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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago

Note

What If 141 sweet moment (or sexy or both!)

First I Love You

Honey bug, if you give me the option to be sweet, sexy, or both...you know I'm choosing both. When given the option, I will always write smut. ALWAYS! It's mostly because I'm constantly horny and thinking about these men but, ya know. I did my best to give a little variety in the level of sweetness and sexiness. Some of it is really soft and some of it is straight up feral. So. Do with that what you will, friend.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, mentions of parenthood, breeding, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, possessiveness, admission of feelings, swearing, fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You laugh, a bit startled.

Kyle freezes, his lips slightly parted as his brain catches up with the words that have just fallen from his mouth. “Did I?” he asks slowly.

“You did,” you affirm, your stomach now in knots.

There is no sickness festering in your tummy, and there is no fear there either. You are floating. Cloud-like. But all twisted up without an end to the tangle. For months now, you’ve been waiting to hear those three little words from Kyle.

This thing between the two of you started easy. Late night fucks to overnight stays to grabbing breakfast the morning after. From there came Sunday afternoon naps and small dates to a café or coffeeshop.

Small, but evolving. Morphing. Transforming from caterpillar to fluttering butterfly.

All this time, you believed you would be the one to say those three little words first. That they might accidentally slip from your lips unexpectedly and chase Kyle away. You have held the desire between your heart and ribcage as if the feeling were a physical organ.

But the words have been said. By Kyle.

Which means you can say them, too.

“I did,” he says, agreeing with the statement. Kyle’s shoulders relax as if all the tension has gone out of them.

A risk of an idea blooms in your mind. It’s a chance, and maybe asking might sabotage everything, but you want to push the boundary a bit—figure out where the two of you will go from here.

“Could you say it again?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you demurely.

“Yeah,” chuckles Kyle. “I can do that.”

Guiding his arm to your back, Kyle pulls you close, hand resting against your hip. His brow softens, and his head tilts forward, the tip of his nose lightly brushing along your own. Lingering, Kyle’s lips part, and his tongue teases the underside of his top lip as if he’s thinking about your mouth.

He leans closer.

“I love you.”

It is a whisper. Wispy like thin paper. A few seconds of air that feel like an infinite expanse of stars.

You inhale from the repeated words. Kyle takes that inhalation to closes the distance. It is utterly sweet—like a cherry sucker that stains your teeth and tongue.

You meet him with equal need, only seeking closeness, to feel his warmth everywhere. These kisses are slow and languid and effortless. They come easy, as if the two of you have always done this. As if your lips were made for each other’s.

You reach up to cradle the side of his face. The moment your skin makes contact with Kyle’s, he lets out a little groan of sweetness. There is only heat under your palm. It flows outward and into you until you’re burning like him.

This small sound spurs you to further again. Your hand slides to the back of his neck for a better grip. With fingers digging into his nape, you urge the kisses to deepen, switching from a languid caress to a desperate need that has Kyle’s hand tightening against your hip.

All the kisses that come next are passion-laced. Kyle’s lips part and you tentatively tease him with the tip of your tongue. A low groan comes from somewhere deep in his throat, and then Kyle is forcing your head back, consuming you completely until the two of you finally break apart to breathe.

It is momentary. A brief pause.

Because Kyle’s lips return to your skin with lips, teeth, and tongue. It is not just your mouth that is worshipped but the edge of your jaw and the curve of your ear. His hands roam everywhere, squeezing and grasping until they’re full of you.

“Love you so much,” he breathes where your neck meets your shoulder.

He nips there, and then he is pulling back your top to lick at the top of your breast.

“Kyle,” you groan.

“I want to hear you say it back,” he growls, tugging more of your shirt down. “Say it back, love.”

Kyle gives your shirt a final tug, revealing a nipple. He teases it. Brings it into his mouth. Your back arches, pressing your hips against his. Head falling back, you run your fingers up his neck to grasp the back of his head.

The only response you receive is a quick shift of Kyle’s body. Taking you with him, Kyle draws you to the bed, guiding you to your back.

With the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thigh, Kyle drapes himself over your body, his other hand pressing into the bed next to your head.

“Say it back.”

There is desperation in his tone, and you indulge him completely.

“I love you too, Kyle.”

He is pleased. Electric. There is nothing that will separate him from you. Every article of clothing is removed and tossed aside. Legs spreading wide to accommodate him, Kyle slides home, sinking into your warmth, moaning loudly when he’s fully inside.

John Price

“I know what I want.”

“Do you, John?”

John steps out from around the kitchen island, striding toward you with purpose in every step. “I know you doubt sometimes,” he begins, and you scoff, glancing away.

John grasps the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. The touch is dominating but it isn’t painful. There just isn’t anywhere to go but to move into his embrace.

“I’m not that young recruit anymore that enjoyed fucking you at my convenience.” John’s hold on your neck tightens a bit, drawing you even closer against his chest. “I’m older now. I want to settle down. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

The two of you have been together forever, but you’ve never heard Price utter the words “I love you.” You don’t know why but you have your suspicions. There were times when you thought there might be someone else, but now that John’s moved up in the ranks, you believe it might come from a place of uncertainty.

You never know when he’s going to come home. But oftentimes John doesn’t know either.

“I want you. No one else.”

“John,” you breathe, attempting to shake out of his grasp.

“No,” he growls. “Listen to me.”

“I am,” you snap, slightly irritated.

You’ve heard this all before. And maybe you should go. Pack yourself up along with your daughter you share with him. It would hurt—especially her, but you need something concrete. Solid.

“I love you.”

It’s almost a growl at it comes out of him. He sounds more animal than human, as if the words need to be said before he transforms into anything other than himself. Then, John’s grip on your neck softens, becoming a caress. You lean into it, eyelids closing slightly as his thumb runs over the front of your throat.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time much softer. A sweet song—or wine that goes down easy.

“I love you,” he says again, lips brushing against yours.

You’re melting like butter spread across warm bread. His voice is husky now. Needy. Heat pools in your core and your pussy slickens in anticipation.

“I don’t say it enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it,” you reply immediately.

You expect hurt in his gaze, but there is none.

“Then I need to remedy that,” he murmurs.

John’s hand drops away from your throat and then he’s placing you on the kitchen island. Forcing up your shirt and removing your shorts, John makes quick work of removing your underwear, giving him full access to your body.

“How much time do we have?” he rasps, dragging you to the edge, his fingers sliding over your pussy to part you wider.

You fall back onto your elbows and glance at the clock. “She’ll be home from school in fifteen.”

“Good,” growls John just as he sinks a finger inside.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, head tipping back as his thumb brushes soft circles around your clit. He’s not touching it directly, but the tease of the indirect contact causes your walls to clench around him.

“I love you,” says John, pumping steadily, inserting a second finger as his thumb drags over your clit.

“I love you,” he repeats as the first orgasm crests.

It’s all he says, repeating the words until his voice is a mantra in your mind, and his fingers are gone, replaced by his cock that has your back arching. You’re thankful for the marble beneath you, and its strength as you grip the edge.

John grunts over you, his “I love you” becoming slurred and wispy.

At some point you repeat it back, clinging onto those three little words as much as John does. Even after he’s come inside you, John has you back on your feet, dragging you into the bedroom for another round before both of you have to fall into parental duty.

But even that is a distant thought in your head.

You’re only thinking of John, and the worship of his love as he devours the altar that is your body.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re taking my cock like this or not at all.”

You whimper, popping your hips, presenting your pussy to Simon. You’re reward with a quick, light slap. Skin meets skin, your wetness apparent and loud in the room when Simon makes contact. You jerk slightly from shock, and then the bed is sinking beneath you as Simon settles between your legs.

With arms crossed, you rest your head on your forearms, awaiting Simon’s claiming. His hands roam everywhere. Touching everything until your skin is alight with need and your pussy is so fucking slick you know he’s going to slide right in.

“Please,” you whimper.

“So needy. I love you like this.”

Simon’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and settle on your ass. His hands are full of you, and then he’s squeezing. Striking. Slapping. The skin smarting under each blow.

“Your body is fucking mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to pleasure.”

One hand roams upward, curling around the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, fingers digging into bone. The head of Simon’s cock rubs back and forth through your slickness and then he’s notching himself at your entrance, plunging inside without pretense.

There is nothing sweet about this. Simon is all roughness, fucking you into the bed until you feel an ache in your bones.

You cling to the bedding, hands fisting the sheet as Simon uses you for himself. It’s not like you don’t like this. You enjoy it. You enjoy his need for ownership and possession.

You are lost to it, but then Simon yanks your right out.

He drapes himself over your back, one hand planted just above your head for support while the other wraps around your throat. Simon pauses in his thrusts for only a moment before he’s at it again. This angle is deeper, and it rips strained moan after strained moan from you.

“All mine,” he growls. “This pussy is all mine. Gonna fucking breed you, yeah? Fill you with my cum.”

Simon whispers these words into your ear like his relentless thrusting doesn’t faze him at all.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this. My good slut. My perfect girl.”

Simon presses his face to the side of your head. Your brain is lifting. Floating away.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Love you so much.”

That last part—that last little bit—reshapes you. The orgasm grows hot and fast and then you’re squeezing hard around Simon’s cock.

His groan is chocked, hips stuttering, and then you feel the warmth of his cum flooding your pussy.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Every muscle is languid and loose.

Your pussy aches—but not from pain. Johnny is needy, and he’s been ravenous, fucking you all over his flat. You’ve lost count of the orgasms. Each one moving into the other until it feels like a continuous waterfall of pleasure.

Every touch of Johnny’s is overly sensitive. Your body twitches underneath him, crackling with an electric energy that brings tears to yours. Sweat clings to your skin and his. Each thrust and slap of skin is slick.

“Fuck, Johnny. I—I can’t. No more. Please.”

Johnny’s chest heaves a bit. He’s clearly inching toward exhaustion. But when has that ever stopped him.

“One more, love. Come here.”

Johnny’s arms go around you, pulling you into his lap.

Even though every limb is screaming in protest, your senses spark again when his hard cock rubs against your pussy, the head brushing along the edge of your clit. You clench around nothing, and a little shiver travels up your spine.

Johnny’s mouth trails over the skin of your throat, his tongue taking up a bit of the moisture.

“Wrap your legs around me. Best you can.”

You do as Johnny instructs, and then his hands slide under your ass, lifting enough that the head of his cock finds your pussy. Slowly, Johnny brings you down on him inch by inch until you’re perfectly stretched again.

Once you’re completely seated on his cock, Johnny adjusts his grip, grasping your hips. With gentle guidance, Johnny urges your hips to rock slightly. His own imitate the same motion. The two of you meet repeatedly.

Each rock of your hips forces Johnny deeper. You moan, head tilting back, but Johnny grasps the nape of your neck.

“Look at me,” he croons, fingers digging into your skin, the small hairs there catching under his touch.

Your eyelids are heavy with lust but you manage, seeking that gorgeous gaze you know so well. Johnny’s arms adjust, supporting more of your back as the two of you rock. It’s languid, but nice. Different from the earlier rounds when Johnny just needed to be inside you in whatever way you’d allow it.

Johnny’s arm tightens as you drape yours around his neck.

It’s easier to lean forward, resting your forehead against his. Breaths are exchanged. Lips brushing but not really kissing.

With the next set of thrusts, Johnny shivers. “I love you,” he murmurs. “Fucking love you.”

At first, you don’t hear him clearly, the haze of pleasure sitting heavy. But your mind begins to clear as it processes what he just said.

“Johnny—”

“Love you so much,” he groans softly, stealing your lips before you can protest.

It’s the first time. The very first, and yet you don’t completely believe it.

“Oh, fuck. Hell,” gasps Johnny, giving in to whatever he’s after by tipping you toward the bed, putting you on your back.

Your legs automatically spread wider and then Johnny is fucking you completely, draped over you like a protective cocoon.

Love you,” he murmurs into your ear.

It repeats with each thrust.

And then you’re saying it, too.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction

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@sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81

@azkza @nishim @voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @haven-1307 @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @cod-z

@keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic @sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter

@dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld @umno-yeah @daemondoll

@jackrabbitem @lxblm @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @ash-tarte

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cno-inbminor · 19 days ago

Text

praestigia

NOTE: this is the completed version of the fic, including part 1. some minor edits have been made to part 1, but that's about it. once again, thanks sylus for being my first lads fic! as always, much love to spence for bullying me into finishing this

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~13.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). afab!reader, also a phd student, toxic behavior [miscommunication], explicit smut [dom/sub dynamics, slight bondage, underwear as a gag, size kink if you squint, fingering, some degradation, possessiveness, squirting, overstimulation, some choking, no protection aside from implied birth control], angst, some fluff, open ending. mdni!

[ao3]

The skyline of Linkon City never fails to captivate you, blinking lights of tall, corporate buildings, the specks of light dotted across the sky, the blur of beams weaving through the roads – no matter which angle you look at it from, the view will inevitably take reign over your focus. So much so, that you do not notice the imposing figure approaching you from behind. He can only draw your attention by placing both hands on your shoulders, jumping slightly as you blink and remember where you are. A wave of flashbacks crashes through your mind as you are gently turned towards him, your back facing the window now.

“Perhaps I should find it somewhat offensive that the view never fails to take your attention away,” Sylus remarks, his tone unmasked in his teasing and playfulness. His scarlet eyes peer past your shoulder to see if there was anything interesting or out of the ordinary. “Do I need to start booking rooms without windows?”

“Don’t be silly,” you gently admonish, moving past him to grab a drink of water. His eyes burn the skin on your back, though you are familiar with this gaze. “Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“I must say, I am a little wounded, kitten,” he drawls in mock pain. Instead of waiting for you to return and remain close to him, he situates himself on the bed first and leaves ample room for you to lay next to him.

The gesture invokes warmth, exudes comfort, and stands familiar as you climb onto the mattress with ease and memory. Sylus stretches out his arm next to you, and his pose quietly begs for you to cuddle into him.

And so you do. Sylus’s stature and frame, of course, never fails to envelop you during these moments of tranquility. Your chest pressed against his side, a leg crossed over his, your nails drawing patterns over his bathrobe and exposed abdomen – security, strength, and affection, once again, never fails to help you relax.

Because this is what happens after every gala, every fundraiser, every grand opening, every social event that you accompany Sylus to. This routine of being in hotel rooms so high above ground with breathtaking views, burrowing into him, oftentimes burying himself inside you, and separating the next morning with an implicit understanding of exactly where you stand, is what you two had agreed upon all those months ago. And in return, your financial stress disappears into thin air, leaving you to study and engage in hobbies without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Despite his constant reassurances that he can clean up whatever mess you may end up making, they do not negate just how tiring and draining these events end up being. Constantly putting on airs, overexposing your practiced smiles, making sure that there is not a single hair out of place, switching to what you like to call “fancy people table etiquette” – Sylus sponsored and, in a way, hired you to be as close to perfect as possible, and so, you must do as such to uphold your end of this business relation. Tonight has been a little more taxing than usual, as somewhere along the way, he felt the need to buy you anything that captured your attention for more than a few seconds. He would bid a ridiculous price that would dissuade any other potential customers, their expressions of defeat when they pass by causing him to secretly gloat that everyone has learned at least one thing about him: he will get what he wants.

You had caught onto this shenanigan after the third item, and you made sure to school your gaze away from the auctioned items. But because he always seems to know what plays in your mind, he complains, “You never let or ask me to buy you things anymore.”

Your eyes had closed shut during your time of reflecting on tonight’s events, and they continue to remain as such. “I have very little closet space. At this point, I think I’ve probably swapped out 90% of my wardrobe because of you. People are starting to get suspicious.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

As the conversation suggests, this is not the first time Sylus has brought up this proposition. What remains unsaid is how you would be closer to his residence if you were to move to one of the many apartments he had in mind, all of which would reduce your commute to his place down to walking a block or two; not a twenty-minute drive.

“Just say the word, and it will be done,” Sylus murmurs into your hair. When he realizes he has received no response, your soft snoring greets him before he can inquire any further. With a heavy sigh, he reaches out and switches the nightstand light off, leaving the darkness to swallow you both. His eyes fall shut in tired ease, but his grip around your shoulders remains firm.

It comes to no one’s surprise that you feel less than well-rested when your alarm starts blaring at 5:45AM. You had an early class today, so you had to give yourself ample time to make it home, change, wipe away any lingering smudges of last night’s makeup, and try to appear as…casual as possible. Not wanting to wake him up so much that he cannot fall back asleep, you reach out for your phone and click one of the volume buttons, rendering it silent. Sometime in the night, your position had changed to Sylus spooning you. His limb slung over your waist is heavy, making it all that more difficult to leave – not just physically, but mentally as well.

Like ripping a bandaid off, you have every intention to quickly remove yourself from his embrace. But Sylus, being the infuriatingly light sleeper that he is, immediately tightens his hold around you as soon as you attempt your escape.

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“If anyone needs rest, it’s you,” you say pointedly, because it’s true. Being the CEO of a business that may or may not be totally legal (you never ask because honestly, the less you know, the better) is not exactly a 9AM-5PM job. There have been more times than you can count when he would be pounding into you and forced to take a phone call. Granted, that doesn’t stop him from grinding into you and grinning devilishly when you bury your face into the nearest pillow to muffle your moans and whines.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

“I’m still taking the subway,” you backtrack, though your voice is quieter than before. A tiny sense of relief fills you when his embrace loosens, and you can finally crawl out of bed. It’s harder than it seems to squash the distressed voice in your head complaining about how easy it was for him to let you go. As you pick up all your clothes and make your way towards the bathroom, you notice his phone sitting innocently by the room’s coffee machine. After looking over your shoulder, you swipe it off the counter and bring it with you.

Guessing his passcode is harder than you thought – the man has an ego the size of the entire universe, so you figure it would be something personal: his inaugural date as CEO, his birth year, his birthday, or others. On your last, desperate attempt, you type in four digits and find yourself absolutely floored at the view of his, now, unlocked phone.

Your birthday.

There is no time to dwell on the implications of it all, and you chalk it up to the fact that no one really knows you outside of being his typical date or escort. Therefore, the passcode would be that much harder to guess than the route that you had originally gone for. Yes, that’s all it was: an extra layer of security.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stares hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

The exchange tells you enough, just enough for you to realize the situation you find yourself in. You suddenly recall an incident in the beginning of this relationship with Sylus when he described this arrangement, him as your sugar daddy, as a means to an end, preferably the end of something that he clearly did not want out of desire for his own freedom. There was not enough detail for you to give it much thought after that night of discussion and negotiation, but now, it all makes sense.

Your thumb takes it back to his home screen and presses the lock button. In a haze, you get ready and dressed before exiting the bathroom, completely unaware if you even have your clothes on right or your hair somewhat kempt. As quietly as possible, you place his phone back where you had found it. Though common practice at this point, it now feels far too intimate to plant a featherlight kiss on his cheek. It causes him to stir, but you’re halfway out the door before he can fully register your departure.

Whoever passes by, whatever zooms past, however something tries to gain your attention, you have no recognition of your surroundings. A thick layer of tension settles itself into your brain, allowing you to think of nothing but the fact that this entire time, Sylus has been in an arranged marriage that you, apparently, were supposed to be instrumental in destroying. To find yourself back in your apartment maybe forty minutes later is a miracle in and of itself. You return to the plane of reality when you open your closet doors to toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and are greeted by the many items bought with his money.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy does not make itself known in your system. You’re not exuding shades of green or red like an angry Christmas tree. If anything, you come to a quiet acceptance that this…partnership with Sylus will come to an end, and soon. It would do no good for him to keep seeing or supporting you while formally married, which means you have to get your life in order. Sylus has given you more than enough money to put you through your last two years of your postgraduate career and maybe a year into your postdoc, but you should still remain frugal. If you’re lucky enough, the money you earn during postdoc would be enough to live relatively comfortably on.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

The subtle, possessive curl of his message coils around you tenderly, making you temporarily forget that you are in class and should be exhibiting a poker face. But you still shift in your seat, a warm pool of heat forming in your core as you imagine his expression and his voice reading the message out loud. Forever a tease and a flirt, Sylus knows exactly what he is doing by sending you that message.

Your best revenge in the moment is to leave him on read, on the edge of his metaphorical seat. It takes too much effort to bring your conscience back to your current lecture and actually take some notes. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it – and in hindsight, you’re glad you did. Sylus, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, took it upon himself to send you a picture of himself after a shower – the skin of his chest glistening under the fluorescent lights, grey towel hung low on his waist and barely holding on, veins on his arms frustratingly visible because he knows what they do to you, his biceps flexed just enough that you want to take a bite at them. The fucker full well knew you were in class and, you know, in relatively close proximity to other people who would have, no doubt, gotten an eyeful.

As you walk towards the subway station to go back to your apartment, head down and focused on typing out a message, a giddy smile can’t help but break out across your face. Your thumbs tap, “Should you really be sending photos like this to someone who, in the public’s eye, is just a friendly escort?”

After not even thirty seconds, your phone buzzes, the notification of his call sliding in from the top of your screen. You almost roll your eyes as you bring the device to your ear. “You have five minutes before I lose signal underground,” you warn, your tone still playful nevertheless.

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to do no more than simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

Sylus responds with a contemplative pause, which is...unusual. He has always been so quick to reply with wit and banter, but there is a chance that maybe something distracted him, like what you had said as a poor attempt at a viable excuse.

“I suppose the kitten is starting to make use of her claws now.” His voice rings softer, quieter, almost as if disheartened by his own statement. “First you disconnect your watch, and now you won’t even let me buy you earbuds.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. “I can’t,” you lie, a pang of guilt creeping into your heart. “There’s a study group tonight for an exam.” Not a lie. “Besides, we just saw each other yesterday.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“W-well, no,” you splutter because it’s true. There have been a handful of times when you spent two, sometimes three consecutive nights in the past – but things were more hot-and-heavy then, a time when you couldn’t get enough of him and vice versa. “I’m just saying.”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Your eyes close in frustration as you groan. Your feet have reached the top of the stairs, and you couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. “Okay, I’m at the station so I’m gonna hang up. I’ll come over another time, alright? Talk to you later.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to race down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

Wired earbuds in, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, letting the wind tunnel threaten you to topple over, you do everything in your ability to not think about him – to not think about the messages that may flood your phone once you get signal, to not think about the pushback you may receive because Sylus is someone who figures out to, somehow, always get his way, and to not think about the weight of his earlier words: “I stepped out.” You pretend that you know nothing about this arranged marriage, the curiosity having caused your thumbs to twitch in anticipation at maybe looking up who this woman is. You ignore the now glaringly close deadline that will terminate your relationship with Sylus forever, and most of all, you ignore any semblance of pain that knowledge makes you feel.

Cup half-empty, spoons tossed the window, the subway window across from you is greeted with a blank stare. In a rare moment of mindfulness (or is it dissociation?), you think of nothing until you find yourself standing by the foot of your bed and ready to face plant into the middle of the duvet. With your last shred of working consciousness, you set an alarm for thirty minutes before the start of the study group and promptly fall asleep.

