you’re alive because she’s flipping her shit right now, she thinks it’s her fault.”

Ian sighed but agreed, stopping by the house for a couple of minutes so that Franny could see that he was mostly completely fine. 

It fucking hurt, his arm really fucking hurt and he didn’t want to keep taking the pain meds. Thirty somethings don’t usually break their arms climbing trees so the world isn’t really built around accommodating him, luckily his husband is a beast with bark and bite and extreme care. 

His sixth sense when it came to Ian was almost creepy sometimes. After the first week, Ian stopped gloating over the royal treatment Mickey needed to give him. It was funny at first, but he was soon slightly annoyed and embarrassed about being washed, fed, and dressed because all he had was his stupid, useless left hand. 

And he felt like he was all stupid, unless left hand. So he didn’t want to let on when his arm was killing him, or when he was getting annoyed by the coddling, and yet somehow Mickey knew. He’d sling an arm around Ian while they were watching movies and dig his thumb into the joint between his shoulder and arm, saying nothing until the tension dissipated. Then he’d get up and claim to be in desperate need for peanut M&Ms, leaving Ian alone in the apartment for a few minutes while he ran to the corner store. 

By the time he got back, all the frustration and humiliation of the day seemed to have melted away and they could try to throw candy into each other mouths from opposite ends of the couch. 

The day Ian got the cast off was as massive relief, they were both so excited for Ian to be able to use his fucking hands again, Mickey watched excitedly as they took the saw to his disgusting off white cast, even leaning in and letting out an theatrical eww at the sight of his dirty, shriveled limb. 

That night when they got home Ian announced that he was overdo for a shower, stripping down and staring expectantly at Mickey. 

Mickey raised his eyebrows, staring back at his husband. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Ian asked curiously. 

“I thought you’d want to maybe, I don’t know, wash your own hair since you’re been bitching for the last week.”

“Well,” Ian said slightly huffy. “I liked it when you washed my hair, maybe I just wanted the option to do it myself.”

Mickey shook his head with an indulgent smile, stripping his shirt off and throwing it playfully at his husbands face on his way to the bathroom.  

Hope you enjoyed :)

[jackwolfes]

Wesper (ish) // Six of Crows // 1997 words // E rated @kinktober2023 Day 19: Voyeurism Bonus warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, Wylan x stranger

[all kinktober fills]

I’m going to kill Kaz. 

Jesper has lost count of how many times he’s repeated that thought to himself, soothing himself with the certainty that he’ll be causing Kaz Brekker bodily harm within a few hours at most. It’s still little solace right now, when Jesper is stuck in a wardrobe hiding from the son of the man whose house they’re robbing. 

Sure, he probably shouldn’t have been poking around in this random dressing room when he was meant to be waiting for Kaz’s signal. And yeah, he supposes that he should be concerned about how Kaz might fare while Jesper is stuck here. But Kaz always has a stupid fucking back up plan, and Jesper is the one now listening to some useless pretty boy chatter with some staff member or another. From the dull conversation they’re having about Kerch history, Jesper has to assume he’s some kind of tutor, but he’s finding it remarkably hard to focus on what they’re saying on account of the fact he’s now stuck in a wardrobe. 

It’s uncanny how easy it is for even the most dire of situations to get worse. 

Jesper doesn’t immediately realise that anything has actually changed. He’s leaning against the back of the wardrobe and trying not to slam his head against it in frustration when he realises that the room past the wardrobe door he’s hiding behind is quiet. Not silent, though. 

“Mmh—”

He cracks an eye open. There isn’t a lot of space in the wardrobe, but it’s tall enough that he can stand at a slight slouch. It isn’t very deep, though, which means he doesn’t need to lean very far forward at all to get a sense for what’s happening outside. There are slats in the door, thin enough to hide him but just wide enough to allow him to see out. He squints. 

Then he realises, with very obvious clarity, what is happening outside. 

