#more people should have seal kinks

[gothicglutton]

You have more blubber than all the artic seals combined my love

[the-californicationist]

Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week. 

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure. 

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain. 

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep. 

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape. 

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice. 

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn. 

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense. 

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary. 

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts. 

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret. 

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help. 

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile. 

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light. 

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand, 

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy. 

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it. 

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities. 

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded. 

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded, 

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath. 

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him. 

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer. 

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding. 

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed. 

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk. 

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear. 

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed. 

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him. 

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower, 

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes. 

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t. 

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh. 

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally. 

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more. 

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing. 

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible. 

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin. 

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted. 

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work. 

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so. 

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control. 

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped. 

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room. 

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly, 

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed. 

“Red,” he obeyed. 

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used. 

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him. 

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him. 

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn. 

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event. 

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance. 

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone. 

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full. 

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort. 

He shook his head, 

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin, 

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again. 

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again. 

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort. 

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet. 

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck. 

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere. 

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding. 

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles. 

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.” 

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly, 

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need. 

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up. 

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose. 

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot. 

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm. 

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest. 

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well. 

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing. 

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle. 

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn. 

But eventually, you heard him speak, 

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!” 

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him. 

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him. 

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him, 

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you. 

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure. 

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent, 

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...” 

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation. 

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length. 

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation. 

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you. 

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both. 

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid. 

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free. 

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more. 

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.” 

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside. 

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you. 

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips, 

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in. 

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole. 

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment. 

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock. 

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled. 

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw. 

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend. 

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain. 

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…” 

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity. 

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised. 

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun. 

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand. 

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred. 

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths. 

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions, 

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze, 

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin, 

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest, 

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

[ariaste]

so i was the person who brought 'nesting kink' to the Good Omens fandom and I am the person who is bringing the new cool thing to the IWTV fandom: turning kink.

It's like breeding kink but it's By Vampires, For Vampires and it's fucked up. Basically, it does what it says on the tin, so I trust i do not need to explain more about it, you get the vibes.

what i am here to explain, however, is which of these idiots espouses this kink most powerfully. Now, i hear what you are saying: "OP, Lestat had like 6 to 9 fledglings in like 250 years (depending whether we're talking show!Lestat or book!Lestat), surely he is the one with the turning kink." But no, mon cher, that is where you are wrong. He does not have this kink. He turns people because they're very sexy and he loves them, not because the act itself is hot for him. It is the difference between enjoying your wedding night and having a Wedding Night Kink, you see what I mean?

To understand who has a kink about this, you have to consider the way that kinks often work in the brain: There is a Thing that is Taboo or Forbidden, and it is so off-limits that you start getting hot for it. It is a thing that you know intellectually is Disgusting, but some wires get crossed in your brain and now it's Sexy. Sometimes it can even be a way of coping with a past trauma, because getting horny over it is easier and more comfortable to deal with than freaking out about it. Sometimes it is a thing that is very Wrong to do, so you have to say loudly and frequently how much you're Totally Not Into It just in case anyone accuses you of being into it or invites you to participate in something adjacent to it (terrifying, hits too close to home, cannot cope with that, gotta nope right out of that whole situation).

Therefore I present to u: Armand le Beige, who Doth Protests Very Much that the idea of turning someone repulses him, and who lived with a coven that had a rule about No Turning Anyone Without Permission for hundreds of years, yet who then goes and does it anyway. I offer to the jury the theory that this is Armand's nuclear kink, whether he knew it before turning Daniel or not, and that he should get to be suuuuuuuuuper weird about it (specifically with Daniel, because that's who he broke the seal on it with and Nobody Else Can Ever Know, on account of he's a control freak and has to maintain his Image)

that is all. take it and run with it. godspeed

[strawchocoberry]

CORRUPTED MADNESS 

Run, baby, run, run for your life

Gonna tear out your heart, it’ll always be mine

kinktober 2024 — day ten

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ featuring. michael kaiser x fem reader

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ content warnings. smut, cnc, fear kink, predator/prey kink, choking, manhandling, nipple play, spanking, dacryphilia, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation kink, breeding kink

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ synopsis. confession from the catacombs — word count. 1.7k 

And for those souls who are brave enough or have a thing for fear, the catacombs are the usual meeting spot. All kinds of acts are committed in those old passages underneath the city, all of which remain a sealed secret kept within the catacombs and the ones who participated. If word gets out about the “immoral” shows happening down there, you better be ready to face the wrath of the Horsemen who will undoubtedly find you and then… May God have mercy on you, because they won’t. 

This year, however, the catacombs are closed off. Nobody is allowed to enter. And no one knows why. 

Yet here you are, standing in front of the door leading to the catacombs underneath the old cathedral. Because he asked you to come here. Alone. Without anyone knowing. Without anyone noticing. Talk about asking for the impossible when the streets are crawling with people at this hour due to all the festivities. And even though you came, you’re now standing before that door, pondering over whether you should go inside or not. 

The sudden creak of the old cathedral’s door makes you jump on your feet, footsteps echoing to be approaching. Without giving it much thought, you swing the door open and carefully, silently, close it behind you, locking it once more, praying that you weren’t caught by whoever entered. Your heart is beating fast for a few minutes, cold sweat dripping down your forehead. And when you realise you’re safe, you let out a sigh. 

You take out the torch you had brought with you and light up the stone staircase leading further down into the ground. Since your choice of running away has already been taken away from you, you start descending the stairs one by one, holding onto the wall and keeping yourself alarmed. It takes you a while until you reach the catacombs. You take tentative steps around, looking for him in every room. 

“Looking for me, love?” he whispers in your ear, making you flinch, the torch falling from your hand and landing on the harsh ground. He’s immobilised you, wrapping his arms around your body like briars meant to shackle you to him. 

Your lips quiver, as his name leaves you in a haunted whisper. “M-Michael…” 

His deep laugh has you trembling in his arms. Kaiser kisses your neck, goosebumps erupting all over your skin. His hands move up, one choking your neck and the other groping your plush tit over your blouse. You squirm, feeling like prey easily caught by a predator. And in a sense you are. The perfect little prey who walked right into the lion’s dent. 

“Run, my love,” he whispers in your ear, biting down on your lobe. “Don’t let me catch you,” he warns. 

And before he’s even released you from his arms, you’re running away. You don’t dare look behind to see if he’s running after you. Because you know, he isn’t. Not now at least. That’s his game; giving you a small headstart before he hunts you down. Thankfully, he was kind enough to set up a few candles here and there. They’re not much, but even their dim light is better than wandering, running, through the catacombs in total darkness. 

Despite the loud beating of your heart and your chaotic thoughts, you still hear it, loud and clear. The clinking of metal. The signal. Kaiser’s on the move. You know he won’t catch up to you yet. Not because you’ve created that big of a distance between the two of you. Because he’s not going to run after you. He’s going to take his sweet time roaming through the catacombs, always being close but never close enough to you. It’s all part of his game, tantalisingly playing with your nerves until you’re nothing but a shivering mess when he finally finds you. 

There’s a small creak on the wall, small enough for you to squeeze in and hide in the shadows. You cover your mouth with your hands, unconsciously holding back your breath. And wait. And wait. And wait. Until you faintly hear his footsteps in the distance, his boots confidently marching through the stone path, making the earth tremble underneath. He stops a few metres away from where you’re hiding, inspecting the area with a narrowed gaze. 

“Hmm… I thought a little kitty would be hiding somewhere around…” his voice trails off, as he starts walking again. 

You close your eyes, praying he doesn’t notice you. Yet all hope vanishes from your body when you’re violently pulled to your feet, yanked up by your blouse. Opening your eyes, your fearful gaze meets his, darkened by desire. 

“Caught you.” 

Kaiser slams you against the wall, holding your hands up on each side of your head, as he attacks your lips. As he devours you, his knee forces its way between your legs, parting them and hiking up your skirt. You feel his lips curl into a smirk in your kiss, before he pulls away. He lets go of one of your arms, his hand sliding underneath your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, before he thrusts two fingers inside your dripping hole. 

“Naughty kitty, did me hunting you down arouse you so much?” he asks in that degrading tone that has you practically leaking like a damn river. You did and he knows that. Kaiser removes his fingers, bringing them to his lips, and leaks the clean, the sight making your pussy clench over nothing. 

You gasp when he tears your blouse off your body with his bare hands, exposing your lacy bra. He reaches behind your back and unclasps it, letting it fall down. You’re scared, it’s clear in your eyes. And yet his mere breath over your exposed skin makes your nipple harden. Kaiser lifts you in his arms and carries you to another room, while biting down on your tits, marring them with his marks. You whimper and it only excites him even more. 

You find yourself lying on your stomach on a mattress on the ground, him hovering over you. You’re trapped underneath his large frame, completely at his mercy — or lack thereof. Kaiser spreads your legs, forcing himself inside you in one deep thrust, making you scream and tear up from the sudden penetration. He doesn’t bother giving you any time to adjust to him, instead pounding you hard from the very start, bathing in your tearful expression and painful cries. 

“So scared… and yet such a slut for my cock,” he mocks, his cocky smirk curling his lips up, watching you gripping the sheets so fucking tightly, your knuckles turn white. “You’re clenching so hard around me, kitten…” Kaiser leans closer to you, his hard chest brushing against your soft back with each thrust, as he slaps your arse. “I might start thinking you want my dick in your pussy forever.” 

He takes your lips hostage once more, muffling your screams and moans. Kaiser can feel you’re close to your orgasm, your mind already gone dumb on his cock due to your fear. Each time he spanks your arse, you moan and cry for him ever so perfectly, making his dick twitch inside you. And it’s not long before you’re screaming his name and making a mess. Even so, he’s not satisfied yet. 

He doesn’t care that you’re sensitive from your orgasm, as he pulls you up on his lap. He lowers you on his cock, smirking when you cling to him, quivering on top of him. “Ride me, love,” Kaiser commands, slapping your arse. And your hips start moving automatically at his order, desperate to please him. He grabs your hair, holding your face so close to him and yet so far away, not allowing you to kiss him, as if to punish you for cumming before him. 

Kaiser teasingly thrusts up from time to time, sadistically enjoying throwing you off balance. But when he’s had enough, his arms wrap around your body and slam you down on him in rhythm with his own thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling and biting your delicate skin, until it’s covered in his marks. And as he bites down on your shoulder, your body convulses, another orgasm flooding you like a tidal wave. 

You slump on top of him, trembling and softly whimpering, cheeks stained with tears, your breath coming out short, ragged and laboured. Your eyes widen when you feel him grabbing your waist and grinding you on himself, his cock still buried deep inside you. 

“C-Can’t… S-Stop… Too s-sensitive…” 

Kaiser laughs, seeing you unable to form a sentence. His tattooed hand wraps prettily around your neck, as he forces you down on the mattress, lying on your back. He holds your hand with his other hand, as he starts pounding your abused cunt once more, wickedly assaulting your sensitive spot. 

“M-Micha— s-stop…” you cry, but your voice falls on deaf ears. 

“Aren’t you a greedy little whore?” Kaiser leans down to you. “You’ve already cummed twice, while I haven’t cum a single time,” he whispers, his voice laced with danger, before he kisses you. 

As he pistons his hips against yours, you hold onto his back, digging your nails into his black turtleneck. Breaking the kiss, but not his tempo, he removes his shirt, giving you the pleasure of leaving your scratches all over his back and chest, an invitation you don’t let slip. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, groans, moans, whimpers and screams echo in the catacombs, synthesising a mad concert only for the two of you. 

You can barely think properly, meowling and whimpering for him. You can feel another orgasm building up inside you. And he feels it too. Kaiser chokes your neck with his tattooed hand, interlacing your fingers with his other. 

“Who’s fucking you?” 

“Michael…” you moan, on the verge of insanity. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he growls, desperation evident in his own voice. 

“Michael Kaiser…” 

“Good girl,” Kaiser whispers in your lips, before kissing you. 

The next moment, you cum all over his cock, triggering his own impending orgasm, burying himself in your pulsating depths and spilling his hot cum inside you. His movements come to a halt, as he rests his forehead on yours, your heavy breaths filling the silence. 

“You belong to me, love.”

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, translate or reuse my work

[hysteria-things]

U SHOULD MAKE A SMUT W CHRIS OR MATT INSPIRED BY THE SONG CARNIVAL BY KANYE AND CARTIII

bonus!

CARNIVAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s always a fun time at the carnival, but what happens when you and your boyfriend have a little too much fun at the top of the ferris wheel?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, oral (male receiving), p in v, spit kink, choking, finger sucking, public sex

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,058

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i sincerely apologize if this sucks i struggled so hard on it for no reason😃

ib: @guccifrog you can check theirs out here :)

the giant teddy bear that chris won for you is held tightly under your arm. it’s almost as big as you for christ sake. usually, the carnival would freak you out because of the clowns and loads of people, but tonight was going rather smoothly.

he pointed to the ferris wheel, his hand gripping yours that isn’t holding a stuffed animal. “let’s do that.”

you groan. “chris, you know i don’t like heights.”

in boyfriend fashion, he ignores you and drags you to the growing line for the ferris wheel. you sigh, getting jittery as chris smiles like a fool beside you.

waiting very (im)patiently, it’s your guy’s turn to get on. you go first and he sits next to you, the worker locking the door and making sure the two of you are sealed in.

slowly, the ride starts going up, your heart becoming faster the closer it gets to the tippy top. this isn’t some small ferris wheel, it’s one of those big ones that are scary.

with your luck, you guys stop abruptly at the very top. the rocking of the passenger car doesn’t help with your jitteriness.

although, the view is breathtaking. people from below look like aunts as they walk around the concrete and grass. the stars and moon shine just above your head, mixing in with the rainbow flickering lights illuminating from the carnival rides.

voices and laughter flow around the air, and the sound of the carnival helps you relax. having fun with your boyfriend is the key for tonight, not getting anxious over a silly ride.

he admires the way you look right now, staring in awe at the action happening at all angles. scanning your body, he can’t help but think how good of an opportunity this is; being that nobody can see you.

you’re surprised when his lips press firmly on yours, moving in sync like he’s starving for your taste. you don’t stop him. instead, you pull him closer by the face.

both of your tongues swirl in each other’s mouths, saliva quickly coating your lips. moaning at the feeling, he pulls his head away to breathe. some spit is smeared on your chin.

he smirks. “get on your knees for me.”

your teeth are caught between your bottom lip with excitement, happily seating yourself on the ground. chris’ boner peeks through his pants. “well don’t just stare at it.” he mumbles, rolling his eyes.

you pull down his pants and underwear in one go, the way his dick springs out has your mouth watering for more.

starting to move your head to his tip, he grabs your hair to stop you. “spit.” he demands, and you look at him through your eyelashes.

you listen, spitting on him as he groans. “fuck yeah.”

he moves your head down his dick, gagging the further you go. once you’ve fit it in your mouth, he lets go and lets you bob your head.

each time you reach his tip, you smear more of your saliva to drive him insane. it’s sloppy, but it turns you on either way.

his chest heaves, groaning lowly when his dick twitches inside of your throat. the choking and gulping noises have him chuckling. “i’m— shit.” he pauses, rutting his hips upward. “i’m g-gonna cum down your throat, ma. you’d like that, yeah?”

you hum, the vibration shooting through his cock. he grabs your head once again and forces you to stay there when he cums. he bobs your head a little more to make sure you swallow all of it before pushing you so your lips aren’t around him anymore.

you waste no time to stumble to your feet, pulling down your bottoms until they’re in a pile with chris’. he cocks a brow at this.

straddling his lap, you align yourself with him while looking into his eyes with lust. “you have to be quiet. there’s still people on the ride, you know.” he teases, grabbing your hips to pull you down.

you moan loudly at the way he fills you, and he grabs your throat which causes you to stop immediately. “what did i just say?”

you pout, grinding your hips in desperation. “god.” he whispers, pulling you in to kiss you open-mouthed. you whine into the kiss, messily moving your lips on his as if this is the last kiss you’ll ever have.

“open your mouth.” he whispers against them, and you obey. “wider,” he says through gritted teeth, opening open as wide as you can go.

he spits on your tongue, shoving two fingers into your mouth, the three other ones still wrapped around your throat.

your hips now bounce up and down on his dick, rolling your eyes back at how fucking great it feels. your moans are muffled around his fingers, drool making a mess on his digits and the sides of your lips.

it doesn’t take long for his tip to reach your g-spot which has you moving at a more rapid speed.

he removes his fingers and drags them on your bottom lip, looking at how well you take him. either whimpers or high-pitched moans leave you. it gets so bad that chris now has to put his hand over your mouth. “shut up.”

“i-it feels so fucking good!” you whine in his hand. “cu-umming soon.”

because his hand covers your sounds more, you moan as loud as you can once your body starts to shake.

the whole upper half of your body leans back, chris having to hold you so you don’t fall.

he waits until you cum all over his cock to release inside you, slowing down the movements of your hips when he does so.

you collapse on his chest, but it doesn’t last long when the ferris wheel finally starts to move. in all honesty, you forgot you were still on the ride.

the both of you curse, gathering your clothes before the ride reaches the bottom.

when it does, the worker gives you a weird look before opening the door. you grab the bear that you placed across from you guys and walk down the ramp that leads to the ground.

you guys still look dazed, but try your best to hide it.

people may or may not have heard you, but one person saw you…

that poor teddy bear.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1

[poppy-metal]

IM GOING BACK TO COACH PATRICK, FUCK IT

because he like. he knows how awful this is - you're like, probably barely twenty, for christsake. but you look at him with such dumbstruck adoration and he realises what it's like to hold that kind of real power over someone for the first time and he wonders if this is what him and art looked like that sunny afternoon watching tashi play.

and he knows hes a horrible, perverted, gross old man, because your backstroke is as clean and powerful as hers was. your cloying, puppy-dog voice whenever you're trying to get something you want is just like his. and maybe you're just a really fucking good tennis player. maybe he's making the resemblances up in his head.

but it doesnt matter because when you're face-down in your frilly pink bed begging for him to "fuck me harder, daddy, please, fuck--" he can pretend.

of course, he actually comes down to the even more horrible realization he might be in love with you. outside of your resemblance to his former lovers. which is a whole nother can of worms.

as is the first big tennis event you attend with patrick zweig as your coach - running right into the donaldsons. who think your game is great, and wouldn't you like to play with them sometime?

-toxic poly kit ♡

tw for: TOXIC POLYCULE IN THE MAKING. LIKE SO TOXIC. LIKE TASHI AND PATRICK ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE AND NEITHER IS ART FOR THAT MATTER. READER NEEDS TO BE FAR AWAY FROM THESE PEOPLE BUT HER FATE IS SEALED.

cw: toxic age gap dynamics, cheating (not really but it feels like it), everyone but reader being a POS. age play talk hinted at but not explicitly on page, mommy and daddy kink. some dubcon mentioned as well.

I'm playing with the idea in my head of patrick using you as a distraction (at first) and later on - a way to get art and tashis attention. he knows them. he knows that seeing him be the coach of some up and coming tennis prodigy would grind their gears. you notice how tense he is on the day you play against donaldson - how much seriously he'd taken preparing you for this match. and you can see why. you're excellent, but art wipes the floor with you. you keep up as best you can but you've never gone against someone that intense before. by the end you're dripping sweat in rivers and panting. you feel sick, thinking you let down patrick, but when you meet him he's ecstatic. grinning ear to ear. he said he knew you wouldn't beat art - that wasn't the point. the point was to make him sweat a little, and you had. you'd gained both his and tashis attention with your style. he promises to take you out for ice cream later - he just needs to talk to some old friends first.

you wait for hours before you get antsy and go looking for him, the hotel you're staying at is big and the room is lonely without him. you look but you can't find him anywhere. it takes you awhile before you think to check the donaldsons suite. you ask the desk lady what room they're staying in and are surprised when she gives you a room key. says your name is on their guest list, along with patricks. you blink but take the key anyway. it's strange to you, you'd never met art or his coach - wife - before today. even though you'd seen them plenty on TV. you'd look up to them if you weren't already so spellbound by patrick.

you're naive, because you don't think to knock before going in - your mind just wants to see your coach - be near him, you don't mind at all that it's probably rude to drag him away from his friends.

you should have knocked.

you halt in the doorway as the sight before you registers. slowly like through molasses.

alot of bare skin. you recognize patricks body immediately, having felt it against your own plenty of times.

it's not just his body though. it's his and tashis and arts and they're all undressed and tashi is riding - she's riding patrick like she's done it a hundred times before, moaning loudly as she bounces up and down on that same cock you've felt inside you. patricks hands are on her waist - gripping her like a lifeline. you can hear his grunts too, he's chanting her name - over and over again in reverence. in adoration. your stomach twists.

and art, the man who'd you gone toe to toe with on the other side of the net just hours before is lying beside the two writhing bodies, slowly stroking his cock as he bites his bottom lip, seeming content to watch for the moment.

none of them heard you come in.

you don't know why you stand and watch for as long as you do. some twisted sense of masochism. you feel stupid you think, for thinking you meant anything to patrick other than a tight body to fuck and a ticket to land him where he is now. you feel stupid and so you burn this Image into your head and let it hurt you so you'll learn to not be this stupid ever again.

morbidly, you think of how beautiful they all look together. and how this isn't the first time they've all slept together. the ease of which their bodies move is too fluid.

tashi leans down and you get a view of her bare pussy split around patricks cock - she murmurs something to him, something that makes his fingers come around and dig into her ass as he hisses her name. something that makes arts hand speed up on his cock.

it's when his fist is wrapped around his tip that his eyes flick to the door idily - your eyes connect and his hand freezes on his dick. his pink lips part in shock and he sits up, the motion catching tashis attention and she turns her head, hips still moving on patrick. and something about that - about locking gazes with tashi in particular - sends you stumbling back.

you spin around and dart out of the room. you hear the sound of shuffling, patrick cursing and then calling your name but you're already gone. slamming the door behind you.

you don't really have anywhere to go. patrick drove you here. you're completely dependent on him to go back home. but the thought of patrick finding you right now, all pathetic and confused and heartsick - you can't stomach it.

you don't go back to the room. you leave the hotel entirely. lost in a city you've never been too.

in your pajamas.

people give you strange looks as you pass by and eventually you find a bar. you're not old enough to drink yet - but you're older than 18, so you're allowed in. you wish you could have a shot, but you settle for a glass of coke and cradle the glass in your hands, thinking about what to do.

you'll have to go back eventually.

or you could uber home? it'd be expensive as hell, given you were states away from home. you patted your bottoms stupidly only to realize you'd left your phone in the room.

great. you'd definitely have to face patrick.

you imagined the pitying look he'd give you. like you really thought he had any loyalty to you, that you were special. like his little girlfriend or something. stupid. stupid girl.

you blink in suprise when someone recognizes you from today's match, wanting your autograph. it gives you a moment of levity. at least you have tennis. you did really like the sport. you wanted to keep getting better at it. but could you do that under patrick still? with how you felt? you didn't know. the thought of seeing him at all made you want to throw up.

you spitefully hoped he felt like shit but you doubted he did. you at least hoped he was panicking about where you were. the stress was the least he could suffer.

you dont know how long you sat there. the ice cubes in your coke long since melted. you hadn't yet taken a sip - when you felt someone sit next to you. and a wash of elegant fragrance hit your nose. whoever it was, they had to be rich.

you peeked at them and your fingers twitched around your glass in shock.

tashi.

every hair perfectly in place. dressed to the nines in a simple black slip dress. looking stunning and beautiful and not at all affected by earlier events.

she tilted her head at you, “coke? really?” her lips curl. “don't you think you deserve something stronger?”

your lips part. you dont know what to say to this woman. this woman patrick is obviously in love with. you should spit in her face.

“im not old enough.” is what you say instead. meekly.

“jesus patrick,” she says under her breath. his name on her mouth makes your gut churn. she pinches her brow like she's tired. “at least tell me you're legal.”

“im nineteen” you tell her, a little petulant. you didn't like being treated like a child. well. except those times when patrick - no. don't think about him.

tashis manicured nails tap against the bartop as she studies you. you are reminded of how under dressed you are in comparison to her and twitch under her analytical gaze.

“that's some backhand.” she tells you conversationally and you don't know what to say to that. she's talking to you about tennis right now?

“thank you.” you're compelled to tell her anyway. an automatic response to her praise, which you sense doesn't come often.

it's strange that you want to cry and kick her and ask her for a hug all at the same time.

“have you always been that good?”

you stare down into the liquid of your glass, frowning.

tashi sighs. “you're hurt.” a statement. a noted fact. “patrick didn't tell you about us.”

tears prick your eyes. you don't look at her. so fucking stupid.

“have you been fucking him?”

you glance at her in suprise and she smiles. sly.

“I know you are, actually.”

“he told you?”

“no. but it's obvious.”

you go quiet again.

tashi fills the silence easily. “he's losing his mind looking for you right now. I don't think I've seen him so worried about someone other than himself.”

you try to ignore the way your heart jumps hopefully. fail. stupid. stupid.

“it doesn't matter.” you tell her. “why are you telling me this? you won him.”

she raises a brow.

“there's no winning patrick zweig. hes about as loyal as a dog. which is to say - he'll lick whoever holds a hand out.”

you don't know why you have the desire to defend patrick. you just don't like the way she's talking down about him. you don't think she's right, which is insane to think considering the situation you're in.

but had he ever promised you loyalty?

“you love him.”

another statement.

you don't bother denying it, either.

tashi hums. seeming to appreciate the lack of bullshitting. she shoulders her little clutch and flips her hair smoothly. everything about her is smooth, she moves effortlessly like water.

you can see why patrick wants her.

“come with me.” her hand slips into the dip of your elbow. you don't fight her as she tugs you up. she pays your tab - just an undrunk coke. “I'll get you something real to drink back at the hotel.”

you flinch at the reminder of the scene you walked in on. she sees it and squeezes your arm, guiding you outside. for some reason unknown to you, it comforts you. the touch somehow dominant and maternal all at once. you let her lead you back to the hotel like a lost little lamb.

when you get back to her room - patrick is immediately in your space - he's frantic and relieved and angry all at once. big hands cupping your face. holding you back to inspect you for any damages. worried eyes flicking up and down your body. his fingers dig into your shoulders and he gives you a little shake when he decides you're okay.