As you predicted, the study group runs late into the night. Despite the several digressions into conversations that were very much not academics-related, all of you feel relatively good about the subject matter for the exam on Friday. Everyone comes to a unanimous decision to reconvene in a couple of days. Given that it was Monday, one more study session Wednesday and some independent review Thursday night would be beneficial.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack, tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“Hey, you took the subway here, right? I can drive you home,” Jiho, a doctoral student in the same year as you but doing research under a different professor, offers. A part of you is beyond relieved at the perfect example of an excuse to not check your phone because it would be so incredibly rude (not really) in a social context.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

He drops you off in front of your apartment complex about ten minutes later, and he shoos away your offer to buy him coffee as a token of gratitude. You wave goodbye as his car pulls out of a guest parking spot, and only then do you notice the conspicuously sleek, grey sports car sitting a few meters away. Your heart pounds, and your palms begin to sweat as you get closer and closer to your unit, afraid of who you might find once you get inside. You spot the fluorescent glow from underneath peering out from underneath your door, and it takes everything in you to not drop your keys as you unlock the deadbolt.

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

Sylus, looking severely out of place in your humble abode, sets down the stack of papers in his hand on your coffee table. With his other hand, he points to the fixture on your wall by the door where your keys typically hang. His own set now occupies one of the hooks, and you spot the spare key you had given him a few months ago. To your knowledge, he has never used it before, and you can count the number of times he has stepped into this apartment on one hand.

You quietly shut the door behind you, locking both deadbolts in place before setting your backpack down. “It’s so late,” and even you wince at the shakiness in your voice. “You should be asleep. At home.”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow, he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards him, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

The command snaps you into compliance, his tone firm and undeniable. You expect to see anger, frustration, disappointment. After all, it would make sense, for there is a set of expectations and rules put into place to ensure trust between both parties. Transactional, contractual, institutional obligations and conditions set by both the company matchmaker and individuals are put in place to conveniently manifest and quickly disintegrate these business relations, to avoid messes.

But you realize all too quickly that the mess will be inevitable, in your case, because instead of tinges of red fury in his eyes, you find concern, worry, and confusion. Dread sinks into your stomach like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, dropping further and further into the dark unknown.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“Since you refuse to tell me otherwise, tell me how you got home,” he says, and though he may seem cool and nonchalant in the way he rests an arm against the back of the couch, you can see the irritation pulsing through the veins on his forearms.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw growing tense in building irritation. “How so?”

“There’s a line somewhere in there about making sure I would not contact you for personal favors that are outside the scope of our,” you hesitate to find the right words, “relationship.” You can’t remember the last time your palms sweat so much.

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

��Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that is undoubtedly determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late-night fatigue for it.

Responding directly to his question would only make this worse, as you cannot see yourself getting out of the ensuing conversation unscathed and alive. Instead, the couch dips as you cross the distance between you two, hesitantly straddling his hips in case he doesn’t want you to. But he allows your move, his hands almost instinctively resting on your thighs as you settle yourself into his hold. His skin feels glassy smooth beneath your fingers as you caress his cheek, studying every detail of his face and avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been lavishing you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Yet you move past the pain to accept the fall, the descent into oblivion as you feel Sylus respond to your kiss, deepening and increasing in fervor. The heat in your core is more than just lust as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, a testament to the depth of your affections. Somehow, his touch as his hands roam your figure burns hotter. It almost makes you want to shy away from his grasp, but part of you welcomes the trails of fire as your punishment for deceiving him.

You gasp out his name as his lips leave your neck scorching, each nip of his teeth and lave of his tongue adding to the haze slowly overtaking your rationale. But beneath the man’s ardor, you manage to recognize his irritation and annoyance – the way his fingers grip your waist, his nails digging into your back – about how this whole night has progressed.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

“You test my patience in a way that others have never done before,” he says in a dangerous tone as you gasp at the chords of delicious pain running down your back.

“I’m– ah – sorry,” you gasp as his arousal grinds purposefully against yours.

The answering swat against your ass stings, and you attempt to ignore the rush of slick dampening your panties even further – a reaction that Sylus does not fail to miss. Instinct calls and beckons when your eyes slip shut the moment a hand rakes up to get a firm grip of your hair, pulled towards him so he can kiss you fervently again.

So lost in a hazy reverie, you barely register when he lifts you by your thighs and makes his way to your bedroom. Or at least, you think he’s going there, given that he’s only been in your bedroom once before. But Sylus makes strides with the confidence of someone who has visited here countless times, and the aura he exudes both thrills and frightens you.

In mere seconds, he strips you down and regards you with an appreciative gaze. The glint and apparent desire in his eyes never fails to flatter you – to be wanted is addicting, especially when wanted by a man as powerful as Sylus. You should be alarmed by how natural it feels to be in this current state of undress and debauchery.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you obey without a second thought. “Good girl.

“As much as I cannot bother to care about disturbing your neighbors, I know you do,” he concedes, but not without balling up your panties and stuffing them past your parted lips. “All of this could have been avoided if you had just let me pick you up.”

The argumentative whine that slips off your tongue is resolutely muffled, serving no purpose except to further Sylus’s sadism. His approving smirk immediately quells your anger, and you can only watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothes at a painstakingly slow place. Normally, you are the one to grant him a show at his command, but tonight, you deserved a taste of your own medicine. Your wrists become bound by his belt as he finds his second home between your legs. Tears prick the corners of your eyes when he purposefully lets his shaft drop on your clit.

“Always so wet and ready for me, kitten,” he praises, his tone low, teasing, but appreciative.

His smirk widens as he moves to hold his cock and tap it menacingly against the puffy bundle of nerves, taking in each twitch of your body, each dampened mewl, each falling tear. With each tap, the string of slick between your cunt and his length becomes more and more prominent, spreading across his skin. “Tell me, sweetie, who this belongs to,” Sylus compels with a drawl, jutting his chin towards your carnal source of torture before meeting your eyes. He knows very well that the word you're trying to say is “you”, but he takes great pleasure in knowing that there is no way the sounds will come through the soaked cotton in your mouth. “Hmm? What was that?” The frustration of not being able to clearly convey the right answers only adds to your arousal, turning the heat in your core into molten lava. At his clarifying question, you, undoubtedly, feel a pool of precum drip from your pussy, and when you see his eyes flit down to his cock in hand, you know he's fully aware of it too. They hone in on how easily the tip slips into your beckoning entrance, attempting to entice and draw him in for both your pleasures.

You keen as Sylus slides two fingers into your entrance without warning – they’re a far cry from his cock, but thick and long in their own desirable way. The tips of his fingers easily find the spot that makes you squirm, moan, mewl, and you’d have to be blind to miss the wicked expression splitting across his face. Despite the teasing attitude from earlier, he wastes no time trying to bring you to your peak. Your muffled cries only spur him on, even more so when he’s able to fit a third finger inside you. “Maybe I should let your neighbors hear us. I imagine it would get the message across that you’re not exactly…available.”

Embarrassing, what you would give in this very moment to be nothing more than his. Your hips follow the drag of his fingers, unwilling to let yourself feel anything less than filled. But before he lets you come, he stops.

Why?

“Greedy little thing.” His tone is mocking, yet highly amused, as he removes his fingers – and as much as he would like to play with you to his heart’s content, to break you down and tear you apart, his veins thrum with impatience and apprehension. Sylus seeks to punish you in a different, more overwhelming fashion, that would require you to beg him to stop rather than to start. It takes everything in him to not force you down his entire length. Instead, he devises to lull you into a false sense of security with the way that he takes his time sliding into you, no matter how much your pretty cunt desperately tries to suck him in. Sylus is sure you would be able to see the restraint painted across his face if you didn’t have your head thrown back and back arched from being stretched open. The sight of your bare stomach and chest makes it all the much harder to reign in his desires.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His cock continues to bully its way through your pussy, slowly and languidly, until it’s fully trapped inside you. When your thighs meet his v-line and your clit brushes against his skin, you whine and buck against him for desperately needed friction. But Sylus quickly traps you and pins you down from your thighs, restricting your movements with a devilish grin. “You never answered my question,” he reminds you, a clear taunt. In the blink of an eye, he leans back to land a firm yet stinging slap on your puffy clit and revels in your muffled cry. “Who does this belong to?”

Your dry sobs only intensify as you fight to respond with a clear answer, but it’s impossible. The way you grind your hips against him, seeking any sensation that could help quench this insatiable thirst in your core, should say enough. Sure, you could simply point at him, even with your wrists tied together, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants the words of possession to roll off your tongue at times like these. And if you tried taking the cloth from your mouth…needless to say, you would be lucky to survive the night.

He chuckles when he feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his cock, a different tone that deviates from the vicious shake of your head to signal that despite your complaints, you would much rather be gagged like this. “Cum for me,” Sylus demands in a low voice. “Cum for me, cum from me just being inside you, and I will give you what you’ve been begging for this whole time.

“Even better yet, make a mess.”

The coil in your core tightens more and more and more until it suddenly snaps, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm and your throat hoarse from your silenced screams. “Good girl,” he praises when he pulls out, hungry eyes roaming every inch of you, as he rapidly swipes his fingers against your clit and relishes in his ability to make you squirt, fluids flying and landing messily in the near vicinity. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get over the high, oversensitivity from his fingers as they continue to stimulate you. Barely coming down from your climax, Sylus stuffs three fingers inside you and continues to fuck you, purposefully and forcefully rocking against your g-spot.

“Please,” you beg and cry as you twitch and flinch, trying to remove yourself from the source of this unbearable amount of pleasure. But your articulation is, once again, victim to your cotton gag, leaving you to audibly dry sob and squeal in overstimulation. The satisfaction on your sponsor’s complexion should sound the alarms in your brain, but it only thrills you to pieces as clarity fades more and more from your conscience.

In a haze, you manage to pull your belt-bound wrists forward from above your head and tap his shoulder three times. Only then does he stop in his tracks, carefully removing his fingers from your core. Sylus exhibits the same attention when he holds your chin with one hand and takes the soaked cotton of your panties out of your mouth. Before you can even take two breaths, greedily gasping for air, Sylus kisses you softly, slowly. Unable to do much with your head still in a fog, you reciprocate as much as you can – to silently thank him for his punishment, as well as his mercy. He pulls back, cueing you to open your eyes and take him in, just as he assesses you in his own way. His eyes search and roam your face and figure before meeting your gaze once more.

How endearing, you believe they seem to say. He cocks an eyebrow, his way of asking are you okay? You take a few deep breaths before nodding. But before you can try and decipher more of what he may be feeling through his eyes, he bends forward, breathing into your ear, “On your stomach.”

Large, strong hands manhandle you until your head is almost buried into the sheets, hiding your disheveled state, your hands grasping at the expensive linen, and his weight planted firmly on top of you. A pillow is stuffed beneath your abdomen before he spreads your ass, eager to study the ruin he has caused on your poor, little pussy. Sylus readjusts himself so that his dick nestles comfortably between your ass cheeks. Even in your daze, the heat of his arousal almost seems to burn your flesh, and you desperately wish it was inside you.

A self-proclaimed mind reader, Sylus drives you to the edge, groaning quietly when your cunt attempts to lure him in when he coquettes you with the tip. Every slide, every push, every instance of friction makes you fall deeper into this pool of anguish and lechery. Before you even realize it, visceral pleas for him to fuck you are spilling from your tongue, very much so to his delight. “I know you can beg better than that,” he taunts. “And to think I had trained you so well.” His voice reeks in mock despair and disappointment.

Though you know he’s not completely serious, his words are enough to send your sin-addled brain into a state of panic – so panicked and shaken to the point that you don't even register the next words falling off your tongue. Something about the practiced but genuine phrases of separation, wanting to be used, wanting to be ruined – were you pressing back into him, hoping, praying that you could draw him into you?

In response, you soak in the hisses of expletives in your ear, the comforting, mind-numbing sensation of being filled again, and the weight of his frame atop yours. He holds himself up on his elbows, and each thrust threatens to split you in two. “Mine,” his voice slips through your conscience, hanging onto the way the sound drags out, “are you not?”

Always, you nearly answer on primal instinct when he buries himself as deep as he can inside you, his cock almost feeling like it’s in the back of your throat. The inexplicable amount of pleasure stops you from giving him what he wants, which pushes him to press himself even harder against you. “I’m beginning to lose my patience, kitten,” Sylus warns, as if he’s not the very reason for your delayed responses. His fingers sneak underneath you to grab you around the neck, forcing your head up. Your pants are greedy, desperately seeking air as his hand tightens just a bit more, the haziness in your mind thickening.

“Yours,” you gasp. “Always,” slips off your tongue before you can stop yourself.

The silence that hangs still is enough to make you question whether or not you fucked this whole thing up. Dread begins to drip into your system as his grip around your neck loosens, even more so when his hand slips away entirely and he begins sliding out of you. “Wa–”

In the blink of an eye, his hand pushes your head back into the sheets, his fingers curling around your strands at the scalp. Sylus’s cock fucks you into the mattress, his pace almost frantic, yet punishing. The realization that you’re going to be incredibly sore in the morning is an accepted assumption at this point, leaving you with little warning of your release approaching the precipice. Silenced cries, Sylus fervidly ensuring that your pussy is forever molded to the shape of his length, your sanity slipping – his impassioned murmurs of how tight you are, how easily he can pound you into oblivion, how your pussy makes it so easy for him to sink into the very depths of your core – all drive you to your peak. His last sign that you’re going to come is the dissipation of your whimpers.

Sylus wraps his hand around your neck once more, turning it so that he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. He swallows your screams as you topple over the edge, your climax so intense that your whole body trembles for what feels like eternity in his hold. Your pussy compels him to remain buried deep inside you, and he’s more than happy to comply. But it doesn’t stop him from grinding against you, driving you into overstimulation.

“So good,” he groans against your lips in between kisses. “So fucking good, taking my cock so well, I’m gonna–”

“Y-your cum, please,” you urge. “Please give me your cum!” Your voice dissolves into sobs.

“Fuck!” Sylus spits out. The hand that was on your neck now covers your mouth as he spills inside you with a deep moan, his teeth buried into your shoulder to muffle his own voice. You relish in the sharp pain, as if he’s trying to engrave his mark into your skin, and can’t help but keen as his cum fills you up. Each pulse and twitch of his cock sends a shiver down your spine and almost tempts you into begging for more.

Catching his breath, he refuses to leave your warmth. His tongue softly licks the area where his teeth had embedded themselves into your shoulder, and follows them with reverent kisses. You remain quiet, only letting your breath hitch when Sylus slips out of you. He gently presses your back into a deeper arch so that you can present yourself to him, and he watches with apparent satisfaction as his cum leaks from your pussy. A hand on your ass, his thumb reaches over for your entrance to push and give him a better view of his undeniable claim on you.

As infuriating as he can be, you observe with bleary eyes as he leaves to grab a damp towel from your bathroom before returning and carefully wiping his cum away. After doing so, he tosses it to the floor and picks you up bridal-style, carrying you the short distance to your bathroom. He starts the shower and hums some nonsensical tune with a faint voice as you wait for the water to warm up. When he deems it hot enough, Sylus offers you a hand and helps you into the shower. Compared to his apartment, your shower stall is barely enough to fit the both of you. But he makes it work, taking the utmost care in cleaning you up, his touch so cautious yet heavy with care.

You barely remember making it out of the shower, much less when he dries you off and brings you to bed. There’s a faint memory of his warmth wrapping around your frame when you awaken later that morning, a delicious ache stretched through your muscles. Yet the side where he laid is cold.

It, along with the unread text from your bank notifying you of a, no doubt, sizeable deposit, is to be expected, you remind yourself. The sticky note by your phone that reads, “Early meeting, sweetie. -S” is the only truly physical (and unexpected) sign that he had been here in the first place. He never owes you an explanation, and you never expect to get one.

Just another day, another transaction.

Friday rolls around, and when the sun has set beneath the horizon, you find yourself perched in Sylus’s home on the kitchen island, a speckless slab of black quartz that you just know you’re leaving fingerprints on, as he throws together a salad. Something is in the air fryer, and he has a bottle of sparkling cider waiting to be opened. Sylus had stopped you with a look of “don’t you dare” when you tried helping out with something – anything – so the only thing you could do was sit and try to look pretty.

“Pick a salad dressing,” he commands when you grow silent. You eye the three jars that have been placed in front of you.

“I’m fine with any of them.”

“Not an answer.”

“I’m serious though!”

“Pick one.”

You groan as you look at the jars and point at the middle one. “Happy now?” you ask passive aggressively, sending him an exasperated glare.

Sylus, swift and silent, swoops in and steals a kiss from an unexpected you. Saying nothing, he pours some out into the salad bowl and mixes it all together with adept flicks of his wrist – no utensils needed. With a pair of tongs, he drops some greens onto your plate before taking the rest and tending to whatever is cooking in the oven.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here, and it’s not the first time he’s cooked for you. But it is the first time since accepting that you may feel something more than obligation and friendly affection for this man. This whole experience feels wildly domestic, as if you belonged…here.

On this counter.

Accepting impromptu kisses.

Waiting on food cooked by him.

Knowing you’re staying over for the night.

As if you were meant to be a part of his life.

The thought terrifies you, without a doubt, but you like it. Settling down with Sylus, forever attached at his hip at events, is a dangerous fantasy.

Lost in your thoughts, the what if?s, the possibilities, your daydream breaks when he pulls the curtain closed in front of the balcony door, completely blocking a wonderful (and surely, very expensive) view of Linkon. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you had been looking past the windowpane when frolicking around in your imagination, and you’re reminded of the night before you disconnected your smart watch from his phone. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks, knowing they would be warm to the touch. Turning away from the now-concealed nighttime skyline, you direct your attention to the fridge meters away from you. “Just thinking about my test.”

“It’s too late now, if you realize you got something wrong. We’re here to celebrate it being over.”

“I know.” You sigh. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. I was getting a little tired of eating out.”

“I was as well. Too many business lunches and dinners the last couple of weeks.”

“How did those go?” you ask just to keep the conversation going.

“They went fine,” Sylus says without any further detail. “Come, let’s eat.” Before you can come down from the counter yourself, he already has an arm wound around your waist and is semi-carrying you to the dinner table. The distance between the table and the kitchen was maybe fifteen steps at best, closer to seven given Sylus’s long strides. It would’ve been a short walk regardless, and you’re flustered with the unexpected royal treatment.

Unceremoniously (but still carefully), he sits you down into a chair and pushes it in before going to his seat. Sylus places himself next to you at this round, mahogany table that seems a little too big for a man who lives alone. Largely used for serving several different dishes, it just looks a little out of place compared to the rest of his penthouse, all sleek and sharp. But you’ve learned to stop questioning things you’re curious about when it comes to his personal life, because clearly, he’s not very open to sharing those details.

Dinner isn’t anything special, as Sylus lets you prattle on about your research and other office gossip. He never divulges any of the gossip in his own workplace, but you understand it’s for confidentiality reasons. And he may just not care that much. At this point, Sylus knows a little too much about you while you know very little about him outside of his preferences and inclinations for food, media, and general daily habits.

Understanding the reality of that stun locks you for a few seconds – the duality of the word intimacy, the realization that you don’t even know Sylus’s favorite color. You could guess, sure, but you don’t definitively know. Why is it that you know the exact amount of shaved truffle on his pasta at that fancy restaurant by the river, but not his birthday? How do you explain your ability to pick up on details of his facial expressions at events and banquets, therefore knowing when to intervene so he can get a break from these people, but not the makeup of his family?

“You’ve been staring off into space quite a bit lately,” Sylus muses, ripping you away from the beginnings of your mental breakdown.

“Sorry, I just thought of something about my exam again.”

“What a terrible host I’ve been then, to allow your mind to wander so often. How can I keep your focus on me?”

You hum, looking around his apartment and then at the table. “Let me wash the dishes.”

“I own a dishwasher for a reason.”

“Please? It’s the least I could do since you made dinner – which was wonderful, by the way. You ever consider becoming a chef?” you ask with a slight chuckle, taking the opportunity to grab his dishware and utensils and carry them to the sink. Stainless steel shines brightly at you, whether from a recent deep clean or lack of usage, as you start to run the tap for warm water.

Large, familiar hands find their home on your waist, the heat burning through your sweater. They pull you against his frame, and you allow yourself to lean back a little bit as you start scrubbing the porcelain. Arms wind around your middle and hold you tight, his senses becoming muddled as he loses himself in your scent and touch. He gently paints the column of your neck with soft, faint kisses – so soft that if you hadn’t been so tuned into him, you would’ve missed them.

“You’re taking too long,” Sylus murmurs against your skin.

“What, never had to wait a tiny bit for a treat you want?” you tease, and chuckle when his teeth bite into your shoulder.

“Brat.”

“I’m almost done, I promise.”

It’s so hard to not like–

Your brain freezes – but somehow still commands you to scrub the plate in your hand. Moving on pure muscle memory now, you have maybe five seconds to figure out your own thought process.

This is a contract, you remind yourself. This is a mutual relationship to satisfy both parties’ needs without getting personal feelings involved. Sylus made that very clear in the beginning. But the less logical part of your conscience creeps in like a phantom on your shoulder. So how does that explain Sylus’s actions recently? How does that explain this very moment of what would appear to anyone as a sweet, pure, domestic interaction?

He’s just comfortable, you rationalize.

Why does he insist on you staying the night?

Because that’s what this contract entails.

Why does he keep asking you to move closer?

It’d be more of a problem if he was asking me to move in with him.

Would it be though?

Of course??

You sure about that?

This is NOT the time for--!

A small pinch on your waist brings you back to reality, your synapses firing on overdrive to try to get you back to a functional level. You cannot hold back your “ow!”, which seems to be just enough of a reaction to satisfy this man.

“What was that for?!”

“Something is clearly on your mind,” he says in a low tone, the tone that indicates he’s starting to become agitated.

“No there’s not,” you retort and fail to hide the sheepishness in your own voice.

“You’re doing a terrible job at convincing me to accept that. What are you not telling me?”

“It’s–,” you pause, scrambling for words. “--trivial, at best.”

Sylus’s arm extends in front of you to forcibly remove the plate from one hand and the sponge from the other. You relent to reduce the risk of breaking anything, but somehow, it’s still not enough. He grabs a tea towel hanging on the oven door behind him, spins you around so that your back is now digging into the edge of the sink, and proceeds to furiously dry your hands. You can’t help but wince when he tries to rub off some dried soap residue, but there is no time to dwell on it.

Not when Sylus slings the towel on to his shoulder and bends at the waist to meet your eyes. Not when he cages you between his arms as his hands bear his weight on either side of you. Not when he pins you with an expectant glare, demanding your full honesty.

“It’s really nothing.” Your tone is firmer now, but he doesn’t fall for it.