The flush on Jesper’s cheek understands what he’s seeing before his brain catches up, but when it does — Saints, when it does. Jesper realises with a horrifying mix of interest, desire and dread that the rich and pretty heir to this grand old house is being kissed by his tutor in the most filthy way imaginable. They’re only a few steps away from the wardrobe door Jesper is hiding behind. Jesper’s heart has started to race, slamming against the hollow of his throat. He leans away from the door as much as he can, but it isn’t much. 

The rich boy's breath hitches, too loud with proximity. Jesper hears fumbling, then — his heart stops — the distinct slam of a body against the door he's just barely hidden by. He holds his breath. This time when the man whines it's even louder. 

With something a little like horror and a lot like arousal, Jesper realises that that pretty boy is now pressed with his face against the mahogany door Jesper is trapped behind. He can see him. His flushed face is just about visible through the thin slats of this stupid closet. They'd be face to face if there wasn't this bare inch of wood between them. Close enough to kiss. 

All this means that there’s a very real chance that the rich boy will be able to see Jesper. It’s not impossible, although the slats tip downwards enough that Jesper thinks he’s mostly hidden. Besides: the young man is awfully distracted. 

In his too-tight trousers, Jesper's cock twitches at the thought. He's all but leaking into his drawers. Nearly sightlessly he hears sounds that must be belt buckles and stripped off clothes, watching the shadows jerk as the boy’s limbs are tugged free from their coverings. 

“Please,” the young man whines.

“Patience, pretty boy,” his companion replies. Once more, the boy whines. 

“Please—” 

But then his breath catches, killing the words in his throat. He moans, drawn out and shivering, and the man behind him chuckles. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Good boy.” 

Jesper can’t see what they’re doing exactly, but he imagines it well. Fingers between spread legs, teasing and toying, stretching, touching. This boy looks soft and princely, and Jesper can only imagine what touching him is like. Silk, a string of pearls. Decadent skin and pillow-plush lips. He gasps a few more times, but doesn’t say much more. 

Through the thin slats Jesper watches his face. His pale brows are drawn low, scrunched tight as he’s worked up from behind. As he’s prepared, or maybe worked over his peak (although the tutor makes no move to touch his cock). Even in the dim light Jesper can see a shine of sweat on his brow. His own eyes trace over the boy’s parted lips, catching sight of his pink tongue and the moans that are threatening to fall. He doesn’t seem to care about being caught by anyone — not even Jesper. 

And Jesper knows he should feel awful about this. He should feel downright dirty, and if he’s honest he does. But he feels himself burning, too, in a good way. There is molten metal in his core, getting him hot and getting him hard, as he watches this pretty boy taking pleasure without even knowing he’s being watched. The only thing saving Jesper from a moral crisis is the knowledge that he isn’t really being given a choice, either. 

He squeezes his eyes shut in the hope that’ll make his hard-on go away, stubbornly refusing to touch himself even though the need is becoming ever more pressing. From the sound of things — hitching breaths, quiet moans, the scrape of fingernails against the wardrobe door — the tutor’s fingers are finding all the right spots. 

"Shit— shit— come on—" 

The heir cries out, high and pretty like bells on a festival day, and Jesper opens his eyes in time to see the shadow cast across the door disappear. He blinks rapidly, wondering what’s happening, but he doesn’t dare move. What he hears is the sound of fumbling footsteps, enough to be sure that they’re moving away from the closet — finally. 

But they don’t leave the room. 

There’s a second slam and another loud cry. Jesper presses his palm to his mouth, certain he’s going to make a mortifying noise of his own otherwise. It isn’t the easiest to see through the slats of the door but Jesper sees enough. 

The tutor has bent the rich boy right over the vanity. 

In his own head, Jesper swears. From where he’s hiding he has a perfect view. They stand side on to the wardrobe and so side on to Jesper, which means he can see the boy’s shirt rucked up over his back, the swell of his bare ass and the dip of his lower spine. But that isn’t all, because fuck, that’d be too easy. The boy’s tutor has shoved him down on the vanity table, which means the boy is propped up right in front of a mirror tilted just so, and giving Jesper a straight line of sight to the boy’s red face. Only for a moment before he buries his face in the table, already trembling. His tutor has lined his cock up and is already pressing in, which makes the boy start to shake. There’s no more begging, but he spreads his legs apart before the tutor asks him to in a wordless plea. 