“dont ever pull that shit again.” his voice has that serious, pissed tone to it that usually makes your pussy wet. and well, it still does. but now you're genuinely upset.

you smack his hands off you. “don't tell me what to fucking do. you're my coach not my dad. I don't report to you.”

his eyes flash. his jaw ticks. you hate how fucking beautiful he is when he's angry. you hate that you know the reason his hair is wild and stuck in all directions and his shirt is on inside out is because he'd been in the middle of fucking another woman.

said woman who is pouring herself a glass of wine and watching the interaction with thinly veiled interest. art comes up to her, touches her arm, and she gives him a look, seeming to communicate alot with just that. he bites his lip and leans his hip against the dresser, watching you too.

“im not your daddy, huh?” patrick says, mean. “funny because that's not what you said last night when I was inside that tight cun -”

your palm rings from the slap you deliver. his head snaps to the side with the force of it. your eyes burn and you shove a finger into his chest. he looks down at you in shock, his cheek red from your handprint, lips parted as you get in his face.

“and you'll never feel it again.” you tell him, chin wobbling. you force it straight. “I don't want your fucking slimy hands on me ever again.”

patrick works his jaw. licks his teeth and you realize you'd slapped him hard enough to split his lip when he tongues the beading of blood there.

“you're a child.” he tells you. cold.

you glare up at him.

“yeah, one you couldn't keep your dick out of despite being in love with two other people. fucking pervert. I bet you signed up to coach all those girls because no one your age would fuck you and some jailbait pussy would be good for your bruised ego, huh.”

patrick is looking at you like he wants to wrap his hands around your neck and choke you. you almost wish he would. your pulse hammers wildly in your throat, and you shoot a look at tashi and art over his shoulder and she dips her head - something about that motion - like she's giving her approval for you to go on, makes you lick your lips and continue -

“and I bet when I threw myself at you and begged for private lessons it felt real fucking nice to be wanted like that. to have someone in the palm of your hand that thought the world of you, only because she couldn't see the real you -” you step closer, craning your neck to meet him. “- but I see the real you now patrick. and I know you're nothing but a bumfuck loser who couldn't amount to anything on his own, so you had no choice but to manipulate someone more naive than you into thinking you were hot shit.” you gesture to tashi and art. “and they're married, patrick. they're in love. you'll never fully be apart of what they have, but you'll keep taking scraps because you're fucking pathetic when it comes down to it.”

“stop fucking talking.” he grits out. he looks, for the first time, like he hates you. “you don't know shit, little girl.”

good.

“you're right I don't.” you step back. “I don't think I can begin to grasp the dynamic going on here between the three of you, but I do know I want no part in it.”

you reach behind you for the door. “im going back to the room. do what you want and then take me the fuck home tomorrow.”

the snick of the door closing sounds more like a resounding slam. patrick stares at the empty space you occupied and swallows heavily. his chest aches. he rubs his jaw.

“I like her.” tashi says, coming up behind patrick. her breasts push against his back through her dress but he doesn't feel anything. “she reminds me of me at that age. is that why you fucked her?”

patricks lip twist to the side and he steps away from her. turns and glares even though he knows this shit is all his own fault.

“she's nothing like you.” he spits.

“she is and she isn't.” art says. he'd been chewing on his nail, elbow propped up on the dresser. “she has tashis fire. but she's sensitive. vulnerable, too. you really fucked her up, man.”

a pang hits patrick right in the stomach.

“I dont know how to fix it.” he admits miserably. he squeezes his hands into fists. runs a hand through his disheveled hair. puffs out a breath. “she fucking hates me.”

“it'll make her a better player.”

“jesus, tashi. that's not what this was about-”

“I know.” she shrugs. “but it will. she might even beat art next time.”

art snorts, but he doesn't disagree. a big part of him feels so bad for you - he sees himself in you, too. that adoration you had for patrick. that hope and fragile tender heart. it was unfortunate you'd gotten wrapped up in patrick and tashis orbit just like he was, because there really was no escape. you could let it eat you alive and make you miserable, or you could jump into the fire and let the flames consume you. art had made his choice long ago, but the decision hadn't been easy. he just hoped it didn't break you, in the end. he had liked playing with you. would like to do so again.

tashi slid her hand up patricks arm.

he inhaled, “I dont know if…”

“its alright.” she told him, running her other hand down his stomach and cupping his already hard cock through his slacks. patrick moaned, unable to help himself. swaying into her. “I want you to tell me about her while you fuck me.”

arts cock twitched in his sweats despite himself. he swallowed at about the same time patrick did.

“tash.” patrick groaned as she undid the buttons - slid his pants down and gripped his flushed cock. “you're so fucked up.”

tashi just grinned, using her grip on his cock as a leash as she stepped back pulling him with her - art watched like a hungry hawk. already sliding his own hand into his sweats to grip himself.

tashi layed back on the bed like a cat, spread her thighs as patrick leaned over her - guided him inside her -

“tell me how tight she is.” tashi whispered right as he slid home and patricks eyes fluttered shut with a groan as he rocked his hips. tashi gripped his ass to pull him fully against her. “tell me.” she panted.

“she's - fuck - she's so fucking tight. has the smallest fucking pussy -”

tashi hummed and licked her lips - “mm, I bet. did she bleed the first time?”

art cursed as his cock throbbed. tashi looked over at him with a knowing glint in her eyes as he flushed with shame. tugged on his cock helplessly as he waited with baited breath for patricks answer.

“Yeah. shit, yeah.” patrick hunched over tashi, working his hips faster. the smack of their flesh starting to fill the room. “but she wanted it. so fucking much - fucking - fuck - begged me to put it in again when I pulled out.”

tashis eyes fluttered, her own flush filling her cheeks. art realized she was getting off on this too, it wasn't just about teasing patrick. art groaned. his wife was such a fucking sadist and he loved her for it.

“begged her daddy to break her little virgin pussy in -” she goaded, wrapping her legs around him. “know she calls you that. can see it all over her face. you're such a dirty old man.” she moaned, the insult having no heat with how turned on she sounded by it. “she's in her room crying and her daddys gonna cum in my pussy thinking about fucking his little girl.”

jesus christ.

the sound patrick let out was animalistic. he pressed tashi down into the bed - fucked her hard and fast and tashi squealed - wrapped her arm around his shoulder and whispered dark things in his ear that art couldn't hear but just the image of it all - the debauchery of what they were all doing- getting off to you- he was so close -

“should've made her stay - should've fucked the brat out of her while me and art watched - should have fucked me in front of her and made her lick your cum out of my pussy, fuck. I wanna see you fuck her - I wanna see how that tight little pussy takes this big cock - you're not gonna listen to her are you? she doesn't mean it. she wants you to touch her, she wants you to force yourself into her disobedient cunt and show her who her daddy is. she doesn't control you. daddy fucks who he wants. she needs to be punished - she needs - fuck - she needs to be broken in more - you should let me do it - let mommy have a go at her - let me play with your little girls pussy - let art have her too. we'll show her. we'll make her good again for her daddy -”

dark promises whispered and pressed against patricks ear until he came inside her with a roar. imagining you under him, with all of them there, watching him force his load deep inside you.

in your room, you lay on the hotel bed and wondered what the future would hold. for the first time, you were nervous about it.

[dansformations]

"This is life"

Tags: Male tfs, dumbification, IQ loss, fart kink, burp kink.

"Now this Is life" i said to myself while entering to my apartament. Since i gave that potion to my big brother, im living like a man should.

See, my big brother was always too polite, to strict, like an adult, i Guess he took the dad role since my dad leave us, so even when were just us two, it was like living with an stric dad.

"Dont leave the dirty clothes in the floor" "Dont Belch at the table!" "No marihuana!" "Clean the toilet seat, u gross!"

I was so sick of It. So i check and check in the weirdest places of the internet until i found a site that said that rigthfully could change peoples personality. It looked like a scam... But was worth trying. Just 3 days after a package arrived.

"Only put this oil in a drink, put some scent of the person you wanna 'the turned' be like, and then make sure 'the turned' drink It" - said the handmade intructions.

I put some soda in a glass, the oil and... Why not? I take my undies off and dip it in the drink for half of minute, then just left the wet undies in a corner of the room.

I gave it to my brother saying it was an 'Peace offer', he was surprised, and took it with an smile. First sip. All ok. Second sip. Confused face. Third sip...

- It tastes a little bit fu-UUUUURRRP - his talking turned into a big, deep, belch, he got Blushed - oh, excuse m-EEEEERRP AURRRP- You little fuck! What did You put in my drink!?

- Just something... To relax you

He tried to get up from the couch but when he bend, a Big, rumbly and smelly fart came out from his ass, he was looking shock.

- Good one bro! -told Him.

- Haha i know - he said, then he realiced - wait, what? No! That was gro-UUUUUAAARRRRRRRP - He Belched again- that was a combo! - he laughed

- Exactly! Why don't you finish your drink? Full that Tank of combos, big bro

He looked confused for a moment, like trying to remenber something, but at the end he shrugged and drank the rest of his drink, sealing his new personality.

- The first one is coming lil bro - he said with a lower tone, then he Open his mouth and...- UUUUUUUUUARRRRRRP -lifted his leg and- PFFFFFFRRTRTTTTTFFFRT

We both laugh together, which wasnt usual. Since that day things changed, no more scolding, no more laundry or cleaning, deliveries instead of cooking, gym and no showers, weed and beers everytime we want, burping and farting on the table or any other place, even each other faces. I never tough we could get a long this good... And i Guess we couldnt, my new brother is basically a copy of me, thats why we finally get along but... Who cares?

"Now this Is life" i said to myself while entering with wings for lunch to our messy, smelly apartament, the familiar stench says hi to me and i breath it happily.

- Finally broski, i was hungry so had to eat pizza while waiting - he said

- Still have room for the wings?

He lied on his chair, lifted a leg and rip a a lot of farts out, the stench quickly take over the room, and i just laugh while fan away the stench with my hands.

- Now i do - he said with a smile

Man, this is life.

[spicyicetea]

I decided to draw my Y/N with Skyward Sword Link, like I detailed in my last post.

And I did also promise a oneshot so heh enjoy. I know @rainstops will enjoy this, dirty simp >:)

I can't let you leave

Skyward Sword!Link x Spirit!reader

Warnings: swearing•blood•smut•various kinks/breeding/virginity loss/etc that I've forgotten.

The Master Sword glowed with a lustre as the small Hylian woman landed on the ground beside the tall blonde. Zelda had hugged him right before running off to find her father. The S/C woman smiled at the sight, inspecting the blade on the man's back. He turned to her and she broke from her trance to look up at him.

“So, our journey together is over.”

“What?” the man’s eyes widened as the woman nodded.

“Master, there will be many reincarnations of you in the future. You must seal me back in the Master Sword so I may rest until I can aid them.”

“No,” he furrowed his brows while grabbing her wrist.

She frowned, understanding he must have been hesitant to say goodbye to such a powerful weapon. He pulled her behind him away from prying eyes as he grits his teeth. He wasn't saying goodbye to her yet, he couldn't. Due to having to save the world and that Zelda girl who likes him, he hardly enjoyed his time with his beloved. Of course, she was unaware of his devotion to her, but she would soon be aware.

Oh, how the gods must frown upon him now, betraying the love they had chosen for him for some common girl. He worshipped the ground she walked far more often than he ever cared for the fate of those around him. When she would get distracted by the world around her, she would never see him threatening people to get her anything she expressed interest in.

“Link! Look, this looks like your tunic! It's cute and... So expensive, Link we need to save your rupees for potions and bombs!” Y/N yelled, laughing awkwardly after noticing the high price.

Link can remember handing her his pouch of rupees and telling her to grab some potions for him while he held a blade to the shop owner's neck to get what she wanted. He can remember her excited face once she realized he had gotten it, clearly unaware of the blood he had to wipe from his sword mere moments before handing the dark blue tunic over. She twirled once putting it on, loving how she now looked like him, just without the green and the strange hat.

She was always his, she just hadn't realised it yet. The way he gave her that spare belt so he could watch her tunic cling to her curves as she patched him up after fights. How she would cook him food, worrying about him missing home and losing motivation, although watching her kneel over a fire roasting mushrooms while humming was all the motivation he needed. That adorable smile and little wiggles on his lap as she falls asleep in his arms, trying his hardest to control the throbbing in his pants as she mumbled in her sleep. They were basically already married, he watched her sleep and helped get the dried dirt off of her when she bathed, he was the only one who noticed how she adored helping the kids that ran up to her, thinking she was a goddess. At least those kids knew how the world should view her.

They were already together and she just hadn't realised. All she needed was a little hint. A nudge in the right direction.

The two slowed as Link looked to see no one was near. The shadows hid them perfectly between the two houses, neither of which occupied. Celebration was thriving in the town square as Zelda returned, leaving Link with the privacy he desired. Y/N raised a brow while looking up at him.

“Master, I understand that we've become friends during our journey, but you have your friend back now. I must be sealed back away, and this isn't near the resting site of the Master Sword...” She frowned, clearly also sad regarding the way everything had to turn out.

“No, you don't understand!” Link yelled, tugging his hat off and letting his blonde hair loose.

Y/N pouted and instinctively reached forward to play with his hair. Whenever he was stressed after a battle she would always play with his hair. He’d rest his face against her chest, or even just smother himself in her cleavage while she braided his hair. He bit his lip as her fingers ran through his hair. She tried to pull him into a hug like she always does but he just furrowed his brows and rested his forehead against hers, resisting her embrace.

“Link? Are you alright?” Y/N asks.

His hands flew to her hips as he pushed her against a wall. She squeaked in pain at the movement, looking up at him with a sort of concern. He looked down at her with an expression she had never seen before. His eyes dilated and focused on her. Lips parted as he panted.

“Link?”

One of his hands flew to grab her cheeks, tilting her head up to look at him properly as leant closer. Her eyes widened as she pressed herself against the wall to give him space, his knee forcing her legs apart to rest on the wall between her thighs.

“Why don't you understand?” he sighed.

“Understand? Oh, Link did I offend you at any point? Am I misreading your relationship with that Zelda? I just didn't want to assume that you two were romantic so I just said friends. I'm sorry-”

“No, not another word about that Zelda! Ugh.” he groaned. “You, why can't you just...”

“Just what? What's wrong?”

“Why can't you understand? I want you!”

“Want me? Like the Sword? I'm not actually the sword Link...” she chuckled before Link yanked her hair back gently and smashed his lips against hers.

She jumped slightly as his hand slid down to the hem of her tunic before sliding back up her thigh. He knew if he continued he'd lose control but it was so addicting. The way her soft thighs squished in his hand, and the delicate whimpers they earned pulled him further. It didn't take long until he pulled her hips closer to relax on his clothed knee, bouncing it lightly. She let out a gasp-like moan as his thigh bumped against her clit while his knee nestled against her delicate flower between her thighs.

He smirked watching her quickly flush red and become flustered as she moaned quietly. One of the many things he loved about her was her purity, innocence... lack of panties due to them being stuffed in his pocket the second day they were travelling together. He continued rubbing his knee over her slit as her eyes watered up and she grabbed at his tunic.

“Y/N, hey hey it's okay-”

“Link! Please, it feels so strange! Ah, please.” she moaned.

Link grinned and bit his lip, fumbling with his belt as she began bucking on his thigh. Her slick dribbled through his trousers as she continued to hump his leg like a hungry animal. He grinned watching her squirm, if only he had done this sooner. Her lips met his as she pulled him back into a kiss and he tugged his trousers down. His hands lifted her by her thighs and slammed her against the wall, biting her lower lip.

“Mph, Link. I feel so fuzzy... Please fix it.” She moaned, holding his shoulders to stay stable.

He gulped hearing her moans, feeling himself lose control. Y/N let out a whimper as he pulled her back into the kiss. She ran a hand into his messy hair as he pulled his pants down far enough for his cock to spring out of his boxers. Y/N sighed as she pulled out of the kiss, panting. Link chased her lips, kissing the tip of her nose while rubbing his thumbs in circles over her thighs. He hiked one of her legs up and over his shoulder, he back being pressed against the wall. Link licked his lips as he used his fingers to spread open her folds. She whimpered, not used to the foreign sensation.

“Ah! Link, what are you doing?”

“Shh, don't worry darling, I'm fixing the weird feeling, just like you asked me to.”

Y/N just whimpered as his tip pressed against her, Link fighting the urge to buck into her. He bit his lip as he pushed the head in and she let out a high moan. Her nails dug into her leg as she tries to not scratch him. Link just rubbed her hip, pressing kisses to her thigh as she struggled to take him.

“It's okay dear, just relax,” he cooed.

“Mph, it hurts,” she whined.

“God, I love you Y/N. Please don't leave me,” Link moaned and thrust the rest of the way in as Y/N moaned loudly.

Her whining only got louder as her walls stretched to fit him. Small tears rolled down her cheeks as his hips met her body and he stilled to let her adjust to him. Link moaned he began thrusting, his cock dragging against her walls. Her panting became louder as slick smeared over her thighs. As her moans became louder she threw her arms around his neck, biting her lip and trying to muffle her moans. Link grumbled angrily making his rutting harsher and she cried out.

“Dont muffle those sweet little noises! You're my goddess! Scream for me darling!” He moaned, biting her neck and speeding up his thrusts.

Her moans grew louder a small amounts of blood dribbled from the bite marks on her shoulder. The fear of her leaving him had still settled in his stomach, his desperation causing his thrusts to become hurried and aggressive.

“Mph! Link!”

“I'm not leaving you! I'm not letting you leave,” he growled. “I'm going to fill you up darling. Once you're nice and stuffed with my young you'll have to stay.”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure, unsure where this sudden idea came from. He bit her neck repeatedly as her moans grew louder and she felt something inside her snap. She dug her nails into his shoulder as her cum smeared between the two sweaty bodies. He groaned feeling her gush and sank her teeth into her shoulder. Thick strings of his cum filled her tight hole, forming a creamy white ring around where their bodies met. The cum dribbled down from her hole. They wanted in unison as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Link... that... I still have to-”

“No, I'm not letting you leave me! You're mine, all mine.”

“Link.”

“NO! I don't care how much cum I need to pump you full of! You're my wife now, you don't get to just leave me cause that Zelda is safe.”

“LINK!” Y/N yells, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. “I don't want to leave you either.”

OKAY, IM DONE, this is my first ever time writing smut and it was kinda difficult- as I said earlier, you freaks better enjoy this. @rainstops I know you're a Link simp so enjoy lol.

[starryeyedjanai]

pedal to the metal of your heart

kinktober prompt: olfactophilia | 6.5k | explicit part one here | camboy alpha steve series tags: omegaverse, alpha steve, omega eddie, camboy steve, scent kink

read on ao3

Steve's freaking out.

That's the only real way to put it.

Robin is no help, as she watches him pacing a dent in the floor and listens to him talk himself in circles about what happened.

It's been days since it happened. Since he innocently opened up a package on his live stream and had it send him into a fucking pseudo-rut.

He can't explain it. He just knows he was doing a silly little thing for his followers and all of a sudden, he's knotting his fist on camera.

He quickly had to get it together enough to end the stream, but it didn't stop there. His dick remained stubbornly hard and he knotted his fist probably three more times during the next day like he was going through puberty again and knotting up during his first rut.

He was out of commission for a few days, first during his unexpected pseudo-rut - not quite as intense or as long as a regular rut, but still - and then the aftermath of being thoroughly unprepared for it. He was dehydrated and grumpy and his dick hurt and he was in a fugue state for another couple of days contemplating what happened.

In his fugue state with his brain still fuzzy, he found the package again - the garments sealed tight in a scent-proof box - and tried to see if he could find whoever sent him the package.

Because having someone's scent send you into rut, even pseudo-rut, is kind of, it's- it means something, right? It has to mean something.

So he examined the necklace he was still wearing and looked up the band on it and he thinks he found the guy, found Eddie.

He messaged him two days ago and he still hasn't heard anything and it's making him so anxious, he's biting his nails again - a habit he kicked a while ago.

"Rob, it's been too long. It's either not him or he doesn't, he doesn't want me or whatever." The thought that his - whoever Eddie is to him - the thought that he doesn't want Steve makes his heart thump loud and sad in his chest.

Robin barely looks up from the magazine they're flipping through and says, "You don't know that. He might not have even seen the message. Or he could be embarrassed that he accidentally made you knot up on camera. You don't know what he's thinking, so you should stop killing yourself over it."

He knows she's right. He knew she was right the first hundred times she's said it to him over the last couple of days, but he's so nervous. He feels like he might have found something that most people don't find, and he doesn't want to start using words like mate, but it's special still, finding someone who can evoke that kind of response in you.

He throws himself onto his bed dramatically and says, "That doesn't actually help. I know you're right, but I'm still anxious about it."

Robin looks at him and pats him on the thigh. "It's going to be okay, you know? No matter what happens, you'll be fine. Just breathe and wait it out. If he doesn't answer in another couple days, maybe it's not him. I can try to help you find whoever it was."

He nods and gets closer. She opens her arms and he buries his face in her hair as she cuddles him. "Thanks, Robbie. You're right. Maybe I was too out of it when I was searching. I was really going through it."

"Oh I know. I have the texts to prove it."

He pulls back and glares at them. "You cannot use those against me."

"I would never," she says, shoving him away. "I just came five times in a row, Rob, send help," she mocks.

He groans, burying his face in his hands this time. "It was so brutal. I never want to go through a rut alone ever again, even a pseudo one. It's never been like that before."

"Poor lil' guy," Robin says, patting his head.

"It's not little, Rob, you've seen it."

"Ough," Robin says. "Don't remind me. Never remind me."

Steve shakes his head, but still says, "Thanks, though, for sending food. The situation was dire and I could not think."

Robin preens at him. "Of course. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't?"

*

Eddie doesn't get back to him for another couple of days and by then Steve thinks it's a lost cause. The guy either isn't the right person, or he's gun shy about all of this. Steve can't even blame him, really. A lot of people are weird about things like this. Some people don't believe mates exist, so maybe this guy thinks Steve's reaction was fabricated for the views.

He doesn't want to dwell on it, but it sucks. He thinks he maybe found- it doesn't matter, he tells himself.

It'll all be fine. He'll be fine, either way this turns out.

Of course, all of that is utter bullshit because the relief he feels when he sees that Eddie messaged him back is palpable. It's gut deep, like he hasn't been able to relax since he hit send and suddenly all of his muscles are able to relax and stop clenching.

He's in class, bored out of his mind, when he compulsively checks and has to stop himself from outwardly showing a reaction to it. He can't read it in class. He feels like if it's a rejection, Eddie probably wouldn't have even bothered, but if it is, he doesn't want to be in class when it happens.

He immediately gathers up his stuff and leaves the room ten minutes before the lecture ends and makes a beeline for his car. He can read it there. At least then, he'll be able to decide if he needs to go home and wallow or if he needs to treat Robin to lunch to celebrate.

He drops his bag on the passenger seat and pulls out his phone again, surprised he was actually able to hold off on reading it until now.

He takes a deep breath before opening the message.

Hi Stevie, It was my package. I've been kind of freaking out about it since it happened and didn't check to see if I had any messages here. Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. If you need, I can send proof that it's me? I'd love to talk if you still want to. You can message me here or we can take it offline. I promise to check my messages sooner than last time now that I know you'll be messaging me. Hope to talk to you soon, x Eddie

Okay.

Okay, so. So it's him. Probably. It's got to be him because he offered to send proof. He'll probably ask to see the proof anyway because one can never be too sure, but he thinks it's him.

Steve doesn't know what to do next.

He's freaking out too and they haven't even really talked yet. He wants to know everything about him. He wants to know who Eddie is and see him and talk to him and he's absolutely getting ahead of himself, but he can't help it. He's wanted to have this since he was a kid, since he first learned about mates and what they meant. Someone who won't leave.

He wants it so bad he can taste it.

He remembers Eddie's smell, has smelled it probably everyday since, opening up the second scent-proof package that had his shirt in it and smelling it, scenting it in his bed, rubbing his face over the soft material, breathing in Eddie's scent.

He needs to calm down, he realizes, and he loosens the death grip he has on his phone.

He texts Robin, tells them that his- that Eddie sent him a message and that he's freaking out a little bit.

She texts back and talking to her helps calm him down.

He does end up treating them to lunch off campus at a fancy little Italian restaurant.

"You absolutely need to see proof it's him," she tells him when he reads her the message.

"I know. He's got to have pictures with his band logo or something. I'll get proof," he says. "This feels so surreal."

"I bet. Lemme know if you need help crafting a message to him. I know you're going to be spiraling either way, but if I can help-" she says.

"I know, Rob. I'll be fine, I think. I'll let you know."

"Good. And I want to meet this guy. If you're gonna be talking to him or video chatting, I want to vet him."

"You cannot scare him away," he says, looking at her seriously.

She puts her hands up. "I won't! But if he's not good enough for you, I don't give a damn about mates. No one gets to talk to my best friend any kind of way."

His expression softens. They're so protective of him.

"If he's really my mate, he won't just be 'talking to me any kind of way'. He'll be kind," he says, hoping it's the truth.

She hums and they both stop talking as their food arrives.

*

Later that afternoon, laying on his bed, he crafts a message back to Eddie, asking for a picture of him with his band logo as proof.

He's seen pictures of the band in his quest to find him, but he doesn't know which one is him because he didn't let himself look for too long once he found them.

He asks Eddie to send a picture to his email since the site messaging doesn't allow pictures and his phone dings with an email notification not five minutes later.

He opens up the image and it's a picture of the guy from the band with the long hair, wearing a Corroded Coffin shirt, same logo and everything.

He's cute.

He's really fucking cute.