“Is it something personal?”

“...yes.”

“Does it have anything to do with your family?”

“No.”

“Is it something that I’m able to fix?

Technically, yes. But you’re not stupid.

“No.” Your voice softens, lowering to a murmur at best.

“Tsk,” Sylus clicks his tongue. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you have a large enough influence to make you think that you can fix anything you want.”

“Precisely,” he responds pointedly and, perhaps, a little too proudly. “So tell me. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll have it resolved within 48 hours.”

You didn’t realize that you had stopped looking him in the eye. And when you do, your breath hitches. So determined, so resolute.

And yet, so heartbreaking.

You can’t help but let your fingers ghost over his cheek, tracing the edge of his jawline. He stands firm even when you step forward and press a light kiss against his cheek. As if on instinct, he turns and immediately parts his lips to slide against yours, but you pull back before he has the chance to deepen it, and with it, your affection.

“You have enough to worry about as it is,” you murmur. “I’m fine, really.”

Sylus’s eyes turn disapproving, doubtful. But he knows when to back off when needed.

“Don’t forget that I can help you, should you need it,” he gently reminds you. “Do you understand?”

“I do, don’t worry.”

He sighs. “Very well then. Now come, we’re here to celebrate the end of your exam, after all.”

You take his outstretched hand, but you fail to leave behind your troubled heart.

Two nights later, at four in the morning, you stare blankly at your phone screen.

[Are you sure you want to request to terminate this contract?]

The only contact you've had with Sylus the last two days is sporadic texts about little things, like how your day was going or if you'd heard about the results of your exam yet. You do your best in suppressing the quiet loneliness that pushes your heart to your throat and a dagger into your stomach, the undeniable sensation of realizing that you miss Sylus.

Missing him as if he were your actual partner and not just one for show with dollar signs behind the scenes.

Worrying enough to wonder if he's getting enough sleep and eating enough food outside of whatever work dinners or lunches he may be obligated to attend. Just yesterday, you had ordered delivery to his office with your own money, and he had texted you a simple Thank you, little one. To which you responded with a casual, You're welcome 👍.

Smooth.

You're not sure how long your eyes linger over the [Yes] button, the midnight minutes blinking by as you contemplate your next move. Is this the right call? Should you wait until Sylus comes around and tells you on his own about the arranged marriage? Should you just wait until he makes the request instead?

No. You want a clean break. You want to call this off on your terms, essentially saving yourself from the path of destruction that you would undoubtedly set off on. One tap and a press of the lock button immediately after, you burrow yourself into your blankets and will yourself to sleep.

With light sleep at best, you watch with bleary eyes as the sun begins to rise, casting your room into a hue of its golden hour, signifying contentment and new beginnings. But it only elicits dread as you wait for the inevitable end.

The shriek of your phone rips you from your mindless daydreaming, and you know who it is before you can even get a good look at the screen.

“Hel–”

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice rings dark, irate, with what you think is the slightest hint of panic laced beneath each syllable.

“Sylus,” you start, but he interrupts you again.

“If I did something to upset you, then you need to let me know. Otherwise, I am at a complete loss for your sudden request to terminate our agreement.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Your attempt to subdue his worries may be futile, but you at least have to try.

“And I’m sure you can see why I don’t believe you for even a second.”

“I mean it though,” you refute. “Look, I’ll explain more when we meet with the company rep.”

“My patience is running thin. Tell me now.”

“Please, please just wait until we meet this evening,” you beseech, on the brink of breaking down while walking back to your apartment from class.

“It was simply a mistake, right?”

“Sylus, please–”

“Fine. Don’t be late.” The beep that follows indicates he has hung up on you. You suppose you got what you wanted, but it feels a hundred times worse.

There will never be enough time in the world for you to be prepared for this moment, standing in the ascending elevator of a discrete yet well-kept high-rise building while clutching a manilla envelope in your hand. The last time you were here was to outline the conditions of the situation with a representative there to help mitigate and ensure that both parties would be satisfied. You suppose they’ll be doing the same thing today, except it would be to ensure a clean split.

As the secretary walks you to the designated conference room, your legs tremble, even more so when she casually adds that Sylus was already here, waiting. She stops and knocks on the door in front of her, announcing your arrival. A sound of approval from inside cues her to open the door and let you in, and you nervously step inside after thanking her. Not that you didn’t believe her earlier, but actually seeing Sylus in the flesh somehow adds to the gravity of the situation.

“We have both parties here now, so let us begin,” the representative says after greeting you with a handshake. Calling out your name and gesturing to you, he states,” You are the one that called to terminate this contractual agreement, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you confirm in a shaky voice and clear your throat. A copy of the contract sits in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the letters that are starting to blur and swirl together. If it means that you don’t have to look at Sylus, you’ll take it.

“Is the reason for the termination due to any violations of the terms and conditions set at the initial meeting?”

“No.”

Despite keeping your head down, you see and hear Sylus shift in his chair. A sudden chill wraps around you, and you slightly shiver.

“Mr. Qin, to your knowledge, did she violate any part of the contract?”

“No.”

“Now let us discuss financial compensation.” Looking towards you again, he asks, “Have you been financially compensated for your services?”

“More than adequately.”

“Per the contract, are there any services you have not been paid for?”

You shake your head. “Sylus does not owe me anything.”

“Then as per company policy, once one party calls for the termination of the contract, the request must be honored to protect the safety of both parties. Any services that were not compensated for would have to be done here in this meeting, but that is not a concern in this case. Please give me a few minutes to draw up the agreement to terminate so that you both can sign it.” The representative gets up and leaves the conference room.

Sylus steals the opportunity to ask the one question that has been on repeat in his mind since he received the notification.

“Why?”

You like to think you’ve gotten to know Sylus relatively well over the last year. Given your lack of explanation over the phone earlier, you know your words alone would never be enough to placate him. With shaky hands, you retrieve the envelope from your lap and slide it across the table, even daring to finally look up at him now. His crimson eyes nearly break you, but you’re grasping onto every last straw to keep yourself sane.

Inside the envelope contained a couple of pictures found online of Sylus’s arranged fiancée, as well as several news articles discussing how her company may be heading towards a merger, but it was unclear on exactly when it would happen and who it would be with. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that you’ve seen her several times in passing at various events and fundraisers, and that she and the man sitting across you seemed to avoid each other in public as inconspicuously as possible. You warily watch as he pulls the contents out and freezes, his gaze snapping back to you.

“How did you…?” he inquires.

“It doesn’t matter how I found out,” you respond softly before switching to a more matter-of-fact tone. “We knew this would come to an end at some point. Considering your arrangement isn’t known to the public yet, it was fine to be seen with me. But when this news breaks out, and if you’re still associated with me, it wouldn’t look good for either of you. You don’t need the reputation as a two-timing womanizer, and she doesn’t need to be publicly perceived as some poor woman who couldn’t keep a hold on you, therefore undermining her achievements.”

“You should have talked to me before going straight to nullifying our contract,” he fires back.

“That would’ve made it harder.”

Sylus leans back in his seat, now regarding you with piqued curiosity. “Made what harder?”

“Maybe that’s not the right expression.” Your palms are starting to get sweaty again, even as they curl and clench tighter than ever, your fingers digging into your palms. There's nothing you can do that would eradicate the shakiness in your voice. “I just meant that talking before now would've made everything complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

“Well, I thought,” you stammer. “I mean– it’s just talking would’ve, would’ve– let some—” You pause again, desperately trying to find the right words. “Would’ve let some things be said that would’ve, you know, been better to be left unsaid. About us. Between us. Does that make sense?” Your hands have been drawing inane shapes in the air as if they would help aid in Sylus’s (and your) understanding.

“Better unsaid by you or me?”

After a few seconds, you answer hesitantly, “Both, maybe?”

For the first time in months, there are no emotions in his eyes. You have always been able to pick out at least something he may be feeling – affection, frustration, fatigue, lust – but to be on the receiving end of his blank stare like it’s the first day all over again, is unnerving. Agonizing, too.

When he finally opens his mouth, his tone dripping with disdain and mockery, he derides, “Who knew the little kitten thought so highly of herself?”

His words immediately trigger an alarming amount of shame and embarrassment. Have you been reading too much into his actions? Was it all in your head? Did it all occur out of some desperation for something genuine from him?

Oh God.

It’s at this moment that the representative comes back with the papers in hand, and part of you is ready to believe that there may actually be a higher power in the universe. “Thank you for your patience. Once you both have signed the termination agreement, I will make copies for both of you.” He seems completely unaware of the tension that has solidified between you and the CEO, even as you take the pen from the representative with a slight tremor. You quickly scan over the contents because you’re having an increasingly difficult time finding the brain cells to scrutinize each sentence and sign on the indicated lines. After you all but shove the papers across the table, you push your seat back and grab your purse.

“Oh, miss,” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“You can just email me a copy of these. Excuse me, I have something urgent to get to.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before giving a corporate smile. “Of course. Thank you for coming in. Have a good rest of your night.”

“Thank you. You as well.” Your platitude is rushed, almost harsh sounding. You mentally note that you need to send a card that is both a thank-you and an apology for scurrying off like this when you were the one to initiate it.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on your brain and consciousness, so much so that you suddenly find yourself out in the lobby of the building with no recollection of how you even got down here. A gust of fresh air hits you as you step out the doors, and it’s a little easier to breathe now. But it doesn’t mean that your chest isn’t ready to burst, your ribcage threatening to tear open and leave you passed out on the street. It doesn’t mean that Sylus’s words don’t hurt you any less, and the pain of your own embarrassment only compounds on them.

The uncharacteristic chill on this summer night scrapes against your cheeks and ears. You finally will yourself to walk towards the nearest subway station, all the while blinking back tears that just won’t stop coming. Never mind the other pedestrians who may catch a glimpse of you wiping away any physical manifestation of your grief, the other subway riders who may observe you desperately hiding in a corner of the carriage, or even the other residents in your apartment building who watch you furiously tapping your phone while passing by.

With nothing to stop you, not even your own will, you let the tears flow, streaming down the sides of your face and into your pillow as you trace the ridges of your wall, your phone lying innocently a few inches away. Despite deleting his phone number and officially disconnecting on the website, you can’t bring yourself to discard his message thread. There were too many memories, too many reminders of what you once had and will probably never have again.

Your pillow becomes damp with tears of confusion, shame, and regret. How could you be so stupid,so caught up in your own delusions that Sylus Qin, tech mogul and CEO, one of the most secretive and sought-out individuals of the current decade, with connections you couldn’t even dare to dream of, somehow held a shred of genuine affection for you? How could you have thought that his demands to see you night after night were anything more than just wanting some type of company, the kind that does what he says and strokes his ego? How could you have convinced yourself that you were actually special to him?

How could you have put yourself at so much emotional risk for something that was nothing but transactional to begin with?

The next morning, with one look at your morose expression and the puffiness of your eyes, the other people in your cohort know better than to ask if you’re okay. During the lecture, Jiho silently hands you a piece of gum, a tiny, reoccurring gesture of camaraderie throughout these years of graduate school, as an attempt at providing some type of normalcy. Your movements are sluggish and lethargic as you fold the strip into your mouth, but it’s the first time in the last 18 hours that you feel like things might…just be okay.

Two days later, an email comes from the company telling you it is policy to change your phone number, and they will financially compensate for the cost of a new SIM card since it is an inconvenience to you. Hours later, you find yourself in front of a cellphone technician who is setting up the new SIM card. As they type in a few things on their computer, they hand you a pin to help eject your current one. You’re not looking forward to the hassle of telling everyone that your number has changed and fixing it in everything you have that involves your number, but even you understand that this is the first step to a fresh start. Sylus is probably going through the same process, if he already hasn’t gotten it done.

And as your phone sets everything up with the new number, you stare at your closet, now stuffed to the brim with dresses and skirts that you may never wear again. Nothing you do from now on would ever require such formalities. The knowledge of it stings to some degree when you find a large, empty bin that was used when you had moved in. Without ceremony, you begin the mindless task of removing said clothing items from their hangers and folding them into the container. You don’t want to cry. You don’t expect to cry. But the steady streaks of tears dripping down your face is enough to show how much you grew to cherish your time with Sylus.

Time that you will never be able to return to.

[fin]

“How did she know?”

“Sylus, what are you–”

“She knew,” Sylus cuts her off. “How could she have known without you tipping her off?”

“Think about this logically. I want this arrangement gone as much as you do, so why would I tell her? She’s your key to dissolving all this.”

“She was more than that.”

“Was?”

“Shit,” Sylus curses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“...she left you?”

“No,” he retorts. “Not willingly.” At least, that’s what he wants to believe. “But I’m not discussing this with you.”

“And I don’t really care to know the details. So…what are we going to do?”

Sylus’s hand tightens around his newly acquired phone as he stands and gazes out the window at the city skyline from his bedroom. He might be starting to understand why you seemed so entranced by the view.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I really hope so, Sylus.”

“Hey boss, we’re here for the daily debrief,” Luke and Kieran announce as they slip into his office and all but collapse into the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m listening,” Sylus says, keeping his eyes trained on his monitor.

“It was the usual. She woke up, skipped breakfast, went to class, stayed in the small office for her professor’s grad students for like, five hours. Uh, what else?”

“Bought a snack from that place in the library that sells coffee and shit,” the other twin adds. “Then she–”

“What snack did she buy?”

“Just some chips, from what we saw.” The twins look at each other and give a slight shrug.

“Did she eat lunch?” Sylus’s tone suggests that he could care less, despite having posed the question.

“She ate something while in the office, but it didn’t look like anything substantial. Oh, but she had a sandwich for dinner. She watched some TV – one of her comfort shows again – and scrolled on her phone while in bed. Did we miss anything?”

“I think that about covers it.”

Luke and Kieran sit in silence, waiting for Sylus’s dismissal. Said man continues to type away on his keyboard.

“Hey boss,” Kieran starts and immediately earns a “shut the fuck up” look from Luke. “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“Which is fine,” Luke adds right after. “We’re not complaining.”

“Right, we’re not complaining. But uhh,” Kieran continues. “How long do you expect for this to go on for?”

“As long as it needs to. You’re dismissed.”

Not long after the twins disappear from his view, he runs a hand through his silvery locks, frustration and tension evident in his strained tendons and veins. Sylus locks his computer and grabs the coat off his chair before sauntering down to his car many, many floors below where the parking garage is. But instead of walking towards his sports car, the one that had sat in a visitor spot of your apartment parking lot all those months ago, he makes his way to an unsuspecting black sedan, its brand common and inconspicuous. Without any need for a GPS, Sylus pulls out and drives to your apartment complex.

In the darkness of twilight and beneath the shadows of beechnut trees, he leans against the steering wheel and gazes up at your window, a luminescent yellow shimmering through the curtains. They haven’t been pulled completely shut, but there is nothing to see in the light regardless. The minutes that pass do not feel like time in any way as he sits in a somewhat meditative state, and the only thing that could snap him out of it is when your bedroom lights switch dark. In reality, fifteen minutes pass before he watches your shadow, then your figure, approach the windowpane.

Sylus takes the little time he has to observe you, to see if you appear any different than yesterday. Did you have a full meal? Was your research stressful? Were you making use of the money he had paid you before everything ended? Were you getting enough rest and nutrition?

When he can no longer see you, he falls back in his seat and lets out a heavy sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. Sylus starts his car and throws it in reverse, and he spends his twenty-minute drive home thinking about nothing but you, his cold, empty bed, and how maybe, as much as he wants to deny it on all fronts, you two were not meant to be. Yet he holds onto hope that he can defy that fate eventually, because whether you know it or not…

You will always be his.

#sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus angst #tw: toxic relationships #tw: miscommunication

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destinationtoast · 7 months ago

Note

1/3 - Hi there! Three (I think) part ask incoming. You're the main person I know of who compiles tons of interesting fandom stats, so I wanted to ask you about it if you have the time to answer. :) I think a lot about how AO3 works great as a fan*fic* archive, but for other fanworks, like images, audio, video, etc., it's only as good as wherever the media is being hosted. With the way hosting sites come and go, or change their TOS to nuke nsfw or queer content, etc., it makes me wonder

how many broken image links litter AO3 at this point. I know it's not considered the primary place to find fanart, but a lot of folks do post images there—for events like Big Bangs, as standalone art, and even as decorative section breaks, etc. My question is: do you think there's a way to look at, say, works tagged with #fanart (of which there are 99,504 atm) and determine what percentage of those are broken links? From what little I understand, one would have to (perhaps with the use of a simple bot?) try to open any link bordered by the <img src> html, and see what portion of those return an error versus what ones actually load? I suppose it could even be something like looking at fanart posted in 2007, 2012, 2017, and 2022 to compare how many older links are broken versus newer links. Anyway, this may be completely unfeasible, but I figured I'd ask about your thoughts! Thanks!

Ooh, thanks for the great question! I took a while to answer because I wasn't initially sure what to recommend and ended up gathering some data to investigate. (If anyone else also has relevant data, please share in the notes!)

I liked your idea of looking at samples different years going back, and I decided to look through 100 AO3 works tagged "Fanart" (or a subtag) that were posted 10 years ago -- as a very fast starting point, I didn't even take a random sample of works, I instead looked at the first 100 multimedia fanworks posted in July 2014. (And August, when necessary; see more notes on methodology at the end.) Please keep in mind that this sample that may not be very representative of AO3 more broadly; to get better estimates, more sampling would be needed. Based on this initial data gathering (and the fact that most fanworks on AO3 were posted within the past 10 years), I would tentatively guess that that most fanart, fanvids, and podfic on AO3 still have accessible multimedia.

Given how many broken links and embeds there are on older webpages, I assumed that a ton of the links from 10 years ago would be broken. But I was pleasantly surprised by the results:

Wow -- 10 years on roughly 90% of the multimedia still works! I was honestly floored; I'd been originally planning to also look at 5 years ago to see how much better that was, but if ~90% are still working 10 years on, 5 years ago doesn't have room to be dramatically better. (However, I'd love to see more follow up sampling across different years to find out.)

There were a lot of AO3 users in this sample who posted multiple works -- some posted as many as a dozen multimedia works in July 2014. I didn't want the results to be overly skewed by any one fanwork creator, so I also redid the analysis with just one work from each unique creator:

Okay, cool, those results are pretty similar. I also did some further breakdowns on this smaller set of works to look at which hosts creators were using, and how many of the hosts were still working:

The most common fanart host used in this sample was Tumblr, then wixmp -- which I think from some very quick googling might be because Deviantart switched to using Wix for image hosting at some point? (i.e., I think most of those artists may have posted their art on Deviantart, then linked to/embedded the image on AO3, and the image's direct URL was was wixmp.) There were a few other hosts at the time that were used by 5+ different artists in the sample, and then there were a whole lot of hosts were used by just one or a few artists.

Most of the 10-year-old fanart is still up for all of these hosting categories! Photobucket is the least reliable of the most commonly used hosts. In the Other category, 25% of the links are broken, but that's still better than I expected (see full host list here).

This is getting long, so I'm moving the breakdowns for fanvids and podfic beneath the cut:

Fanvids were almost all hosted on YouTube, Vimeo, or both (the above categories are not mutually exclusive). All the Vimeo links still worked, whether they required a password to view or not. Most YouTube links were working, and the few missing ones had almost all been taken down by YouTube for copyright reasons (according to the errors I got -- I'm not rendering judgment about whether they were actually fair use), rather than by the vidder who posted it. And almost a third of vidders also linked to other hosts besides the big two, but many of those links were broken; 59% still worked. (see full host list here)

For podfic, mediafire was a popular solution 10 years ago, though many podficcers used it as a backup rather than the main link that they shared. A lot of podficcers made use of a fandom hosting site that specialized in podfic -- either parakaproductions.com or audiofic.jinjurly.com. Four podficcers used soundcloud (often as a backup). And once again there were a lot of less-frequently used hosts, often used as backup links; 69% of those still worked. (see full host list here)

Some methodology notes and further thoughts:

For fanvids and podfic (but mostly not from fanart), the fanwork creators tended to provide multiple links, and in those cases, I counted the multimedia as working if at least one of the links was still working.

I counted embedded media and links to other sites that host the media all the same way.

I counted the media as broken if I got a 404 when I tried to visit it, or if a site like YouTube had taken it down due to copyright issues, or if I got an Access Denied message for a site like Google Drive.

I counted the media as working if it required a password that was given on the page (common with Vimeo), or if an embed was broken but there were working links to other sites.

How representative is this data? Well, these samples contained most/all of the multimedia fanworks posted in July 2014; that month, there were 70 fanvids, 135 podfic, and 186 pieces of fanart posted that haven't been deleted since. So it's pretty representative of July 2014 specifically. :) But there could have been, say, a fanwork challenge going on in July 2014 that caused unusual uploading patterns then.

The above data gathering and analysis took me several hours over several days. If you want to follow up, you could do more data gathering similar to what I did (I'm happy to elaborate on my process as needed). Or you could write a bot to do something similar; you could have it fetch more AO3 fanworks and try following the links within each work. However, that would be slightly tricky; I ran across more kinds of errors and complicated situations than I expected (e.g., if a YouTube video has been taken down due to copyright, it still has a working YouTube page; sometimes an embed is broken, but if you open the link within the embed in a separate window, it still works fine; many Vimeo links require a password to test, and it could be hard for the bot to reliably find the password in the surrounding text). So you'd have to program your bot to be able to handle a bunch of different special cases.

Regardless of which path you are considering, if you or anyone else does any follow up work here, I encourage you to start by looking through a bunch of fanworks yourself and deciding which scenarios you want count as "working" vs. "not working," and any other things you want to pay attention to.

Hope that helps, and please feel free to DM me with follow up questions. And if you follow up, please share anything else you figure out in this space!

#ao3 #fanart #fanvids #fanvid #podfic #embedded media #multimedia #broken links #link rot #fandom stats #toastystats #asks #toasty replies #op #to archive #I have a bunch of ~recent stats I need to backup to ao3 #but not yet!#50 #100

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dollfaceksj · 1 year ago

Text

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) MASTERLIST

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: Jeon Jungkook is your junior and a great student, obsessed with anime and video games. To you, he’s a Grade A geek. However, you soon find out the reason why he’s so quiet around you is because your mutual friends have told him to stay away from you for your sake, not his. Why? You wish you weren’t so curious because now you’re determined to find out.