It's dirty and lecherous and Jesper stares anyway, not breathing. The boy’s pale arms stretch over the length of the vanity, hands curled into fists as his tutor starts to take him. Jesper can barely see the tutor’s face from where it’s buried in the pretty heir's throat, but he hears the slap of skin on skin as he starts to fuck him and also doesn’t really care what the tutor does. He cares about the rich boy. He watches with perfect clarity; the way he clenches his fists, his sweat-damp hair, the way his face tilts up towards the mirror with every softly sung moan. 

“Please,” the boy moans again. “T-touch my— touch my cock, please—!”

“Saints,” the tutor swears, words low through gritted teeth. He reaches a hand up to shove through the boy’s curly red hair, tightening a fist and nudging him back down. The boy’s body jolts, and he moans one more time. 

Jesper can’t understand how he’s being so greedy. The thought of having this heir ready and willing in an empty (or, mostly empty) room and not taking the time to draw out his pleasure is unthinkable. If Jesper were in that stupid tutor’s place he’d go hours if he had to without so much as brushing a hand against his own cock just to give this boy the adoration he is owed. 

From behind the shut wardrobe doors Jesper stares, cataloguing every new inch the boy’s blush tracks across. It spreads over his sides, across his back, it even splashes over his cheeks. It's heady and intoxicating, dizzying, glorious. 

Then the heir lifts his head just high enough to look in the mirror and looks, without any room for doubt, at the wardrobe door. Jesper’s stomach drops out from under him, suddenly perfectly certain that the heir is looking at him. That he knows. And maybe he does, maybe he heard or saw or fucking tasted Jesper’s frantic disbelief the last time he moaned. Jesper stares, struck dumb, as the boy shoves a hand below his hips and starts to jerk his cock, as if he’s given up on waiting at the whims of other people. He doesn’t let his head drop. He doesn’t stop looking at the mirror. Now it seems as likely that he’s staring at his own reflection as it’s likely that he’s staring at the wardrobe now, and Jesper can’t tell which is hotter to imagine. All the same he stares, mouth dry, as the heir makes himself come. 

His body goes tense where it’s folded over the table, starting to tremble as his orgasm seizes him and his tutor chases his release. The heir doesn’t moan or cry out, but having heard it before Jesper can so perfectly imagine the light and faint way his breath might hitch, lost under the grunting of the man above him. He takes each frantic thrust, seeming not to mind being pushed past his limit, although his knees start to buckle before too long. 

His tutor doesn't take much more than that, either, although Jesper spends the whole time watching the pretty heir with his pretty flush as he takes it, already long since pushed over his edge. It's all very quick after that, and when they've both caught their breath (while Jesper still struggles) the tutor chooses not to kiss his half-dazed fuck-buddy before choosing to take his leave. 

Left alone, the heir stands on still trembling legs. He neatens himself up slowly, tucking his spent cock back into his trousers and smoothing down his fluffed up hair. Then — sparing one last lingering glance at the wardrobe — he heads towards the door. 

Holding his breath is instinct until the heir is out of sight, at which point Jesper exhales as quietly as he can manage. Saints, Jesper thinks weakly. He’s certain that he’s going to need a very long and very cold shower to calm himself down. He knows he isn’t out of the clear just yet, and Saints know he’ll have to hash out an uncomfortable conversation with Kaz about why he was late on his side of the job, but — 

“I can go twice, if you ever plan on getting out of that wardrobe.”

Jesper goes perfectly still, certain he’s misheard until that pretty Geldstraat boy daintily clears his hoarse throat. I’m going to kill Kaz, he thinks, unbidden, before it’s chased with an altogether more pressing thought that reminds him that he’s still hard in his trousers and desperately, ruinously turned on. 

Staying a little bit longer when he’s already late can’t hurt anyone — right?