He breathes out a breath of relief that it's actually him and emails him back with his phone number so they can text. Well, he sends him his Google phone number because Robin's right - he needs to be sure this guy isn't a complete asshole before giving him his real phone number. As much as he wants to jump in feet first, he needs to slow down a little.

Eddie texts him almost immediately after he hits send, just a tentative hi, it's eddie and Steve is hitting the call button before he realizes what he's doing. So much for taking it slow.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice says down the line and Steve tries so hard not to roll over and start kicking his feet.

"Hi Eddie," he breathes out.

"Hi Stevie," Eddie says back and Steve is so fucking glad he was stupid and used his real government name on his Only Fans account if it means he gets to have Eddie saying his name like that.

"So I kind of hit call before I knew what I was going to say. Full disclosure," he says because he doesn't have a plan for how this is going to go.

Eddie laughs. "I figured, considering you called me like thirty seconds after I sent you a text."

Steve pouts a little. "Yeah, that kind of gave it away, didn't it?"

"It's fine. Seeing my picture and then my very unoriginal little hi it's me text and still wanting to talk to me right away is kind of doing something for my ego," Eddie says and Steve just knows he's grinning as he says it.

"I mean, you did send me that text like thirty seconds after I emailed you back, so."

"So we're both a little excited," he says.

Steve sighs. "Yeah, tell me about it. Your scent sent me into pseudo-rut, you know?"

He hears the breath that Eddie sucks in. He says, "Yeah? I- I wasn't sure if it was just the, you know, knot-popping on camera."

"Yeah, that plus some. It was kind of intense," he says, breathing out deeply.

"I bet," Eddie says and Steve shivers a little.

His dick is not going to get hard because of Eddie's voice. It's not.

After talking to him for another handful of minutes, asking first date kind of questions and answering Eddie's question in return, Eddie unfortunately has to get back to work because Steve messaged him during his break and he spent the last twenty minutes of it finding a picture to send and then talking to him.

Steve's heart flutters in his chest as they hang up, with promises to talk again soon.

He wants to text him again already, ask to facetime him and see him as soon as he gets off work. He wants to see his mannerisms as he talks - hearing his voice wasn't enough. He wants- he just wants.

But he doesn't want to scare him off by asking for too much too soon.

He wants to know Eddie on his own terms. He doesn't want to make him feel like Steve is pressuring him or moving too fast.

For someone who chronically goes all in too soon in every aspect of his life, that's going to be a challenge.

*

They talk a few more times over the phone and they text a lot. Like a lot.

They exchange snapchats and Steve gets little glimpses into what Eddie's life is like. He sends back similar things - his coffee cup showing off what he typically orders, his lunches from the caf, his dinners out with Robin, the drinks he gets him and Robin when they go out on the weekend.

Steve gets all these feelings in his chest when he sees Eddie's name pop up on his phone screen and he's trying so hard not to be too much, to text too much or call too much.

Eddie tunes in when he streams and he feels butterflies in his stomach when he sees his username pop up, just a bunch of heart eyes emojis whenever Steve does something that he particularly likes. (If he tries to isolate what those things are and replicate them so that he sees Eddie's username more, that's his business.)

They've been talking for over three weeks when he suggests what he's been wanting to suggest since the first time they talked.

They've been chatting on the phone a few times a week, usually later at night when Eddie's out of band practice or off work.

Steve's yawning towards the end of their call that night and knows he has to hang up soon if he wants to wake up on time for his class tomorrow, but the idea is in his head again and won't leave.

So he says, "I had an idea. I could send you something of mine, maybe? So we'd know if we're- if it was a fluke, when I went into pseudo-rut." He bites his lip nervously. He doesn't want it to be a fluke, he wants it to have meant something.

He hears Eddie breathe out and he says quietly, "Yeah, Stevie, I think they would be fine. I'll send you my address."

Steve sighs in relief and after they say their goodbyes, he thinks about what he's going to send to Eddie. He already bought the scent-proof bag to send to Eddie - after their first fucking conversation because he's incapable of being chill - so he just needs to pick what he wants to send.

Immediately, his cock starts aching. Thinking about spreading his come on the now, frankly, disgusting pair of panties Eddie sent him and sending it back to him all packaged up and scent-proofed so that when Eddie opens it, he's hit with the smell of their scents tangling together.

The way Steve has been hit with the scent every time he lifts the shirt Eddie sent along with it up to his face when he's getting himself off, their scents mingling in his nose, making him whine and cry out and want.

Is that too much?

Maybe that's too much. Maybe he should just send his own pair of underwear, smothered in his scent, to Eddie. He feels like that would be a little bit less unhinged of him. He doesn't want to come on too strong. He already feels like he wants too much from someone he barely knows.

But his skin buzzes at the prospect of Eddie opening the package from him and having it send him into a pseudo-heat like it did with Steve's pseudo-rut.

God, he needs to find something to come on so that he can jerk off and then send it covered in his come to Eddie.

He finds a clean pair of panties and then wonders if it might be better to just come into the underwear he's been wearing today. They'd smell more like him than laundry detergent. He contemplates for a minute because the underwear he put on today aren't anything special, just black briefs, but he thinks Eddie might appreciate it more if he can smell Steve's scent fully - the smell of his come mixed with the scent he naturally radiates.

He says, "Fuck it," and lays back on his bed and starts stroking himself through his briefs. He'll send Eddie a shirt too, one that he wears often, maybe his sleep shirt, so he can get the full experience.

He lets himself think about it again, about Eddie opening his package and groaning, burying his face in the very briefs he's touching himself through right now. He thinks about Eddie leaking slick, needing to pull out his toys because he needs something inside him after he smells Steve's scent.

He thinks about his slick hole, needing to be filled, over and over until it hurts almost. He thinks about Eddie's undoubtedly pretty cock and how he'd tug on it desperately. He'd come so many times with Steve's briefs pressed up under his nose just like Steve had.

Steve pulls his cock out of his underwear and strokes himself in earnest, twisting his wrist to stimulate the head on every other stroke. He thumbs at the sensitive head and thinks about burying his cock in Eddie's wet hole, thinks about how snug and warm it would be.

He'd fuck Eddie until neither of them could move, exhausted and spent and dripping. He'd fall asleep with his cock still inside Eddie's hole because neither of them could bear to part. He'd love it, waking up hard and still inside him.

He'd take it slow in the morning because they'd be worn out and sore from the day before. He'd fuck him so good and slow, feel his hole spasm around him as he came again, his cock barely spitting out any come. He'd fill him up, press his cock deep inside him and leave him feeling sated and sticky and like he could melt into the bed.

He wants to take care of him, he thinks, speeding up his hand. He wants to worship him, wants to do whatever Eddie wants him to do. He wants Eddie to take what he wants from him, wants him to hold Steve right where he wants him and take his pleasure any way he wants.

He wants Eddie on top of him, pinning him down as he sinks down on his cock. He wants Eddie to whisper in his ear exactly what he's going to do to Steve and how he's going to do it. He wants to feel taken care of, wants to feel held down and caught, weighed down by Eddie's weight on top of him.

His hips hitch up and he knows he's going to come soon, thinking about Eddie telling him what he wants and then taking it.

He shoves his cock back into his briefs so he can come all over the inside of them. He shudders through it, whining because he wants so many things with Eddie. He has to be his mate, he has to be, right? Steve wouldn't want him this much if he wasn't. He has to be.

He comes down slowly, breath evening out. He feels so sticky and gross. He peels his underwear down and immediately puts them in the scent-proof bag he bought.

He lays back down feeling kind of vulnerable. He wants this so bad, probably more than he's wanted most things. Because he's never had a relationship turn out good and he just wants something to be right for the first time.

So if he's found his, his mate - his true mate or perfect match or whatever people are calling it nowadays - he wants to know, so bad.

The anticipation is going to kill him, he thinks.

*

He sends the package out in the mail the next morning and tries not to think about doing something crazy like driving the three hours it would take to get from Chicago to Indianapolis. That'd be weird, right? Him showing up at the address Eddie sent to him, at noon on a Monday. That would definitely be too much, too soon.

He knows he's in deep when the rationale for not doing it that wins him over is that Eddie might be working and might not be at home in the middle of a work day.

He facepalms and tries to keep it together.

He goes to his classes and ignores the looks Robin gives him when they meet him in the library after class.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

Eddie will get the package in a few days and they'll probably know if it was a fluke or not. (Steve already knows it wasn't a fluke. He knows it like he knows he's an alpha, it's in his bones, deep. He's never sure about anything, but he feels sure about this. He feels something when he texts Eddie, when he hears his voice. That can't be a fluke.)

He just needs to chill out and not scare Eddie away before they confirm it.

He just always wants a lot and usually too fast. So he's trying to slow down, now that this could be the real deal. The big one, the one everyone's always waiting for and writing songs about and yearning for. He doesn't want to scare him away before he even gets to know him.

How embarrassing would that be? He can't imagine having to tell Robin that his mate, his actual mate, wants nothing to do with him because he's too overbearing.

So he can't be overbearing. He won't be. He'll keep it together and he won't do anything weird. Should be easy, right?

*

He texts Eddie that he mailed the package to him and sends him the tracking number.

The morning of his first midterm, Eddie texts him that the package is arriving later today and Steve somehow manages to find enough focus to not completely bomb his midterm.

He's buzzing with anticipation the entire day, waiting for Eddie to text or call and say that he has the package.

It's still light out when Eddie's name flashes on his screen.

Got it is all it says and Steve frowns.

He hits the call button.

Eddie picks up after a couple rings and says, "Hi, Steve," but he sounds weird. Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. It's not- they're not. Are they not-?

He swallows and tries to hold back the anxiety that's seeping into his body.

"Hi Eddie," he says back, trying not to freak out.

"I got the package," Eddie says, which doesn't give him anything to go off of.

"Yeah, I got your text. Did you open it?" he asks impatiently.

"Not yet," Eddie says, voice smaller than usual. "I'm kind of nervous to open it. I- maybe it's a weird thing to say, but I want this so badly. Like, I want it to send me into pseudo-heat. I want the whole mate thing to be true for us."

Some of the tension evaporates from his body. Oh.

"I want that too," he says, breathlessly.

"You do?" Eddie asks, hope in his voice, and maybe Steve hasn't been letting on just how much he's been anticipating this moment - for fear of being too much.

"Yes!" he says. "I've been tearing my hair out over here waiting for your text. I could barely focus on my midterm this morning."

"Oh fuck, you did say you had midterms this week. Should we wait-?"

"No!" he says, cutting him off. "I will literally die if we wait any longer. I've been waiting for this and hoping for so long now."

Eddie laughs. "Okay, okay! I'll open it. Do you want to maybe FaceTime while I open it?"

They haven't video chatted at all since they started talking. The only time Eddie's seen him has been on his streams and in the snapchats he sends him. Steve hasn't seen Eddie at all apart from the sleepy snapchats he sometimes sends him when he wakes up.

"Yeah, we should- uh. If it sends you into pseudo-heat, we could stay on the line if you want," he says, his cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing Eddie like that, desperate to come, desperate for something inside him. "Do you have supplies ready? You shouldn't open it if you aren't prepared."

"Oh trust me, big boy, I am plenty prepared. I've got a case of water and some snacks to get me through it," Eddie says and Steve's phone vibrates in his hand.

He pulls it away from his ear and accepts the FaceTime request.

"Hi," Eddie says.

"Hi," Steve says back shyly, looking at Eddie's pretty face.

"So I don't have a tripod or anything, so this'll have to do," Eddie says, holding his phone out to show Steve the package in his lap.

"Yeah, that's fine. I wasn't expecting, like, a show or anything. This is more than fine," he says, moving to his bedroom. He sits down on his bed with his back against the headboard and watches as Eddie one-handedly tears into the package.

It would be much easier to just put the phone down and open the package with two hands, but watching Eddie struggle is kind of cute, so he doesn't say anything.

Eddie gets the package open and pulls out the scent-proof bags Steve put his folded shirt and come stained briefs in.

The thoughts he's been trying to push out of his mind since he mailed the package come rushing back to the surface. Eddie's about to scent him and his dick is twitching about it.

His heart is beating so fucking fast.

"So, uh, this is it, I guess. The moment of truth," Eddie says, lifting the bag up to his mouth and using his teeth to tear through it.

There's something so unbearably hot about him literally tearing the package open with his teeth that Steve almost misses the quiet sound Eddie makes when the bag rips open.

It's this little punched out noise that's barely anything at all, but Steve knows that noise - he knows it because he made almost the exact same noise when he first got a whiff of Eddie's scent.

He looks at Eddie, as he takes out the briefs Steve came onto just days ago and buries his nose in them.

His cock twitches in his pants and he rushes to get them open.

"Talk to me, Eddie," he says, watching Eddie's face go a little slack, his eyes hazy as he opens them.

"It's- I. I feel like I'm going into heat," Eddie says, tilting his phone down so Steve can see his hard dick in his shorts. Fuck. Fuck.

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his phone down too, so Eddie can see how hard he is too.

"Fuck, Stevie, want that in me," Eddie whines, falling back onto his bed. The phone in his hand is pointing up so all Steve sees is the ceiling as Eddie moans.

"Show me what you're doing?" he asks, desperate to see him again.

Eddie's kicked off his shorts in the two seconds his camera was pointed away apparently because the next thing Steve sees is his dripping cock. And-

Jesus christ. He's big. His cock- wow.

Steve takes his own cock in his hand and strokes it, watching Eddie's cock twitch as he smells Steve's scent.

"I need something inside me," Eddie says, dropping the phone onto the bed and Steve whines.

He wants to see him, but the phone is face down on his bed so Steve sees nothing. He hears Eddie rummaging around and stops his hand on himself because he only wants to touch when Eddie can see him.

He waits for another few moments as Eddie gets what he needs and then picks up the phone again.

"Steve, I'm so fucking hot right now," Eddie says, his face flushed. He's sweating a little already and Steve wants to bury his face in Eddie's neck, scent him right from the source.

Instead he grabs Eddie's shirt from under his pillow - the scent is so faint now, but it's still lingering. Steve shucks the shirt he was wearing off and tugs Eddie's shirt on.

He hears Eddie groan and he looks at his phone. Eddie's looking back at him, his eyes wild.

"You're wearing my shirt," he says, his eyes wide as he looks at him.

"I keep it under my pillow," Steve confesses. "It's losing its scent, but it still smells like you a little."

Eddie does something outside of the camera frame that makes him moan, and Steve sorely wishes Eddie did have a tripod or something so he could see all of him, could see how he's making himself feel good.

Eddie says, "I'll send you another one. This one." He tugs at the shirt he's wearing, fumbling as he takes it off.

With his clothes off now, he sets his phone on his bedside table, pointed at him. The angle is a little wonky, but Steve can see him, see what he's doing.

He squeezes his cock as Eddie kneels on the bed facing his phone and reaches back to grip the dildo inside him and pull it out a little. Fuck, when had he even gotten that inside him?

He grabs Steve's briefs and brings them up to his nose again, his moan long and drawn out as he sinks down onto the dildo with Steve's scent in his nose again.

He holds the dildo steady with one hand as he bounces up and down on it and Steve can't stop himself from planting his feet on his bed and fucking up into his fist at the same speed, wishing he was there, wishing he was sinking into Eddie's hole instead of his fist.

Eddie's dick bounces on every thrust down and Steve wants it in his mouth.

Steve moans, thinking of Eddie's hands in his hair, holding his head still as he fucks his face with his unfairly big cock. He doesn't know any other omega with a cock that big, jesus christ. He wants to swallow it, wants to choke on it, wants to taste Eddie's come on his tongue. He wants Eddie to come in his mouth and then make Steve eat him out, rub his wet hole all over Steve's face. He wants it, he wants it, he wants it.

And he says it, less afraid of admitting everything he wants now that Eddie seems to have had a similar reaction to his scent.

He tells him he wants to choke on his cock and taste him and listens as Eddie's moans get louder and louder.

It spurs him on.

He says, "I want to bury my cock in you. Wanna come inside you and lick it out. Please. Would you let me?"

Eddie shivers and nods as he fucks himself on the dildo. He says, "I would ride you into the goddamn bed. Make you knot up inside him and then when it goes down, sit on your face as your come drips out of me."

Steve wants to knot him so bad. He's- oh fuck. He's gonna knot his fist again.

This shouldn't be happening. Eddie's scent only had that initial reaction because of the newness of it - he's been smelling his shirt every night and hasn't knotted apart from the pseudo-rut. His knot shouldn't be forming right now.

"I'm gonna knot, holy shit. I'm-" he groans as his cock pulses in his grip, his knot expanding as he squeezes it. He tilts his phone down so Eddie can see it, see him knotting up for him again.

The look on Eddie's face as he comes is something Steve isn't going to ever forget. He trembles as he sinks down on the dildo, pressing the button on the base of the dildo to expand the knot.

Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie's cock starts to spurt, untouched. His come arcs out of him, splattering the bed and his thighs with come as he grinds down onto the knotted dildo.

Steve grips his knot tight and he comes, looking at Eddie shuddering through the waves of it, his hole probably like a vice on that knotting dildo. It should be him.

Fuck.

He squeezes his hand tighter around his knot, dropping his phone on his chest to stroke himself through his orgasm. He whimpers as the come floods out of him, his knot aching.

"Stevie, fuck. Wanna see you," Eddie says, so Steve pulls his hand away and grabs his phone again. Fuck, he's so messy right now.

He brings his phone back up and the first thing he sees is Eddie stroking his still hard cock with Steve's briefs and Steve's eyes roll back, his cock kicking out another glob of come.

God, the way Eddie's room must smell right now. Like the two of them, the way Steve's room smelled for days after his pseudo-rut. He could barely go back into his room without his dick getting hard about it. He wants him so intensely that he fucking knotted his fist without meaning to.

"You look so fucking good in my shirt, Steve. Want you to smell like me," Eddie says, which does nothing to sate the way he wants so viscerally to be with him right now.

He's still stroking himself with Steve's briefs and it's making Steve's dick twitch, his knot hot in his fist.

"Can't believe you knotted for me," Eddie says, jerking himself faster, like the heat that waned when he came is back with a vengeance.

"You gonna come again?" Steve asks, his voice shaky.

"Yeah," Eddie moans. "Gonna come all over your fucking underwear. Make it smell like us."

Steve whines. Eddie seems to have his number already, knows exactly what to say to make his knot pulse in his grip, more come dribbling out of the slit of his cock.

Eddie curses and groans again, shaking as he comes again, his come shooting out onto the fabric of Steve's briefs.

How the hell is Steve gonna survive meeting him in person if he can't even control himself at the thought of their scents mingling in person?

"You'll survive, sweetheart," Eddie says and Steve was completely unaware he'd even said anything out loud, so completely out of it apparently.

"I'm not so sure about that," he says, squeezing his knot.

Eddie hums and grabs the phone from the nightstand, collapsing back onto the bed. "I think you'll be fine once you get your knot in me."

"Fuck, Eddie. You can't just say that," he groans.

"Why not?" he asks, grinning.

"Because my knots not gonna go down and I'm gonna die."

"You're even more dramatic than me. I love it," Eddie says, sitting up and grabbing a water bottle to drink from.

"I'm not that dramatic, Mr. Dungeon Master," he says with a pout.

"Ooh, call me master again and I might come," Eddie says, leering at him.

Steve rolls his eyes.

The chatter stops momentarily as Eddie drinks from his water bottle and curls back up in bed.

Steve watches as he wraps himself up in his blankets and once again wishes he was there.

He says, "You look so cozy right now."

Eddie grins at him again. "I am. My bed is very comfy. You should come see for yourself."

"I wish I could," he says, honestly.

"I don't think I could do a real heat right now though, unfortunately," Eddie says with a groan. "This pseudo-heat is gonna wear me out, I can already tell, and I've got shows to do with my band and work and stuff. But I'd love to meet up with you in a few weeks. Or maybe once the semester is over?"

Steve smiles at him. "Yeah, I'd like that. We can figure out when later. It's probably better to let this marinate a little anyway. Not everything all at once." See? He can take it slow.

The thought of getting to see him in person, getting to know him in person, real and in front of him, is making Steve's heart race.

"Yeah, I typically dive head first into things, so taking a breather is probably a good idea," Eddie says. He looks at Steve through the camera and says, "But that doesn't mean I want to stop talking, got it? I still want to text and I want you to call."

Steve appreciates the clarity. "I'm glad. I don't want to stop talking either."

"Good. Just making sure," Eddie says, reaching over and grabbing the shirt Steve sent from the package and pillowing it under his head.

That reminds him. "I think if you sent me another shirt, it would help tide me over until we meet, though," he says and Eddie laughs. Steve aches again, wanting to- just wanting him.

Eddie says, "I can do that. I'll have to swing an extra shift to cover the shipping though."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Literally give me your Venmo. I'm the one asking for it, so I should be the one to pay for it."

Eddie looks like he's going to protest, but he says. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. I want to scent you so bad right now."

"Me too," Eddie says. "You smell nice, by the way. Like, your shirt smells amazing." He buries his face in Steve's shirt, breathing deeply.

"So do you. Earthy. It's nice," he says. He loosens his grip on himself, his knot starting to go down. "How many more rounds do you think you'll have to do tonight?"

Eddie thinks for a second, then says, "At least another few orgasms before I get ready for bed. I have to eat dinner at some point, I guess. I'll probably wake up a few times during the night and need to be knotted again."

"I'll stay on the line however long it takes," he says.

Eddie brightens up and says, "Yeah? You sure you wanna babysit me into the wee hours of the morning?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "I wanna take care of you. I can't be there in person, but I can be here, you know?"

Eddie looks a little taken aback at the sincerity, but he smiles at him shyly. "In that case, I'm looking forward to it."

Yeah, so is Steve.

[centrally-unplanned]

I blogged before about this company, Orange, that is an AI-powered manga translation company. Essentially, their pitch is that most manga is still (officially) untranslated, a ton of manga gets made after all but few become mainstream enough to get ported overseas. They posit the barrier to that is the cost of translation; if they could automate that process, then they can make viable for release what previously was not. That concept rests on two questions - does the tech pan out, and does the economics add up?

Recently they went live, under the name Emaqi, so we can better explore those questions. What I notice on first glance is the pitch seems to have shifted a little bit in post:

You are not the translators of Vinland Saga, Witch Hat Atelier, or Magic Knight Rayearth, very obviously so. They have Sailor Moon in here lol. These are just the official translations being cross-listed into their "manga platform", where you buy it there and it lives, DRM-locked, in their app. Which is fair enough as a model, that is just Kindle, it works. Though Kindle and a dozen others already exist, so their value-add has to be the AI translation stuff right? That is why I would choose this over another app.

Which they do have, though it is kind of buried:

"Only on emaqi" - there is no mention of the translation approach, poor guys! Can't fault the branding decision I guess given the state of the discourse. When it comes to the products themselves, I went through ~6 or so of the sample chapters of different manga, did a few spot checks with the original Japanese, and read the reviews of some others who looked into it. They seem fine! I am cautiously impressed, I think there proofers did a good job smoothing out some edges, it has a "manga tone", and while small issues like the hyphenation the reviewer above mentioned do exist and are legit noticeable, they aren't common and not a huge deal. It has flow issues? Some dialogue should link together in how it is written, but doesn't. But it isn't crazy off or anything. You will not be wowed by these, but certainly if you are someone who reads bootleg scanlations you are gonna have no problems. A lot of manga uses pretty simple vocab and isn't breaking new ground on plot, I can see how a purpose-built tool could handle it well enough.

The economics though...here is where I don't think this case was ever going to pencil out and isn't now. Because I am pretty sure no one here has heard of any of the manga listed above as exclusives. (I saw 90's manga Geobreeders in there, but that was already partially translated in the 2000's, not sure if they did a new one? Setting it aside) Which, of course you haven't, if you had it probably would have been translated! Books are a 90:10 market, most books never get read and some books get read a ton. Anything big enough can justify a professional translation, and the other can't really sell to begin with.

On top of that, their model is mass translation; which means these obscure manga are presented to you with no context, no hype, no build-up. Wtf is The Blood Blooms In the Barrens?? See, if you were like a boutique publisher, selecting "the best of the best" in untranslated manga, you would promote your specific product. Interviews, social media, the value of the brand-itself as a quality seal. Publishing less is more, actually, your value as a publisher is as a quality selector. Or you could be say the porn market, where you max quantity so people can search "foot fetish breeding kink oshi no ko" and get results; they know what they want. But they aren't doing either! And to be blunt a lot of these are not gonna sell on their art alone:

I'm not mocking The Delayed Highschool Life of a Laborer here, that is better than I could do; but if you want to me spend money on a whim the bar is high and these don't reach it. Which of course they don't, they would be professionally translated if they did.

And finally, the price - $5 dollars, for volume 1's, like a 100-200 pages. The cross-listed manga typically sells for ~$10? That isn't much cheaper! If "translation" was this big cost barrier, and all you got is cutting the price of ebooks in half, I don't know if the analysis was so solid. This is a new product, I doubt they are overcharging to make a quick buck right now - this is the "sell at cost to scale" era.

In all of their lead up press they would say things like this:

Orange's process uses AI to read the manga through image analysis and character recognition, then to translate the words into English, Chinese and other languages. The technology is specialized for manga, meaning it is able to handle wordplay and other difficult-to-translate phrases. A human translator then makes corrections and adjustments. The process can deliver a manga translation in as little as two days. Orange will work with multiple Japanese publishers. The company looks initially to complete 500 translations monthly.

But this is missing a lot of context. For one, these manga are simple high school or battle manga that are ~200 pages long, many of those pages have only a few lines of dialogue, etc. Imagine you are a professional translator, and you are given that manga to translate, all the set-up done for you, all you gotta do is write. How long do you think that would take? Not that long! It could probably take like a week if it's actually all you did (calc'd from a 10k word count manga volume, 2k is a typical "good translator" per day count - many manga are shorter than that). And note how they said "as little as two days" - not median two days! Just, you know, aspirationally.