➥ GENRE: slowburn ⋆ angst ⋆ fuckboy!jk ⋆ e2l

➥ CATEGORY: crack drabble series (bullet-point format)

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, (eventual smut), plot twist, improv, interactive, angst, love triangle cause theres a bit of yoongi x reader, reader is curious and nosy, arguing, jealousy, jk is TOXIC and so is READER, switch!jk & switch!reader, spit kink, spanking, hairpulling, slapping, protected sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), sad childhoods, trauma, lots of trauma, sensitive topics, minors DNI

➥ STATUS: completed

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

— i n d e x ↓

♢ #1 jungkook gets down like that

♢ #2 jungkook likes role-play

♢ #3 jungkook doesn’t like you

♢ #4 jungkook wants to apologize

♢ #5 jungkook doesn’t like being called a fuckboy

♢ #6 jungkook wants his expensive sneakers back

♢ #7 jungkook can only offer good dick and math notes

♢ #8 jungkook wants to talk

♢ #9 jungkook buys you a bar of kinder

♢ #10 jungkook wants you to take his bait

♢ #11 jungkook wants what’s best for you

♢ #12 jungkook doesn’t know what to do when he’s nervous

♢ #13 jungkook has some mud on his clothes

♢ #14 jungkook accepts your challenge

♢ #15 jungkook thinks you have a filthy mouth

♢ #16 jungkook can’t stop himself

♢ #17 jungkook has experience in being quiet

♢ #18 jungkook craves love and affection differently

♢ #19 jungkook wants your phone

♢ #20 jungkook doesn’t think he bares all the blame

♢ #21 jungkook thinks you have fallen for him

♢ #22 jungkook is up to date with your instagram stories

♢ #23 jungkook knows more about you than you think

♢ #24 jungkook doesn’t want to hear another word from you

♢ #25 jungkook hates everything about you

♢ #26 jungkook thinks you should end it

♢ #27 jungkook might as well admit defeat

♢ #28 jungkook wants just a little bit

♢ #29 jungkook is never drinking again

♢ #30 jungkook wants to be good to you

♢ #31 jungkook wants you to be sure

♢ #32 jungkook doesn’t want to leave

♢ #33 jungkook and mia

♢ #34 jungkook and the significance of the fallen angel

♢ #35 jungkook and his only friend

♢ #36 jungkook and his enemy

♢ the end.

— s i d e d r a b b l e s ↓

♢ #1 the one in the elevator

♢ pending…

— e x t r a s ↓

♢ playlist

♢ f.a.q.

♢ cross-posted on ao3

♢ pending…

➸ request here

➸ support me by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

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fuctacles · 10 months ago

Text

Tying the knots

For @subeddieweek Day 6 | M | 2162 | established relationship, bondage, non sexual intimacy, subspace, switching, fluff, they are in love | divider by @saradika-graphics | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

Steve tries to look at the screen Eddie has shoved in his face. Literally. He sighs, pushes his hand away, and takes the phone to scroll through the pictures himself. It's a week's worth of photos Eddie's been saving, scavenging the web to find those he thought might convince Steve to try the new thing.

Steve looks through the photos of models, their chests, arms and thighs wrapped in rope. He imagines similar stuff in their bedroom, and mulls over how to word his opinion. Wonders, with a pang of fear, if Eddie would want to try this with someone else instead, if Steve says 'no'.

He sighs.

"You know I don't feel comfortable with this," he says finally, knowing honesty is the best way to go at the end of the day. "I trust you completely, but I wouldn't even let Robin tie me up. Hell, I almost got a panic attack just getting an x-ray the other day."

Eddie lays his hand on top of his, where he holds the now locked phone.

"Darling, I'd never do that to you," he assures. "I meant myself."

Steve frowns, confused.

"What?"

Eddie squeezes his hand.

"I want you to tie me up."

Steve's mind blanks. This was flipping the script on their bedroom activities completely. He's at a loss of words yet again. He opens his mouth and frowns.

"But you don't like bottoming." They tried it, of course, but figured out fast the dynamic that worked for them best.

At his astute observation, Eddie's soft expression sharpens into a dark smirk.

"Who said anything about bottoming? Silly boy, you think I'll let you? With that tiny dick of yours?"

Steve's breath hitches.

"No, I want you to tie me up and ride me like a toy." His tone loses momentum, and turns softer and hesitant. Thinking back, Steve's been seeing this side of him more often lately. Lining in time with his confession that he 'wanted to try something new.'

Steve looks at his boyfriend. Truly looks at him, at the reddened cheeks, the dark pupils, the nervous picking on his nail polish.

"It's not about the bondage, is it?" he asks. "You want to try subbing."

Eddie nods in affirmation.

"Holy shit," Steve breathes out, the realization squeezing his throat.

"I know it's a big change," Eddie says. "But just think about it. We don't have to ever come back to this if you decide you're not interested, but the offer will be open if you ever want to try."

They maintain eye contact for a long while. The time stretches but all they see is trust and love, so Steve brings their joined hands to his lips to presses a kiss against Eddie's knuckles.

"I'll think about it," he promises.

"That's all I ask."

Two weeks pass without mention of that conversation, which Eddie assumes is a 'no' from Steve. He's okay with that. The whole allure was to do it with him, and if he's not comfortable with it, then neither is Eddie.

The setting is the same, as every weekend - an afternoon to unwind with take-out and mindless TV watching after cleaning up their tiny apartment. This time, it's Steve who shoves his phone towards him.

"Which color do you like?"

"Huh?" It takes his eyes a moment to focus on the screen, and he takes a surprised breath when he recognizes what he's looking at.

Colorful bundles of shibari ropes.

"Classic black?" Steve muses, like it's not a big deal to drop his answer in such a way, out of the blue. "They have this dark red that would look great on your skin, I think. Or we could go with the classic twine color," he wonders out loud, scrolling with his thumb with the phone angled so both of them could see. Not that Eddie cares much for what's on the screen. He has more important things right in front of his eyes.

"I love you so much," he whispers, taking Steve by surprise. He looks up into his boyfriend's huge eyes.

"I love you too," he says back, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. "But please focus, they have a sale that ends at midnight."

They go with the twine after all. Eddie said it would make fantasy kidnapping roleplay more authentic. Steve lovingly smacked him about it.

He can tell Steve is nervous. Eddie's sitting there, cool as a cucumber in his favorite house loungewear (linen pants and an old Metallica shirt), while Steve keeps getting up and fidgeting. He gets up to get scissors, then to get water, and then decides some snacks are in order. Eddie chews on a cashew, observing him.

"You don't have to do this," he reiterates for the umpteenth time. "I can tie my legs myself or something. A simple harness should be doable too..."

"No!" Steve protests immediately. "You trusted me and I'm doing this, I'm just...." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just worried something will go wrong."

Eddie sighs.

"Baby," he says gently, crawling forward on the bed. "That's what scissors and safewords are for. We'll be fine." He gently touches his hand where he's digging his fingers into the duvet. "And if we don't like it, I'll just use the rope for the next LARP. It's not a big deal," he reminds him, squeezing his hand. "Just something new we're trying out. No pressure, no expectations. It either works out or it doesn't. Like a new recipe. Alright?"

Steve moves his hand from underneath his to lace their fingers together.

"Alright. Just let me watch the tutorial one more time."

Eddie rolls his eyes lovingly.

"Of course, darling."

He leans on his shoulder and together they watch a professional rigger demonstrate the knots on a consenting mannequin. Steve is holding the rope in his hands, mirroring the movements shown in the video. Halfway through though, he sighs and pauses it.

"You're distracting me," he says, turning to the left, where Eddie's head is.

"I'm literally just sitting here!" Eddie protests, moving away from his shoulder.

"Yes, and it's very distracting!" He sighs again. "Let's just do this."

"Okay," Eddie agrees quickly, unable to contain his excitement. He scrambles to the center of the mattress. "This alright?" he asks. Steve's eyes roam down his form.

"I guess so."

With this said, he walks on his knees up to his boyfriend and throws the rope over his neck. He uses it to pull him forward, making Eddie giggle in surprise. He presses a kiss to his smiling lips.

"What's your safeword?"

"Demogorgon" Eddie answers in a heartbeat.

They are just practicing today but that doesn't mean Steve would take it any less seriously than an actual scene. Even with a third guy present, speaking from a YouTube tutorial. Steve checks with it every couple of knots to make sure he's doing them right. Other than that, and the soft ambient music he had put on, the room is quiet. Just their breathing, the slide of the rope, and a quiet exchange of 'Alright? - Yes.' now and then.

He gets lost in the methodical movements, in making the ties just right, and it takes him a moment to realize it's become too quiet.

"Eddie?" He looks up from his own hands to his boyfriend and finds his blown-out eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?"

"Golden," he slurs back, giving him a wobbly smile.

Steve sits up with a worried frown.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"Don't you dare," Eddie tries to growl, but it comes out slurred and whiny. He sighs, letting whatever he's feeling right now take over. "Feels good. Like a hug. I trust you, Stevie," he says, closing his eyes to drift away into bliss.

Steve feels his chest swell close to bursting. He wonders if Eddie feels the same when he hands himself over to him.

He leans down to press a kiss to his sternum, near the center of the rope harness.

"I love you."

Eddie makes a sound deep in his throat that is probably meant to mean 'I love you too'.

Steve moves to kiss his temple next.

"I'm almost done, just finishing up," he informs Eddie before going back to the rope. This time he focuses less on the task itself, and more on the body under his hands. On Eddie's steady breath, even and shallow like he's falling asleep. On the calm beat of his heart. He lets his fingers linger when checking the give of the rope, when threading and looping it, and turns it into a caress of his lover's body.

Once he's done, he trails his hands along the rope, from his shoulders, through his hips, to his thighs.

"All wrapped up, baby," he announces, and Eddie's eyelashes flutter open.

He's looking at Steve, but like he's seeing him through a window from another dimension. With a thrill, Steve realizes he's put his boyfriend in subspace. Feeling the heavy weight of responsibility, he reaches out to cup his cheek and caresses it softly with his thumb.

"What do you need?" he asks.

Eddie licks his lips before he can speak.

"You. Kiss me?" he asks.

"Of course, baby. Anything." Steve leans down to pepper kisses all over not only his lips, but his whole face, his exposed collarbone, every inch of clothed and unclothed skin peeking from between the rope, like his body is an altar to pray on. Eddie sighs at the attention, melting into it. When there is no skin left unkissed, Steve wraps himself around him and they cuddle, until Eddie comes back enough to request they watch something.

He refuses to be untied until he's seen two episodes of Hell's Kitchen and got hand-fed broken-off pieces of a granola bar. And even then he agrees to it reluctantly, only when he starts yawning and Steve points out to him there's no way he's going to sleep tied up.

It goes faster than the tying process, but Steve doesn't rush it. He rubs gently every patch of reddened skin he uncovers and kisses it gently. Eddie goes quiet again under his ministrations, but nowhere as far as before. Soon, the rope is put aside in loose coils, and they're staring at each other, Steve rubbing absentmindedly at his thigh.

"Did you like it?" Eddie asks, trying to sound casual. Steve knows he's eager for an answer, though.

"I know you love me," he starts, making Eddie tilt his head curiously. "But this made me feel it. Like, there was no doubt in my mind, for even a second, that you're ridiculously in love with me."

"Fuck," Eddie groans, startling Steve. But before he can ask what's wrong, Eddie's pulling him in and leaning back, so he has to hover over him. "I just wanted to be pampered a bit. Switch up our crazy hot sex to be even crazier and hotter. And you pull this shit on me. Of course you do," he rolls his eyes fondly.

Steve scrunches his eyebrows.

"I'm... sorry?" he offers.

"Don't. No. Shut up." Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his nose like he's overwhelmed. When he opens them back, they are shiny and wet.

"Eddie..."

"Marry me," Eddie interrupts him in a single breath.

To say he's taken aback would be an understatement.

"What?" he says like it's punched out of him.

Eddie's face hardens with determination.

"You're it for me, Steve. I trust you to take care of me and I'll take care of you right back. What do you say?"

Steve chuckles wetly, begging his tears not to start spilling onto his future husband.

"What? No ring?" he jokes.

"Hold up." Eddie turns between his arms and scoots on the bed to reach the bedside where a trinket dish full of his rings has a permanent residence. He fishes one out and straightens up, kneeling on the bed.

Steve sits up, watching him with wide eyes.

"Steve. Will you marry me?"

The ring is smaller than his signature ones, a silver band with an engraved rose, its thorny stem weaving along the length. Steve doesn't recognize it, and he's become quite intimate with Eddie's collection.

"Did you hide an engagement ring in your trinket dish?" he asks incredulously.

A blush rises to Eddie's cheeks.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, okay?" he explains defensively. "I thought if I didn't go for a pretentious diamond and forego the box and fancy dinner it would make it less scary, will you please fucking answer?" he blurts out.

Steve laughs, and this time lets the tears fall freely.

"Of course I will marry you, you fucking idiot."

He grabs Eddie's face and pulls him into a kiss. The ring falls somewhere into the sheets but they'll retrieve it later, once satisfied with the number of kisses exchanged between the freshly committed fiancés.

#subeddieweek #cj x subeddieweek #sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #mine #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie ff #steddie fluff

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decembermidnight · 1 year ago

Text

Bad Attitude

Summary: While on patrol duty, you chase a suspect starship but end up crashing on a freezing planet. Its pilot, a Mandalorian, rescues you, but he doesn't like your attitude towards him and makes sure you understand who is in charge.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: smut, 18+ mdni, teasing, dom!din, brat!reader, brat tamer!din, Din is really an asshole here lol, improper use of the darksaber, lots of dirty talk, oral (m receiving), breath play, choking, fingering, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, degradation kink, praise kink, creampie

A/N: Loosely based on The Passenger episode and super canon divergent. I just had fun having nasty thoughts! Reblogs and comments are always welcome!! Hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

You… You really did have to follow that ship on this forsaken planet, didn't you?

You couldn't just listen to your partner Carson for once when he warned you to let it go.

Chasing that Razor Crest despite the bad weather on Maldo Kreis was not the smartest idea. Not smart at all, in fact.

You were only supposed to ask the pilot why his ship was in the proximity of that prison, Bothan-5, when that officer was killed, but he ran away as soon as he heard that name. You immediately started recklessly chasing that old piece of junk in the hostile atmosphere of this awful, unwelcoming planet, and next thing you know your Starfighter crashed, compromising the integrity of the hatch, you’re cut off from your partner and you’ll likely freeze to death before he can come rescue you. Could it get any worse?

It turns out it can.

Just when you switch the radio off, resigned to accept the unavoidable fate, your eyes seem to catch something dark in the snowstorm. At first you assume it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but when you take a better look, you see it - there’s a dark figure approaching your ship. It must be him - the Razor Crest pilot. As he gets closer, you notice he’s wearing armour, a Mandalorian armour, and you’ve heard the stories about those deadly warriors. You probably made him angry with your insistent pursuit and now he might be killing you so as not to leave witnesses.

You are so fucked. This is the worst day of your life, and also the last.

He lifts the damaged hatch of your ship and looks at you, exposing you to the freezing air of the blizzard. You stare back at him - his broad figure completely towers over yours, but you try not to look intimidated by him.

"Razor Crest, is that you?" you say in a secure tone, wanting to appear tough.

"Yeah." the modulated voice answers as you feel his dark visor lingering on your figure.

"Came here to finish the job?" you try to sneakily grab your blaster in a desperate attempt to defend your life, determined not to die without fighting, or at least, not without trying.

"Not if you don't try anything stupid like that. Put it down." says in an authoritative tone, his right hand instinctively goes on the holster of his blaster. You quickly realise this is not the moment for heroism if you want to survive.

"Don't give me orders. I'm a New Republic officer." you reply firmly.

He scoffs and shakes his head in disdain.

"Dear officer, take a good look around. This frozen tomb doesn't look like New Republic territory to me." he goads you "Now quit it and let's go to my ship."

"Who says I want to come with you?"

"Come on, I’m freezing my ass off, for fuck’s sake." he loses no time in ripping your seatbelt and life support system off your body before grabbing you and carrying you over on his shoulder.

"Put me down! You're so rude!" you protest and try to kick him, but he blocks your legs in the tight grasp of his free arm, immobilising you.

"So far I've been more kind than you deserve. If you keep acting like that, I'll show you how rude I can be." his grip is firm and strong as he gives a warning squeeze to your thigh.

You do not want to admit it, but you feel a thrill of excitement at that - he doesn’t care about the fact that you're a law enforcer, he’s treating you like the scum he’s used to. He probably wants to trade your life for his freedom with Carson later - you’re his hostage now.

When you reach his ship, he finally puts you down. You take off your helmet and look at the Mandalorian that so unceremoniously saved you from certain death earlier.

You realise how much taller than you he is, his armour making him even broader than what he already is. Your eyes can't help lingering on his body in wonder at how strong he must be, how the shiny beskar perfectly completes his thick masculine figure, only adding to his already imposing stance, perfectly concealing his body, making him massive and statuesque. His suit is tight around the arms, you can see the outline of his thick, strong biceps. If only he wasn’t a criminal, if only you weren’t a New Republic officer, if only he wasn’t a complete cunt…

"You done?" a low, baritonal voice interrupts your dirty thoughts.

"Excuse me?" you raise a brow.

"I asked if you're done checking me out."

“What?! I wasn’t-” you lie and you both know it. You do not feel so cold anymore, your cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.

“Yeah. Sure.” the asshole teases as he rests against the wall of his ship, looking at you with crossed arms.

“You hurt?” he then asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

"Good. Let's go up to the cockpit, then. It's warmer up there."

He climbs up the ladder and when the door closes behind him, you take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself, and follow him.

When you get in the small room, you find him sitting in the pilot chair facing the windshield with crossed arms and legs spread wide. You settle on his side, standing with crossed arms and gaze fixed on his body. He’s as still and silent as a statue, unreadable under that helmet - is he really relaxed as he wants you to think, or is he carefully studying you?

"Don't look at me that way." says without moving a muscle.

"How?"

"Same way you've been looking at me since we got on the ship."

"What are you implying?"

"Don't act like you don't know." he turns towards you and stands up, making you imperceptibly startle. He looks imposing and menacing, his helmet slightly tilted observing you.

"You don't trust me one bit, do you?" he scoffs and shakes his head.

"You assaulted that prison and killed that poor man. He was a New Republic officer, just like me. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I didn’t do it.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What will you do when you find out I was right all along?” the way he doesn’t lose his cool is fascinating, to a degree.

"You’re not. If you were innocent, you wouldn’t have run away and we wouldn't be here now."

He tilts his helmet to the side once again as he looks at you. His gaze and his confidence make you feel hot and uncomfortable at the same time - you wouldn’t want to give out the undeniable way his stoic charm is affecting you, but you hate the way he's been treating you.

"Yeah, we wouldn't be here." he lets out in an allusive tone as he walks one single step forward while you take one back, ending up against the wall. He's so damn tall and broad and… and you're getting so wet.

You look into his dark visor, feeling his gaze lingering on your body. You can feel the tension, the atmosphere in the cockpit becoming unbearable. It's getting hard to breathe, heat radiating from both of your bodies as you never stop looking at each other. While his sight is unreadable, yours is unmistakably libidinous, your heart pounding in your chest and your pussy throbbing with need, but you're both too proud to surrender first.

"I guess not. You coward." you let out in a far too flirtatious way as you look at him with shameless lust.

"What did you just call me?!" he rasps, sounding so provocative.

"Coward. That's what you are. Running away from me when I was chasing you and taking me hostage when I was so vulnerable.”

“Shut up.”

“So big and tough in your shiny armour, but you run away as soon as you see a New Republic patrol. I should have just shot you when I had the chance. At least I wouldn’t be sharing this ship with a coward.”

“I said shut up.”

“What now, Mandalorian? What do you plan to do now that you've kidnapped me? Are you gonna prove me wrong?" you’re wondering if you got too far when he gets dangerously close to you, his menacing figure towering over yours as he grips a handful of your hair, forcing your gaze into his dark visor.

"Do I have to stick my cock in your mouth to make you shut up?"

A flame of lust instantly traverses your body. You feel your blood boiling, making you feel hot and flustered, reason and common sense leaving you at the mercy of a primal, carnal instinct.

"I bet you don't have the balls to do it." you goad him with a smirk on your face.

Oh, you shouldn't have said that, yet you did, and what's worse is that you don't regret it.

You look at him with shameless desire clouding your eyes, internally cursing at the helmet that can't and won't let you see his reaction to your provocation, waiting for his next move.

You keep your lustful gaze locked on his visor as his hand swiftly unfastens his belt and the zip of his pants. His grip on your hair tightens even more as he pushes you on your knees, immediately sticking his hard, thick cock in your mouth and fuck, the sound he makes. It's worth crashing on a desolated planet and being scolded afterwards. It's guttural and desperate, astonished at how good your poisonous mouth feels when you take him in and your tongue gently swirls around his tip, instead of spitting mean words at him. You keep eye contact as you let the shaft slide in your mouth and coat it generously in your saliva, his head tilted back as he lets out breathy sighs of pleasure.

"You. You need to learn how to fucking behave. Shut up when I tell you to. You have to stop taunting me. Fuck. Is this what you wanted?"

He takes your head away from his cock to let you answer.

“You’re not as much of a coward as I thought you were.” you tease.

“You are still talking?!” exclaims as he pushes your head towards his cock once again, staying still as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, violently forcing all of his length down your throat. When he rips you away from it, you gasp for breath.

"You look so good like this. On your knees, choking on my cock, finally shutting the fuck up like a good girl." he growls, pleased.

Just as you want more of it, your mouth going towards it once again, his grip on your hair turns to steel and stops you there. You look up to him from your kneeled position and see him shaking his head.

“Why? Are you close already?” you taunt him as he tucks his cock back in his pants.

"Oh, it will take you way more than that to make me come, officer." says as he makes you stand up.

“Bet you want me to prove you wrong so badly. Bet you want to come in my m-” you stop mid sentence as he starts to unzip your flight suit while he pushes you towards the control panel of his ship, making you sit on it and trapping you there with his beskar body, your legs instinctively spread open for him to fit between them.

“Yeah? Go on. What were you saying?” he goads you as his hand slips inside of the thin pants you're wearing under the suit, teasing your clit from outside your underwear.

“I-I was s-saying that - that-” you gasp when his hand finds its way into your panties and reaches your slit.

"Ooh, what do we have here?" exclaims in taunting wonder. His beskar helmet is only a few centimetres distant from your face "Acting all cocky and arrogant before, but damn, feel how wet you are. Bet no one ever made you this wet, officer. Stars, you're dripping for me. All of this just from sucking my cock?" says in a husky voice as two of his thick, gloved fingers slide inside of you.

You grit your teeth in a desperate attempt to hide the way this is making you feel, not wanting to give him satisfaction, but your body is slowly surrendering to him and betraying you, your cunt involuntarily clamping around his fingers, revealing how his words are, in fact, effective on you.

"Oh, I bet you feel so good and you sound so sweet when you moan for me. Feel how hot and tight you are." he keeps teasing you.

Resisting him is getting near impossible. By now he knows how badly you want it.

"Listen to what we’re gonna do now. You're gonna come on my fingers like a good girl and then I'll fuck you until your partner comes to rescue you."

You can't help it anymore and let out a moan at how sensual his voice sounds as he says those things to you, at the thought of getting fucked by him, all while his fingers keep sliding inside and outside of you, making your cunt spasm around them.

"Oh, I knew it. Damn, such a sweet girl." he rasps as he takes his fingers out.

"What the fuck?!" you snap at him when he does, making him chuckle at your reaction.

"Hey, calm down officer." he teases your lips with his gloved fingers soaked in your arousal.

You instinctively suck the leather and taste yourself on his fingers, licking them sensually as you look at him in the visor. He hums in pleasure seeing that and goes on playing with your mouth, entranced by the way your tongue swirls around them, until he takes them out and presses his middle finger on your bottom lip.

"Bite." he simply orders and you obey, taking the hem of his glove between your teeth to let his hand slip out of the glove. It's huge compared to yours, callous and veiny and masculine. You hum as it starts trailing down your body and feel the warm trail it leaves on the delicate skin of your neck as he caresses it, your own hands holding tight to the commands of the ship, propping you up to offer yourself to his touch. You can feel his eyes looking at your body from behind the dark visor as his hand slips in your flight suit once again, groping your breast from outside your shirt, his thumb playing with one of your hardened nipples, your back arched and chest puffed out to make it look fuller. You moan loudly when he slides his fingers in your panties and back inside of you.

"Stars - so fucking wet. I bet your cunt is so beautiful. Spread your legs for me. You're making me so fucking hard." he keeps up the pace and also starts to rub your clit with his thumb, making the pleasure you’re feeling unable to hide and you surrender to him, panting heavily as your eyes cross and roll in delight.

"Really? Eyes rolling, officer?" he taunts you.

"F-fuck y-you-" you rasp with half closed eyes, your sentence gets interrupted as he hooks his fingers, touching something devastating inside of you, making him scoff when he sees the way you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back, your mouth wide open to let out obscene moans.

"What? Do you want me to stop?" he provokes you.

"Don't you fucking dare." you manage to let out in a barely audible sigh.

He immediately grabs your neck, not liking the way you undermine his authority.

"Careful now, officer." he growls.

You moan back in response at how much you like this - being put back into place, the Mandlaorian reminding you who is in control. You hold tight to his sides, digging your nails in his flight suit as he just pushes you further against the control panel with his body.

You’re a panting mess and you feel so close, so damn close to your orgasm. You beg he won’t stop as you wrap your legs around him. He feels by the irregular, ragged way you're breathing and the way your muscles go rigid around him that you're close.

"What? Coming already?” he chuckles “I will let you just because I want to fuck you so badly. Now come, my dear officer. Come for me."

You pant straight into his helmet when you hear him calling you like that, fogging it where his mouth would be. His hand pushes you over the edge and you moan loudly as he makes you come around his fingers, your hands holding tight to his neck, bringing him down towards you. Your back arches, chest rubbing against his armour and you roll your head back until it hits the transparisteel of the windshield behind you. Your nails scratch him hard and your legs’ grip becomes even tighter, his upper body now trapped in your grasp.

He grabs your chin with his other hand and forces you to look at him in the visor.

"Yes - yes, yes. Like this. Good girl." he growls between his teeth, looking at you as you struggle to keep your gaze on him, your eyes wanting to roll up in pleasure.

He lets you ride your high, never stopping those astounding moves of his hand, making you feel so satisfied, but so guilty and humiliated at the same time.

As the orgasm gradually fades out, your grip on his body loosens.

He takes out his hand right in front of your eyes and, Maker, it's soaking wet, glistening in your arousal. You’re both embarrassed and aroused when you see how wet and yielding you got for him as soon as he started touching you.

"Damn, officer. How am I going to-"

You don't even let him finish, you've taken his hand in yours and start sucking his fingers. He lets out a satisfied hum when you do that. You clean them thoroughly, sensually massaging his digits with your tongue, humming as you hear him cursing between his teeth in a foreign language.

Once he’s satisfied, he takes them out of your avid mouth.

"Now strip for me, officer. I bet you look so hot under that uniform."

"Forget it." you tease him.

"Too bad you didn't obey me when I asked so nicely."

In an instant his hands start ripping the flight suit off your body as you're kicking out of your boots at the same time. It's rushed, brutal and wild, the both of you completely taken over by lust. His hands linger on your sides, giving you goosebumps and making you sigh when he lifts the thermal shirt off your body and you hold on tight to the panel when he hooks his fingers in the hem of your pants and pulls everything down and away from your body, leaving you completely naked in front of him.

“You look… Good without your uniform on, officer.” he is pleased looking at your naked body. “Wonder if I could say the same about you, Mandalorian.” “You’ll have to use your imagination."

“Are you even a real Mandalorian? Maybe you stole this armour, or maybe you bought it off some Jawas.” you mock him.

"Come here and I’ll show you." he simply says as he sits back on his chair, legs spread wide and a visible bulge in his pants.

Just as you get close to him, he takes out one of his weapons, a strange sword without a blade, and begins to trace your nipple with the hilt. You start to breathe heavily and you can feel your nipple getting harder by the second, your eyes carefully following his movements as he descends ever so slowly, teasing you, trailing your stomach and then your lower belly, stopping right in front of your cunt, driving you crazy, your legs spreading for him, begging for some friction. He softly brushes your lips, carefully avoiding your clit to tease you further, until he finally touches it. The sudden contact of the hilt with your sensitive clit makes you shudder and let out a whimper.

"Don't. Move." he orders as he continues to touch you with that weapon, rubbing it against your clit, producing obscene, wet sounds at the contact. You try to stay as still as you can as he plays with that dangerous weapon so close to your most delicate spot. You beg he'd go faster, you wish you could ride it and come all over it, as pathetic as it sounds, but no, he doesn't want that. He wants to take his time to tease you, getting you nice and wet as he plays with you like you're his toy.

He stands up, towering over you.

"Stick your tongue out."

You immediately do and he starts to trace your mouth with the hilt.

"This is the Darksaber. Whoever wields it can rule all of Mandalore, and you're licking it after I've used it to give you pleasure. Feel how wet you’ve made it. How does that make you feel?"

“Like you should sit down on that chair and take out that cock. Touch yourself while I lick your Darksaber clean, Mandalorian.”

He grunts as you push him back on his chair. He immediately unzips his pants to take his throbbing cock out as you keep licking his weapon clean, pleased at the sight of his erection in his hand.

"Touch yourself for me, Mando" you order him as you trace your tongue on the hilt.

"Enough of that." he grabs you by the hair and pushes you on your knees, forcing you to suck his cock. In a swift movement he grabs the Darksaber with his two hands, using it as leverage to keep your head down, forcing his entire cock into your throat, making you startle at the sudden lack of air.

"You don't get to give me orders." he growls before freeing you from his grasp to let you breathe. You gasp for air and look at him, panting.

Maker, he's so dangerous. He could kill you in one second if he wanted to, and you've never, never been wetter than this, playing this dangerous, twisted game with a deadly warrior.

He gives you a few seconds to breathe and then he's back at it, using his weapon to make you choke on his cock.

"Do you understand? I can do whatever I want to you." he releases you once again. There are tears in the corner of your eyes but that doesn't stop him from doing that one more time.

"You're so fucking pretty, but you also need someone to tame you. You've found the right man. Is that what you were looking for, officer? Someone to tame that bad temper?" he says and releases you one more time. You gasp for air as one tear sheds down your cheek.

"Come here. I'll fuck that bad attitude out of you." he orders as he puts the Darksaber away.

This. This is what you've always been craving, what you always wanted.

You slowly rise from the cold floor, your hands on his thighs as you can't stop looking at each other with longing desire. You straddle him, shaking in anticipation as you sink on his body guided by his hands on your hips, letting his cock slowly slide inside of you. The both of you moan as his cock splits you open for him, making him feel how hot and welcoming you are. You both let out a long, satisfied sigh, his voice is dark and sensual and you spasm around his throbbing cock, heavily aroused to finally have him inside of you.

“Mando, let me see if you're only good with words now."

“Din. I want to hear you screaming my name when I’ll make you come on my cock, officer.”

“You’re pretty confident in your abilities, Mandalorian.”

“Your mouth might say otherwise, but your body agrees with me.” he's so arrogant and full of himself, his confidence is making you wet.

“It does” you concede “you feel good, Din.” you purr in his neck, and he grunts when he hears how sweet your voice can be as you whisper his name while you have his cock buried inside of you. You start riding him slowly, looking at him in the visor as you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, enjoying every single moment of it, letting him almost slip out, only to let him back inside of you. He lets out sighs of satisfaction that drive you insane and only want to make you increase your rhythm but no, not yet, you want to make him pay for the way he's been treating you.

“If I had known my cock would have been enough to tame your bad temper, I’d have fucked you earlier.”

“What about yours, Din? What should I do about you being an asshole to me?” you say as you pull him out of you, making him grunt.

“Fuck. Put it back in.”

“Not so fast. I want you to behave. Beg for it.”

“You know I could just take you anytime I want, right?” “I do. But where would the fun be?”

He hums in pleasure as you take his drenched cock in your hand and start to slowly stroke it right in front of your cunt, moaning in his neck just to get him even more aroused.

“Fuck. You’re good at this.” he whimpers.

You start to slide it between your folds, the both of you moaning in arousal.

“Dank Farrik, d-do you want me to die?” he growls, subjugated by your teasing. “I want you to behave.” you whisper in a heady groan as you keep rolling your hips and rubbing your pussy on his cock. “F-fuck. I want to be inside of you so badly.”

“Say it.”

He sighs and pauses, taking a good look at the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

“Please.”

“Please what?” you ask, biting your lip in pleasure.

“Please put my cock back inside of you, officer.” there's a hint of annoyance in his voice when he surrenders and sees your satisfied smirk.

“Good.” you whisper gasping against his helmet as you slowly slide his cock deep back inside of you.

That’s the moment when he digs his fingers in your hips and starts jackhammering you, making you scream as he said he would, your hands clawing on his shoulders.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can taunt me? I’m a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. Bet you’ve never been fucked so good, officer. I’m gonna give you this cock so hard, you’ll never forget about me. You’ll be touching yourself thinking about me for the rest of your life. Thinking about the Mandalorian Din Djarin who fucked your brains out on Maldo Kreis.”

The way he's fucking hard and rough into you as he says those things in an angry, husky voice is pleasurably devastating and addicting, having you moan frantically as your body is held still by his strong hands.

"Oh, fuck, Din, don't stop. Don't stop!" you let out in a desperate cry.

"Do you want to come on my cock, officer? Let me hear it. I want to hear you beg for it."

"Please, please Din, make me come on your cock." you drawl, subjugated by lust.

"Mmm - you sound so hot when you beg for me. Keep going and I won't stop."

"Please! I've never been fucked like this, Din." your heart is racing, your breathing is getting laboured and feel the orgasm approaching “I'm so close, Din, so fucking close. Please, don’t stop."

"Come, officer. Keep riding my cock and come on it. I want to hear you scream my name."

"Oh, Din!" you scream his name as the overwhelming force of the orgasm washes over you, a white blaze of bliss making you lose control, uncontrollably spasming and sensually moaning as he doesn't stop giving it to you, groaning in pleasure when he feels how tight and wet you get around him when you come on his dick.

"That's it. That's my good girl." he grunts as he lets you ride your orgasm.

His rhythm slows down as you come back from your high, his hands still firmly on your hips, guiding you, making you slowly grind your pussy against his cock, the cockpit full of your pants.

"Ready for round two, officer?"

He doesn’t even wait for your response, your mind still fogged by the astonishing orgasm he just gave you.

He gets up from the chair and in a second he turns you around, your body slammed against the control panel and the windshield, your wrists held up high by his hand. Your legs are shaking and you can't really seem to stand on your feet properly.

You couldn't possibly be ready for him slamming his dick inside of you all at once, so hard that air leaves your lungs in an exhale. You'd curse at him, but you can't articulate words as he is fucking you so violently, his strong hand on your hip keeping you still. If you thought he was fucking you hard earlier, it's nothing compared to now - feeling all the power of his body giving it to you wild and raw is pleasurably devastating. You couldn't possibly have imagined that what he gave you earlier was merely foreplay for him, just a little tease before making sure you knew who is really in charge and how hard he can fuck you. He was just letting you have a small taste of what would happen after, wanting you to get ready for him, nice and wet and stretched open for his thick cock to split you in half. He grabs a fistful of your hair and you feel his helmet close to your ear.

"What? You're out of breath already? I'm just getting started, officer." he slides it out almost completely and slams it back in so hard you roll your eyes in pleasure.

"Look at you. Loving this dick so much you're rolling your eyes. Gonna fuck you so hard, you'll learn how to fucking behave."

You can't do anything besides taking his cock and letting out choked moans.

"Still regret being stuck here with me? Tell me. Do you still think I'm a coward?" he growls in between thrusts.

You can barely drawl a moan in response and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You can't even speak." he mocks you as he pounds into you harder and harder, devastating you, reducing you to a pathetic, moaning mess.

"Who knows if the snow storm has stopped and your partner is looking for you. What if he sees you getting fucked like this?"

You know it's wrong, but the thought turns you on so much that you clench around him, and he feels it.

"Oh, you'd like it? Officer, what do we have here? A little whore?" you hear his dark chuckle as he grips your throat with his hand, bringing you closer to him - the hot, naked skin of your back against his cold beskar armour as he never stops railing you.

Getting called like that in other circumstances, by any other person in the galaxy, would have caused you to shoot them immediately, but now, oh, did that turn you on.

"You like being called that way, don't you? Whore." he whispers softly in your ear, and it drives you insane despite how much you're trying to hide it. He feels your body getting rigid, the vibrations of your throat choking a moan, the way you bite your lip trying not to let one sound out, and you can bet he's loving every second of it.

His other hand starts to rub your clit and that's when you fucking lose it - your mouth opens wide and lets out a loud groan of pleasure.

"Tell me you're my whore and I'll give you the best orgasm of your life."

You hesitate - his request is so degrading, but you want it at the same time. He can sense your indecisiveness and stops drawing circles on your clit and starts going around it, carefully avoiding it.

"N-no. Don't stop. It's unfair!" you whimper.

"Say it."

You try to relieve the ache between your legs by bringing a hand there, but he is quick to stop you and block your wrist behind your back, immobilising you as if you were one of his bounties, getting you even more aroused, so much, in fact, that you let out another groan.

"Don't make me handcuff you." he growls sensually and you immediately picture him fighting criminals every day, used to manhandling thugs and being a badass and you get even more aroused at the thought, and decide to give him whatever he wants.

You mumble those words, barely audible, ashamed but at the same time yielding, desperately and pathetically wanting him to give you what you so achingly crave, in a way that only he can provide. A need that you never even realised existed before he brought you into the highest dimension of pleasure.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I am your whore." you whisper, annihilated.

"Good girl. Say it again. Louder this time."

"I am your whore, Din! Please, please make me come like this!" you surrender to him completely, defeated by your very body refusing to let this slip away.

"That's my girl. You asked so nicely, I'm gonna give it to you." you hear the satisfaction in his voice as he immediately starts to rub your clit again, driving you close to the edge in no time, your cunt getting tighter in anticipation.

“Shit, I want to come inside of you. I'm so fucking close, officer. You’re gonna patrol the outer rim, flying your Starfighter while my cum drips down your beautiful cunt. You’re gonna feel that and you will think of me the entire time.” he rasps in your ear as you feel his body pushing you further into the transparisteel and then over the edge, making you come screaming his name once again rolling your eyes over your lids, desperately begging him to come inside of you.

His groans get louder and louder as he comes. You feel his is cock pulsing and twitching, thrusting into you, wanting to go as deep as it can go, filling you with his hot release as you clamp erratically around him.

Both of your bodies are spent as you come back from your high, the sound of your laboured breathing fills the cockpit.

"Hey" he pants "keep it inside now. I don't want to see a single drop going to waste. Are we clear?"

You nod and he slips out of you slowly as you obey his order, keeping his release inside of you as you get dressed, feeling it drip between your legs as he walks you back to your ship.

Carson is already there - he has fixed the minor damages your X-wing had sustained when you crashed in the snow, confident in the fact that you found shelter somewhere and that you’re safe and will be back soon.

What he did not expect is for you to show up with the Mandalorian by your side, though.

"Can I have a few words with you?" he asks with a raised brow.

You nod and walk a few steps away from Din, going behind your ship to have some privacy.

"He saved my life." you regretfully admit before he even has a chance to speak, expecting a scolding.

"Listen. I run the tabs on the Razor Crest. It seems like your new friend has an arrest warrant on him for the abduction of a prisoner." he pauses briefly and lets out a sigh "But he has also captured three wanted culprits and tried to save the Lieutenant's life."

"I'd say we let him go this time. I really don't want to file a report about what happened. I hate doing that."

"Is that so?" he asks sarcastically.

"These are trying times, come on."

Carson raises his brow once again, looking at you and then at the armoured menace standing a few steps away from him.

“Fine.” he shrugs, not wanting to dig deeper with regards to your change of mind towards the Mandalorian, then gets back to his ship.

You jump in your X-wing, but before closing the hatch and taking off, you address Din one more time.

"We're even now, Din Djarin. See you next time, and don't get caught."

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bizarrelittlemew · 5 months ago

Text

going down (with the ship)

[ explicit, s1e4 canon-divergent, Ed/Stede, ao3 ]

"It's September 1st, boss." "What's that, mate?" "It's September the 1st." "Dickfuck, no it's not."

Turns out it is. Dickfucking damnit.

And now Ed is lying spread out on the sofa in the captain's cabin, drinking brandy straight from the bottle and waiting for the sea to take him. At least it's some damn smooth brandy. All things considered, not the worst thing to be the last thing to taste on this Earth.

Unless—

Well. Ever since seeing him naked when they switched clothes earlier, Ed had kinda started to hope that he'd get a taste of Stede Bonnet at some point. Hadn't planned on bringing it up this early, though. He hasn't even had time to plan how he'd go about that. And he likes a good plan.

But plans have already betrayed him tonight, and if they're going down with the ship anyway, what's the harm in asking?

Now he just needs a smooth opener.

"Have you ever tried fellatio?"

Or, like, dive right in.

Stede looks up. Looks somewhere between surprised, bemused, and curious, but not horrified. That's something.

"You mean sucking dick?"

"Whuh—" Ed nearly chokes on that, like he'd like to choke on—anyway, he clears his throat. Did not expect that from this fancy man. Promising, though. "I mean, yeah. Yep. Or like, getting your dick sucked."

"Can't say I have, no. Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"Unfortunately."

They let that hang in the air for a bit, just looking at each other.

"Well... uhm. Do you wanna?" Real smooth, Teach.

Stede's lips curl into a slightly nervous but mostly excited smile.

"I guess there's no time like the present."

"Not much time at all, mate."

And the nervousness completely dissipates, replaced by sheer eagerness as Stede nearly trips over himself in his haste to get out of his arm chair, falls to the floor, walks on his knees to Ed's side, and starts unbuttoning the fall front on his breeches before Ed can catch up to what is happening.

"Wow, hey, I meant—you know what, never mind." Ed is not going to protest if Stede really wants to suck his dick, even if he imagined it the other way around, and damn, it seems that Stede really, really wants to suck his dick. He wonders if all fancy, rich lads are this hungry for cock. Maybe that's why they're like that.

Maybe not. Ed gets a feeling that Stede is different.

Different from anyone else who has ever touched Ed's dick before, too, and oh god, Stede is touching—licking his dick, sucking the head into his mouth and moaning, going at it as if Ed's cock contains the secret that might save them all if only Stede can suck it out.

Ed groans and buries his fingers into Stede's hair just as he starts bobbing his head, making up for any lack of finesse with pure enthusiasm, and okay, Ed is more than a bit bitter about this being his last night alive, because if this is Stede's baseline, Ed would've liked to be along for the ride while Stede developed his skill to its full potential.

Too bad that it will all be ending too soon—their lives, and the glorious experience of stuffing Stede's face full of his cock, because the way Stede closes his eyes and sucks around him is rapidly drawing Ed closer to the edge.

He only just manages to warn Stede before he comes, tries tugging at his hair to let him know he might want to pull off, but Stede just hums with encouragement and takes him deeper.

If this is to be his last orgasm, he might have found peace with his fate.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Ed slumps, staring up at the ceiling, then takes a swig of the bottle still in the hand he isn't using to pet Stede's head. He is just about ready for the sea to swallow him up like Stede just swallowed him down.

And yet.

Ed got a good look at Stede's equipment earlier, and he's still determined to get the close-up experience. Also, there is a sizeable bulge at the front of Stede's—Ed's—pants, and if Stede comes in his leathers, it will sort of suck to clean them up later. In case there is a 'later', if they somehow miraculously escape this.

"Alright, c'mere." Ed pats his chest.

"What?"

"Come up here, fuck my face."

"Are you—what?" Stede looks like one big question mark, but despite that, he is already climbing onto the sofa above Ed, knees on either side of his shoulders.

"C'mon, we don't have much time."

Stede opens the fall front, letting his cock spring free. Ed licks his lips.

"Maybe I can choke to death on cock before the Spanish get me."

"Let's try to avoid that, shall we?"

Ed is not sure he agrees, and shows it by grabbing Stede's hips and shoving him forward, taking in as much as he can of it in one go, which turns out to be half of it. Stede's yelp turns into a groan, and he quickly gets the picture, soon thrusting into Ed's mouth with rough abandon. He turns out to be even more of a natural at face-fucking than cock-sucking.

Yup, this is a much better last thing to taste (and fill his throat). Only surpassed by the last last thing, the taste of Stede as he coats his tongue with come. Ed doesn't even get emotional over the sweet things Stede babbles as he comes, all while stroking Ed's cheek with his thumb.

Okay, maybe he gets a little emotional. Mostly sad that he doesn't have time to do this, like, five hundred times more. At least.

As Stede sits heavily on Ed's chest, catching his breath, still mumbling something, Ed blinks and turns his head to the side. Catches sight of the thing Stede had been sitting with in the chair, the thing he dropped in his rush to get on his knees by Ed's side.

"What's that painting?"

#ofmd fic #my fics #ficlet #fanfic #ofmd #our flag means death #nsft #hi i started this yesterday but didn't manage to finish but i guess instead i'm posting on the day ed thought it was #got completely derailed this evening too due to having to catch and find the owners of a tiny kitten who came knocking 🫠#happy boxing dickfuck day #sorry for typos etc i just wanted to post this #now posted to ao3 also for archive reasons etc

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astarionancuntnin · 10 months ago

Text

Undisclosed Desires (Chapter 2)

summary: its the day after you and astarion indulged in each other's embrace. it shouldve been a once done deal, nothing more, but that last night ended with you questioning your feelings for the pale elf. you struggle to come to terms with those and the day might prove more difficult as you get trapped alone with him in a secluded dungeon

or in short:

rating: E

word count: 4k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, sorceress tav)

cw: 18+. smut, porn with little-to-no plot, karlach gets hurt for the sake of the porn (shes doing her part o7), denial of feelings, sexual tension through the roof, dom!tav/reader, teasing, dry humping, begging, ear licking, vampire bites, kinda praise kink, sorta breeding kink, your honor- theyre both brat switches fighting to top the other.

a/n: at long last, chapter 2! i had so much fun with the dialogues, i hope you enjoy them as much as i did uwu. also, inspo song at the beginning is the same as chapter 1, but a different part of the song, and end of chapter song is a different one (that i linked at the end). let me know how you feel about the dynamic in this chapter 👀

Masterlist

previous chapter

read on ao3

next chapter

or keep reading down below ~

I shut my eyes

You call but I just cut the line

I know your style

I know that you want one more night

And I'm backsliding

Into this just one more time

You wake up this morning to the sound of your companions talking nearby. Instinctively, you reach for the spot next to you, only to find it empty. Figures. If it wasn’t for the aching pain in your muscles and the dizziness of your mind, you’d think what happened last night was just a dream.