Translation is just not a big bottleneck. You gotta do layouts, lettering, proofs, etc, these can all take just as much time - and are being done by people, they still need wage workers doing all this. But that is small fry in comparison to publishing contracts, author approvals, distribution, all of that. And most importantly, product acquisition - you have to get authors to sign with you! That can be months of work. I am sure they are trying to get bulk agreements with publishers and such, but authors will push back on that, this is not an easy endeavor.

Which is why, in above, they say they hope to have "500 translations monthly". And after a year+ of work, on launch, they have...

...18. As best I can tell at least, their site deliberately obfuscates what they actually translated versus are just hosting for resale after all.

So yeah, as mentioned I don't think the economics pencil out. These aren't worth $5 dollars, they can't actually generate volume that makes "massive economies of scale" actually valuable, and their approach is currently antithetical to the idea of generating traction for any of their individual works. Niche publishing just doesn't work this way.

But it is early days, and hey I respect the experiment! I do think the tech is pretty good, and it is nice to see a company showcase it. It isn't quite good enough yet for prime time, but it could get there. I do want more manga to get exposure and audience; I will give a fair shake to any who try.

[standfucker]

White Out

Characters: Marco, Ace, Thatch, Izo

Reader: AFAB, GN pronouns (they/them)

Word Count: 10,427 (I'm sorry.)

CW: Explicit N.SFW content, PWP, gangbang, double penetration, knifeplay (light), oral, anal, deepthroating, breast fucking, degradation, praise, roleplay, CNC, bondage, BDSM, short reader (mentioned briefly, not size kink though)

Summary: I have nothing to say for myself.

Actual Summary: You and your four favorite people try your hands at a little roleplay.

AO3 Link

The safety discussion had been summarized one last time, preferences and limits clearly defined so there was no confusion.

You’re still not sure how it happened–sure, you could name the sequence of events that led up to it, the friends-with-benefits relationships with each of them, the drunken admittance of your deepest fantasies that one night–but it still didn’t seem real.

But there you were, perched on the edge of Marco’s bed before all of them:

Marco. Ace. Thatch. Izo.

As the first mate, Marco had the luxury of his own quarters, and offered them as a setting for your scene. The room seemed smaller with the five of you in it, but that was fine. Should things go as planned, you wouldn’t be needing extra space.

Thatch cradled your face in one giant hand, tilting your head up so you looked him in the eye. “Ready?”

You swallowed and nodded.

“Are you sure? You look nervous.”

“I am,” you admitted, “but that’s okay. It… It makes it…” Your cheeks grew even warmer than they already were. 

“Better?” Izo finished for you, smirking despite himself.

“Yeah…” It was so much easier to be honest under the influence of alcohol, but for this, it was important that you were all sober. “I’m ready.”

For a moment, no one spoke, unsure of how to start. You weren’t normally that shy, but the thought that this was really happening, and in front of all of them, had you momentarily frozen. Nervousness twisted up your insides and intertwined with the heat between your legs, making it all the more responsive. Nothing had happened yet, but just the anticipation alone made you wet.

Izo found his voice first, clearing his throat before speaking. “Well, well, well,” he said, pitched low with an eagerness that made your heart pound, “what do we have here?”

As if breaking a seal, Izo’s commencement spurred on the others.

“A Marine,” Ace’s voice dripped with disdain, and he looked down at you, shocking you at how easily he fell into the roll, “sailing all alone…”

“...and ripe for the taking,” Thatch concluded, eyes half-lidded.

A shiver ran through your body, and you wondered if they had talked about this behind your back, because they were working off each other maddeningly well already. You sucked in a shaky breath. “You might as well kill me–I’ll never talk.”

Marco chuckled darkly. “Hear that, guys? They said they’ll never talk, yoi…” He approached the bed, suddenly grabbing your shirt by the collar and yanking you onto your feet. He adjusted his grip, taking a bigger fistful of the fabric, then pulled up, until he was lifting you entirely off of the ground, bringing you face-to-face. “But I bet I can make you sing.”

You knew he was strong, but this–this was showing off, impressing the power difference between you. And it was working, your stomach flipping in place at the thought of how easy it was for him. For any of them. You weren’t weak by any means, but the Division Commanders outclassed you.

“N-Never,” you bit back, despite the obvious effect his manhandling was having on you, “I could never be affected by the likes of your kind, pirate scum!”

“Hm,” Marco leaned his head even closer, lips barely hovering over your own. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you–and then he bit your lower lip, just short of breaking the skin, making your whole body tense and drawing out an involuntary whimper.

“We’ll see.” He dropped you, and you stumbled back, into someone’s chest. You hadn’t even noticed Ace moving behind you with Marco commanding your attention.

Ace ran his hands down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps despite the heat of his skin, until he reached your wrists, where he tightened his grip and forced them behind your back. He nosed into your neck, inhaling your scent before dragging his hot tongue up the side and growling, “Izo, pass me the rope.”

You were already trembling from it all, Ace’s iron-like grip, his tongue, the heat radiating off his body that always seemed to intensify whenever you slept together. The scene must have excited him, because he was raising the temperature of the entire room, not to mention the hardness that pressed into your rear.

Izo plucked the length of rope from Marco’s desk and stepped over to you, handing it to Ace with one hand while the other gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look up at him. “Poor little thing, shaking like a leaf. Are you that scared?”

Of all of them, it was Izo, surprisingly enough, who had the strongest dominant streak. He was entirely in his element as he smirked down at you, not giving you a chance to reply before he continued, “you should be. You got caught by the wrong pirates, my dear.”

Your trembling had nothing to do with fear, of course. The nerves were there, but the knowledge that you could stop at any time was a reassurance that only made everything hotter, in a way. You gave Izo a defiant look, even as Ace worked on tying your wrists together behind your back. “I’m not scared of you.”

Izo’s smirk widened. “No? Maybe I should tell you what we have planned for you, then… See how you feel after that. Do you want to know?” He leaned in closer. “What it is we’re going to do to you?”

Anticipation made your heart pound like a hammer. You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond until Izo’s grip tightened almost painfully on your chin. “Speak,” he ordered, the command sending a jolt between your legs.

“I d-don’t care,” you spat, “It doesn’t matter what you do–I won’t submit.”

“Is that what you think?” Izo purred, “then I think I’ll go ahead and tell you…”

Ace finished tying your wrists, the rope snug but not too tight. You pulled against it, testing the hold, but as an experienced sailor, there was no chance of the expertly-tied knot coming undone. “How’s that?” Ace whispered into your ear, momentarily breaking character.

“Green,” you responded, then tensed when he licked the shell of your ear, resisting the urge to whine.

Izo leaned down further until he was speaking into your other ear, voice husky and dark with promise. “For the next few hours, you belong to us. And we’ll do whatever we want with you. You’re going to be stuffed full–in every hole–until you can’t think about anything but our cocks. We’re going to fuck you so well that for the rest of your life, you’ll have to live with the knowledge that the best orgasms you ever had were at the hands of pirate scum.”

You could physically feel yourself getting wetter with every sentence, breath catching in your throat. He was too good at this, evident in how his words were affecting the others, as well. Thatch was palming at his crotch, breathing less evenly. Marco bit his lip, the fingers of one hand curling and uncurling repeatedly. You had the sudden mental image of a bird of prey’s talons closing around a mouse. The thought was not helping.

Ace’s lips attached to the side of your neck then, and you clamped your mouth shut to muffle the whine that rose in turn, but it was still audible. The men reacted like dogs to a whistle, eyes locked onto you at the sound. Ace didn’t let up, sucking and nibbling until your legs were shaking, one hand holding the rope around your wrists and the other clasped onto your hip.

Among your partners, you normally only let Marco leave bruises, as he could heal them after a session, leaving nothing for your crewmates to potentially tease you about. For this scene, it was allowed for the same reason. As a result, this was the first time Ace got to indulge, and you suspected he had a kink. He was clearly into it, grinding his hard-on into you shamelessly as he started on another mark a little higher up your neck.

Izo let go as he stood back to his full height, appraising your reaction, desire simmering in his dark eyes. “Look at you. We’ve barely started, and you can hardly stand.”

It was getting harder to think with Ace chewing up your neck while Izo talked down to you, but you managed to play the role despite it. “S-Shut up. The others will–mm!–will come looking for me.”

“Oh? When will that be, exactly? You aren’t scheduled to arrive at your destination for days, pretty thing. And we’ve taken your transponder snail.”

Ace broke away from your neck to growl into your ear, “No one is coming to save you.” And then his tongue was on your neck again, licking his way to a new spot to bruise.

You almost lost composure at that, briefly considering just stopping the scene and begging them to take you on the spot. Sheer force of will held you together at that point. You wanted to see it through to the end, though, certain that if you just held on, the reward would be well worth it.

Izo reached into his kimono, and your pulse quickened, knowing what was coming next. The sharp edge of the dagger he withdrew glinted in the lamplight.

“I’d try and hold still, pet. Get those legs of yours under control, hm?” Izo said to you, but he glanced at Ace as he spoke. Ace got the message, pausing his ministrations and pulling you tight against him to keep you still. He did not remove his mouth from your neck.

Izo touched the tip of the dagger to the base of your throat with the barest pressure, feather-light and not enough to break the skin, before sliding it up, slowly, all the way to your chin. You were thankful for Ace’s hold on you then, because you were sure your knees would give out. It was almost embarrassing how badly it made your cunt throb.

Izo smirked like he knew.

Lowering the blade to slide flat under your shirt, he pulled it toward him, turning it so the sharp edge of the dagger was against the fabric. In a single, downward motion, he cut through the front. Then he cut through your sleeves, until the shirt was only being held in place by Ace’s body. Izo grabbed the shirt and pulled it from between you two, so you could feel Ace’s bare skin against yours.

“Oh,” you breathed, never quite able to get used to Ace’s change in temperature when he was aroused. His skin against yours was like sinking into a hot bath, contrasting against the cooler air on your chest. In any other situation, it would have been relaxing. But your focus instantly went back to Izo as he cut through both bra straps next, then the center band. He ripped that off, too, exposing your chest. He did not miss the way your nipples had hardened, and you had to bite back a pitiful noise when he touched the tip of the dagger to a nipple.

You shut your eyes, briefly overwhelmed, and the touch moved away. A moment later, you felt him pulling the hem of your pants away from your skin so he could safely slice through those as well. Soon you were only in your underwear, which Izo left alone. Satisfied, he walked over to the desk and set down the dagger, then stepped into place beside Marco and Thatch. “Who wants to go first?”

Ace resumed his steady devouring of your neck, shifting the hand on your hip forward, along the hem of your underwear, and then under it, trailing a blazing path down your mons until his fingers were separating your outer lips. He paused at feeling just how wet you were, and you felt his lips curl into a smirk against your neck.

“Looks like Ace is,” Thatch muttered, not actually sounding all that bothered–he liked the show. “Look at his grin… I bet they’re soaked.”

You had to bite your lip as Ace’s hot fingers delved between your folds, stroking idly and making your knees weak. The very wet, very lewd squelching that arose only confirmed Thatch’s words. The sound had a visible effect on the men, the air in the room seeming to thicken with combined desire.

Ace let go of the rope with his other hand, moving it to your head, and he grabbed a fistful of hair close to the base before harshly forcing you to bend over. “Their mouth is free, Thatch.”

The pulling on your scalp and the roughness with which Ace handled you only fueled your fire. You thought you couldn’t possibly burn any hotter, but then Thatch approached you, unbuckling his belt, and your body was searing. He freed his cock, stroking it with one hand while the other replaced Ace’s in your hair, and leaned his hips forward until the tip pressed against your mouth.

“Go on, then, make yourself useful,” Thatch said, the tremor in his voice betraying his excitement, “you know what will happen if you bite, so why don’t you just take it like a good little prisoner?”

You met Thatch’s eye, but your glare quickly faltered due to Ace suddenly penetrating you with his fingers. Your breath hitched, momentarily unable to respond with the pressure and heat now massaging so expertly inside you. 

“You’re okay. Come on,” Thatch murmured, pupils blown wide at the sight of you buckling under the pleasure, and then his voice dropped low, “open.”

The deep pitch cut through the haze and into your head, the command reaching that part of you that you couldn’t let out anywhere else, the part of you that longed to listen and obey, that wanted nothing more than to cede control. You opened your mouth, tongue sticking out, unable to stop the whine that followed.

“There you go…” Thatch praised, pushing himself into your mouth with a hiss, “fuuuck…”

He was already leaking, pre-cum salty on your tongue. Your noises were quickly muffled as he inched in further, then pulled out a little, only to push back in even deeper, lubricating himself bit by bit with your saliva.

It was difficult with Ace casually fingering you, but as long as he didn’t touch your clit, you were pretty sure you could focus on both things. You relaxed your jaw, letting Thatch reach the back of your throat, and then you sucked.

“Fuck!” Thatch cursed, fingers tightening in your hair in an attempt not to ram himself down your throat, the pain making you moan around his cock. Thatch eased his grip on your hair only slightly, keeping you in place as he started to thrust shallowly into your mouth. “That’s it… Fuck, just like that…”

Ace rested his free hand on your hip, and you felt him press a kiss to your back before licking the skin there. “Heh… They got wetter,” he announced to the others, “you love this, don’t you? Such a cockslut… I bet you let all the other Marines use you like this.”

You normally couldn’t reach orgasm without touching your clit, but with Ace gleefully degrading you, you thought for a moment you just might. It was all you could do to stay on your feet.

“Nng! I’m gonna… Go deeper,” Thatch panted, “one of you, watch for their signal for me… Ace, let up, will ya?”

With your wrists bound and your mouth full, the safety signal was you stamping your foot. You idly wondered if you’d need it–deepthroating wasn’t new, but it was always a challenge, and Thatch–all of them, really–were worked up from the scene, less prone to holding back.

Ace slowed his strokes so you could better focus on the task. Thatch pushed deeper and deeper with each thrust until you were fighting the urge to gag. You willed yourself to relax, focusing on your breathing, and Thatch eased himself into the tight canal of your throat.

“Oh, fuck!” He moaned, shutting his eyes as his grip in your hair tightened again. He opened one eye to take in your expression, making sure you were still okay, before starting up gentle thrusts. “So good. So fucking good, there you go… Taking me so well…”

Spit and pre-cum combined and dribbled down your chin, and your eyes watered reflexively until tears ran down your cheeks. Off to either side, you could see Marco and Izo, standing closer than before, both of their gazes fixed onto you. Marco was desperately rubbing himself over his pants while Izo had already disrobed, both kimono and undergarments forgotten on the floor as he stroked his cock.

Thatch had his eyes shut again at how good it felt, but a muffled moan from you had him look down at you. At the sight of your tears, something must have awakened in him, because his grunts tipped into something guttural, and he went a little faster, cursing weakly. “Fuck, oh, fuck! Not yet-!”

His hips began to stutter in their pace, and then Thatch let go of your hair and pulled out with a gasp, stepping back, his cock visibly throbbing. You coughed and caught your breath, switching back to breathing through your mouth, head hanging down.

“That was close… I almost came,” Thatch panted, crouching down next to you and cupping your cheek. He tilted your head up so you were looking him in the eye, thumb stroking your temple lovingly. “I want to save it… I want to cum in your cunt. Wanna fill you up, deep inside… Wanna see it dripping out of you…”

You could only whimper in response, thighs pressing around Ace’s hand. Now that you didn’t have to focus on deepthroating, he started pumping his fingers faster, and when he curled them just right, you stood up straight as if electrocuted, pressing back into him with a shaky whine.

Thatch walked over to a chair and slumped into it, taking a break so he could come down. He let out a sigh and groaned, “What a mouth…”

You leaned your head back on Ace’s shoulder, closing your eyes and generally trying to keep it together. Ace turned his head to kiss your temple, then whispered into your ear, “Eyes forward, captive. You’re far from done.”

You opened your eyes to see Marco approaching you, Izo following close behind him. Marco rested his hands on your hips, squeezing them before running them up your sides and to your front, where he groped your breasts. You bit your lip as he massaged and fondled them, but gasped when his thumbs started rubbing your nipples, the sensation like a current that ran from your chest straight to your cunt.

“Ah! N-Not there! No!” You cried, the touch igniting your whole self, a full-body sensation that spread out from between your legs.

Marco stopped immediately, going to lower his hands, but Izo caught his wrists, keeping them in place. “It’s fine, Marco. They didn’t use the safeword. You can keep going.”

Marco hesitated, then started rubbing again, and you all but thrashed, body jerking from the onslaught of stimulation but unable to escape it due to Ace’s firm hold on you.

“Oh, god! No, no, it’s–ah! It’s too much!” You pleaded, tearing up again. The attention to your nipples was making you drip, even with Ace’s hand in the way, a few clear drops on the floor beneath you slowly becoming a small puddle. Izo glanced down at it, then at you.

“My, my. So sensitive,” Izo mused, “is that really as much as you can handle? I thought surely a Marine would be tougher than that.”

“I… I…!” You started to say, then cursed, jerking again as Marco bent down to drag his tongue across a nipple. “Fuck!”

Marco licked your nipple over and over, alternating between pressing his tongue flat against it in slow passes, then using the tip to flick and circle the nub, and all you could do was take it. Your legs grew weak once more, and threatened to give out entirely when Marco closed his lips around your nipple and sucked.

Your back arched, and then your legs finally failed as Izo crouched down to suck on your other nipple. Ace held you up easily with one hand, completely unbothered by your weight as he continued to finger you all the while.

The combined sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alight as they messily sucked on your breasts, your whole cunt throbbing and clenching. Through the haze of pleasure, you wondered vaguely if you’d join that small percentage of people who could come from nipple stimulation alone–but it never happened. Instead, you only stayed torturously worked up, almost to the point of edging.

‘I bet you wanna cum, huh, babe?” Ace whispered into your ear. “We won’t leave you like this forever, don’t worry… We’re pirates, not monsters. Here…”

Ace’s thumb found your clit, rubbing in practiced circles, and you jerked again with another strangled cry. With all the prior buildup of the scene, much less the current multiple points of stimulation, it didn’t take long for your body to start its climb and rapidly ascend. Every bit of pleasure seemed to accumulate between your legs and build and build, with only one end in sight.

“I’m–I’m gonna cum, I’m–!” Your words turned into a broken sob as release crashed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure euphoria that radiated out from your clit and spread to every inch of your body. Ace sank his teeth into your shoulder, growling at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his fingers, slowing but not stopping their movement so as to draw out your orgasm. He didn’t stop until you were no longer grinding your cunt against his hand, at which he finally pulled out.

“Marco, Izo. Stop,” Ace directed, although the other two were well aware that you had finished and had already detached themselves from your chest. “Sixty seconds, remember?”

One of the rules you had in place was that after an orgasm, you needed a minimum of one minute to come down before you could be touched again, with one exception–if one of them was close, they could go past the limit, as you could always use your safeword if needed.

You slumped back against Ace, trembling and panting, your clit still pulsing with aftershocks.

“Easy does it,” Ace murmured, thumb rubbing circles on your hip, “we’re not finished, so just take a breather for now.” He brought the hand he fingered you with to his mouth, sucking your fluids from his fingers with a debauched groan, and you felt his body temperature raise another degree.

Izo stepped closer, until his cock pressed against your stomach, and he rutted against you with a pleased sigh, warm pre-cum smearing on your skin. He took your face in both hands, angling you to look at him. “Look at you. You love being our plaything, don’t you?”

Your head was swimming, but you knew he wanted an answer. The only thing adhering you to the scene at that point was the others keeping it up. “I don’t…”

“Hm, still a little fight left in you,” Izo remarked, thumbs brushing away tears, “no problem.”

“We’ll fuck it out of you,” Marco promised. “Thirty seconds left, yoi… Then you’re ours.”

Your eyes widened, because how had thirty seconds already passed? Sighing, you let your head rest in Izo’s hands, soaking in the affection that was admittedly out-of-place for the scene, though contrasted with his animalistic rutting. Gradually, your breath returned, and even though your legs found strength once more, Ace didn’t stop holding you.

“Five,” Marco counted down, sending a shiver of anticipation up your spine, “four… three… two… one.” 

Marco grabbed your underwear and ripped it off your body as easily as if it were made of paper, tossing it aside. He ran a finger through your folds, just to feel for himself how wet you were, sucking his lip between his teeth once he found out.

Ace’s free hand squeezed your ass, then trailed between the cheeks down to your puckered hole. A swell of panic rose within you suddenly, and you called out, “Yellow!”

As if a switch was flipped, everyone stopped instantly, pulling away from your body aside from Ace holding you. His other hand came to your shoulder, turning you so he could see your face, his own written with concern. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong? Do you need to stop?”

“I’m okay,” you assured, “and I definitely don’t want to stop.”

“Change your mind about anal?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s not it. I–I want that, too.” You raised your voice enough for Thatch to hear from his spot in the chair, a few feet away. “I just wanted to remind everyone, before we go any further: Anything that goes in my ass–tongue, fingers or dick–doesn’t go in the front or in my mouth afterward. Okay?” That was a lesson you had to learn the hard way, a triple infection that led to a humiliating visit to Marco. It was he who taught you how to play it safe.

The other four all agreed, verbally confirming that they understood.

Ace thought for a moment. “Unless we use a condom first, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Ace said, “hey, Thatch. Pass me a condom.”

Another shiver ran down your spine at that. Thatch stood up, and Ace added, “And a glove, and the lube, please.” 

The requested items were wordlessly grabbed off the desk and brought to Ace, Thatch pausing to trace your lips with his index finger before he returned to his seat.

Ace turned you to face Marco and Izo again, so you could not see, but only hear the noises of him setting up: the snap of the latex glove on his hand, the squirt of the lube bottle, the wet smear of it between his fingers. You started to tremble again, and the men in front of you noticed, Marco petting your head while Izo’s smirk returned.

Ace’s fingers, now slick with lube, found your asshole once more. You expected the lube to be cold, but Ace had quickly warmed it to a comfortable temperature. He traced the ring of muscle teasingly, enjoying the way you tried to stifle your noise as a result, before penetrating you slowly with one finger.

You tensed, not meaning to make it difficult, but it felt so good you couldn’t help it. “Oh…”

“Relax,” Ace said softly, “just let me in… There, just like that, good…”

You bucked your hips back into his hand slightly, whimpering through a closed mouth and straining helplessly against the ropes binding your wrists. Ace probed deeper, until he reached the knuckle, then pulled back out, squeezing more lube onto his finger before pressing back in.

“You really like that, huh?” Marco commented, glancing below you, “dripping again, all over my floor.”

“Such a slut,” Izo’s grin was wicked, “getting off on being used by the enemy. You needed this so badly, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, both in response to Izo and to the fact that Ace inserted a second finger.

“Tell me how much you love it, and maybe I’ll touch that needy little clit of yours, yoi,” Marco said, voice low in a way that was unlike him. It seemed the scene was teaching everyone something new about themselves.

Like you needed any more prompting. “I love it,” you moaned shamelessly, “please. I love it so much, please touch me, sir…”

“Sir, huh?” Marco’s lip curled in satisfaction before he reached between your legs, finding your clit on the first try. He rubbed slowly and gently, adding to the sensation of Ace fingering your ass rather than distracting from it. It was almost unfair how well they worked together. “That’s Commander to you, Marine. That goes for all four of us.”

Ace kept applying lube intermittently, more than he really needed for just his fingers, and you realized his intent when the characteristic sound of a foil wrapper tearing hit your ears. You could hear his breathing get heavier with excitement as he unrolled the condom onto himself, then added a generous coating of lube.

“Gimme a hand,” Ace spoke over your shoulder, at the other two. Even as the shortest one among them, he was still tall enough compared to you that he needed to pick you up to bring his hips level with yours.

Marco abandoned your clit in order to grab your hips, lifting you effortlessly. Ace placed one hand below Marco’s on your hip, the other lining himself up. The blunt head of his cock pressed against and then slowly penetrated your asshole. Ace threw his head back with a curse as Marco helped ease you down, lower and lower until Ace bottomed out.

Ace’s other hand came to your other side, and when his bare fingers dug into your hips, you realized he had discarded the glove at some point. “I–” Ace had to pause, briefly overwhelmed. “...I got ‘em, Marco, th-thanks.”

“Sure.” Marco released his hold, letting Ace support you, and you were certain he’d leave bruises with the strength of his grip. Not that you minded–the pain enhanced the pleasure the same way sweet and savory food complemented each other. A little bit of one (or even a lot, depending on your mood) went a long way in increasing the other.

Ace pulled back his hips just slightly before snapping them forward, like he didn’t want to be outside of you for a second, gasping as he did. “Tight! Oh, god, that’s tight. Fuck…”

The action drew a small moan out of you, a second following shortly after as Ace started up an easy pace. With his strength, he was able to hold you steady as he went, your body only moving forward a little when he bucked into you. You wondered why he didn’t just bounce you on him, until you realized he was attempting to make it easier for the other two to touch you.

Marco must have realized it, as well, because he went back to rubbing your clit a second later, making you twitch and keen under the dual sensations. Ace was splitting you open so nicely, the lube ensuring he slid in with little resistance. The slick, wet noises of his cock pistoning in and out seemed to amplify the feeling of being filled, your sensitive passage contracting around him without rhythm. His grunts and groans in your ear only made it better, voice raspy with the enticing sound of his unraveling.

“Beautiful,” Izo crooned, jerking himself off to the sight. His free hand grabbed your jaw, and then he was kissing you, firm and demanding. You moaned into his mouth and he licked at your tongue, tasting you for a breathless moment before biting your lip. He moved the hand on your jaw to the base of your throat, making room for him to kiss along your jaw and work his way down to the side of your neck Ace had left untouched, eager to sow his own field bruises.

The third point of stimulation was enough to start working your body up again, a slow but sure swelling that smoldered with the promise of ecstasy.

“Izo!” You cried as his teeth dug into the delicate flesh of your neck, “Ace… M-Marco!”

Izo bit down a little harder, as if in admonishment, at the same time that Marco growled, “Commander,” in a corrective tone that made your clit throb against his fingers.

“Commander!” You gasped, voice quivering, “please!”