The way Astarion had ravaged your body, how feral he was, the taste of him on your lips, how he felt between your legs…

Instinctively, you rub your thighs together, chasing the feeling from the previous night. You already feel that warmth between your legs as a result of those memories flooding back to you. You hear laughing outside your tent and it brings you back to the present moment ; your companions are probably waiting for you.

You quickly push aside any thoughts of him and reach for your clothes to get dressed up for the day. You take some time to prepare for what your companions have to say about the sounds that came from your tent last night. They had to have heard.

As you take your first step outside, Karlach is the first to greet you.

“Hey Soldier! Slept well? Doubt it was restful but it looks like you had the time of your life!” She nudges you.

“You can say that again! Those screams made me believe she was dying in there!” Shadowheart shouts, sitting near the campfire, before her and Karlach start laughing.

You feel yourself turn redder after each remark. Hells, I didn’t realize how loud I was.

“It did sound… intense. Are you sure you’re alright?” Wyll speaks up, more worried about you.

You lift your blushing face which was hiding in shame between your hands. “Oh, yeah no, I’m fine just- um,” you turn to Shadowheart, “Can I ask you to cast lesser restoration on me, please?”

She looks at you puzzled, “Can’t you cast it on yourself?”

“The only thing I wanna cast on myself at this very moment is eldritch blast, now, can you please cast the damn spell?”

“So much for the ‘great sorceress with limitless talents’,” she mocks you, reminding you of the very words you used back when you introduced yourself to her.

“SHADOW.”

“Fine, fine,” she scoots over the log, making space for you. “Come here, I’ll take care of you.”

You walk over to her and you sigh as you sit down, completely slouched over.

“Gods, he really did a number on you, huh,” she casts lesser restoration and you straighten up, instantly feeling much better.

“Yeah, you should see the other guy,” you say, smiling, proud to have gained back your wits.

“Speaking of,” Wyll interjects. “We haven’t seen him all morning. We fully expected him to come out of your tent.”

“Huh, I did wake up alone,” you confess. “I just assumed he went back to his tent.”

“Heh! Maybe he’s still in there recuperating from your night together!” Karlach shouts, before laughing some more.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go check up on him,” you roll your eyes as you get up to walk towards his tent.

You’re glad it’s placed far enough from the campfire to be out of your friend’s sights. You didn’t want to give them more ideas if they saw you with the vampire this morning. You call out his name before opening the flap of his tent, only to reveal it to be empty.

“Looking for something?”

You slightly jump, as if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have, and quickly turn around to face him.

“Gods, you startled me.”

He walks towards you, shirtless, with his hair still damp from his morning bathing and his trousers hanging loosely around his hips.

“Terribly sorry dear, I would never do this to you intentionally.”

His little smile is unnerving. Your heartbeat quickens, and you frown at yourself; You can’t allow yourself to falter this early in the day. You take a deep breath, your way to gain back control over yourself.

“We’re almost ready to leave, so I came looking for you,” you try to look elsewhere but you’re mesmerized by his sight.

“Well, here I am now. Can I… help you with something?”

He raises his hand and strokes your cheek gently with the back of it, his face dangerously getting near yours. You feel your face burning hotter and it takes everything in you to push yourself away from him.

“We should really go, just– get dressed. I’ll uh, I’ll wait for you around the campfire with the others.”

You turn around completely flustered and walk back to your companions.

“Again?!” Karlach exclaims as she sees the state you’re in. “At this rate, you’ll turn redder than me!”

You wanna crawl into the depths of the hells and never come back up.

—

Today’s quest brings you to a secluded dungeon. Your findings from the previous days led you there in search for more information about an artifact you previously found throughout your adventure. If you’re correct, you should find here what’s missing for it to work. Now the only thing left to do is actually finding that missing piece.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Astarion opens the door to the lower grounds. As the door opens, you’re greeted by damp air and a musty smell. The place is dusty and covered in spiderwebs. Whatever you’re looking for must be here judging by the fact that no one has been down here in ages. You all walk in and notice that the place is a damned maze filled with countless rooms. You split up from the group, starting the search on your own, and the first room you walk in greets you with an absurdly obvious trap. You sigh, discouraged, as you fall back against the wall next to the entrance. Guess I won’t be able to avoid him much longer.

“Astarion? A hand?!” Your voice echoes through the hallways, followed by the sound of his footsteps.

He makes his way towards you nonchalantly, “You called, dear?”

“Can you take care of this?” You point towards the device.

He leans over you, his arms caging you between him and the wall, “I could, if you were to ask nicely.” His face hovers dangerously close to you, you can feel his cold breaths ghosting over your lips. It would be so easy to just tilt your head up and close the gap… No, you can’t let him win this. Last night was just a mutual agreement. An exchange of sorts. Nothing more, nothing less.

You cross your arms over your chest, creating some distance between the two of you, “Don’t push your luck.”

“Oh well, I assume you know how to deal with such an intricate mechanism then, if you’re so much better than I am?”, he wears his typical shit-eating grin.

You roll your eyes and step over your pride, “Fine. Can you please disarm this trap so we can carry on?”

“See? Now, was that so hard?” He gives you a playful look before getting to work.

You stand next to him as he fickles with the machinery when you hear a loud commotion from afar.

“FUCK!”

You recognize the voice from your fiery friend and waste no time running towards the source of her scream, only to find her in a terrible state with Shadowheart kneeling next to her. Her leg is barely recognizable. Whatever got her rendered her unable to fight from now on.

“What happened?!”

“Godsdamned trap got me, shit!” She keeps groaning in pain.

“Alright, Shadowheart, do you think you can take care of her wounds?”

“I can stabilize her, but she won’t be able to carry on with her injuries, we need to head back to camp as soon as possible so I can tend to her,” she explains.

“Okay, okay,” your eyes wander between your friends as you’re thinking of a solution. “Yeah, okay, you’re right, I’m not risking Karlach’s life on this,” the cleric nods in agreement, “But we can’t back track now. Who knows what else this trap triggered, it might’ve alarmed someone. We are so close to finding the answer, I can't risk letting it slip past us.”

Shadowheart raises as she’s about to argue but you cut her off, “Don’t worry, I still believe you two should head to the camp. Astarion and I will carry on.” You feel Shadowheart’s glare of disapproval. “I swear we’ll be careful and we’ll run back to you guys should we encounter a situation that's too much for us.” You try to reassure your friend.

“Oooooooo, keeping Fangs all to yourself?” Karlach never missed an opportunity to tease you, even when in insufferable pain. You could respect that.

“Oh please, if it were up to me, he would be the one in that trap.”

“Rude,” Astarion remarks from behind you. You can’t help the smirk creeping up on your face.

“Fine,” the half-elf frowns in resignation. “We’ll head back– but don’t do anything stupid.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion adds sarcastically, as the two walk away.

With half of your party gone, you lose no time continuing your research. You didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with half the manpower in unknown territory. You pass a few halls and rooms, each containing an absurd amount of traps for what little they were hiding, slowly getting discouraged from your lack of findings, when you hear rumble afar.

You both still, listening to the sounds, when you realize they are making their way towards you.

“Hide!”, you barely whisper.

Before he can react, you roughly drag Astarion with you in the next open room and slam the door behind you. You acted faster than you could think ; the sound of the door was loud and the footsteps are now getting faster and louder. You try to remain calm to avoid drawing any more attention than necessary when you see the expression change on your companion’s face, followed by him yelling.

“What in the sweet hells is wrong with–!”

You don’t give him time to finish his sentence as you push him against the stone wall by his waist with the force of your whole body, while your other hand covers his mouth. You stare intensely into his eyes and mouth a “shh”, as silent as you can, to convey the urgency for him to shut up as the rumble of the footsteps get even closer to your location. He blinks rapidly and nods, understanding your motion, but brings his hand up to remove yours from his mouth. You hear the footsteps stop nearby and your heart pounding in your chest as your breathing stills. Your eyes dart towards the door, anxiety building up in your chest. Anything could be outside. You cannot risk getting into a fight you couldn’t handle. Against his own good, Astarion speaks up yet again.

“Let’s just kill–”

And you shut him up, again.

This time, with a kiss.

It’s a surprise to both of you. It was sudden, instinctive. You’re not sure what took over you, but at this moment, it seemed to be the best course of action. You stay motionless for a moment before pulling away, slowly. You hear the sounds outside your room getting further away and you finally breathe out in relief. He looks at you with an annoying smile painted over his face.

You notice him observing you. “You really need to learn when to shut up,” you say, a poor excuse to try and justify your actions, as a blush takes place over your cheeks.

His lidded eyes observe your lips before making eye contact again, “And you think you know better?”

“I know I do,” you frown slightly.

He keeps smiling, that damn annoyingly confident smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to teach me, then. I’ve been known to be awfully loud.”

You scoff. The audacity of this man.

Initially, that first kiss was never supposed to lead to anything else. It was spontaneous, a means to an end, just like your last night spent together. Anything to stop him from talking, whatever would save you from being found. But you couldn’t deny the feelings that fluttered in your stomach, the butterflies in your chest.

He continues, his words dripping with sarcasm, “I’m sure a sorceress of your expertise must have some way to silence a noisy rogue like myself.”

You realize then : all along, you didn’t hate him, you hated the fact that you were attracted to him, to that damn attitude of his. Truth is, you couldn’t have enough of that banter between the two of you. Every morning, that was the thing you were looking forward to. There was no denying yourself anymore ; you chased the feeling of arguing with this overblown, pretentious asshole. You wanted him, in more ways than one, and in any way he would offer himself to you.

“I can think of a few tricks,” you lean over him the same way he did you earlier, your faces barely an inch apart.

“Try me,” his voice is barely a whisper by now.

You let your feelings guide your next move as you pull him in by the collar of his armor, crashing your lips against his. If he saw this as a game, you intended to win. As the kiss depends, you’re taken back to that scenario you played in your head the night before, prior to Astarion’s visit.

At the next corner, you would’ve pushed him by the waist against the nearest wall and shut his pretty mouth up.

Your kiss started out rough, but it quickly became passionate, it engulfed both of you into a world of your own. His hands roamed up your back and down your waist, pulling you in closer, reaching for more contact. Your sorcerer robe allowed for you to feel how tightly he grabbed you and yet, it didn’t feel like enough. You wished for nothing more than having your skin being ravished by his touch.

You would’ve taken the chance to let one of your hands roam through his silky smooth, curly hair, pulling it enough to get a moan out of him.

Oh, and how soft it was. Freshly washed from this morning, his curls felt like silk through your fingers. You let your hands linger in his hair, combing through it, before lightly pulling it back. He groans in your mouth as a response, not parting from your lips just yet, and you smile through it.

How you would’ve parted his legs with your own, and grinded against his crotch, feeling his growing bulge.

You easily push yourself between his legs and grind against him. He pulls back from your kiss then, gasping in surprise. With the threat outside the room being long gone, you welcomed any noise you would get out of him. You feel his cock getting harder against your leg and you keep rubbing him up and down, creating more pressure over his member. He rests his head on your shoulder, breathing hard, his hold on you getting tighter.

“Hells, darling, I didn’t think you had it in you,” he pants.

“Mmh, seems like I’ve got a lot more to teach you then.”

You reach for your trousers under your robe, letting them fall down after loosening your belt, before reaching for his, pulling them down just low enough to expose his cock which is already leaking with pre-come. He hisses when you grab a hold of him, your mere touch sending shivers down his spine.

You smirk at the visible reaction he has to you, feeling powerful over him. Such a contrast compared to your last night tryst. This time, you were guiding this dance.

You guide him towards your entrance, only to grind yourself over him. He slides so easily between your wet folds and you can’t help the moan escaping your lips. The friction over your clit is nothing short of euphoric. You swing your hips back and forth, coating his length with your arousal, as he holds onto your waist for dear life. You grab his face and pull him closer so your foreheads touch, then take a moment to admire the mess you’re making of him, and by the Gods, what a pretty mess he was. His parted lips, gasping between each stroke you would allow him, his eyes fluttering open, lost in the feeling of your thighs squeezing him, his roughed up curls from the sweat building up on his forehead.

He was beautiful.

You feel him moving on his own, trying to change positions so he has more control, but it's not something you will allow this time. You take his hands from your waist and push them against the wall he was leaning against, never stopping the rhythm you had going on.

“What do you think you're doing?” Your voice is coated with desire.

“Please, let me in,” he begs.

“Do you think you deserve it?”, you say, playfully.

“Gods, I– yes, yes I do!”, he whines.

“Beg more.”

“What?! I will not–”, before he can finish his sentence, you reach for his ear with your tongue and give it a lick from the base to the tip. “Mmmgh ah, fuck–”

“What was that?” You nibble on his ear.

“I– Ah–,” his entire resolve crumbles. “Please, love, I need you please,” he begs again, his voice faltering.

You continue to lick and nibble on his ear. “See? Now, was that so hard?” you tease, using his own words against him.

“Oh, you little– ah–!”

You cut him off as you raise your leg to hook it to his hips allowing you for a better angle as you push him inside you slowly. You’re so wet from teasing him that he slides in without any resistance.

You throw your head back, taking in the feeling of him filling you, and at the vision of your exposed neck, Astarion leans in the crook of your neck, bared fangs scratching the spot he previously fed from you. You feel his cold breath along with the wetness of his tongue, lapping at your healed wound. You sense what he wants to do and although you crave it and you would let him do it, you don’t wanna give in so easily.

You stop all motion and with him buried deep inside of you, your hand lingering in his hair grabs a handful of curls to pull him back, away from your prized neck, holding him in place.

He growls insistently, his true nature coming back to him.

“Give me one good reason,” you tug harder.

Through his ragged breath, he smiles playfully, “I just wanted a snack for the road.”

“You drank last night, you don’t need it,” your tone comes out raspy and aggressive despite your enjoyment of the situation.

“But you want this,” he pauses, watching your reaction. Your answer isn’t spoken, as much as it’s seen : your chest rises higher with each panting breath you take, your eyes flutter, drunk on lust, and your core is dripping wet, your combined fluids leaking against your leg. “Don't you?” He knows both of you know it's a fight for control.

You thrust roughly, once, to reassert your position over him, making him whimper. “And just what makes you think that?”

He locks eyes with you, a grin painting over his face. “You seemed to enjoy it last time.”

“Hardly.”

“My dear, you can deny it all you want, but I can read you like an open book.”

You hated how he always managed to have the last word. One day, you tell yourself, It’ll be me. But for now…

“Shut up and bite me.”

The second you let go of your grasp in his hair, Astarion dives in the nook of your neck, plunging his fangs in your pulsating vein. You cry out at the sharp sting you feel and once the initial pain settles in, you pick back up the rhythm you had earlier, making the elf groan as he drinks you in. He was right, his bites had the effect of an aphrodisiac on you. You would never tell him though, his ego was inflated enough as is, admitting it would only make him more insufferable than he already is.

His hold on you became tighter and the more he drank, the less your strength allowed you to keep your position, but the build up down your stomach only grew. You didn't want to falter so close to the end.

“Astarion…” you warn him.

He growls against your neck and takes one last sip of your liquid gold before removing his fangs from you, licking off the new wound he created to clean you up. That's something else you could appreciate from the vampire ; no matter how selfish you found him, he did seem to respect the boundaries you established. He would absolutely push all of your buttons but when it came to sex he seemed more attentive, responsive. You never wanted to fall for him, but your heart had other plans.

You cross your arms around his neck, closing any remaining distance between your two bodies and with all the energy left in you, you thrust harder, and faster, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming feeling he provided between your legs. Now that you had experienced him once, you craved getting filled up by him, only him, as much as possible, as much as he wanted to. You wanted to be his.

“Darling, I’m close–”

“Come, let go for me,” you breathe in his ear before licking him again. “You’re so pretty when you come inside me.”

Your last words combined with the stimulation you’ve given him trigger his collapse in your arms. He grasps your hips vigorously, pulling you flush against him, allowing him to unload himself deep inside of your womb. You fall over the edge shortly after, drinking in the feeling of his semen filling you up. You fantasized constantly about being filled to the brim by him. Used over and over again, leaking from his seed, the act merely done to defile you in his image. You clench around his length, your legs shaking as you picture yourself overflowing with his come and ride out the wave of electrifying pleasure that courses through you.

As you come down from your high and let your leg down, you reach for something to grab a hold of so as to not completely fall over. Astarion had completely slouched over the wall you fucked him over, he was not an option. The nearest thing that seemed solid enough was an empty torch holder placed right next to the door which you grab without second thoughts. The last thing you expected was for it to pull down as you grabbed it. Even less that it opened a secret trap door in the middle of the room, from which a pillar came out of. You stay in place for a moment, piecing together what just happened, with Astarion making eye contact with you, just as puzzled as you were.

Before you now stands an altar with a very clearly placed piece of dark metal, shaped strangely like the pattern you remember being described in the previous document you found. You put your trousers back on, dismissing the mess between your legs, and grab the missing piece, connecting it to the artifact you held, to see it click in place.

“No fucking way.”

Astarion smirks, as if he was responsible for your discovery, proud of himself, “Wouldn’t have found that out with Karlach now, would you?”

He will never let you live this down.

When you're around me, I'm radioactive

My blood is burning, radioactive

I'm turning radioactive

My blood is radioactive

My heart is nuclear

Love is all that I fear

#my posts #my writing #bg3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion smut #self insert #bg3 fanfic #smut #Spotify #fic: undisclosed desires

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intrepidacious · 2 years ago

Text

a million summers

summary: Something shifts between you and Bucky when he comes back home from college.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: modern AU; childhood friends to lovers; alcohol consumption; making out; the rare occurence of me writing something that's almost exclusively fluff. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: @allcapsbingo O1: "You've changed."

a/n: i didn't plan on posting anything today but something came over me. happy valentine's day, everyone!! this one's for @jesterstrange – remember when you sent me two songs for my sleepover and i completely ignored one of them? this is why 💛

masterlist | read on ao3

The air in the car is buzzing with late night heat and the crackling of the radio rapidly switching between stations, but you can’t seem to mind. Your heart is pounding in tune because less than two hours ago, you were kissing Bucky Barnes.

The Bucky Barnes, whose hand is currently gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. Valedictorian, baseball legend, first boy you ever fell in love with, prodigal third of your trio, Bucky Barnes.

Shit, if Steve found out about this, you’re not sure if he would laugh or kill both of you.

You wonder if the same thing is currently going through Bucky’s mind, because when you steal a sideways glance at him, he’s biting the inside of his lip, like he always does when he’s wrapped in thought.

It’s funny, in a way. You’ve noticed these little things about him since you were eleven years old, innocently collecting tiny facts about James Buchanan Barnes in your mind like other children kept pebbles or leaves they found on a walk. Like how his hair would stick up and begin to curl in his neck when it was about to rain. Or how he always got the first splatter of freckles in May, after months and months of them hiding away from the cold.

They’re there now, dancing across his cheekbones and down the bridge of his nose, and when the sunrise hits them at the right angle, they point out all the places you want to kiss; underneath his eye and on the tip of his nose, and, most importantly, right at the corner of his mouth, where his smile starts.

Your heart still can’t believe he’d actually let you do just that.

(He would, he would. He has.)

Your phone vibrates again and you ignore it. Reality might be on the other end, and you’re not ready for that quite yet.

There’s a slight tick in Bucky’s jaw when you peek at him again, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know him quite as well as you do, and it sets your cheeks on fire. You roll the window down to feel the wind in your hair. Maybe it’ll cool your face a little.

You haven’t talked to each other at all ever since you got in the car, Bucky concentrating on the road, you counting the cars you pass. There’s not a lot of them, not at this hour, so the activity doesn’t exactly help to calm your mind, but you don’t trust your voice enough to start a conversation quite yet.

(Still, he hasn’t let go of your hand since you got in the car, either.)

It’s strange, this silence between you, not uncomfortable but unusual, because even though you’ve filled countless hours just quietly doing your own thing next to one another, it’s never been with this tension that’s making the air between you thick enough to cut.

The radio finally settles on a station, and there’s a spark of recognition at the song that manifests in Bucky squeezing your hand a little more tightly, and you finally break the silence with a quiet laugh and a warning, "Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything," Bucky says with a smile in his voice.

"Your thoughts are very loud."

"My thoughts are none of your business." He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a small kiss to your knuckles. Your breath hitches. "Besides, you were very cute."

"Slow down," you say, "I want to throw myself out of the car."

Bucky has the audacity to laugh. "Come on. Everyone had a phase in middle school."

"Everyone who knew me in middle school needs to die," you groan.

"Is that a threat, Y/L/N?"

You take in his cocky grin, tapping a finger against your chin in fake contemplation. "Maybe."

"Oh yeah?" he says, and you swear his smile grows even more crooked as you echo his words back at him.

(You want to trace it with your fingers and then taste it again.)

"So this is what we’ve come to," he says, his face exaggeratedly appalled as he shakes his head. "You’ve changed."

"I’m afraid there can’t be any exceptions," you say, squeezing his hand. "Especially not if this 'short drive over' takes much longer," you say, turning to the window again. The clouds look heavy with the reminder of rain.

Bucky rubs soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, and the gentleness of the action makes you press your lips together to hide the giddyness threatening to spill over. "Almost there," he says, and continues driving.

A little faster than before, maybe.

***

You’d seen this look in Bucky’s eyes before, but it’d never been directed at you. Pupils blown wide, hair sticking to his forehead, gaze unwavering and so intense you felt like you were being stripped naked in the middle of the crowd.

(And during his own homecoming party, no less.)

You forced your gaze away, trying to focus on whatever story Wanda was telling intently, but it was impossible to do anything other than nodding and humming and taking another sip of your drink whenever there was a breath for you to do so.

When you dared another glimpse in his direction, Bucky was still watching you, even though he was doing a much better job at pretending to listen, one of Steve’s arms still slung around his shoulders, his lips widening into a smile at the same time the rest of the group started to laugh while you were just out of sync with everyone else.

Not that you were staring at his lips.