You did not know what you were asking for. Whatever it was, they did not give it to you. The three of them continued their relentless onslaught on your senses for what felt like hours but could have only been minutes. Behind them, Thatch must have come down enough, because he was now stroking himself with one hand while he bit into the other, absolutely enraptured with the show.

Izo marked his way both down and up your neck, leaving behind a trail of dark marks and red paint until he was back at your lips. His lipstick had smeared, and combined with his messy hair, it was the perfect image of lust indulged, the sight alone pulling a desperate noise from you.

“What, you want more? It’s still not enough for you?” Izo spoke against your lips, the taunt not at all diminished by the heaviness of his breathing.

With Ace fucking your ass and Marco teasing your clit, you couldn’t form the words, only a pitiful, needy moan.

Izo laughed softly. “I know, sweet thing, I know.” He grabbed your thigh, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between them, and lined up his cock with the dribbling entrance to your cunt.

Ace only slowed down, unwilling or unable to stop, as Izo’s cock parted your folds. He slid inside easily, thick girth posing no problem with how ridiculously wet you were, and the both of you cried out at the sensation, a harmony of high and low pitched sounds. Izo stayed still for a moment, savoring the snug, warm fit, before the feeling of Ace’s cock through your thin internal walls made him grit his teeth and rest his forehead against yours with a groan that Ace echoed behind you. 

With Izo and Ace being similar in height, they were lined up perfectly, neither slipping out even as Izo started to thrust. His strokes were deeper than Ace’s, unconcerned about leaving your heat when he was only going to sheath himself again, and again, knowing he could indulge in you at his leisure. Ace had far less impulse control, fucking you with little thought but to his own pleasure at that point, leaving Izo to pace himself so they could take you with some semblance of coordination.

“C–Comman…” You couldn’t even finish saying their title, the words devolving into helpless little moans and whimpers as they ravaged you from both ends.

Marco stepped closer to keep his fingers in contact with your clit, his free hand coming up to flick one of your nipples. It sent a jolt of electricity through the cloud of pleasure that was currently your brain, making you tighten up around the dual cocks in you, Ace and Izo both gasping or moaning in turn. Finding both hands occupied but craving friction at the sight of you getting tag-teamed, Marco was glad for his significant height advantage right then, as he was at the perfect level to press his still-clothed dick against your thigh and rut.

Your body was a brewing storm, made up of hazy clouds of pleasure, bolts of nerves lighting you up brighter and brighter with every thrust and touch inside and around you, more and more intense, building, building, building. The only thought in your head was the goal, the crest over the hill, so close you could cry from how badly you wanted it.

For a wonderful, terrifying moment, you were stuck at the edge, that desperate moment right before the peak, riding the knife’s edge of bliss without truly attaining it. So good, but not enough, a taste of liberation that only made you long for nirvana. You couldn’t hear anything but the rushing blood in your ears, pulsing in time with your heart and your cunt. And then Izo angled just right against your g-spot and Marco rubbed your clit just so and Ace just kept pounding your ass like he’d never get to fuck again in his life, and you tipped over and were gone. It was easily the strongest orgasm you’d ever experienced, momentarily separated from the outside world and all stimuli but the intense throbbing of every part of your cunt–everything, centering from your clit and rippling through your entire pelvic floor. Only the parts of the men inside you or on you existed, everything else fading behind the raw euphoria of the present. You didn’t make a sound–couldn’t, realizing you had been holding your breath throughout the whole thing.

Suddenly aware of the need for air, you gasped, deep breaths coming out shaky and uneven. Vaguely, you could hear the three of them saying something, but you didn’t process the words. You realized they had stilled, holding you in place. Then Ace and Izo pulled out, and the sudden stimulation of the still-tender nerves made you yelp in discomfort.

“Sorry,” Ace apologized, kissing the back of your head. “That was a strong one, huh? The way you gripped me back there…” Ace set you down on your feet carefully, helping you stay upright with one arm.

“Breathe slowly, Y/n, you’re okay,” Izo instructed, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing the back soothingly. “Do you need longer than a minute?”

“Yes,” you said gratefully between pants, “yeah, just… Wait…”

Marco used his sleeve to dab away the sweat on your brow, then ran a hand over your head affectionately. “We can stop here, if you want.”

If you hadn’t just had your world rocked, you might have embarrassed yourself with how quickly you rejected the notion, but you were still reeling, so what would have been a passionate denial came out as a calmer, breathy “No, I’m okay.”

“Color?” Marco asked, just for a formal confirmation.

“Green.” You were kind of amazed that this was still continuing, but when you saw Ace peel off his condom, you realized that none of them had cum yet. You pushed away the urge to feel bad–they had the control in this scene, everything was going how they wished.

“I have an idea,” Thatch spoke up from his seat. “What about this…”

You all listened to his proposal, the words bringing a fresh wave of heat through you despite the fact you were still coming down. The four of them discussed positions while you caught your breath, until they came to a decision they were all happy with.

“How much time do you need?” Thatch asked you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on yourself and listening to your body. There was a muted tingling between your legs, but it was hard to tell if it was oversensitivity or a new thrum of desire. Regardless, you wanted more, not satisfied unless you got to see them finish as well.

“Three more minutes,” you decided. “Starting now.”

“Three minutes, huh?” Marco pet your head again, but this time, he paused mid-way to dig his fingers into your hair, gripping hard and pulling your head back so he could kiss you roughly. His tongue and teeth violated your mouth, probing and nipping until you were moaning weakly into his. He broke away, looking down at you almost coldly, a hungry, mean look in his eyes as he pushed down on the top of your head.

“Get on your knees.”

The look alone sent a pleasant chill through you, much less his tone. It was a bit of a shock–Marco had been the most reluctant about the scene when you all first talked about it, concerned for your well-being. Seeing the wet spot on the tent of his pants, you wondered suddenly if this was why, if he knew he might like it a little too much. It was certainly not a problem.

The rule had been that no one could touch you–specifically between your legs, or your chest–while you were cooling down. You realized you never said anything about touching them during that time. Locking eyes with Marco, you sank to your knees obediently, licking your lips in anticipation, the action making Marco’s fist tighten in your hair for a moment.

“Good, that’s a good little captive. You belong to us now, don’t you? You’re all ours,” Marco growled, “I don’t think we’ll be giving you back to your fellow Marines. I think we’ll keep you, forever, as our personal fuck toy.”

You didn’t think you could really get any wetter, but Marco swiftly proved you wrong, your cunt clenching with need as fluid continued to leak down your thighs. The floor was hard on your knees, but you kind of liked that, the light pain contrasting with the haze of sheer want.

Marco let go of your hair in order to strip from his jacket and unzip his pants, pulling out his straining cock. “Open wide, love. Prove that this is all you’re good for.”

You’d barely opened your mouth before Marco’s hand was back in your hair and he was pushing his cock in, forcing your mouth wider as your cry of surprise was muffled. He had never been this rough with you before, and it was a side of him you hoped you’d get to see again sometime. Having not had any attention during the whole scene up until now, he was needy and eager, practically shoving his way to the back of your throat. You were almost dizzy from the action–Marco, your gentle Marco, fucking your mouth like you were nothing but a whore.

Maybe you were–the way you sucked him was more than a little depraved, unable to hide how much you liked it, messy and ravenous. He hadn’t even gone deep yet and you were already breathing through your nose in anticipation, tongue curling along his length as you went. Marco had a slight tremble in his legs, biting back moans that slipped out as terse grunts. Soon spit was trickling down the corners of your mouth again, and you didn’t bother hiding your moan, knowing it’d be muffled around his dick anyway.

“Fuck, Y/n,” Marco cursed, your only warning before he pulled your head down and pushed himself deeper, penetrating your throat, “fucking take it.”

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as he entered your throat, grip in your hair deliciously painful as he pulled until your nose was pressed against the curls of his pubes. He thrusted shallowly, moans pitching higher at the sensation, and you pulled against the ropes binding your wrists, wanting to touch him, to make him feel even better.

If only someone was touching you. The thought surprised you–you normally preferred the opposite, needing to focus while you were deepthroating so you wouldn’t gag. But being used so thoroughly was making you contract around nothing, craving to be filled. Only the thought of what was coming next, and Marco plugging up your throat, kept you from begging for more.

“Five,” Izo counted, “Four…”

“Shut up–I don’t care. Fuck,” Marco groaned, not intending on stopping after three measly minutes. You wondered if he would finish right there, abandon what you had planned next. It certainly seemed that way, his control slipping as he thrusted harder and harder, tears spilling down your cheeks. You weren’t sure how much longer you were there, only that eventually the strength behind his hips was too much, causing you to finally gag. You were about to tap your foot in signal when Marco pulled out, a rope of spit connecting his dick to your lips.

Marco took a step back, a shudder running through him while you gasped and coughed for a moment. You swallowed the spit and pre-cum that had accumulated in your mouth, then tilted your head back to look up at him with nothing short of adoration. Marco was panting, but smiled down at you, wiping the drool from your mouth. “Well done, sweetheart. You ready for the next part?”

“Doesn’t matter if they’re ready,” Izo said, still in character, trying to sound cold but unable to hide his excitement. It had the desired effect anyway, your thighs squeezing together. “They’re going to take us all and they’re going to love it.”

“Please,” your beg was barely a whisper, but they all heard it regardless.

Marco helped you to your feet, and when Thatch approached you, your heart leaped to see him holding the dagger from earlier. Unfortunately, he only meant to cut your bindings, and Ace laughed at your resulting expression.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he grinned, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. “If you want to play with knives, I’ll indulge you another time, I promise.” He bit your lower lip, drawing a small, needy sound from you, before his voice lowered. “If we include Marco, I could even cut you a little… What do you think?”

“Ace,” you whimpered, your tone telling him exactly how you felt about such a proposition.

Thatch finished cutting through the ropes, and you rubbed at your newly-freed wrists, the skin there a little raw but not too tender. Ace had tied it perfectly.

Anyone who hadn’t disrobed all the way did so, clothes discarded onto the floor or on the chairs, before you all moved to the bed. Marco hopped on first, laying on his back. You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and facing his legs. Ace passed you the lube, and you took a minute to apply it to Marco, fingers gliding up and down his twitching cock. He couldn’t help bucking into your touch, trying and failing to suppress moans.

You tossed the lube aside, wiping the excess onto your thighs, before lifting up your hips. Marco helped guide you down, one hand on your hip, one around the base of his cock, positioning it against your ass. You sank down onto him with a gratified sigh, Marco gasping as his thick length breached your hole and filled you slowly, the delicate passage lighting up with pleasure.

Now seated in his lap, Marco took a few breaths before placing his hands on your shoulders and easing you back until you were laying on him.

“Still–ah!” He stuttered as you clenched around him just to get a reaction, “–still green?”

“Mhm.”

In retaliation, Marco gently pinched your nipple, but it only made you tighten up again, the both of you moaning in turn.

Thatch mounted the bed next, at the foot of it, crawling between yours and Marco’s legs. There was just enough space for him to sit on folded legs, and he rubbed your thigh fondly before lining himself up with your cunt. He sucked in a breath as he parted you, biting his lip. Halfway in, he paused, pulling back out before pushing in again, this time not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside.

The noise you made was almost embarrassing, a debauched keening that could only come from being filled up so entirely. You were so full, so perfectly stuffed, the feeling of being stretched to your limit nothing short of bliss. You laid your head back on Marco’s shoulder, shivering with satisfied lust as you clenched around them.

Thatch threw his head back, too, groaning. “Shit, I can feel Marco twitching.”

You thought you could, too, though sometimes it was hard to tell if the little pulses were coming from yourself or from them.

“Here we go, love. Just relax and take it,” Marco murmured into your ear.

Thatch started moving first, slow pumps of his hips to ease you into things. But you did not want slow or easy, especially not at this point in the night. He felt so, so good inside, and yet you needed even more.

“Harder, Thatch!” You pleaded.

“No. It’ll be too much–” Thatch started to reply.

“Please!”

Thatch clicked his tongue. “Sheesh, needy little thing. Fine.”

He grabbed your hips and picked up his pace, upping both the speed and force of his thrusts until his hips were smacking loudly against yours. Below you, Marco started to move, too, working his cock in and out in perfect rhythm with Thatch. You gasped at the change, toes curling at the flood of sensation.

You reached to touch your clit, but Marco suddenly grabbed your wrists, pinning them to your sides. The strength in his grip only made you wetter, a jolt of desire making you clench up, your moans rising in volume.

You didn’t even notice Izo taking his place on the bed, perched right above Marco’s shoulder, until he bent over you, filling your vision, in order to kiss you once more.

“Still want to do this?” He asked, checking in one last time.

“Yesss,” you moaned, tearing up again at just how good it felt.

“Thatch will watch for your signal, okay?” Izo tilted your head back, fingers parting your lips, and you sucked on them without prompting, making him smirk. “Alright, here it comes.”

You opened your mouth, and Izo inserted his cock, far more slowly than the others had earlier. He worked his way in gently, gradually making it further and further in, keeping an eye on your body for a sign of a negative reaction. It would have been impossible to tell, though–with Marco and Thatch fucking you so well, you were twitching and arching periodically. The only thing Izo could really count on at that point was your safe signal, but he trusted you to use it if you needed to. With that in mind, he pushed further, deeper, until he was well inside your throat.

It was ambitious–minding your breathing was a challenge when you were being double penetrated so perfectly, but the two prior attempts had relaxed your gag reflex more than usual, and there was little discomfort as Izo started to thrust. Having to concentrate on your breathing only diminished the pleasure by the tiniest fraction, the nerves between your legs ever ablaze. 

With your head back, you couldn’t see anything but Izo’s lower half, but you could feel how he rested a hand on your throat, feeling his dick through the flesh. You felt another hand running down your side–it had to be Ace–and then he mounted the bed, too, throwing a leg over to straddle your waist.

This was it. You could barely contain your excitement, but in your current state, there was no real way to tell. All your noise was currently muffled, anyway.

Ace felt up your chest, groping and squeezing, before he positioned his cock in between your breasts and pressed them together. Already dripping pre-cum, he needed no lube as he started to thrust, his own noises of delight joining that of the other three. His thumbs brushed your nipples as he tit-fucked you, making you buck into Thatch and Marco.

“Look at that! All of us at the same time… You’re incredible, Y/n,” Ace praised between moans. “Even your tits feel amazing… So fucking good. So fucking good.”

You couldn’t respond, of course, but you weren’t sure you could have formed words even if your mouth was free. Spread out between the four of them, every hole filled out and more, you felt as if every nerve in your body was wired to them, to the feel of their skin against and inside yours. Entirely at their whims, nothing more than a means to their satisfaction, they used you completely and thoroughly, and it was perfect.

No one bothered hiding their noises anymore, all sense of shame long since gone, a chorus of moans and grunts and cries reverberating through the room alongside lewd, wet squelches and slaps. They were so deep inside you, your insides molded to the shape of them, and soon the heat started to build somewhere between your legs, even without your clit being touched, a song of lust that started to crescendo.

You had never cum while deepthroating before, the pleasure mostly mental on your end. But then Thatch started rubbing your clit, and you knew there was no chance you wouldn’t, the crescendo spiking rapidly toward its end. Above you, you could hear Izo’s moans stutter and pitch high in a familiar way, and when he came, he was so far down your throat you didn’t even feel it.

A few seconds later, Izo pulled out of your mouth, and you switched your breathing with a gasp. He pressed a grateful kiss to your forehead, then slid to sit on the floor, spent.

“Good, good, now we can hear you,” Ace panted, “though I kind of liked hearing you try and moan with a cock in your throat, too.” His thumbs continued flicking and rubbing your nipples mercilessly, the icing on the proverbial cake that spurred on your desperate moans.

The heat only kept building, shooting higher and higher. They were so big inside, so big and so deep, taking you like they needed it just as badly as you did.

“I’m gonna cum,” Ace whined, and when you opened your mouth in response, that did him in. He shouted as he came, spurting thick, hot ropes mostly over your neck, though some landed in your mouth. It was bitter and you didn’t even slightly care, too fucked-out to do anything but swallow in between moans.

Ace finishing in your mouth was enough to hurdle you to the edge, suddenly close, a wave at its crest ready to break at any moment. You pulled weakly against Marco’s hold on your wrists, but his grip only tightened. Clenching rhythmically around them, overcome with the need to finish, your thoughts focused once more on nothing but the end that was in sight. You barely even felt Ace dismount, nor Marco’s nibbling on the shell of your ear. Ace reached to your breasts again, pinching your nipples with just the right amount of pressure, and your peak all but slammed into you.

For an instant, you saw white. It was, somehow, even stronger than the last one. Once again, nothing existed but you and your shaking orgasm, the sizzling of every pleasure nerve in your body, the pulse of your entire being unmade into nothing but the component elements of sensation. Your cry broke halfway out your mouth, devolving into a choked sob as the other two just kept fucking you through the contractions of your walls, drawing out your climax for what felt like an eternity.

“Coming,” Thatch’s voice was strained, the fluttering around his cock bringing him to the edge. He gripped your hips with both hands, strong enough to bruise, and cursed as his hips stuttered in their pace. “Oh, Y/n!”

You couldn’t feel it, but you knew Thatch had finished once he stilled, catching his breath before pulling out. He stayed where he was, eyes fixed onto your cunt, waiting, as promised earlier, for his cum to dribble out.

You went limp above Marco, still rutting into your ass, the pitch of his moans signaling that he was near his end, as well. He let go of your wrists and grabbed your hips, bouncing you onto his cock like you were a toy. You were too fresh from your orgasm for it to feel all that good, but it didn’t hurt, either, so you just relaxed and let him get there at his pace.

Marco finished with a cry of your name, fingers digging into your hips and head thrown back against the bed. He held you there for another minute before letting go with a heavy and very satisfied sigh. You lifted yourself off of him and collapsed beside him, and for a few minutes, there was only the sound of everyone catching their breath.

“Fuck,” you said, staring at the ceiling in awe.

Ace giggled from his spot in one of the chairs. “You said it.”

Marco rolled onto his side to face you, cupping your face with both hands and kissing you passionately before he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “You’re okay, yoi? Nothing hurts?”

“My throat’s a bit sore,” you admitted. “I’m sure it’ll be worse later. I probably won’t do consecutive deepthroats like that again. Maybe cap it at two times a session.”

“Whatever you need,” Marco said. “That was… You were…”

“You were amazing,” Thatch finished for him. “Shit, I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

“Me neither,” you laughed. “I think you guys might have ruined me forever. What if I can’t cum from regular sex after this?”

Izo pushed himself off the ground, standing up and stretching. “Just come to any of us, we’ll take care of you.”

“Can you walk?” Marco asked. “Do you need any help getting cleaned up?”

“I dunno. I’ll find out soon enough. I need a minute first, though,” you said, curling up against Marco and resting your forehead on his chest.

“Of course.”

Izo grabbed the stack of washcloths off the desk, taking them to the connected bathroom (another one of Marco’s private luxuries) to dampen them before passing them out. Everyone but Marco cleaned up and got dressed, the latter staying put to cuddle you while you came down.

After a few minutes, you sat up, swinging your legs over the bed and attempting to stand. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt a little like a newborn deer, but at least you could stand. Ace joined you in the bathroom anyway, making sure you stayed upright while you cleaned up. A second outfit was waiting for you on the desk, and Ace helped you change into it.

Clean, dry, and thoroughly spent, you crawled back into Marco’s bed and collapsed. Marco, now dressed, got in beside you, spooning your back and hugging you to him.

The reality of what you just did settled in, and you suddenly laughed at yourself. “God, I’m a slut…”

“If you are, then so are we for participating,” Marco said.

You gave him a look over your shoulder. “You can say that, but you weren’t the ones with three dicks in you.”

“Four, in a way,” Ace said.

“Ace,” Izo snapped. “Not helping.”

“It’s fine, Y/n. It really doesn’t matter,” Marco assured.

“He’s right,” Thatch said. “It’s normal for pirates to sleep around, anyway. Don’t worry about it so much.”

“Alright…” You conceded.

Izo, Thatch, and Ace came to sit on the edges of the bed, the latter deciding that wasn’t enough and crawling in to lay next to your other side, though barely fitting. Caring little that his ass was practically hanging off the bed, Ace stroked your cheek affectionately before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Hey, Y/n… Thanks.”

“I should be the one saying thanks,” you mumbled. “It was my fantasy.”

“But we all really, really enjoyed it,” Ace insisted, beaming.

You smiled and buried your face into the pillow in an embarrassment that was frankly ridiculous to be feeling after all of that. You had already been exposed inside and out, in every sense of the word. Something that could only be pulled off because of your deep trust in your partners–trust that they’d listen, trust that they would never hurt you, trust that they had your best interests in mind.

An overwhelming surge of love rose in your chest at the realization of just how far you trusted them, how well they took care of you, and how much it had paid off. You were surprised to feel tears welling up, immediately biting your lip in an attempt to stop them. But then you blinked and they rolled down your cheeks, making Ace frown. “Y/n?”

“I’m good, I’m–” you covered your mouth to suppress the sob that threatened to spill out. The tears were running down your cheeks now, and you had no idea why, only that you couldn’t seem to keep it in.

The others were all attuned to you now, wearing equal looks of concern.

“Tell me what’s wrong, babe,” Ace murmured, pulling your hand away from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffed, trembling, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It was perfect.”

“It was intense,” Marco said softly, hugging you a little tighter. “This is a normal reaction. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“O-Okay…”

Izo rubbed your arm, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay, Y/n. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

“There’s no judgment here,” Thatch added, petting your head. “You’re safe.”

Reassured, you stopped trying to hold it in and let yourself just cry. Marco and Ace held you all the while, Thatch and Izo’s hands never leaving you either. Eventually the cry ran its course, and you were left with the occasional sniffle.

Thatch brought you tissues while Izo brought you a glass of water. You sat up to partake in both, blowing your nose before draining the water in seconds.

“More?” Izo asked, and you nodded.

Marco rubbed your back while Izo refilled the glass, and when he returned, you downed it just as quickly.

The four of them whispered reassurances and affirmations: You’re not useless. You’re not a toy. You’re one of us. We respect you. We love you so much.

You leaned against Marco, feeling significantly better even though you had never really felt bad at all. “I love you guys, too. More than anything.”

They each took a turn kissing and embracing you, making you smile.

“So, uh,” you started, smile turning sheepish, “Next time our schedules line up… You know, when we’re all off at the same time–”

“Then we can get off at the same time?” Ace offered, and you giggled.

“Absolutely,” Thatch said.

“I’m up for a repeat,” Izo agreed. “How could I not be after that?”

“We’ll discuss it when the time comes,” Marco said, “make sure it goes as smoothly as it did this time.”

“I’m sure it will,” you sighed, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, “there’s no one else I trust more.”

“Alright!” Thatch clapped his hands together. “I’m going to go cook something nice just for the five of us. I dunno about you guys, but I’m famished.”

Your eyelids were already growing heavy. “That sounds good, but I think I’m gonna pass out here in a sec.”

“Go ahead, Y/n,” Marco said, “We’ll wake you when it’s ready.”

You nodded, letting yourself flop back into the bed. “Thanks…”

Marco and Ace laid on either side of you, arms finding their way around your waist and shoulders, and you relaxed into their embrace. You could feel Izo petting your head, and you smiled to yourself.

There really was no one else you trusted quite like those four:

Marco. Ace. Thatch. Izo.

I worked really hard on this! Reblogs and comments mean everything to me! Thank you so much for reading!

[yawntu]

Not a request (unless you want it to be)! but imagine avatar!reader showing neytiri a little girl on girl action (scissoring) cause Jake's been too busy with the whole clan leader thing to please her 🫣

this had to get its own little moment

a/n: I love her I had to write this when I got it something about her makes me swoon. She has so many layers and she is my queen. I finally formatted it. Not proofread yet oop

pairing(s): Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite x f!Reader, extremely brief Jake Sully x f!Reader

word count: ~2k

warnings: NSFW / MDNI Caught, Scissoring / Tribbing, Switch x switch couple, Pregnant Neytiri bc she’s a milf it’s more so a plot point then focused on, Praise kink (receiving), Neytiri doesn’t really know what she’s doing but your enthusiasm makes up for it

Neytiri could not bring herself to understand why she was sitting here complaining to you. Her life had finally found some semblance of peace. She knows that she should be thankful for the way her people have risen from ashes; for having such a strong competent mate and a mother who knew what was best for her people. She was thankful still had a family to support her and her beautiful planet that was in the very least safe for now.

She should be at ease but she’s not. She’s frustrated and antsy. Maybe it was because she was pregnant enough to be left behind in things she felt needed her attention- or maybe she did not actually care about all of that and the sun was just too hot. She was no sure what it was but she couldn’t shake all the bitter moments that had accumulated throughout the week and led her to this very moment. Sat lounged out by a stream not so far from the village enjoying lunch with her best friend. Though she loved your daily walks, even your company did not soothe the bubbling anger she ultimately has concluded boiled down to Jake.

“All he does is work!” She snaps at you plopping a round berry in her mouth.

For a second you flinch as if you’re the one she’s scolding for neglect. You’re thankful you’re not at the receiving end of her sour mood as she rants about how annoying her day has been.

“Well, he’s dealing with a lot of guilt I’m sure. Men think too much and get stuck in their own brains.” You shrug as you finish peeling her fruit for her, trying to ease her foul mood while not throwing the friend you greatly admired under the bus.

She thinks it’s sweet how you’re always looking to help her, and how loyal you have been. Almost to a fault.

Jake had given you the order to look out for her and you did the most to make sure you met his expectations- like the good little ex-SEAL you were. She thought it was cute that you were so eager to please. Listened to orders so well.

“I’m dealing with the weight of his tsawl txìm ‘evi,”

Big ass kid. Her joking comment makes you bark out a laugh and throw your head back as you swat at one of her sore legs that lay across your own lap and legs.

“Better hope he doesn’t have his father's big ass head,”

You make her laugh as you point to your skull to annunciate the comment. She likes that she doesn’t have to act properly around you. She didn’t have to be nice. She felt she could act her age. Act like she wasn’t Tsakarem. That you were not an alien who had lived a whole over life before you chose this. That her non-native mate wasn’t tasked with rebuilding the world around her with the help of her mother while Neytiri was forced to focus on being pregnant.

She thought that preparing for motherhood would leave her in isolation and drive her into a solitary pit of despair, lost in her own thoughts- but yet here you were. Like her little shadow. Always there to keep her from feeling so alone. You were a good listener too. You didn’t talk much- would just let her ramble about however she felt so she didn’t have to keep it in and go insane with grief. It’s why she trusted you so much.

“I’ll never have another child again,” She rolls her eyes as she wiggles her sore calf over your lap again,

“Please; continue.”

You smile softly at her, returning to rubbing her swollen calf and thigh that you had previously neglected to peel a particularly rough citrus-like fruit for her.

She can talk about anything to you, and you’ll nod and joke along because ultimately she’s your best friend. The best friend you’ve ever had. You think she’s interesting and you care about the way she feels. That’s probably why she likes you so much right now. Your attentive hands on her anyways.

She tries to occupy herself with the citrus that dances across her tongue but all she can feel is the pad of your thumb massaging her swollen thigh.

“Let me sit up so I can get your other leg and hips.”

Her tail flicks as you move past your leg to sit on your knees. She doesn’t mean to seem so annoyed in her actions. She is not mad at you. She really just hates Jake right now. For how tired he is. How busy he is.

He always makes it up to her but had he not been so busy she wouldn’t have been so enticed by the swift movement of your hands against her sapphire skin.

She can swear you’re teasing her on purpose. The way you prop yourself on your knees and annunciate the pretty dip of your hips. Neytiri can’t help but shift and open her legs a bit more. To give you more room between her. She’d say she was getting comfortable but she isn’t stupid. She knows you know it too. You’re terrible at controlling your body language. It’s almost rude how quickly your tail twisting behind you and the way your ears are pointed right towards her.

Your nose crinkles in concentration as you move her leg to rest on your full hips while your thumb instantly moves to push a firm long stroke up the side of her thigh. The feeling shoots across her nerves and she sighs at the alleviation of pain in her hips. It almost makes her forget how much you had turned her on.

“You are so blessed,” She’s shocked at how quickly your palms pressed running across her sore muscles has begun to ease her tight hips and her sour mood, “You’re doing so well,”

She’s thankful you’re so easily appeased. Tail swishing behind you as you rub where her leg met her hip. She’d encourage you the rest of the day if it meant you didn’t stop.

“I have one order, gotta keep you from killin’ Jake during the day,” a giggle falls from your lips.

You lose good girl points at the mention of Jakes name and for the fact that you tease her for her temper. It is Jakes fault she was so irritated today. You knew that. It was obvious how needy she was for intimacy. Jake was as perfect as he could be to her- he was just so busy. You know she didn’t have the heart to complain to her mate that she was horny and lonely when he was carrying such a burden. You could chalk her well-hidden desperation up to her being pregnant but your face flushes at the thought that maybe she just liked you a little bit. You can’t stop your silly smile at the fact that her hips relax even more when you switch over to her opposite leg. One leg lay lazily on the ground while your knead your hands against her flesh.

“Am I helping the pain a little?”

And though you’re asking her a question you’re not looking up at her from your position between her legs. Too busy watching your hands paw at her swollen hips and thighs.

You’re sweet to her. It’s why she controls the motion of her tail snapping up off the ground to smack right up against what she hopes is just as needy and wet as she is.

You yelp and it makes her laugh and though you’ve been half purposely touching her in the hope she’d recuperate your touches you’re almost shocked at the outcome.

“Why are you wet, huh?”

She hopes her words work you up but the fact that your eyes shoot to hers for only a second before looking down to her core ignites her own needy breath.

“I- uh… I dunno I haven’t had sex since I’ve been on earth… like seven years ago.” It sounded like a long time- five years and some months of those if those years were actually getting to Pandora- and it felt like a nap to you. You still miss it obviously- a little too much as she reaches her fingers to caress your wrist and it has you humming.

She laughs at you of course. Making fun of you even though she knew only the rudimental outside of Jake.

“You’re also very pretty,” your quick addition accompanies a charming smile.

She can tell you admire Jake so much at this moment. You match his same entranced pretty smile. Wide eyes looking all too eagerly up at her.

“You’re very pretty too,”

Your thumb runs under the lining of her tweng as she compliments you back and you practically purr at the soft and wet feeling her lips greet you with.

“Does it hurt here too?” You ask her, and though it’s half in jest she nods.

“Terribly. You’ll have to help me.”

You’re a bit nervous when she reaches her hand down to untie her bottoms. it’s not until her other hand touches your hip that you snap out of your own thoughts.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit clueless though,”

There’s that pretty charming quip in her voice that reminds you she is a princess and it makes your legs clench but ultimately calms you down over the fact that she cannot really judge your performance without comparison.

“I can show you,” you didn’t know why she made you nervous; “It’ll feel good for both of us,”

She just grins and pulls at one of the strings of your bottoms that you’re cursing for being as intricately worn as they are.

She can’t help but dance her hands down your exposed skin and admire how excited you seemed to be at the prospect of relief.

She’s not even all that pregnant yet and you’re still so gentle as to carefully position your leg to avoid her.

You sit against her a little too quickly, plopping down flush against her own swollen slit out of pure excitement before jolting back up slightly. Just allowing your swollen clits to touch.

It’s not that Neytiri didn’t figure this is how women who mated with other women slept together- but no one ever talked about it. She had heard whispers of women preoccupying themselves during heats, but she was clueless as to how it actually happened or how it could possibly feel satisfying.

Then, however, you started rocking your hips forward a little. She finally got the appeal of the feather light weight you started with. How enthusiastically and quickly you rub yourself against her is hypnotizing. She feels bad for being so into the way your dragging across the wetness between your bodies considering she has Jake but she can’t ignore how nice this is. She wonders which one of you is responsible for the mess- she can believe it’s her- it wouldn’t shock her in the least- but she hopes it’s you. Even though your eyes have already started to close as you nestled your face into her leg you used to balance yourself and your hip's movements stutter and messily ruin the steady build towards both of your orgasms every time you feel too close to cumming.

The feeling of you gliding your warm cunt against her swollen clit has her sighing in lenience. If your careful hands rubbing at her hips and thighs didn’t alleviate the pain she felt before then the way you forced her to focus on the desire to cum has cured it.

“Mmm. You’re doing so good for me- ya you’re right- fe’els good.“ she choked on her own pant as she tries to sit up slightly so she can touch your tail, “Go faster please,”

One hand plays with your nipple as the other uses her outstretched legs as an anchor to grind yourself down onto her at the speeds she requests.

The fact that you turn to look at her but instead get distracted by the oscillation of her full breasts has her hips rolling up to meet you.

“Oh-ohhhh,” and she feels your fall forward at her intrusion as to brace yourself onto your hands. She’s so thankful you were so flexible. So easy for you to loosen your hips open a little more and fuck yourself down onto her.

She felt so good. So much better than what you thought dragging your clit against hers would feel like. You get why Jake folded and betrayed everyone so easily. Her nails running across your thigh or back haphazardly in conjunction with the way you feel your clit slot up against hers makes you shutter.

You really hope you aren’t setting a bad example. You hope she’s feeling just as good as you are, it’s hard for you to turn your head to face her so you focus your energy on making sure your grind down accurately.

You try not to be sloppy- you do the best you can even though she whines and makes you want cum before she could.

You thank Eywa when you feel her nails dig into your hips and the gush of her pussy against yours.

Your, “Oh fuck- fucking hell,” is less ceremonious then her moans but you can’t help it when the added slickness of her orgasm makes it all too easy to trib yourself down against her and chase your own high.

You thank divine timing for finishing just in time for your heart to drop into your stomach at the sound of someone crossing the tree line,

“Huh, woulda’ get a load of this,”

It is a gruff masculine voice that you now vividly recall giving you the order to watch out for his wife- not scissor yourself between her thighs and fuck her.

[hwadam-stories]

₊ ˚ ⊹ #HWADAMSTORIES 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ .ᐟ

a writing blog for anything and everything related to the elixir of the sun manhwa, originally written by Soldam and illustrated by Song Yi, a historical romance story about fate, destiny and an eternal love. 3/7/24.

sign the petition to get this manwha animated!

🌺 INTRODUCTION

first and foremost, this blog is a sideblog to my roleplay blogs IMPERIALSIYO and JEUNGHWA you'll receive a follow back from those blogs upon following this one.

my name is moe (she / her) twenty-four. black and cherokee-indian, thank you for coming by and checking out my blog. I highly encouraged coming into my inbox and interacting with me (messages, requests, etc) because I genuinely love that stuff with my whole heart.

due to the nature of my blog and the manhwa itself, minors and ageless blogs are prohibited from interacting with me and will receive an immediate block. this blog and it's contents caters only to an adult audience. Please refer to this post to know more

🌺 REQUESTS / GUIDELINES

I do not consent to my work being translated, plagiarized or reposted anywhere else.

Sharing is caring! Likes do nothing for my fics other than serving a bookmark for you, so please consider reblogging my fics to share with others so more people can read and enjoy them!

While my inbox is open to requests (both anonymously and non) I do reserve the right to decline any submissions that either breaks my rules or makes me uncomfortable.

That being said, I love crossover content of any kind and absolutely encourage more than just reader x character fics! I'm in many fandoms like Wandavision, Castlevania, Inuyasha, Disney, Jujutsu Kaisen, American Dad, Archer, Hazbin Hotel etc.

POINTS OF VIEW: male, female, deaf, blind, black (African-American), etc.

WHAT I WON'T WRITE: non-con, pedophilia, beastiality, gross / weird kinks, illegal age gaps, etc.

WHAT I WILL WRITE: fluff, smut, familial dynamics, romance, violence, blood, death, alternate universes, alternate scenes, legal age gaps, Headcanons, oneshots, yandere, etc.

🌺 CHARACTER LIST (see images here)

[ganak village]: Rangbi, Jahan, Saran, Yul

[hwadam kingdom]: Emperor Dhan, Bayan, Chief Secretary Juhyul, Chief General Ga-Yerang, Suyeon

[concubines]: Sama Hyeon, Han Bia, Ye Tae Im, Karan

characters from other fandoms

🌺 ABOUT THE MANHWA (read it here)

Bayan is an outcast amongst the Siyo, a people who have healing powers. Considered worthless because she doesn’t have the ability to heal others, Bayan is sent to the court of Dhan, the Great Sun Emperor, who is cursed with unrelenting bloodlust and slaughters his concubines mercilessly. It seems that Bayan’s fate is sealed the moment she reaches the emperor’s palace and Dhan is fated to suffer from madness forever... But together, Bayan and Dhan just might be able to change each other’s destiny.

Elixir Of The Sun is a historical romance about our main characters Dhan and Bayan overcoming fate and finding love in one another through trials and tribulations. The Manwha is adapted from the light novel "Lord Of The Sun" written by Soldam and does contain dark, sensitive and explicitly adult scenes where as the manhwa is careful to tone it down for a mature audience.

🌺 TRIGGER WARNINGS!

Should you choose to read Elixir Of The Sun, please keep in mind that:

- sexual violence is part of its story in terms of information (no scene is ever depicted but there is a close call regarding the main character in chapters 9 & 10)

- depictions of self inflicted injuries (the main character has healing blood and has to stab herself multiple times throughout the story)

- a failed un-aliving attempt in chapters 41 & 42. The main character was sleepwalking.

- In Chapters 110 - 115 there is a extreme depiction of excessive blood and violence but no gore is present.

Thankfully, the story doesn't force its plot to have these things as the main point, it merely uses these plot devices to reinforce and focus on the romance and subtle fantasy plot surrounding the bond of Bayan and Dhan.

[fatguarddog]

Welcome 🐾🔞

Follows from @follow-fatguarddog (inactive old main but I gotta keep it to keep this blog)

Hey, I'm Hutch, 29/UK/M, icon by @droolfang

I am not a gainer. I'm a chubby alt male feeder/feedee who enjoys stuffing and being treated like a dog ❤️

This is my space to explore my kinks, mainly weight gain stuff and slightly more aggressive pet play I'm trans, only use he/him pronouns and prefer terms like dick/cock and tits when referring to my body. I've had top surgery but enjoy fantasising about growing tits/moobs I like people of all genders, but do lean t4t ❤️

I love hearing other people's fantasies/ideas so ask is always open! You should probably scroll down a bit and read my Hard Nos first before sending one though (please no more slob-leaning asks) ❤️

DMs are open, but please only message if you're 23+ I offer custom audio commissions, find out more HERE I have a Ko-fi HERE if you ever wanna throw a dog a bone or treat me into something in particular 🦴

My Kinks

I'll be tagging my posts in case you want to search for or block something in particular - original stuff will still be 'hutch posts,' but here you can also find 'hutch photos' for pics of me and 'hutch audios' for little fat fantasy recordings Also to reiterate that whilst this is a weight gain-centric blog, I'm not in a position to actually gain weight nor am I a gainer, I just like fantasising about a world where I could be a lazy fat dog. Please don't send me asks about tips for gaining weight because I'm afraid I can't help you, I have always been roughly this fat and have no experience with consistent gaining

🐾 Fuck yes: feedism, weight gain (magical, slow, rapid, forced, etc.), ass/belly/breast expansion, general belly kink, monsterfucking, bondage, praise kink, intox kink (alcohol and weed), biting, pet play (think of me as a rough but loyal dog or a maybe pig boy)

🐾 Yes Please: breeding, cnc, some degradation, corruption kink, primal urges, hucow/lactation, inflation (favs are pumpkin, honey, berry and milk), plushification, force masc and force femme (not in a detransition way, just like how a cis guy would be into it)

🚫 Hard Nos: detransition kink, slob stuff, death feedism, gore, piss/scat, ddlg type stuff, incest, birth, feet, immobility in weight gain scenarios (I'm ok with it in more fantasy-based tf scenarios though, e.g. pumpkin inflation/transformation)

Taken anon emojis/sign offs: 🪞, 🐮💓, 🫐🐈, 🐶❤️, 🐑🤍, storm anon, 😻, 🎃, 💋, 🐳, 🕹️, ghost anon, 🎃☕, 🎃🦣, ���, 🥓🐻, 🐉, 🍩🐶, 🍒🦝, 🐷 🤓, 💜, 🧊🐺, 🎤, 🐺, 💣💥, 🐊, ⚡️, 🐇, 🔵, 🐗, 🎀, seal anon, doughnon, 🍰, 🦌, 🍔🐱, 🥨, dogboy, 🐐, ⚕️, sleepy cowboy, 📼, 🦇, 🦕, ☢️, 🍄, 🐷🐶, 🚙, 🌀, eldritch weight gain anon, ♉️ Emojis/sign offs help me know who I'm talking to if you've sent asks before, so feel free to add them! If you want to interact with me, please don't call me a puppy! Just dog/big dog/fat dog is fine, but puppy doesn't do it for me in referring to myself

BLOCK LIST

Under 18s or no age in your bios, you’re not welcome here

Same if you’re over 45, no disrespect it's just not comfortable for me

Misgendering and thinspo blogs, no thanks

Literally anyone who makes me uncomfortable at my discretion

Feedism jars filled out under the cut if you wanna know more

[m1lfsh4ke]

Hello, how are you honey? Can I request a one shot dark smut Marilyn/Laurel x Reader? I would like Mari/Laurel to experiment with her jealousy and possessiveness, lots of mommy kink, spanking and whatever you feel comfortable writing. If you don't feel comfortable writing this, don't worry, I understand!

A/n: thank you for asking so nicely!

Twisted Joke

tw: possessive reader + top reader + shameless smut + spanking + implied choking + degrading + mommy kink + sub Marilyn + implied squirting + strap-on + possibly more I forgot to mention

Marilyn x fem!reader

On your way back to campus, you had picked up a matcha latte for Marilyn, an americano for Larissa, and a basic white mocha for yourself. Larissa had sent you off to Weathervane to run some errands for her and thought that you should stop by the cafe since it’s been a long, exhausting day for the three of you from Wednesday’s burden.

Knocking on Larissa’s door, you heard a muffled “come in!” Through the other side. You saw that Marilyn was standing by the fireplace with her, relieved that you didn’t have to walk around the campus looking for the other.

“Oh thank you, Y/n, this was so thoughtful of you,” Marilyn spoke, gently grabbing her drink from your hands as she moaned at the taste. You blushed while Larissa had looked down at her, smiling.

“Good, Marilyn?” Larissa asked. If it wasn’t in such a teasing tone, you wouldn’t be gripping onto your bosses drink, nearly squeezing the liquid out of it. Ms. Thornhill looked up at her, the rim still sealed on her lips as she nodded. The blonde let out a amused chuckle and you couldn’t do anything but to just watch.

“I’m sorry, was I interrupting something here?” You placed Larissa’s drink on her desk, the annoyance in your voice now vividly clear. Larissa’s gaze averted to yours, surprised by the sudden change in tone, “perhaps Marilyn and I had ended our conversation. We were just… catching up on a few things we missed.”

She paused, winking down at the redhead as she seemed oblivious of the situation. Fire was raging beneath your skin. you wanted to take Marilyn in front of your boss and show her what noises she makes just for you. But most especially, show Marilyn who the better option is. You were aware of their previous “relationship” but you knew you were better than what Larissa had given to her.

“Thank you for the coffee Y/n.. and I’ll catch you some other time, Marilyn.” Larissa had sneaked the redhead a wink.

You mentally scoffed and dragged Marilyn out the office. “Ou-ouch, y/yn!-“ Marilyn winced at how hard your nails dug into her flesh.

“You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” You backed her to the door of your room, now letting go of her wrist as she shut her eyes by her back being pushed to the wooden material.

“Y-Y/n, I’m sorry!-“ she tried to protest, but you had already moved her hair to one side, attacking the bare skin of her jugular

“A-ah!- someone mi-might walk by!-“ she gasped between moans, fluttering her eyes open as she looked around the corridors.

“It’s so fucking infuriating, you know?” You pulled away, getting the keys from your pocket while still remaining eye contact with Marilyn. “Watching you be pulled around by other people. Do you love being others entertainment, Marilyn?” The keys slot into the keyhole as you twisted the knob open, nudging the redhead inside.

“ ‘M sorry-“ she whined, but you dismissed her. “Oh I’m sure you will,” with that, you pulled her into the bedroom, slamming your lips together as you began to undress her, only breaking the kiss to remove her shirt.

You sat on the edge of the bed, Marilyn still standing as you pulled her down so she’s now straddling your lap; One leg between her thighs.

“Pl-please..” she whimpered into your neck, trying to grind down on your clothed thigh. The fabric only adding more pleasure to her soaked core.

You grabbed the base of her hair, pulling her back as she let out a loud groan. “Oh Mari.. don’t hide your sounds. I want people to know who’s making you feel like this, okay?” Her eyes were wet with desperation and regret, but nonetheless, she nodded. “Good girl..” you spoke, getting ahold of her hips as you pushed her down your thigh, making her rut against it.

“Fuck!-“ she moaned, hands grasping your shoulders as her slick soaked through your dress pants, leaving a shimmer. Her moans echoed around the room, purposely leaving your bedroom door open so she could be heard all throughout the small apartment and hopefully from outside.

“Oh fuck, Mari.. doing so good, yeah?“ you groaned at hearing her pleading whimpers, sneaking two fingers inside her as you bounced your leg, making them thrust deeper as her eyes shut and her mouth hung out a silent scream.

“Go-gonna cum all over you!- pl-please, ts too much!-“ her glasses were sitting on the very edge of her nose, her pussy squelching with each thrust of your fingers. You began to bounce your leg faster and higher, making the pleasure unbearable for the redhead as she came all over your thighs, moaning as she fell onto the croak of your neck. Just as she thought everything was over, you slowly curled your fingers inside of her, making her cry out.

“M-mommy, pl-please I can’t!-“ she cried out, trying to lift her hips off from your fingers, but that came as a disadvantage as that only make her bounce back down onto your length. “My dear Marilyn, This isn’t about your pleasure anymore,” you confessed to her ears, making her whimper as your pushed her down on the bed.

You flipped her over, making her chest face down with her knees prompting her ass in the air. Her glasses were still on as you righten them.

Marilyn’s ass was on display with her legs spread, getting a clear vision of her glistening pussy. “Oh you’re so precious..” you cooed, running your hands around her ass as you left a hard slap, making her jolt. Then came a second “Oh!-“ she winced at the stinging pain once it occurred a fifth time.

Her ass was red. A few prints indenting on her pale skin as you squeezed it, easing the stinging sensation.

You slid off your button up along with your pants, throwing them on the floor beside the bed. You reached up to your nightstand as Marilyn watched what you grabbed. Her eyes watering at the strap. Of course you had to choose the biggest size you two owned.

She whined, feeling it rest above her ass as you tied the harness around your thighs until you laid down and positioned herself on top of you.

She hasn’t sunk in, just letting the tip slap her entrance as she jolts. “F-fuck, mommy please-? Ts too much, I can’t-“ you ignored her, sinking her down until she swallowed the top, making her nearly fall forwards. “Aww baby… was last night too much for you? Are you still sore?” You tilted your head, bringing a hand to sooth at her cheek, spreading a tear around her cheekbone with your thumb.

“Come on Marilyn, just seven more inches and everything will be fine,” you smiled at her, sinking her deeper into you as she tries to escape. You huffed on an amused laugh, admiring her failed attempts.

“Jesus baby, are you too dumb to do it yourself or do I have to help you?” You spoke, slamming her down to your dick as she fell forwards, shuddering on a loud moan.

You made her sit up, grabbing her throat as she leaned backwards, grabbing ahold of your thighs behind her as you thrusted upwards.

“Fuck fuck fuck!-“ high pitched moans left her mouth as her glasses almost bounced off with your thrusts, leaving it on the bridge of her nose once again.

“So fucking tight, it’s like you’re meant for me Marilyn,” you breathed out, bottoming out when you see her breasts bounce with each of your thrusts. “Mmph!- so fucking close for y-you!-“ at this point, Marilyn was screaming.

You could see a little bulge forming in her lower abdomen from the tip of your strap that you couldn’t help but graze your free hand over. Marilyn was now moving on her own. A light sheen of sweat formed on your forehead as you finally got to rest for a bit.

Your hands were brought to her hips, helping her ride you. “So fucking close!-“ she moaned out, slamming your hips to meet hers once again. “Ah!- shit!-“ a clear liquid shot right through her hole as her legs shook.

“ ‘S fucking good!-“ was her last moan before your movements came to a stop. Marilyn fell down, snuggling on your chest as you gave her a kiss filled with passion. Your chests were heaving, trying to catch your breaths as you couldn’t help but giggle at Marilyn’s foggy glasses.

You took pity, removing them for her and placing it on the nightstand.

The two of you were about to fall asleep before a knock came from your door.

“Y/n, Marilyn?” The voice matched with Larissa’s. A smile crept up on your lips and Marilyn couldn’t help but hide in the croak of your neck, embarrassed.

…

A/n: this probably made zero sense at all😭😭

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 7

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut across the series. This particular part is smut adjacent (mentions of BDSM, kinks/fetishes)! Mentions of parental neglect, and alcohol abuse across the series as well.

Series Masterlist

My Complete Masterlist

Calum checks his watch. The face stares up at him in blinking gold and lets him know he’s still got a little over an hour before he should pull the plug on work and get ready for the date. The black dress shirt he wore for sessions is overkill for the date. He’d already promised that you didn’t need to dress up. Besides, if Calum’s honest the starch on his collar has made it stuff to the point he’s worried he could chaff him. Thankfully at this point in the day, he doesn’t need it buttoned up so he takes a moment to undo a few buttons. The air rushes in, cool as it skates over his now exposed chest. 

78% of constituents responded no when asked if they felt Cabinet responded in a timely fashion to major crises (historically). The cursor stares back at Calum now. The data’s on his other monitor. He could see it with just a glance of his eyes, wouldn’t even have to move his head entirely, but something about the words feels hollow. They’re true. It doesn’t feel like it’ll be enough. Calum’s not lying, nor is he stretching the numbers to fit his narrative. It’s a haunting thought that no matter what Calum does it will never be enough, yet, this is all he’s got. This is what all his effort is culminating; this is all that he has left for this vote. 

It’s the anxiety, Calum knows. If so much weren’t riding on this, Calum is sure he would continue on with ease. But there are stakes. Every word feels like it must carry twice the weight. So Calum’s twice as slow to put the words down on the page and to string together sentences. By the time he gets another two sentences down, the blink of the cursor is burned behind his eyelids. Calum can recite the paragraph by heart as he reads and rereads the sentences that precede each new one he writes. 

This isn’t a new anxiety; Calum feels it when he has to deliver a speech at events. The intent is very much different. Calum is not speaking to a crowd, gathered for the same agenda. He is antagonizing. He is directly pointing a finger and it will no doubt cause a ripple. People will squirm. They’ll push back and rebel. He can imagine the disappointed stares, the murmurs that might arise between members. But this is what they need--a fire, a disturbance. Someone’s got the rattle the cage in a way that they’ll actually fear. 

Though, Calum can’t rattle a cage with a cursor blinking at him with no words. 

A knock sounds from his door. He huffs before pushing up out of the chair. No one should be at the door. He’s not late to any meetings. His phone and email would’ve alerted him to that. It could be someone from the cleaning crew coming through for quick rounds but they usually make last rounds around 6:30, sometimes 7. “Coming,” he calls out as he rounds the edge of his desk. 

The other person remains quiet. With another glance at his watch, Calum wonders if this will be good enough to call it quits. He still needs to change. He’s got half an hour but he worries that if he forces it, he’ll become so frustrated nothing will come. The door creaks and Calum just happens to take note of the shoes first before taking the long glance up. There you stand, sneakers and jeans with a button up and motto jacket to seal the deal. The jacket looks well worn, molded around you, but well kept. While there are some spots that look a little lighter than others, Calum knows when leather’s been polished after doing it to his own jackets plenty of times. 

“Hey,” Calum greets, pulling the door open further for you. 

“Hi, I know I’m early. Is it okay if I hang out with you until you’re ready to go?”