It’d been so long since you’d last seen him in person. He was supposed to go off to college with Steve, but instead ended up going to an entirely different part of the country, and despite the fact that the three of you once shared every spare minute, there was only so many lagging phone calls at odd hours a friendship like the one you used to have with Bucky could take.

It broke your heart, of course, but maybe it was for the better. After all, your feelings for him had been drifting towards something different to friendship for a while at that point, something softer and more precious, something hidden away in stolen glances and late night journal entries.

Him literally being out of reach had made it easier, in a way, even though you’d never quite managed to move on from the color of his eyes.

(How could you have?)

Now, seeing him right in front of you again, they seemed so much brighter than they did in your memories; like someone had broken off two pieces of a clear summer sky and put them in the center of his face. It was honestly unfair.

You managed to steal away to the upstairs bathroom for a few minutes, not bothering to turn the light on, splashing your face with cold water to try and get a grip on. You weren’t quite drunk, but tipsy enough to recognize the light haze in your eyes as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, angling yourself in the thin strip of moonlight falling in through the window, trying to see if there was anything different about you.

Anything that Bucky might have picked up on tonight, of all nights.

There was a knock at the door, so you quickly fixed your hair with a small sigh and mentally prepared to continue the night with a smile, determined to enjoy yourself, weird and totally not heart palpitation inducing looks from former best friends be damned.

As soon as you swung the door open, though, your confidence was immediately shattered when you almost barreled into someone standing right on the other side, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, smile blinding.

Like he’d been waiting for you.

"Y/L/N."

(Your name still sounded like honey on his tongue.)

"Barnes." You raised your eyebrows when he didn’t move to let you pass. "Can I help you with something?"

"Maybe," he said, and then he pulled you back into the room with him, locking the door behind the two of you.

You leaned against it, arms crossed in front of your chest, swallowing heavily. Bucky hovered very close by for a moment before he retreated, pushing both hands through his hair and then hiding them in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Right," you said, your head spinning slightly. "This isn’t ominous at all."

Bucky chuckled quietly, his eyes searching for something. "You look great," he finally said.

With a snort, you tilted your head and looked at his feet, not really believing his compliment. Your fingers were itching to unlock the door and just slip back into the party on the other side, but at the same time, you found you couldn’t move.

(You’d never been able to move away from him.)

"Look at that," you said, nudging your shoe against his. "You haven’t changed."

"Not really."

There was a strange edge to the smile in his voice, like he was trying to swallow something down. Maybe it was more clear on his face, but you couldn’t look up at him.

It was strange, the small details you remembered from years ago. Even when you and Bucky had begun to drift apart (because bottling up your feelings all the time could only ever have gone well for a short while), you would still spend most lunch breaks with him and Steve. How many times had you joined them on the tiny, dried up shrivel of lawn next to the library, being silly together and trying to stretch those thirty minutes into infinity, your sneakers always, always untied.

Steve had sprained his ankle in college when he tripped over his own feet, and so he’d started to tie them like the proper adult he pretended to be, and because the two of them had a habit of always copying the other, you’d just assumed that Bucky would have eventually grown out of the whole thing as well.

(Unlike you.)

Seemed like some things had stayed the same, after all.

And as if that stupid little observation had returned both of you back to the days that were, talking was suddenly so easy. You drifted closer to each other and apart again, like you were moving to a song much slower than the one still audible through the bathroom walls.

Later, you wouldn’t even be able to recall what you’d said. Some teasing remark, probably, a snarky comment like the ones you used to hide your feelings behind when you were fifteen and he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

Whatever it was you’d said, Bucky chuckled again. As if he thought you funny. "I can’t believe I …" He trailed off, shaking his head, dragging a hand through his hair again.

Your eyes tracked the movement. A single curl kept sticking up near the top of his head, like it always had when you both were younger. "You what?" you said, almost entranced by it.

"Nothing," he said, looking over his shoulder like he expected someone to come up to him. There was no one there, but he kept moving like he was struggling against some unseen force.

"You what?" you laughed, thoroughly intrigued now.

He shook his head, but it spilled out anyway, like some tidal wave he couldn’t keep contained. "I used to have a crush on you in high school, alright?"

A pause, a break, a screeching record halt.

"No, you didn’t."

(He didn’t.)

"Uhm, yeah I did." He sighed heavily. "Look, you were never supposed to find out."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you could feel it in your ears. "Why not?"

"Because you’re …. You were my best friend. That was more important." The past tense really shouldn’t have broken your heart the way it did, because you’d known. Of course you’d known.

"And what about now?" you said, your hands clutched tightly around yourself." We’re not best friends anymore, are we? So … what are we now?"

He stared at you very intently, and his voice broke a little when he said, "I’m not sure what you want me to be."

There was a pause, and you realized Bucky’s face had turned even redder. You could barely look away from his eyes, though. It was almost impossible to make out their color in the semi-darkness of the bathroom, but there was a softness to them that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"Are you drunk or something?" you asked, feeling very, very sober yourself.

"What?" he said, almost offended by your suggestion. "Of course not."

"Good."

You stared at him for a moment longer, and then you kissed him.

You’d imagined kissing Bucky Barnes so many times before, but the real thing was so much better than even your wildest dreams could have predicted. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and still didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands circled around his waist to press him ever closer to you, and he made a noise at the back of his throat that made your brain short-circuit.

His hands trailed across your shoulder blades, gently pulling you with him as he took a step backwards and his back hit the wall with a low thud, his mouth never once leaving yours. He tasted like coffee and salt and something that was so distinctly him it took your breath away.

When you finally came up gasping for air, Bucky whined in disapproval, peppering smaller kisses along your cheeks, your jawbone, your neck. You grabbed his shoulder for support as your knees threatened to buckle, the fingers of your other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"Shit, Y/N," he mumbled against your pulse, and the low timbre of his voice was enough to make your eyes flutter shut again. "You’ve got no idea how long …"

He didn’t finish talking, his lips finding yours again with a hum that made your grip on him tighten involuntarily, his hands large and solid around your middle. There was no telling how much time you lost to that kiss. Hours, maybe, an eternity of both of you trying to get as close to each other as possible.

At one point, Bucky tapped your thigh, as if he was trying to get you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist, and you were about to, honestly, but just then you were interrupted by a sudden and incessant knock at the door.

"Whoever’s in there, can you hurry up? There’s a line out here!"

You broke apart with an embarrassed snort. "Just a minute!" you called, somehow managing not to sound quite as short-winded as you felt. You steadied yourself against Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat drum a mad rhythm underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "I do not wanna go out there," you mumbled.

"Neither do I," he said, and his voice sounded so low and so wrecked you had to kiss him again. Just a small peck on the lips, this time, but you still came up light-headed. "Wanna get out of here?"

(More than anything.)

"I can’t," you sighed apologetically. "Nat’s not even here yet and I told her I’d help with the cake."

"I don’t give a shit about the cake."

You giggled. "I promised, though"

Bucky groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. The person on the other side of the door started knocking again. "She has an hour," he mumbled and sealed it with a quick kiss before you could say anything else. "Tops."

You left that bathroom with your head held high and an incredulous smile on your face. Outside, a clash of thunder shook the window panes.

***

It crosses your mind, then, when the car slows and the gas gauge finally stops blinking, that your younger self would have killed to be in your shoes. Or rather, bare feet pulled up on the passenger seat, Bucky’s fingers entertwining with yours, feeling tired and wide awake at the same time as nervous excitement curls up in your chest.

How many summer night did you use to lie awake in bed, imagining a scenario just like this?

(A million, at least.)

The summer air carries the smell of the ocean, and if you looked out the windscreen, you could probably see the waves crashing against the shoreline as the sun starts to rise, a picture perfect view like something out of a fucking dream. You’re still not quite convinced you haven’t fallen asleep on Wanda’s shoulder earlier in the evening, your subconscious making all of this up out of some long buried yearning from years ago.

You don’t want to look outside, though. You don’t want to look anywhere but at the boy beside you, whose hair is still tousled from your touch and who looks at you like he’s on cloud nine and absolutely terrified at the very same time.

"Do you feel kinda nervous or is it just me?" Bucky says, and you laugh.

"Yes. What’s up with that?"

It’s like the manic, pent up energy that made your kiss in the bathroom feel like you got struck by lightning has vanished from your bodies, making room for something more quiet. More anxious. A question whispered at the back of your mind that makes your hold on his hand tighten.

What now?

(Reality stopped calling a while ago, but it’s only a matter of time.)

"I guess it’s a good sign." Anticipation makes the blue of his eyes shimmer. "Means neither of us wants to fuck this up."

You smile tentatively. "Is there something we could potentially fuck up?"

Bucky swallows, tilting his head. "I hope there is."

(You want to run away with him. You want to stay with him. You’d wait a million summers more to get here.)

"Me too."

When he leans in this time, it’s sweeter than before, slower, less a declaration and more a promise. Neither of you would have to wait anymore.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #a million summers #esther 🧣

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depressopax · 1 year ago

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Nacho Varga relationship headcanons

NSFW version

Fandom - Better call Saul

Pairing: Ignacio “Nacho” Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Smut, headcanons Warning(s): Sexual content. Situationships. Mentions of oral, handjob/fingering, degradation, penetration, semi-public, cuss words, sub/dom dynamic, pet names (gn) Reader is gender neutral. Might be a bit OOC! Words: 1.6K Summary: Dating Nacho would include… English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! AO3 link! SFW version

Nacho is not the relationship type of guy.

He is scared of commitment, but most of all scared of hurting you.

If he is with you, it’s probably more of a Friends with benefits/No strings attached kind of situationship.

Sure he can be your friend and have sex with you - nothing more tho.

Nacho is more of a dom.

I feel like he’s a switch, but that's a side he hasn’t really explored, and would take some convincing for him to do so.

He likes being in charge and on top of his partner

It gives him a sense of control and he feels relaxed when he has you completely at his mercy

Buuuut… 👀

If he REALLY trusts and loves you

Homeboy will let you be on top sometimes. More about that later…

When having sex with him, he is more of a “fast and rough”-guy

Will have you totally slutted out for him, begging for his touch

He is turned on by your submission and just how much he can dominate you if he wants to

His favorite position to take you in being doggy.

He loves having you on all fours and being able to thrust into you from behind

And he gets to stare at your ass the entire time without shame ;)

And he can give you light spanks on your ass etc…

I feel like he def is an ass guy

Which is the second reason he loves taking you from behind.

When he’s behind you he has full control of pace and is in a powerful position

He is very touchy during sex and likes grabbing your ass, thighs and hips, often with the intention of leaving marks

Speaking of leaving marks…

When he kisses your body, he does so to leave hickeys, and will be like “Oops, didn’t mean for that to happen lmao”

In a way, he likes claiming you

But he wouldn’t let you do the same to him.

Homeboy got them double standards

He is very loud in bed, cussing a lot, grunting and a few moans

He likes it when you are loud too.

Would probably be offended if you weren’t loud, and only fuck you even harder to make you react lmao

Nacho has a thing for degradation, but only when it comes to you.

If you are into that, he won’t hesitate to call you slut, bitch etc…

But he can also praise you during

“Look at you, taking my cock so well”“That’s it, you’re fucking amazing.”

He won't give you pet names tho, he finds it weird.

He prefers receiving oral.

He might give it to you, but then it’s mostly to “return the favor”

He’s not that enthusiastic when giving

Will make sure he does the job and makes you satisfied, because you deserve to feel good

But when receiving?

He L O V E S I T

What can he say? It’s a good stress relief

He just needs to sit down and have you do all the work

He’s not a head pusher, he lets you do things in your own pace

But if it’s too slow or “not good enough”, he’s not shy to guide you

Telling you how to move your mouth, where and when to use tongue

Your gagging is just a bonus to him.

Sorry but not that good at aftercare 😭

He might cuddle you, or give a few kisses

Or just lay in bed talking for a bit

After that?

He either leaves to go to his place

If it’s late and he’s tired, he stays. But he just ends up falling asleep in your bed

Not the kind of person that cares if the two of you have left a mess. Why would it matter?

Now for the second part of these headcanons… 👀

Nacho falling in love is rare

But when he does… Oh boy.

You’re his everything, and your sex life with him is totally different from how it used to be.

I feel like he totally acts different towards his FWB and someone he’s in love with

He’ll literally worship you

Sure he’s more of a dom and likes being on top

But if you insist on changing that, he’d be ok with it.

At first he hates the thought of being submissive

But something about seeing you on top of him, having him totally at your mercy…

Oh how the tables have turned.

And he loves it.

He likes how hot and powerful you look

He gets needy AF

Which gives you a good opportunity to be a tease 👀

Enough teasing and he will whimper for you even ;)

Of course he still likes being dominant, especially if you are submissive

But being dominated is nice for change sometimes…

A bit of a service top

He likes it when you boss him around and tell him what to do

The things he does when he’s on top of you - he does for your pleasure rather than for his own.

Checks in on you a lot, whispering praise and lots of kisses

Fuck it, he even has pet names for you.

Nacho likes giving you spanish pet names, for example: Amorcito, Amor, Cariño

He finds it adorable when you’re flustered and always finds ways to make you that way

Whether it’s with words or touch.. He’ll do it

And tell you how fucking adorable you look

Homeboy is down bad for you

Legit is horny for you almost all the time and not shy to show it.

It’s enough with you wearing something that shows off skin, calling him a pet name or just being sweet to him… He just can’t help it!

He prefers to have sex at home, so he can make you scream his name as he claims you as his

But if his desires are urgent, or if he gets a boner in public etc…

He will take you right there and then.

You’re at some restaurant? At a cafe? Too fucking bad.

He knows how to rile you up, too.

Either by whispering dirty things to you, like telling you how badly he wants to fuck you, how hot you look…

Or simply with touch.

Squeezing your thigh, having his fingers against the button on your jeans, his cold fingers finding their way into your shirt… You name it

Or his personal favorite:

Guiding your hand towards his crotch, having you gently rub his erection. “See what you do to me, amorcito?” AHDHJASHAD BYE- 🤤

He’ll grab your hand and lead you to the bathroom

But he got some class, at least. So if you’re too loud, he shuts you up, either with his palm against your lips, or with his fingers in your mouth.

He’ll fuck you against the wall while kissing your neck and whispering his love and devotion for you

He finds it entertaining to watch you wobble out of the bathroom after a quickie

…Which is usually just a warm up/appetizer of what’s to come once home ;)

He loves handjobs, especially cuddling up to you in the couch, watching a movie and then sliding his hand into your pants

Or his personal favorite - having you stroke his cock under the blanket whilst watching a movie with his hand around you, pretending nothing is happening…

He likes long, passionate sessions.

Really driving you wild with a combination of being rough and gentle, loving and mean…

Nacho makes foreplay a big part of sex with you.

He wants to really warm you up and tease you

Likes it when you beg for his cock and to feel him

All I’m gonna say is, you need the warm-up, iykyk 🤭

Although, if he is in a hurry or just frustrated, he doesn’t mind a quickie.

Quickies with him leaves you breathless and with trembling legs “Gotta get to work, see you tonight, amorcito.” He’ll say, and give you a quick kiss before walking away, leaving you longing for more lmao

Oral remains the same as with a FWB

He prefers receiving but happily gives it too.

But he’s actually more keen to making sure you enjoy receiving it

If he truly loves you, he could spend hours between your legs

E Y E C O N T A C T

I’m sorry but his eyes??? I’m too autistic for eye contact but DAMN I could stare into his eyes all day <3

He’s very observative to your reactions and it gets him going to see you enjoy his tongue and lips

Probably would let you sit on his face ngl

When you give him head, he’s extra praising

Keeps his hand on the back of your head or on your chin

As a supportive gesture

He loves watching your mouth full of his cock

He is extra loud to let you know you’re doing well

He actually likes and prioritizes aftercare

He has you cuddled up to him

His fav cuddle position is having your head on his chest, whilst he rubs your back with his hands

Since he tends to get rough when he’s dominating you, he’s keen to make sure you’re alright and not feeling any discomfort.

Happily runs you a bath - and happily joins you, too ;)

If it’s nighttime, he’ll hold you tightly in his arms, telling you how much he loves you etc…

Basically? Very passionate and loving towards someone he’s in love with.

NACHO PLEASE LET ME LOVE YOU AHHH 😭💕 Did I just make a 1.6K words smut headcanons for this gorgeous damn man? Yes. 0 regrets. <3

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a-fic-reviewer-757 · 19 days ago

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Going Nowhere:

by: inspiteallthedanger | word count : 109,500| AO3 | chapters: 16/16| rating : Explicit

Summary:

When Paul gets the news, he rushes out to New York and ends up bringing an injured John back to England. Once there, they try and figure out how to find their way back to one another.

A post-1980 fix-it that includes flashbacks to some major moments in their past and an exploration of where John and Paul might have ended up if John had lived.

Tags :

Fix-It l AU l Post-1980 l Angst l POV switch l POV John l POV Paul l Hurt/Comfort l they actually talk it out l Flashbacks

Review : 💜💜💜💜💜

I used to say a fanfic had never made me cry, but this week alone I’ve read two that completely wrecked me — and this one especially destroyed me. As a Beatles fan and a McLennon truther, this hit me hard. Some of the scenes, especially the ones at the hospital... Damn, they broke me. I love these two so much, and even though there’s always been some taboo around RPF, this fic gave me the closure that real life never did — especially after watching Two of Us (2000). Honestly, I couldn’t recommend this more to any Beatles fan. The way the author captures the voices of the two characters is incredible; you can feel the differences between John and Paul, and it’s just so well done. I cried a lot, but I loved every second of it.

#going nowhere #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 mclennon #mclennon #fix it #fix it au #john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #lennon x mccartney #mccartney x lennon

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mychoombatheroomba · 7 months ago

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To Be Alone With You

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 47

You and Leon steal a few final moments together.

This chapter is 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 18+ only please!

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW for unprotected sex.

Guys, PLEASE wrap it before you tap it, regardless of gender or biology, I do not condone these idiots and their behavior. Also oral sex (reader receiving) and some dom/sub undertones (Leon mostly sub, but they switch it up a little). Anyway, please enjoy the filth!

“So . . . you think there’ll be fireworks?”

Leon’s brow arched as he looked over at Williams, and the tall woman looked back at him with an innocent expression.

“What?” she went on. “Krauser can’t be that much of a stick in the mud. We could say it’s mortar shell training or something. Besides, haven’t we earned some real celebration time?”

Valeria, who walked on Williams’ other side, scoffed. “Krauser might be in favor of that, but Reed and Hellman? Assholes probably didn’t even want to give us the day off.”

A fact that Leon had to agree with - and one he was all too glad hadn’t been the case. The agents - alongside Krauser - had worked everyone to the bone these final two weeks. Leon had dragged himself through mud and barbed wire, run farther than he ever had in his life, taken bruise after bruise in the training yard and shot after shot at the firing range, all in preparation for what tomorrow held. The beginning of the end. The final test before he and the men and women beside him were no longer trainees, but agents. Weapons in an arsenal for a war unlike anything seen before. There might have been no chance to breathe before that final hurdle, were it not for the day it happened to be.

He’d never been one to savor national holidays until now. Even Reed and Hellman were forced to honor Independence Day though, it seemed. And so, on this, the final Sunday before the test, the STRATCOM trainees were given another much needed day off.

“Yeah,” Leon deadpanned, “a day off that you two really wanted to spend strolling through the woods with me.” Which, in truth, he was a little grateful for. The rest of the squad had planned something of a party in the evening, but the rest of the day? Leon had wanted to spend it with you. It was his last chance to, after all. It had made him more than a little disappointed when you’d told him that Doc needed your help in the infirmary in the morning, and he hadn’t seen you in the hours since then. So, even if he knew that he was likely just being dragged along with Dina and Valeria for the sake of cover, he appreciated the chance to keep his mind off the impending test.

The thing was - Williams had never been a great liar, even with all the CIA training going on. And now, as Leon made his remark, her innocent look slipped in favor of a knowing smile.

Valeria shot a grin over at him - one that didn’t cover her obvious sarcasm but did divert his attention. “What can I say? You’re just such good company.”

Leon laughed, but shook his head all the same. “Well . . . you two just let me know when you want me to ‘lose you guys’ in the woods.”

Williams’ smile widened, and Leon took that expression to mean that he’d hit the nail on the head. “You think we’d ditch you to go have some fun by ourselves?” she asked, as if the very thought offended her.

Didn’t change Leon’s answer. “Yes.”

Valeria laughed, then. “Well, you’d be right. But that’s not the only reason we’re out here, you know.” She’d make a good agent - Leon already knew that, but in the moment that followed? He was made completely sure of it in the nonchalant tone of her voice. The measured control she had over her expression.

The way she didn’t even look at the movement Leon couldn’t see on his other side.

The way she didn’t give away that there was a fourth person there, until there was a hand at his arm and he only just stopped a blunted knife from meeting his throat.

Leon froze, but smiled all the same because he didn’t need to look to know who was at his back. Not with the way Dina and Valeria were grinning at him. Not with the way your body pressed against his.

“It’s too easy to sneak up on you, Kennedy,” you told him, and Leon huffed a little laugh.

“Thought my friends here were going to be watching my back,” he said, looking over at his walking companions - who, of course, were taking steps further down the forest path, backing away from you and Leon with knowing smiles.

“And Krauser would tell you not to use your friends as a crutch,” Valeria smirked.

Leon returned the look, unable to be anything other than excited, he found. Because if you had coordinated this with Valeria and Dina as he suspected you had, that meant that he was going to be spending the day with you after all. “What a betrayal,” he sighed, but there was no real hurt in his words. Just as there was no real intent to harm when he shook off your hold on his arm and leveraged his body, sending you arcing over his shoulder. You grunted as you rolled, coming into a crouch, your knife still in your hand and your lips carved into a wicked smile.

Your eyes met, and for the first time in weeks - since Fort Benning, really - Leon glimpsed something he’d missed seeing in you.

Fire.

“Not bad,” you praised, rising to your feet but keeping your knife up, your stance ready. God, he’d missed this , he realized. Not necessarily the act of crossing blades with you, but the challenge of your will crashing against his own. Your bodies against each other, the line between lesson and love blurring until it became non-existent. And, as Dina and Valeria continued to move on past the two of you, Leon knew to expect exactly that feeling.

“Have fun, you two. Meet you back in an hour,” Valeria called over her shoulder as the two of them disappeared down the winding path, leaving you and Leon alone. Payment for the nights Leon had spent on fire watch, when he’d awoken Valeria and Dina to have an hour for themselves. Hours and moments stolen, and now the same opportunity given to him.

An hour, with just the two of you and the green around you.

It would never be enough, but he would take what he could get. Even if that hour started with you lunging at him, your knife aimed at his heart. He blocked easily, just as you’d taught him to; taking a step to the side and reaching for your wrist, trying to trap your hand against his chest. Two weeks ago, he would have been able to disarm you with that move. Now, you just stepped in with him, your knee rising fast just as Leon twisted his torso to leverage your wrist.