“Of course, baby. C’mon.” 

Your steps are slow as you cross the threshold, head circling to take in the sights. Calum knows his office isn’t that impressive. A lot of the decor was well established before he acquired the office--namely the desk, office chair, wall color, couch, and table. There are a few pieces--pictures of family, Duke, and friends-- that Calum’s framed and put up. The thought pops up to do more, but Calum never gives into the command.

“If you’ve got suggestions for how to decorate an office I’m all ears.”

“It’s nice,” you return with a laugh. It’s soft as you spin on your heel to face Calum again. “May need a new paint job.”

The beige walls are a bit drab, but they do their job nonetheless. “Got a color in mind?”

“Red,” you answer. It’s definitive, leaves you with little hesitation. 

Calum whistles at the answer, pressing on the door until the locks click. The noise of the hallways--mostly folks shoes on the floor--is shut off from the interior. “That’s bold.”

You settle into the couch, right on the edge as you peel out of the jacket. “I’ve heard that about myself a time or two.”

“Is it cold out?” Calum asks. He doesn’t imagine it to be that cold. Not yet anyway. There were hopefully still a few more weeks left before the chill of October descends. Granted, Calum’s always liked the warmer weather anyway. He doesn’t want it to go away ever. 

You shake your head. “It’s my fanciest casual jacket,” you return. 

Calum pauses. He has a hunch, but doesn’t want to come across as insensitive. You don’t have any need to worry about what you dress like. That’s not a concern of his, but more and more he wonders if this is a manifestation. “You can always borrow something from me if you want,” he offers. “But I don’t think I have anything as cool as that jacket, so.”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” you return, placing elbows onto knees as you hold your face up on your knuckles. 

“What is?”

“To worry.”

Calum has guesses on what it is that you worry about. Yet, again, he won’t make assumptions. “About?” he asks. 

“My looks. I’m not really dating the public, am I?”

“Technically, no, you’re not. I know the pressure exists. If they’re talking about me and scrutinizing me, whomever I date gets some fall out too.”

 You nod, falling back into the cushions now. If this didn’t feel so important, Calum might make a joke about it being a fainting couch now with how you’ve thrown yourself into the corner of the arm and the back piece of furniture. However, it is serious, so he reframes. 

“It’s just the worry talking. I know it is. I know it doesn't matter.” It’s soft as it leaves you, deflating your chest as you push air behind the words. 

“Worry’s got a loud mouth sometimes,” Calum concedes. It is a loud voice at times, even for him. 

“That it does. How’s it going with you though? I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Perched onto the edge of his desk, Calum shakes his head. “I’d never dare call it an interrupt. Perhaps, a distraction though.” It leaves him with a grin and your smile is all the return Calum needs. 

“Oh no, I’ll leave and bug Janet instead.”

The threat doesn’t sound hollow either. “I’ll behave, I swear. You need anything? Water? A snack?”

“I still technically work in that kitchen and this palace for at least another two weeks, I can get it if I need anything.”

“Fair, fair. I have to ask though. As your boyfriend, it is my duty.”

“A job you do very well,” you whisper. The space hardly carries it to Calum’s ear, but when it does settle it makes his chest warm. “Now, you do have work I suppose, right?”

With a shrug, Calum lifts from the desk. “I mean there’s always work. But if you’re asking where my priorities are, it’s not with Cabinet bullshit.” It’s a bit of an odd angle to bend over the couch, but Calum does it, holding himself up by the back of the couch and the arm, effectively caging you in with his body. 

“How dare I do such a thing?”

“How dare indeed,” Calum whispers in return before pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’ll help pick out my outfit, yeah? Once I get done?” It’s a small request, but he hopes it helps. The two of you can be on the same caliber this way. It’s more symbolic and still Calum prays the offer is enough. 

“Of course.” You press another kiss to his lips and then slip back down further into the plush cushions. 

“I can take a hint,” Calum laughs.

He does take the moment of your soft laughter to gently nip at your cheeks, it’s just his lips, but he still takes a little chomp before pushing up. At his desk, settled back into his seat, Calum watches the way you curl up into the arm of the chair. Your socked feet slip a little on the leather, but it doesn’t take long for you to settle. 

“I’m not the work,” you laugh again.  

Calum huffs, but does turns back to face his screens. It doesn’t help that he can spy you out of the corner of his eye. It really doesn’t help that the cursor is still a blinking curse. His fingers settle onto the home row of the keys and the dread trickles back in. The first draft doesn’t need to be perfect. He has two days before he’d address the Cabinet. Yet, he does still need to get the first draft done. Just a first draft, Calum reminds him. He just needs a first draft. His fingers are slower this time. The tap of the keys holds a longer echo, but the words start to fill the page. 

With another half page filled, Calum glances at the time. It’s about eight minutes from when he originally said he’d stop and get dressed. Though he could press on, he’s worried that he’d lose track of time too much. So he saves the document and jots down some mental notes of the things he wants to mention next. It should be enough when he comes back later on tonight to help jog the memory. 

A bit of moment catches his eye and he turns, to find you peering up at the bookshelf in the office. It’s a lot of legal stuff. There are some history books scattered amongst the shelves, with the occasional self help and nonfiction books. It’s a rather boring collection, but they’ve all got their own practical uses to Calum. There’s more interesting ones in his collection in his room, he knows. But you seemingly hold each one with a high regard of interest as you trail a finger down the spines. 

“See anything interesting?” Calum asks. 

“You’ve read all these yet?” you ask in return. 

“Most of them. There’s a few I didn’t finish all the way, but keep as references.”

“Well read,” you tease as you rattle off one of the nearby titles. 

It’s a book about the political soundscape of grassroots movements at the turn of the century. It’s outdated now by a thousand miles and reminds Calum to see if the authors have anything more recent that they’ve published. 

“All a part of the job,” Calum laughs. It can feel like a boring part, but a part nonetheless. “But I’m at a good stopping point right now. Okay if we leave out a little earlier?”

Your nod is immediate. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

It’s a rather quiet walk up to his room, palms pressed into each other as your fingers thread through his. It’s a welcomed and comforting silence, warm as it fits between the two of you. Calum lets you into the room first and then follows with an immediate action to remove the dress shoes. The exhale is heavy from his chest. “Hate those things,” Calum mutters to himself. 

Calum stops behind you. There’s a bit of anticipation, how you’ll stay rigidly at attention in the threshold of his closet, but you lean back just a little. It’s just enough to bring the scent of your detergent to Calum’s nose. The heat of you starts to seep through the dress shirt. Then there’s another small step back. Your back is pressed snugly against Calum’s chest. The touches have always been easier here, in private. Yet, they still always send a surge of electricity through Calum’s body. They never get old. 

“I’m going to get you out of these button ups,” you remark. Your fingers slip through the racks. “I don’t care if it kills me.”

“I’ll care,” Calum whispers against your ear.

He watches as you pull out yet another button up shirt. The red snake stitched into the collar stares back at Calum. It feels so silly to say the snake knows the exact secret Calum is holding. It’s more than likely less that the snake knows and more that Calum’s uneasy about withholding from you. It’s all for good reason, but it still makes his stomach quake. Nonetheless, the shirt does not fit the particular atmosphere of the restaurant.

“No, too formal,” he interjects. 

“Is this fucking Gucci?” you hiss. It sounds less like an accusation and more like disbelief. 

The name is tacked into the back of the shirt. Calum squeezes gently at your waist. He'd forgotten that he had been given this shirt previously. It'd just been hanging and he hadn't worn it a year. “If I say no, does that change anything? I think that was a gift, if it helps.”

“Oh,” you return and then place the item back onto the rack. You eventually settle for a yellow button up and hold it up to Calum. He takes it with ease. 

“That doesn’t sound like a very convincing answer,” Calum states. The long sleeves of the dress shirt roll a little as he peels himself out of it. The black ribbed tank underneath will be fine even with the new shirt. But he will not be leaving the ends tucked in. 

“No, I am convinced.” It doesn’t take long for you to pull a pair of jeans down from the tiered rack. They’re more of his work jeans, given by the hole forming at the knee, but Calum doesn’t object to the item as he takes it from you. “Only time I’ve seen Gucci in real life was from a window. Call it disbelief.”

It’s all you say before you pass Calum his pair of black Doc Martens. How utterly simple: call it disbelief. Perhaps, that’s all it is. The reality of the two of you wrapped into one phrase: call it disbelief. Disbelief that you felt so bold enough to reciprocate when Calum cracked open the door. Disbelief that when you needed slow, you were given iy. Disbelief that even the threat of outside voices have not yet broken inside. 

With the boots laced, Calum grabs his keys and wallet from the desk. You’re leaning against the door, arms folded over your chest. While it could be so easy to say that you look displeased or bored even, Calum sees what’s just behind those eyes. There’s a small twinkle. Your lips turn up and Calum can’t think of a time he’d fight his own grin in return. “Do I look good?”

You nod. “Really good.”

Calum’s yet to see himself fully. But he doesn’t need to. “Hair looks okay?”

Like a dog, you tilt your head just a little. Calum wonders if the angle is to hear or to see better. It’s only a few seconds later that you’re pushing up and towards him.  It only takes a few rakes of your fingers before you smooth and comb through the strands. “There you go.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

Oh--that’s a pet name that Calum’s not sure he could get used too. It’ll always make his stomach flutter. It’ll always make his heart race. His tongue becomes heavy and awkward in his mouth, so much so that he doesn’t trust himself to even work through a response. He takes your hand instead and just smiles, feeling the heat lick at his cheeks. 

“Oh, he’s blushing,” you tease, but walk through the opened bedroom door hand in hand with him. 

There’s nothing to say, no way to deny the truth so Calum continues on down to the elevators. He’s always happy to accept his fate with you; that is no shocking revelation. There’s no need for disbelief with the thought. 

“I did some research on Forest,” Calum confesses as he pulls out of the back lot. 

Your laughter is soft. “I’m sure you did.”

“The owners seem really caring. They do a lot of community events.”

“That’s what Turner said too.” 

He knows that. You relayed it to him. “And you’re sure this is a good fit for you? Seems like a great place, but I also don’t want you diving into just any old thing.” Calum’s sure if it weren’t the right option you’d know. You sounded so enamored after the interview; he just wants to make sure that none of that has faded. It’s his responsibility, a duty to make sure that regardless of what you were doing it was the best thing for you. Even if it changes, of course. 

“Does the perfect job really exist?”

Calum knows he doesn’t have much experience to articulate an answer. But he waits. He knows there’s more. Perhaps, there is no perfect job--just better and better fit ones. 

You continue on, “I don’t think it’s perfect, but it’ll work for now. And if I hate it, no one says I have to stay there forever. I could always move on.”

“How freeing of a thought,” Calum returns. For you, he means. You don’t have to say some place that’s not working for you forever. 

“Are you now saying you regret your duties?” 

A valid question, even Calum can admit that. “No, I think it's a job with flaws though. Things that would be nice to change about it, but ultimately, I’d waste more energy on those things than truly necessary.”

“If you ever do start to hate this, taking the throne, could you not leave?”

“Hadn’t considered the thought,” Calum returns honestly. He never had much of a reason to consider what it might be like should he leave. Calum’s not even sure if he’d ever want to leave. Not without something major of course. It’s not his own volition that would send him away. It’d be something external, something that weighed more and mattered more than his own sense of responsibility. 

Your hum acknowledges Calum’s answer. But the more the streets unfold in front of him, and the more Calum considers the thought, he wonders if you’re asking something else. “Do you not want this? You can tell me truthfully.” It's not meant to corner you, just to open up the conversation should it need to be had.

“I want you; I’ll tell you a thousand times if you need it. I understand what comes with it.” It’s such a simple response, but it levels Calum. You have the ability to speak plainly, to say if something wasn’t working. You are aware that each choice you make has its own consequences.

Calum knows it’s ridiculous to keep dancing around the same fire. You are more than capable of making your own decisions, of understanding what comes with it. The hard reality to face is that Calum knows it’s not fair. He knows you’re not asking for scrutiny just because of him. He knows you’re not asking for crushing worry or guilt because of him. He assumes if given an easier option, you might choose that. Perhaps, that’s the true fear. This is not the easy choice. It’s not the choice Calum thinks he would make if he were you. Maybe he’d taken it slower, much slower than the two of you are right now.

Yet, you continue to make the choices that all lead to him. Yet, he continues to make the choices that all lead to you. 

“Worry has a loud mouth,” you state at the red light. You cup his cheek.  

Calum can feel the sting behind his eyes. He turns to you, blinking away the haze of tears casting shadows over his eyes. “Yes, it does.”

Over the console, you stretch and press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m still here. I’m still choosing us.” 

It’s a whisper over his skin--a prayer Calum wishes to carve into his bones. When the light turns green, Calum takes just a second longer to take in the warmth of you before facing forward again. The confession bashes at his teeth, but today’s really meant to be a celebration. It’s about you. It’s about the victories you’re facing. Besides, Calum’s worried about what he’d choose if he were in your position, a path that his life hadn’t lead him down. No one knows what they’d choose if their positions were different. It is a terrifying beauty of life. The worry of his what-if is not from a position of current reality. 

In the parking lot of the restaurant, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. You are choosing him and he is choosing you. You nudge his face upwards from the kisses along the back of your hand and the two of you share a small kiss. 

“Love you,” Calum whispers against your lips. 

“Love you.”

“Now, don’t move a muscle, I’ll be on your side in a second.” Calum offers the command knowing the risk of it falling on deaf ears. But he does command it anyway. As he shuffles to the passenger side door, he finds your head peering out of the car. He helps close the door behind you though. “You don’t listen too well, I see.”

“Only when I know it doesn’t matter too terribly.”

Calum’s gut reaction is to take your hand, lead you inside, but he remembers. That you need things to be slow. His only concern is that undoubtedly the longer he’s here the more word will spread about the location. It’ll get busy, but not unbearable. “Let’s head in, yeah?”

“Please.” The simple phrase is coupled with you reaching out to hook your pinkie around his. 

“Of course.” Calum’s sure to keep you side to side with him as the two of you take the short walk inside. It’s a hole in the wall kind of place. Run by one family for the last sixty years or so. But the food’s always good and the patrons that frequent are usually older--a softer and quieter place to visit. Even with the sports on and the older men grumbling at the bar, there’s very little in the way of ruckus. 

“Just the two?” the hostess asks. She’s new--Calum can tell that much. But she doesn’t seem phased by his presence which is more than welcomed. 

“Yeah, just the two of us,” Calum returns. 

“Booth or a table then?”

He turns to you and you shrug in response a fraction of a second before you speak, “Booth, I’d guess?”

“Booth,” Calum confirms and lets you walk in front of him as you’re directed on where to sit. 

Settled into the cracked and squeaky leather of the booth, you and Calum both take a moment to look over the menus. Though it’s a menu Calum’s seen a hundred times, he still eyes it to see if his favorite mushroom stew is still on the glossy lamented menu. Once he’s sure it is, he takes a look up at you. He watches you, the way you’re looking over the menu and everything threatens to come up this throat again--the secret in the back garden, the worry on the drive over earlier. It’s all too easy to think you’d make space for it. But he withholds. He can bring that up all at a later time. 

“What do you suggest?” you ask, looking up finally. 

“What are you in the mood for? Soup and salad? Burger? Something else?”

“Burger,” you return. 

“The Double Stacked is pretty good. It’s thick though, so if you don’t want too much meat, I’d suggest Barn Raised. It’s got a fried egg on it.”

“You clearly come here often.”

“It’s good food,” Calum defends. 

“I’ll try Barn Raised. I don’t think I have the appetite today for Double Stacked.”

“Everything okay?” He hadn’t asked about your day before. By your early entrance and his work, it hadn’t been a topic, but it wasn’t off his radar. 

“Yeah, things are good. I just, I have to tell Janet. A little nervous about that.”

Janet won’t be an easy person to tell about your departure. He doubts anyone on staff would be happy to hear about you leaving, though he’s sure they’d all know the reason behind why.  Though Janet especially is not easy. A benefit is that she was there when Calum advocated for you to have more time and better benefits in your severance. Yet, he distinctly recalls that she left that meeting with a wobbly chin. 

Calum nods, reaching out across the table. It’s an offer, if you want his comfort through touch. “It does sound hard. I know she cares about you a lot.” 

“I care a lot about her. And everyone else. I stay late a lot to help folks out, things that don’t feel like they should be a problem, but are.”

The confusion pulls at his brows. Calum feels the frown on his own face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you know the last time new uniforms were ordered for the folks that work in the kitchen?” you ask. 

Calum’s not sure how this is supposed to answer his question, but he pauses. He hasn’t looked into anything about kitchen staff if he’s honest. Not at least in a year or so. No one had brought it up as something that was pressing. “I-I don’t remember the last time. At least a year.”

“Two,” you correct. “I mend what I can when people need it, but new uniforms haven’t come in in two years for us hosting. Do you know how many people eat at the castle because the chefs over prepare?”

Yet another question Calum can’t answer. So he shakes his head no, though it’s already starting to dawn. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I’d hazard a guess that about 60% of your staff live with roommates because they can’t afford it on their own. Another twenty percent or so, have second jobs. Some are still at home. And it’s not to say that we aren’t paid or we’re getting scraps. We’re just not getting enough sometimes. People have other responsibilities that money goes to first. You, Calum, are not immune. As much as I don’t want to hurt you, you are not immune to economic disparity blindness. It has always been right around you. You just never knew what to look for. Not in your own home.”

It feels like sinking, Calum realizes it only after the drinks have arrived. Only after he’s spun his cup around, stunned into inadequate silence. He’d been right in the middle of his own web. The very thing he was about to accuse a Cabinet of doing, he’d done it himself. He wants to say something, wants to disprove the point. Yet, he can’t. He doesn’t recall the last time he spoke to anyone or anyone had spoken to him about the budget for salaries inside the castle. He can’t recall a time where there wasn’t an overabundance of food in that kitchen at breakfast and lunch for everyone to eat. It always felt purposeful, like they were doing this because it was the right thing to do--give the folks there a good meal or two for their shift since they were working and the food would be there. Calum considers-a bit selfishly-it was the right thing to do at some point. At some point it is just a thing they did because it made the most sense, but now it carries on out of desperation.

Now after ordering food, after he’s worked open his jaw from its clenched state, something like disbelief works itself over his tongue. “But-” and yet there’s no real rebuttal. He could ask why no one’s brought it up before. But why hadn’t he looked into it himself? Why hadn’t anyone demanded higher wages? But why did someone else have to do all the work? Calum knows he can’t do it all myself. He’s one person. It’s too much weight for one person to bear. Yet, none of his advisors had brung it up. 

To say, I’ll look into it, feels too dismissive. Though it bashes against his teeth and it is true, Calum can’t say that. He doesn’t want to belittle the sentiment or the vulnerability needed to express your thoughts. Instead he nods, lifting his gaze from the worn wooden table of their booth. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Thank you for listening.”

The sip of Calum’s sweet tea is sour. Not that the drink has gone bad, but because the guilt coats his tongue. He is not immune, not that he’d been willfully ignoring obvious signs. He hadn’t been taught what to look for. He hadn’t questioned it because it hadn’t been questioned to him. He just simply did not know; an ignorance born out of circumstance. An ignorance Calum can’t afford to keep swimming in. If he wants to make real change, he’ll have to start with himself. 

The whole night isn’t soured thankfully. You hum around the first bite of the burger you’ve ordered and note that you plan to come here without Calum more often. It’s a bright spot to see the delight crossing over your face. He’s glad that you’re enjoying the food. He hadn’t run into an issue with the place and enjoyed it, but there’s always an unknown with others. It’s warming to know that so far, you’re enjoying the place. However, no celebration is complete though without dessert. The dessert and drink menu coexist and Calum memorized the desserts by heart at this point. But he still slips it closer to you. 

“We can’t call it a celebration and not get dessert,” Calum teases. 

“I think we could.” You take the menu though. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

Calum laughs with a shake of his head. “Get whatever you want.”

“Would you have some of what I got?”

“If you were sharing, of course. If not, I’d lick up the crumbs.”

You snort. “God, Calum. I wouldn’t torture you like that, unless you asked of course.”

“Well, I’ve considered dabbling in masochism once or twice.” It’s not a whole lie. He has found himself vaguely intrigued by the idea, but has never once seriously considered it enough to bring it up to any previous partners. Not that they stuck around long enough for him to consider breaching the topic with them. It’s not all inherently malicious of his or their own doing. Most of the time it’s quite clear what lines should be crossed and which ones shouldn’t. 

But something dances in your eyes. Calum watches the way you watch him. You seem to dance down from his face over his neck and chest down the length of his arms. He wonders if you’re imagining something different than the scene in front of you; would it include rope or wax? Perhaps, there’s something much more sinister behind the deep irises. 

“Are you saying all I need to do is ask?”

“I’m technically implying it, but yes.” 

It’s a heavy stare that you level him with; intense eye contact and a smile that lifts one side of your mouth higher than the other. He knows that look, knows what it means. His toes curl in the boots and the cracked leather under his thighs is suddenly way too hot. The denim feels damp when he shifts a little and the stiff construction of the jeans brush over his growing erection. He is damned but it does not matter. His heart races, a prickle of sweat forming on the end of this nose and under his pits. Yet, Calum feels no obligation to move. The panic doesn’t make him want to flee. He wants to be consumed. Swallowed whole by whatever desires you have. 

“But perhaps another time,” you shrug and then smile as the waiter approaches. 

“Oh, looking at the dessert I see. Anything catch your eye? I recommend the apple pie. Best thing on that menu,” the waiter comments. 

You hum, casting a quick glance down to the menu with a nod. “I’ll go with that then. Is it served with ice cream by chance?”

The water nods. “Sure is. Always,” they laugh. 

“Perfect. Could I get it with two spoons?”

“Absolutely you can. I’ll be right back with it.” 

Calum is sure he resembles a stone carving, held in place by a prickle of fear that if he’s not careful more than just pictures of a date may surface. Something caresses his ankle, it’s a dulled sensation thanks to the thick leather of the boots but the pressure remains as the movement traces up along his shin before it drops. There’s an uproar from the bar, men and women huffing about some game. It’s not quite football season yet. Teams should be headed into conditioning now and games starting in about October if not a little earlier. But the noise is a perfect backdrop. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss the back of it. The action is coupled off with a tease bite--hardly with enough pressure to cause redness, but just enough pressure to start the recognition of pain-- and the whimper slips. It’s swallowed on the outside of the booth by the roaring crowd but inside of the booth the sound resonates. 

“There he is,” you tease, reclining back into your seat.

Before Calum can blink himself back to the reality of the restaurant, the plate is settled into the middle. Two spoons sit off opposite sides of the apple slice. The dollop of ice cream is starting to melt and trickle over the sides. All Calum feels capable of doing is staring. His muscles are locked, part of it is a small bit of embarrassment. He’s hoping no one heard it, and another part of him is wondering what happens if someone did. What might the world think of him if they only knew?

“C’mon,” you encourage. 

Calum blinks now and sees the spoon near his face. It has a good scope of ice cream and pie on it, too much that it looks like it’ll topple at any second. But a balanced portion of both items. The ice cream drips just a little onto your lower, waiting palm. It feels like it falls in slow motion until it hits the crevices of your palms. Time speeds back up. The noise of people talking, the clink of forks on plates sound back up in Calum’s ears. Always a sneaky one, you are. Always looking for those buttons. And you always find them. Calum never shies away from their exposure. 

Calum inches forward to swipe the sugary concoction into his mouth, but not without taking hold of your now sticky palm. The urge to lick your palm clean hits Calum. After swallowing down the bite Calum swipes up the melted ice cream onto two fingers. He sucks his fingers and watches the shift of your weight from your side of the booth.  “Tastes better that way,” he grins and then takes a spare napkin to dab up the excess. 

“I am sure it does.”

The pie doesn’t last long between the two of you. While it was a decent size slice, the apples are cooked to perfection; melting every so slightly with minimal chewiness. They don’t melt instantly, but they are soft and cooked thoroughly without turning into a slurry mush. It’s all too easy to take scoop after scoop. The spoons settle against the empty plate with a perfectly synced clink. 

“Anything else?” Calum asks. He starts to rattle off about the fudge brownie they have but the shake of your head is vigorous. 

“No, no, if I eat anything else I’ll pop,” you huff. 

Twilight is settling by the time Calum and you push off the leather seats and start back to the car. The purpling sky is interrupted by the distinct flash of a camera only a few moments after Calum opens the door for you. It’s clear to tell the sight startles you and he takes your hand, sliding now to block your body with his. 

He wishes he’d prepared you more for this. He’d prayed that no one would show up. Yet, as fate would have it, someone always does. The second flash is slow to come. There's probably just one person hanging around. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’ve got you if you want to keep your head down. Just…just stay close, alright?”

Another flash blinks through the darkening evening. Your step is small but inches you into Calum’s space. “Okay.”

Thankfully, it’s a short walk. You stay just a half step behind him and the entire walk is just bursts of light. There’s a voice that calls out, but Calum ignores it, listening instead for the thud of your shoes on the concrete. Calum’s already palming the fob to his car to be ready to have the doors unlocked and get you inside as quickly as possible. Two more shutters sound before the pair of you get to the car. The lights flash as Calum unlocks the doors and helps you inside, still attempting to shield you as much as possible. 

“C’mon, Cal. Give me something. We’ve been at this a long time together.”

The voice of the pap is clearer now and when Calum does look up, only briefly, he notices it’s the same guy who started a rumor nearly two years ago about Calum out with a friend, Nicole. She and Calum met in college. She went off to Physician’s Assistant school a year or so after they graduated college. Nicole comes back into town for the holidays to see her family. It’s usually then during that break that she and Calum get together anymore--usually for dinner with other friends if they can all manage a good day in their schedules.  That one dinner, which had dwindled down to just Calum and Nicole due a bad flu season, had been captured on film though that year. Like fire only needs oxygen--the platonic dinner went up in tabloids like a new sparkly romance. Save for the fact that weeks went by with no new updates or sightings so it quickly quieted down. 