He stepped back just in time, letting one hand leave your knife to block your knee - and it was enough for you to wrench your blade free, the dulled edge scraping across Leon’s chest as it went.

And God, the smile you gave him when you felt that . . . it was only fuel to his fire.

He looked at you then, the soldier who had somehow stolen his heart in all this mess, and he almost laughed because, well, for once, he felt like the odds were even. Not because your injury had brought you down to his level, but because you’d raised him up to yours. Through hours and days and months, you had given him the ability to stand against you now. Krauser may have given him the skills, but you? Leon knew now that you were his strength. The reason he pushed himself to be better, the firm hand that had pulled him up from the dirt. Then, you had been unarmed and Leon had been unsure. You’d been a mystery, and he’d thought you a monster. Now . . . now Leon could scarcely imagine a world or a life without you in it.

And now he would face you down, the final time a mirror of the first.

“That the best you’ve got?” Leon challenged, not because you weren’t giving him your best, but because he wanted to see your fire. He wanted those cinder-stares and the burn of your touch. He wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything, because this might be the last time he could-

You severed that line of thought with another attack, a series of slashes that Leon managed to successfully defend against. He managed a push kick to create some distance between the two of you, and the tension between the two of you came to a simmer as your eyes locked together.

“You want my best?” You asked, raising a brow and letting your smile turn wicked. “Then come get it.”

Maybe Williams had been on to something after all.

Maybe there would be fireworks.

⧫⧫⧫

The battle - and it truly felt like one - traveled off the dirt path and into the woods. Between trees and around fallen debris, you and Leon traded blows and crossed blades. Use your surroundings , Krauser had told you, and damned if you weren’t going to prove a good student. You led Leon through the woods just as you planned, either retreating and forcing him to follow after you, or pressing the attack to get him back on course.

To get him where you needed to be.

The trouble was that herding an opponent as smart and skilled as Leon was harder than it looked. You learned that when he too took advantage of the forest around him, putting trees between him and you, grinning like the smug bastard he could be when he routed you successfully . . .

Of course, you would do the same to him; knocking him into the brush, forcing him in the direction you needed him to go. You were nearly there, nearly at that perfect place . . . but then in a few moves, your plan came a little unraveled.

You’d lost sight of him - just for a second or two, but it was enough. Enough that, as you scanned the woods for him, he could come at you sideways. You swung at him and he ducked just beneath your arm, rising on the other side at your back. With a grunt, you swung backwards at him, but too late to avoid the block he raised. Too slow to escape him trapping your forearm in his grip, his other hand bracing at your shoulder.

The pressure he applied there, combined with him hooking one of your legs out from under you was meant to send you straight down. Trouble was that you happened to catch yourself, and you stumbled in an awkward arc.

Right into a goddamn tree.

You barely managed to reach up with your free hand, bracing against the worst of it, but the bark still scraped against your skin - forearm and face both. You grunted at the pain, but it was Leon who’s reaction bore the most concern. He called your name in surprise, and you felt his grip on you loosen.

“Fuck! Are you-”

He didn’t get to finish his question or his worry, because you ducked fully under his reach, your blade now free to run across his stomach. Unable to defend, Leon exhaled above you, then exclaimed as you reached for his knee, pulling his leg out from under him. His back met the forest floor and you landed on top of him, pinning him there, blade to his throat.

“You had me,” you scolded despite yourself, shaking your head. “You could’ve won. You cannot keep doing this. You can’t keep letting your worry hold you back.”

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes fading at your words. You could see yourself strangling the joy from the encounter, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Still, Leon just shook his head. “You’re one to talk about worry,” he pointed out.

“I have every reason to be worried.”

“Not today,” he insisted, some annoyance coming through now. Or maybe it was fear. “I don’t want to think about that today.”

Guilt weighed you down, making for one hell of a tag-team as that worry refused to let go of its stranglehold on you. Still, you nodded, forcing yourself to relent. “Okay. Yeah, sorry.”

Leon was, as always, too quick to forgive you. “It’s okay,” he promised. Then he smiled like he was seeing the sun for the first time after weeks of rain. “I’ve missed you.”

Even if you were the one with the knife pressed to his skin, that simple phrase cut deep into you because, damn it-

“I’ve missed you too.”

You moved then, freeing his arms. Letting him reach for you. Letting him hold you the way you’d been imagining him holding you for the last eight weeks. You weren’t surprised when he reached for your face, his thumb gently stroking the fresh scrapes on your cheek, just beneath your eye.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, too sweet for what he was about to become. But it wasn’t some hardened soldier underneath you, then. Not the man who was about to be Agent Kennedy. No, however much his body had changed over months of training, this was your rookie. Your Leon. So, his concern over the little injuries made you smile.

“You know I’ve had worse,” you reassured him. “Besides . . . we’re even for that first day, now. ‘Bout time you gave me some bruises to remember you by.”

“That’s not how I want you to remember me.” Leon’s words were serious, then. Weighty. And you couldn’t fault him. You both had so many hurts - so many marks left on you that told the story of your lives. You’d both shared those wounds with each other. It was time to share something better.

So, you leaned down, taking the knife away from his throat. “Then how do you want me to?” you asked, your lips so close to his.

He answered you with a kiss - no hesitation. No waiting. Not anymore. Your response was the same, meeting him in that touch of slow passion. Not that it stayed slow for long. “Like this,” he said, and you smiled against his lips.

You’d had a few weeks to take out your frustrations of not training. Sparring wasn’t the only thing you’d been unable to participate in, and it didn’t matter how often you let your own hand wander between your legs back in the infirmary, or more recently in the shower. It would never be enough to alleviate your yearning for him. There was only one way to get around that.

So, you pressed your body against his, feeling the shape of him that you’d been denied for so long. With the woods between you and any prying eyes, you let yourself fall into his kiss with abandon.

Well, almost.

“I fuckin’ missed you . . .” Leon repeated, the words trapped between your lips and his. You could feel his hand gripping desperately at your waist, his body tensing underneath yours.

“How much?” you asked, and you pressed a sly smile against his lips.

Leon smirked right back at you, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your neck instead to pull you down against him. “Let me show you.”

It was hard to break away from that kiss. A test of willpower to stop, even as he let you dip your tongue into his mouth, making one of his soft little sounds. God, you had to call on so much willpower before you managed to break that heated kiss, pressing a hand against his chest to keep him from following you up. “Right here on the forest floor, Kennedy?” you asked, feeling like a wire coming to life with electricity.

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” was Leon’s simple reply, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to roll your eyes or kiss him harder.

“Well, you’ll be the one on your back,” you warned, smiling as it made Leon exhale a little breath. “You want that to be here? Or somewhere more comfortable?”

Leon just raised a brow, looking up at you in confusion. “Wasn’t the woods your idea?”

“This was part of my idea,” you corrected, and when Leon’s look of confusion only grew, you smiled and got up off of him. He took your hand when you offered it to him, and you couldn’t help the little sparks of excitement bubbling in your gut as you led him through the woods, following the notches in the trees you’d used to mark your way. It wasn’t long before you reached your destination at last, and you looked over at Leon just in time to see his eyes light up at what you’d prepared.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice betraying his joy.

Not that there was, really, much to cause that joy. Just your rucksack, partially unloaded, sitting in the middle of a little clearing, two plastic bags with sandwiches inside (thank you, Doc) and an unzipped standard issue sleeping bag laid out in the shade and, of course, a little radio resting up against the bag.

“This,” you said, propping a hand up on your hip, “is your graduation present. Part of it.”

Leon just stared at you for a moment, and you took it as an opportunity to go on.

“You said you wanted a date before. Best I could do-”

“You’re a romantic.” The observation cut you off, and your eyes flashed a little like he’d just slapped you, even if his words were nothing but adoring.

“I am not-”

“You are,” Leon insisted, chuckling.

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Yet you keep me around.”

“For some reason.”

Leon laughed, because there was no real venom in either of your words. Then he took you in his arms, pulling you tight against him. Like he never wanted to let go. “Whatever reason that is, I’ll take it.”

Reason. As if there was only one. As if Leon Kennedy hadn’t been the damn sunrise for you these last few months, breaking through your clouds. As if he hadn’t made you laugh and smile and forget even for just a few moments. As if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you’d ever seen inside and out. As if he wasn’t the person you would kill and die for.

That was all too much to speak, though. That was why you’d planned this. Why you’d decided to risk it once more, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

So you kissed him.

You kissed him until the woods and the sounds of birds faded to background static, and you didn’t stop as you felt his hands seeking the hem of your shirt. He wasn’t the only one who wanted this to be memorable, after all, and so you dedicated yourself to making him come undone. Your time together hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things, but you had learned his weaknesses in love just as you had in fighting. Things like the way he melted when you took charge, his breath catching in his throat as you pushed him back against a tree, trapping him there. Or the way he tried to hide his moan when you pulled his hair back hard, exposing his throat to you so you could trail kisses there.

Back between the buildings of base, you would have commended him for that attempt. Here, though? “There’s no one to hear you but me, pretty boy,” you murmured against his neck, your free hand sliding down to palm the growing hardness between his legs. “And I better hear you.”

“Oh, God,” Leon breathed, his head falling back against the tree. He laughed a little as he pressed his hips into your hand. “This the other part of my graduation present?”

You hummed against his skin, excitement building in your belly. In another world, another life, you would have spent hours building to this. You would have unraveled him piece by piece until he was a mess in your bed. Here, you didn’t have such time, so your plan would have to be enacted faster. “You remember our rule? You can tell me if anything goes too far at any time?”

There was some hesitancy in his answer, but he nodded all the same. “Yes.”

“Good,” you responded, leaning away to nip at his earlobe, enjoying the way it made him shudder. Still, you enjoyed his reaction to what you said next far more. “Because I want to ride you,” you told him, and already you saw red creeping into his cheeks, “but I only want that if you want it too.” You pulled back to look at his face for that last promise, bringing a halt to your teasing touches to let him make his decision.

In the end, he stared at you with those wide eyes - more black now than blue - like he didn’t dare to hope what you’d offered was real. “Are you sure? We don’t have-”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed, your eyes finding his own so he could see the truth in them. “I want to feel you.” And you didn’t know when you’d ever get the chance again. If you’d ever-

“I want to feel you too.” Leon’s admission was quiet but you could hear the need in his words. The fear, because no doubt, he had the same worries in his mind. “But are you really sure?”

You just gave him a look and pressed your lips against his once more. His hands found your face as he kissed you back, holding on like he was afraid to let go. “I’m sure,” you repeated against his lips. “Have you ever done this before?” you asked, because it was an important question.

Leon stopped his kisses for just a moment, blushing a little deeper as he answered. “Once.”

You’d figured as much. “Well, it’s been a long time for me,” you admitted. “Might need your help with a few things. Are you okay with that, too?”

Leon just nodded, murmuring your name. “You could ask me to do just about anything and I’d do it.”

You could hear the truth there. The complete and utter devotion in his words. It terrified you, so you pushed the feeling away. “Then you have some work to do,” you said, your hand dragging down to his chest.

“Guess I do,” Leon agreed, and your eyes widened as you felt him grip your shoulders. He maneuvered you so that you were against the tree now, facing the bark as Leon settled in at your back. So much more confident than he’d been that first night, when he’d all but let you do what you pleased with him. It made you smile as you braced your hands against the tree, all while feeling his hands at your hips.

“Getting bold, rookie,” you pointed out.

“Just like you taught me to be,” he said, his hands fiddling at the waistline of your fatigues. “Is this okay?”

“So long as you remember that this ends with you on your back.”

“I think I can live with that. But I’m gonna give you a run for your money, first.”

You’d never known Leon Kennedy to go back on his word. But as his lips met your neck and his hand snuck between your legs, you knew that this was a promise he meant to go above and beyond with. Before too long the two of you had set a rhythm, his hips rubbing against you, his hand opening your fatigues and sliding down to touch-

“There . . .” you sighed, rocking yourself against him, tilting your head to the side as he sucked and nibbled gently at your skin. Still, as nice as this was, you were on a bit of a schedule still, and damn did you want more. “That the best you’ve got?” you asked, using Leon’s earlier words against him.

It made him chuckle against your skin. “Not by a long shot.”

He made good on that promise too just a few moments later, as he tugged your pants down past your hips, your underwear too. He proved that he was good for more than just oaths when you felt him kiss his way down your back . . . and then even you moaned as his tongue circled you. However stupid this is, however foolish, you couldn’t give a damn in that moment. You let your eyes fall closed as he tasted you, one hand on your hips to support you, the other snaking around you to stroke exactly where you needed.

He took to his task with vigor, and you arched your back into him, desperate to feel more of his tongue and touch. “That’s it,” you moaned, reaching a hand back to grab a fistful of his hair.

The action made him groan into you, as it always did, and there the two of you stayed for what was too long and not nearly long enough, him worshiping you on his knees.

When he added the first finger at your instruction, you dug your nails into the bark and his name was a hymn as it left your lips. “Leon-”

“I’ve got you,” he promised, and you believed him, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him.

Nothing mattered but him. Nothing else in the whole fucking world.

“Another,” you ordered, and he obeyed, sliding another finger into you. You groaned at the stretch, at the feeling of his hand pressing into and against you, and all you wanted is more, more, more-

And he gave you just that. Working you open, learning what little of you he hadn’t known. He rose, leaning over you to mouth at your neck once more, careful not to leave any marks while his hands moved fast. Then you cried out as he reached that place in you that made sunlight bloom in you, and he noticed. You’d never given him credit enough for being able to find weak spots until now, but it wasn’t long before you were panting as he held you close. He was breathing heavily against your neck, his muscled body all but pressing you into the tree until-

“Oh, fuck!” you hissed, biting down on your lip as pleasure washed over you, warm and gentle just like the man that unleashed its tide on you. You shivered, glad of the strength of your legs not betraying you, and when it was finally done you could only let out a huff. “This was supposed to be about you,” you breathed, looking over your shoulder, only for Leon to nuzzle into you.

He just hummed against the back of your neck, and you just knew he was grinning ear to ear. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.” You felt him kiss your still-clothed shoulder, and you laughed.

“Well, pretty boy,” you said, turning to face him fully, letting your eyes glint in the light slipping through the trees, “I intend to give as good as I get.”

⧫⧫⧫

Leon laughed as you pushed him down, the unfolded sleeping bag rustling as he landed on top of it. You never were one to waste time, and you didn’t now as you climbed on top of him, your lips crashing against his. He almost protested that you shouldn’t, given what he’d just done for you, but you didn’t seem to care and that only made him blush hard into the kiss.

And as you kissed him, Leon felt his heart hammer against his ribs and sunlight kiss his skin as you pushed his shirt up. He rose, trying to help you pull it all the way off, but you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down firmly. “Down, boy,” you told him, and Leon blushed a deep, dark red. “Much as I’d love to strip you down, that’ll have to wait for next time.”

Next time.

Please, God, let there be a next time-

All thoughts of the future began to fade, though, as you reached for the fastenings of Leon’s fatigue pants. Freeing him from what he’d been straining against for some time now. He lifted his hips to help you pull them down, and your hand set to work immediately. Leon sighed as you licked your palm, then wrapped your fingers around him and God, he needs you.

He’d never felt a need like he did then, not once in all his life because you were his and he was yours. All that you had gone through and all that you would go through, whether together or apart, whatever pain awaited you, the two of you would have this.

You would steal one moment of perfection together.

I love you-

So, when you finally had enough of working with your hand, there was only one answer to the question you asked. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck yes.”

You were in control. Leon had no illusions about that. So he let you move yourself, straddling him a bit awkwardly with your pants still around your ankles. His hands came to your thighs, squeezing gently because, frankly, he didn’t know what else to do. All he knew was that he’d imagined this moment so many times and now it was here at last.

He watched with wide eyes as you lined him up, feeling himself pressing up against the wetness he left behind . . . and then moaned as you sank down on the first inch of him.

He wasn’t entirely sure he survived what followed, really. Strangled gasps left him and you both as you lowered yourself bit by bit - he didn’t even have time to ask if you were alright. You were setting the pace, and Leon of all people knew that you were going to push yourself to the limit as much as you would push him. And so, the two of you moaned together as you took him deeper and deeper until, finally, blissfully, he felt himself fully buried in you.

And there was nothing, not anything at all on this Earth, that had ever felt so good.

He stared up at you, eyes blown wide, and found it nearly impossible to breathe as the two of you stilled, letting your body adjust for just a moment. Leon couldn’t find the words. What words could possibly do justice to the sight of you over him like that, the sun haloing through the trees above you? How could he ever describe to you how deeply you moved him, how your jagged-glass eyes softening and looking away from him made him feel alive? An angel of vengeance that, for just a few moments, had been sent to love him. To soothe the shredded heart in his chest.

I love you, he repeated in his mind, once that mind was clear enough to form a thought.

“Are you okay?” he finally managed to ask, and he hoped so desperately that you would say yes. That you would tell him to move. That he could feel you like he’d wanted to all this time.

Your nod was heaven-sent, just like you were. “Yeah,” you told him. “You?”

“Yeah.”

A smile. A spark of hellfire in heaven.

Then your hips rolled, and Leon moaned.

You’d told him that you wanted to ride him, but fuck he hadn’t imagined it quite like this.

“God you feel . . .” he couldn’t do justice to that feeling, either. He never could. You knew it, too, because you gave him a toothy grin and ground your hips against him harder, pressing him deeper into yourself, and Leon was sure those fireworks he’d been talking about had been lit in his chest.

“So do you,” you told him, your eyes falling closed as you twisted and moved on top of him.

The two of you panted together, hips swirling and your hands splayed over his chest. Your fingertips traced down from where his shirt was bunched up at his collarbone, brushing against the scar at his shoulder. A wound taken for a woman who’d dealt him a wound in turn, and who, in that moment, was far, far away from Leon’s mind. There was only you, then, and the sweet sounds of your breathing. The feeling of your hand over his heart for just a moment, and then the involuntary jolt that went through him as you pinched at one of his nipples.

The feeling made him flush because he hadn’t thought to-

“Like that?” you asked, leaning down to grin at him. Leon, breathless, just swallowed because holy shit the way you looked, the way you felt around him-

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whimpered when you pinched him again, your hips moving at a torturous pace.

You just chuckled, moving down to kiss his throat as you worked and your lips and your hands and the feeling of being inside you-

It was all too much. He couldn’t take it, his mind turning into a haze as he moved his hands up, feeling your hips. Your belly. He pushed your own shirt up, desperate to see you, only for his eyes to widen as he brushed against rough, raised skin. You stopped your torment of him to grab both his wrists, just as he brushed against your scars. Fearing he’d made a misstep, he let you pin both arms at his sides, looking up at you with concern.

He was met, though, only with desire when his eyes met yours.

And just then, your hips picked up speed.

“Oh my god-” another exclamation as he surrendered to you fully. He didn’t know what to do - whether to buck up into you, to meet your passion with his own, or to let you have your way. Either seemed too perfect a choice, too tempting a desire, and each time you rose up and sank back down on him it only filled his mind with more and more static.

“You have no idea . . .” you told him, whispering the words against his ear between breaths. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Yes I do,” Leon insisted, feeling something white hot and unstoppable building in his chest. Something he tried to stave off because he wanted eternity for this moment. “Yes I do-”

I love you-

“You’ve wanted it too,” you agreed, squeezing his wrists a little harder as you moved faster. “I know. I know baby.”

Your name left his lips, but you went on.

“Show me. You promised to show me how much you missed me. Show me.”

I love you-

Only you could give him orders like that, and as soon as Leon felt your grip on his wrists loosen, he did as you asked. He gripped your hips with all his newfound strength, and he let his instincts move him. Instincts that led him to lifting you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did it. Your eyes widened, and then flashed as he brought you back down around him, hard.

From there, it was a losing game.

⧫⧫⧫

Moans filled Leon’s mouth, and then your tongue followed as the two of you worked together, trading kisses as he helped you move up and down, up and down. It was almost brutal, the pace you set, offset by the sweetness of the kiss.

Of course, that could only last for so long before you needed more.

Always more.

You broke away, leaning back and bracing one hand on Leon’s thighs. The other went between your own legs and you moaned, letting your head fall back as he thrust up into you. Letting yourself fall away and into the abyss, where none of your worries dared to follow.

⧫⧫⧫

But Leon followed you.

As beautiful as you looked above him, he couldn’t let you go. Not yet. He watched you touch yourself for only a moment before he pushed himself up, one arm coming around you to pull you flush against him. Your head snapped back down, clearly caught by surprise, your lips parted as the two of you went on moving.

Your eyes met his and-

⧫⧫⧫

You knew you were doomed, because just like that, you couldn’t look away.

The hand you’d braced against Leon’s thigh came to press against his back instead and you let your body rock with each shared movement.

⧫⧫⧫

He whimpered as you pressed down on him-

You moaned as he pushed your shirt up and laid kisses on your chest-

As he felt you clenching around him-

As his hand replaced your own between your legs-

As that pleasure in him built-

And built-

Until, at last-

“Leon-”

“I’m-”

His warning and your name both were lost in the kiss you gave him, and then you were both gone from the world. For just one moment, you weren’t you and Leon wasn’t Leon. There were no boundaries between the two of you, nothing left to hide. Nothing left to fear, or fear for.

Only each other.

“I love you.”

He wasn’t sure you heard the confession, but he supposed it didn’t matter. You knew. You had to have known.

Leon clung to you tightly as he finished, his hips twitching up into you just as you shuddered in his lap. Quiet settled in around you, wrapping you both in its embrace, only broken by labored breathing and distant birdsong. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, not sure what part he was sorry for. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Not for anything.”

His heart set at ease once more, Leon could have lived in that moment forever. He wanted to so desperately as he lay back against the sleeping bag, dragging you with him.

For a few beats of his healing heart, he was happy.

Even as you asked a final question in a worried, weary voice-

⧫⧫⧫

"You sure it's a good idea?" you began, your head against Leon's chest. "Loving me?" Because that was all you could think of; his whispered confession in the throes of passion. You wanted to give him the chance to take it back. To choose a safer path.

You should have known Leon Kennedy was a man of risks by now.

"Maybe it isn't," he admitted, catching his breath. "But honestly? I really don't give a damn."

Your fear came back, then, creeping across the forest floor to join in on your embrace. Still, your voice managed to be mostly good-humored as you shook your head. "You're crazy."

He laughed. God, he sounded so young. So happy. "Maybe I am. Think that's part of what you like about me."

Like. Not love. He didn't want to presume, even if he'd be right. Even if you did love him.

Even if the mirroring confession to his was right at the tip of your tongue. There it lingered, holding on for dear life as you nodded. "Maybe it is," you agreed.

You weren't entirely sure why you didn't say it back, even if you knew you felt the same love.

All you knew was that you didn't voice it that day in the woods.

Later, you wondered if maybe you should have.

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