“Fuck off,” Calum returns to the pap and lifts up into the driver side of the SUV. 

“I take it you don’t like him,” you quip after Calum’s pulled out of the parking lot.

“I don’t think I really like any of the paps that harass me. But him in particular, I don’t care for.”

“What’d he do?”

The thing about the photos is that it hadn’t caused a ripple in the slightest for Calum’s life. Though Nicole did have to eventually move practices where she was working for safely. “Jeopardized a friend’s safety,” Calum answers. “He didn’t doxx her, but it was still pretty bad.”

“Is he particularly fond of stalking your favorite places to go?”

“Sometimes.” He’s not there often, but he is there frequently enough that Calum knows him by sight now. Though Calum can’t pinpoint the car the guy drives, Calum can always pick him out in a crowd now. 

“Are you okay? Guy seems like he comes up a lot then.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you? I know the flash can be dizzying.”

“I’m okay. The first time it went off it was a lot. I finally understand why deers freeze sometimes. I would’ve been roadkill.”

“Sorry I didn’t give you a proper heads up.”

“No harm, no foul, Calum.” 

He catches that. No pet name and though Calum is dying to hear it again, he understands. It’s still a nice sound, the way you say his name--soft like coaxing a scared animal out of hiding; needing to exude as much gentleness as possible as not to unravel the fragile moment. 

“Sounds like you’ll need some new hang out spots though? A place you can just breath with no nosey Nancy’s around.”

“I had a place,” Calum returns. “Well, I guess I still have it. It still exists. Just needs some sprucing up.” He could say that, though it is in the middle of already being renovated. And it’s not really his anymore as it is something he’d like to share--something he can include you in on. 

“Could I see? I know it won’t be in the most pristine condition so you literally don’t need to warn me.”

It is killing me. He wants to show it to you but he thinks about what your reaction might look like should it be revealed when it’s all done. Calum knows he can't keep this secret for too long. It'll kill him if he does. He wants to tell you about all the updates on the project.

The roof was repaired a couple weeks ago. Now there’s some paneling in the midst of being fixed up. Once that’s done the outside can be painted. The inside’s been gutted and waiting for the wall and the floors to go down. Next he’ll see what he can do about getting at least a space heater and a tiny area for at least a kettle in the winter and a fridge. It may be more than  It’s not a long project but it is one they’ll need to get complete before the weather gets too cold or the rains come. Fall can be weepy at times and would only serve to set them back if the take too long to finish it.

Perhaps, you’d enjoy knowing now. Calum knows he would. He’d appreciate not trying to hide on the calls the work he’s been doing or trying to shower before he sees you, a bit more difficult given that he works on the renovations mostly on the weekends and you’re at the castle too at the same time. You’re working usually, or asleep in his room, but it’s still right on the edge of being caught it feels. 

“You don’t have to show me. I don’t want to push you,” you state. 

“I-No, it’s not that. It’s not that I don’t want to. I started some work on getting it in good shape. So, just be warned,” Calum laughs. “It’s still a little rough.” He doesn’t know when the project will be fully done anyway. But the building still stands, there’s still a place Calum goes when he wants to get away. 

“I’ll be sure to give it some extra grace.”

It’s like you give either a little extra grace lately with him. Calum is grateful to hear you say that, the way you don’t seem phased at the prospect of something not being complete. Calum guesses the irony in all of this is that nothing in your life has probably felt complete. Maybe you don’t worry about that because even when you get somewhere that feels like you could settle it’s pulled out from underneath you. Maybe turbulence has become akin to peace. The only hope Calum has is that he can ease the rocking seas, that he can help you get to a point where you’re not always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He can’t brute force it. You’d asked him to promise that and he wouldn’t break his word. Yet, as the skies continue to darken and the light of dying stars twinkles above his head, Calum hopes this can be a small respite. A small place for you to have peace like he did here. The garden’s aren’t necessarily lengthy as they are wide. To walk it lengthwise would only take a couple of minutes, but to take in its depths is a journey of many more yards. There are rows of bushes and flowers outlined on the grass path. There are containers that rest above the ground near the back. It’s easy to spot their shadowy figures amongst all the flora around. There’s some vegetables his mother grows. She likes to still work the land with her hands when possible, so they keep up the container gardens for her. 

But back in the depths, back behind the new gardening shed lies the place Calum used to escape too. Even before the old shed was gutted out and replaced, he’d walk the soft path down and down and down until he reached the edge. The old shed remains only because Calum insisted on it. Had it not been for him, they’d taken it down fully, used parts of the innards and exterior for the new one. But Calum asked to keep it up. So when he couldn’t sleep, when the worries pressed so loud in his own ears, he’d walk using stars as light to the old shed. Even in the rain, bundled in a coat, his boots sloshing in the wet grass, Calum would come out to the old shed. He’d unhook the latch, shimmy his way inside and watch out the window across from the one folding chair he kept at the ready to the stars. He’d listen to the sounds of the night--in the summer chirps of crickets, in the winter the soft whisper of snow.

“Your mother’s spinach might be ready to pick.”

Calum turns to the right, where he knows his mother’s planted spinach just a few weeks prior. “How can you tell? I can’t tell ever when it’s ready to be picked.”

“Just a guess since it’s dark right now. I watched her when she planted them and I know they won’t last too much longer if they aren’t picked now. The night and morning temperatures are getting dewy.”

“Do you garden?” You hadn’t mentioned it before. Calum would be intrigued to know if he might be able to find another link between you and his mother, something else to keep you two close. 

“Mrs. Shirley did. I’d help her sometimes.”

“And Mrs. Shirley, were you close with her?” Calum can’t place the name, but wants to be sure he hadn’t missed something important. He also doesn’t want to be made a fool if she’s important.

“She’s who taught me how to make the biscuits. It’s her recipe.”

“Oh, wow. Was she an instructor in culinary school?” Calum never considered to ask where it came from. Just knew that yours were vastly different than the last chef--sweet without sacrificing the savory integrity. Soft, but never chalk-like. 

“No, I met her when I was volunteering at a homeless shelter while in school. I worked early in the morning to help prepare breakfast like I do now.”

“You’ll have to tell her that her biscuits are a big hit amongst our family and the entire staff in general too.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll let her know.” 

Your eyes look a little glassy, not quite like tears are falling. But they could. They are threatening at the edge. Calum pulls you in closer, hands slipping down to your waist. The jacket has kept you well and warm, as he can feel heat radiating off you. “What is it, baby?” Calum asks. 

“I just--I haven’t talked to her in a while. I hope she’s doing okay, you know?”

“We can call her next week. How does that sound?” He doesn’t want to put the onus just on you. There’s few things in life that a five minutes spared can’t help or fix. The least he could do is be there as emotional support if you needed it. Calum presses a soft kiss to your forehead, nose burying just a little in the hair at the top of your head. 

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Anytime, baby. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

It’s past the probably ripe spinach, and the containers of cabbage when the newer, brighter green building opens up, Calum continues on down, off the grass onto the gravel. Just behind the hedges that outline the gardens rests the old shed. There’s lumber still out, leaning and resting against each other. The work table is stationed a yard away to the left. The power tools are tucked inside or housed separately in the garage. But the old shed still looks like it used to in some ways. Still a rectangle with chipping blue paint. 

“I didn’t know this old shed was still up. I thought they tore it down,” you comment. “Or at least that’s what I was told that it was torn down.”

“I asked them to keep it up but they told me the only way to let it stay was to put the new one directly in front of it from the farther vantage points so it’s not so much of an eye sore.  But I come here, when I want to get away. The inside’s a lot cleaner now too, thankfully.”

“Inside? Who do you have working on this project?”

He watches you take a few steps closer over where the bench usually holds the blueprints. They shouldn’t be still out, given that this week did have the potential for rain in the later half. From what Calum can tell, they've been collected. “Well, it’s me and a few others actually,” Calum answers. 

You hum as you softly inch closer and closer up. “Any plans for it once it’s restored?” Your cough is swallowed by the innards as you poke your head inside. Calum holds onto the door so you can cross through fully. 

“Uh, not sure yet,” he cautions. “But could I run some ideas by you?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. But I mean it’s your spot, so whatever you want will probably suffice.”

Calum nods. He is sure whatever he did choose would be okay. But still he wants to make sure he’s going in the right direction for you. “I just need a second opinion, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m happy to assist.”

“So, here, I’m thinking about adding a little mini kitchen island. Cabinets at the button and an outlet for a little mini fridge and maybe at most an electric kettle. The back wall would be mostly storage--shelves. Books, or something.” Calum shuffles to the wall opposite of him, where he normally sits but is currently now housing more lumber, stain and miscellaneous tools. “I might keep something else on those shelves too.”

“Like what?”

Calum shrugs. “Some art supplies. Don’t know. But here,” Calum motions around him. “I’m thinking of a little couch. I don’t know. Some kind of seating. I was considering building some benches into the wall like in the kitchen with a little table and then some stools or other chairs to be scattered about. Just a little cozy spot to hang out.”

You’re nodding, attention elsewhere as if you might be trying to picture what Calum is describing. But Calum’s breath is caught in his throat like a pill that didn’t get washed down with enough water. It is a lump, poking, and Calum won’t be able to release it until you address the one little line, some art supplies. 

“Is there a safe way to get the power out here? Looks like it could get awfully cold in the winter. There isn’t much else around to break the winds.”

“We’re looking into some solar panels. I’ve got a time scheduled with an electrician next week to make sure it’s all good.”

He wants to tell you more--how he envisions you out here, stopped up on a stool or possibly standing while he’s on that bench in the corner, watching. The strokes of your brush are faint in his imagined scene, but the windows are open with a spring breeze coming through. Perhaps another puppy is soaking up sun at Calum’s feet.

Yet, you haven’t cracked the code. 

“Good. Sounds like you’re really going to breathe new life in this old place.” The smile that you bestow on Calum is bright. 

“I’m going to try. I figured there’s decent space to share too.”

“With friends?” you ask. “Is there anyone else you know who likes to paint?”

There it is. That’s what Calum was waiting for. His shoulder drops and he waves you over with a wag of two fingers. You shake your head with a laugh, backing into what’s almost the center of the gardening shed.

“I think an easel stand would look good here, don’t you?”

Calum’s response is a nod. It’s where he imagined one too. “I’ve got an old buddy from college that’s into the arts too.”

“Ceramics? Illustrations?”

“Music, actually. But I think he knows another guy who is into ceramics now that I think about it.” The gap is short to close and when Calum’s pressed into your chest, he wastes no time to wrap you up into his arms. “So what’s your second opinion?”

“I think you should match the original blue when you paint the outside again.”

“I’ll take that as you like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod, taking Calum’s cheeks into your palms. “I do like it. Thank you. For thinking of me. I don’t know what else to say besides thank you. I can’t imagine the effort it’s taken and will take.”

“I figured you’d like a little bit more elbow room than what your room has right now. It’s not all that hard if I’m honest. The guys are a good bunch; even when I’m slowing them down.”

“Is this what I have to thank too for the deliciously sweaty photo that may or may not be my home screen background now?”

Calum laughs, quick and from his chest before shrugging. “It may or may not be.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, “my love.” 

 ______________________________

Irony is how the paper shakes in your grasp, how you’re knocking but not quite sure if it’s loud enough and you want nothing more than to slip the page under the crack at the bottom of the door, but your feet don’t carry you an inch out of place. You are here, now, bolted to the floor in front of Janet’s office. You can’t back out of this, can’t just slip it to her. Not after how integral she’s been in you securing the new job, in how long you’ve stayed, in getting you out of the monotonous routine you had for yourself. 

“One second,” Janet calls back. Her keys click though as she shuffles about. The door creaks open a few seconds later and when she sees you, the single page in hand, her face crumbles. “No, stop. Already? I thought--oh,” she sighs. “I wanted you to get something else quickly. I know it’s gotta be stressful, but I don’t think I’d ever be prepared.”

“That makes two of us.” Your throat quivers as you try to force the words out and you know the words are all shaking too. “This-this is for you.” The words feel like concrete, heavy thuds as they fall to the floor. 

Janet nods, taking the letter. You watch her read over the words, the date for the middle of September sticks out like a sore thumb you know. It was the last part you put in, knowing that once you put that down your fingers wouldn’t be able to type anymore so you came back to it. Janet’s eyes are glassy when she looks back to you. “I’d ask if there’s anything we can do to keep you, but it might be a useless question.”

“I’d never go as far as to say useless. The priorities are different.” They’re vastly different now. No longer is this a game of pay, of trying to find the top dollar and best benefits. It’s a matter that’s utterly out of even your own control. You want to see how far things will go with Calum. You want to go on more dates. You want to see how that old shed comes together. You want to have him in your kitchen, laughing as popcorn sounds in the microwave and the movie is queued up. You want a simplicity you’ve never fucking had--even if it means gardening with Joy and being a terrible caddy with David. 

Janet nods, arms opening up. “Can I have a hug?”

It’s easy now, to slot yourself into her embrace. Though you two hadn’t previously been this affectionate, there was always a jab or two, you can’t deny such a simple ask. Her hold is firm, a squeeze around your shoulders that feels like it could crack your bones. You don’t object though. You hold back tighter. Even though Janet was a boss, you know that you’re not just leaving a job. You’re leaving a little piece of your family-- a family that you choose but you’d choose a thousand times over. 

The sob racks up your chest. It’s a cry that blindsides you but you don’t hold back. Janet gently shushes in your ear. “We’ll still be here. I’ll call your new job like a mom and tell them not to overwork you and to not let you overwork yourself. We’re not going anywhere.”

Janet’s words are comforting, but you know that you’re not crying because it’s change. You’re crying because this places feels like home. It’d never dawned on you--not even as you dished up everyone’s individual breakfast orders or stitched buttons back onto uniforms or tagged in to help set up for events. But now it’s all crashing down. This was a job and it will always be just that. But the folks here have become home. 

“Thank you,” you sob into Janet’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is tight and you think she might be crying too. “Tell him he better not ever break your heart or I’ll make sure the next breakfast shift makes burnt pancakes for him. Everyday. No one will fix them for him either. I promise.”

Your laughter is choked, torn between the amusement and trying to suck back down the snot and tears. Only Janet would ever consider such a thing. “I’ll let him know.” You try to break the embrace, peel back because you know without a doubt Janet’s business. 

Yet, Janet squeezes you tighter. She clings to you and you don’t fight it. “You have to visit us. You can’t forget about us.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

It takes you ten minutes in the bathroom to get the stains off your cheeks and for them to lose the flush thanks to your tears. The cool water is a welcomed addition to the heat that’s flooded through your body with the emotions. You know soon you’ll need to get into the kitchen, not that your shift is anytime soon, you’ll actually need a nap between now and then, but there’s a CCTV in there to watch. With the voting happening, everyone’s wondering if the ratification of the emergency funds will go through. It’s been dire straits now to think about what you could do with the cash--your dental bill’s been paid off now, all important bills are up to date. Perhaps you could get ahead on the Christmas shopping or save it for a rainy day. 

There’s commotion as always in the kitchen, the creak of the door seems to hardly register as the crew’s gathered around the kitchen island. Declan’s at the stove, manning dinner it appears. Yvonne and Cyprus are at his right and left, dawned in their chef coats too. “You feeding the whole Cabinet today or what?” you ask, leaning against the wall next to Declan. 

He laughs. “Nah, not today. Gotta get the meat ready though now.” His focus remains on the hunk in front of him for a moment. You can spot oregano, basil, thyme, salt, pepper, and a few other spices that already decorate the cut. “Janet would’ve lost her whole head if we were, you know that already.” His brows furrow as he takes you in. “You okay? Your eyes are a little red?”

You nod, though your throat threatens to close up again on you at the thought. You’ll have to tell him, and everyone else soon too. Before the week is out of course. They’ll need to know. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you squeak out and then clear your throat to relax the muscle. You can’t cry again. Not here. 

The TV crackles a little, voices still far away come floating in through the speakers. You watch for a moment as members of the Cabinet come filtering in. You spot Joy and David, and find yourself with your heart racing trying to spot Calum. He’d been long gone by the time you gained full consciousness though you barely remember giving him a good luck kiss before he left in the morning. 

“You don’t sound okay,” Declan counters. His voice tears your focus from the screen back to him. “Did you and him get into a fight? I’ll kick his ass.”

“No, not that. Also, Declan, I think I could hold my own in a fight if it came down to it.”

“You can tell me what’s going on, you know? Whenever you’re ready of course. But if it is the prince, just let me know. I know some guys,” Declan teases with a wink. 

“Declan I will deck you if we don’t got the rub together before the new fucking year,” Cyrpus snaps. She stalks over, a mixing bowl held to her body as she whisks away at the bowl. You’re not sure what it is, but think it may be a dessert. 

“It is my turn as head cook. Things get done when I say they get done not the other way around,” Declan huffs, but turns back to his work of getting the rub on. 

“But he still listens to me,” Cyprus teases in your direction. The door opens behind you, you catch the squeak in the hinge. 

“Good afternoon,” Calum’s voice cuts through the chatter of the kitchen. The silence falls instantly around the room. A hand rests on your shoulder and you know Janet’s joined the room too. “Thank you for joining me today. I know we are here today to vote on a long debated and much needed issue. I understand for the members of Cabinet present here today that me taking the lead on this voting is a little bit different to previous times. And I greatly appreciate your willingness to hear me out today as the last speech; it is an honor. Over the last few weeks, we have borne witness to an economic leap--one that’s leading our constituents to face decisions no one should be forced to make. Should they get grocery? Are they able to forgo medications? How much can they pay on a bill before the service gets cut off fully? Questions that should not be plaguing the people we, in these roles, take responsibility in helping. 

“I wanted to write this speech with two matches under it; a fire to make big progress and prove to myself that I could be a good leader and to prove that I could make real change. I had an image of myself built on the years I spent in university where I am aware of the crevices. I’m reading up on the latest news. I’m watching what laws go into effect and watch what the impacts are. I’m watching how the people I am meant to lead and care for are impacted by the small things. I suppose, I had an imagine of myself with quite a high nose. I thought just because I was younger and just because I was aware of political issues that we collectively in the Cabinet have historically shied away from or stayed conservative on, that I somehow was immune or better than. However, I spoke with a dear friend recently.”

You feel the entirety of the kitchen look back at you even as you keep your gaze lasered in on the freshen shaven face of Calum. You point back to the TV. Even if it is true that you are who he is referring to, you are not the focus. There’s small bouts of laughter as they turn back to Calum. 

“It came to my attention in that conversation that the budget for the staff that works for us, here, in the castle, gets reviewed every three to four years. Which, from a business perspective, is appears to be a perfectly balanced system. It’s just enough time for things to change and, theoretically, just enough time to respond to them without it cutting into the margins and profits substantially. The reality is that a schedule like this calls for sacrifice. Someone has to stitch buttons back on when they’ve fallen off shirts. Someone inevitably comes into work hungry because the money they do get goes towards their children, or nieces or other family members. Someone picks up a second job. Someone picks up extra shifts--even if it means they work 15 or so hours straight. 

“In reality, even a system that seems perfectly balanced is creating a sacrifice. A system built on someone having an over means someone else has the under. In the very same place, we discuss, we meet, we theorize, there is someone else doing the sacrificing. In the very same place where I lay my head down each night, there is someone sacrificing. I polled the current landscape of the staff in the castle. Out of 165 staff members polled, 49 members reported having a second job. 73 reported that they have come into work without a meal prior to their shift. 86 of my staff live at home or with roommates and this still does not always save them money. Over 100 members of my staff polled reported that they have had meals prepared by the chefs at work or saving leftovers from events in order to make ends meet. I am not immune to the propaganda. I am not immune to the smoke and the mirrors. You are not immune to them either. 

“In a poll conducted just three weeks ago,” Calum starts. The screen cross fades to bring up the graphical visual. “78% of the constituents who participated stated that they did not feel the Cabinet responds to major crises in a timely fashion. This based on a sample size of 5,923 participants, a small but mighty sampling. Those that did state that the Cabinet responded quick enough, noted that most of the help received only marginally impacted them. Upon reviewing the response to the medical pricing surge, five years ago in which we worked to help regulate some the pricing on medications, I found that the national insurance coverage received over 11,000 complaints on deductible changes as it impacted the cost of prescriptions. According to formal insurance regulations, 11,000 complaints is not quite significant enough to constitute an internal investigation. Instead, it took several grassroots advocates, with 42,000 signatures in tow, to bring the issue to our door. 

“In the 18 weeks we debated and worked on solutions, there were 53 deaths directly connected to improper access and usage of prescriptions. Doctors reported that the people who passed did so because they were not regularly taking medication needed for health. I don’t know how to reconcile the number 53 after rattling off numbers in the thousands, and tens of the thousands. One might dare say that 53 could not be hefty. Yet, there are 35 of us in attendance. That is one and a half Cabinets dead. 53 direct deaths. 53 grieving families. 53 mothers who have lost children. 53 fathers who ask themselves if there was anything they could’ve done to save their child. 

“You,” Calum emphasizes with a single digit to the members in front of him, “are not immune. I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to think about the staff in your own homes. Do you know the last time they skipped a meal? Do you know the last time your staff did not fret at the emails and paper statements in their inboxes and mailboxes? Do you know the sacrifices being made in your very homes while you sit here and talk theory? What have you turned a blind eye to in order to maintain your over? Who is under? I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to vote not just for yourselves but the people who need this relief the most. I urge this Cabinet,  as you vote,  to consider the 53 families who received the news of their loved ones dead because we waited. I urge this Cabinet to consider that it has already been five weeks since we started making substantial strides to get money back into the hands of those who need it. I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to consider who’s family might get this relief too late, just in time for a debate about what pine box they should get, if we drag on longer.” 

The kitchen erupts into cheers, the hoots and claps echo well above your head. You can hear Declan’s laughter, his shouts of “Someone had to finally tell those old crusties off in a way they understand!” but you are focused on Calum. The fire that stays lit in his eyes, the distinct lack of a closing gratitude, the hard line of his mouth. That is a man with two matches under him. That is a man ready to make waves--damn the boat if it tips over. 

The screen flickers to the floor and you can see the specs of the Cabinet members in their seats. You imagine that the room is tense, that they may be swaying in their seats after such a direct and open flogging. They have to make smart moves now because the man fit to take over the helm will no longer be playing a game of handshakes and behind closed deals. There’s a sense of pride. You feel it in the base of your gut. You know Calum worried himself to death about his speech, about what to say to get through. And surely he delivered. You hope he feels the same way at the end of it too. 

The members of the Cabinet--one by one-- cast their votes into the box. You watch them all. Count every single one of the 35 slips as they fall into the box. The part that you hate, the part that you know will stir your gut with anxiety is the count. As the names are off with their vote, your heart lurches. You wait for the name and the call for ‘nay’. 5 for, 6 against. Then 7 for and 6 against. 8 for, 6 against. 10 for, 9 against. 11 for, 12 against. 15 for, 12 against. 16 for, 13 against. 17 for, 13 against. 17 for, 14 against. 19 for, 16 against. 

A tight vote, a race to pull through by a hair. The thing that you realize is some victories, even brutally won, are still victories. This is still a win for Calum. Even a few of the stark and staunch most moderates, swing in favor of economic assistance. Your feet are shuffling, your weight shifts and you know where Calum is vaguely. You know that it’s just a few wings over. You could get there in about ten minutes or so. Yet you stay, you watch on the screen as Calum and David embrace. The smiles they both wear. The cup of David’s hand on Calum’s cheek in pride is a sight you’re glad you get to witness. 

The feed cuts a few minutes later with the count as the last display. The kitchen is slow to resume back to it’s normal pace. Everyone’s still drawn into the now dark TV. You wonder when you held so much anticipation that the bill wouldn’t get passed through. Where had all that pessimism been hiding? Its a shock to see the votes, 19 to 16 still burned into your retinas. “Hell of a speech,” you hear from a cluster at the kitchen table. 

“I’d sure as hell would vote for him if I could,” someone else laughs in return. 

“Alright, if you keep hanging around this stove, I’m going to put you to work,” Declan teases to you. It’s clear he’a ready to get back to work, even after such a rousing speech. The reality though is that the world keeps turning. Even after wins and even after losses, the earth still rotates on its tilted axis waiting for no one. 

You slide away with a laugh and move a bit closer to the kitchen island. THere’s still a crowd around it but you’re hoping to be absorbed into that crowd, make light conversation until you can slip back away for a nap. “No need to tell me twice.” 

You can feel the hover though and turn to find Janet in the space between you and Declan--like a mother torn between her children. You nod her over to you, scooting to a corner of the kitchen island. “If Declan burns the food, just give me a call,” you tease. 

Janet’s laughter is small, but she nods, hand clasping yours. “I know you won’t be far.”

Her comment will raise suspicions and you notice the looks from a few other staff. “Oh, did someone melt your heart outside of the prince now finally?” Yvonne teases. “I’m hoping so.”

You know she means well. Yet Yvonne looks at you the same way Declan did--like they know but don’t want to say what’s going on. “Oh, for a moment, it sounded like you might care.”

Yvonne shrugs. “And if I did?” she huffs, but pats your shoulder as she passes. Perhaps, it’s less about telling them and more about accepting the fact that things have changed drastically. You’re not just the person who comes in when they need it. You’re not just a coworker all the time. Though it feels much too little too late for that. 

“Tell me; are we losing you before or after Christmas?” It’s Val who asks. She’s seated right next to the corner that you’re tucked into of the crowd around the kitchen island. 

“Before,” you return. “Mid September.”

She nods. “Do you think if I took your shift there’s a second prince in the family to fall in love with me?”

You snort at the question. “Worth the shot, I guess. They do say lightning can strike twice.”

“A rarity, but I could try,” Val returns. “We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll still be around. I won’t be going far.”

“Where’d you land?”

“Forest; downtown--couple blocks from the town center.”

She nods, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard about it. Good food, allegedly. I’m sure you could make it better.”

You shake your head and wrap an arm around her shoulder. She’s the youngest of the group, recently joined for the mid-day shift mostly but takes whatever shifts she can get. You don’t know what her home life is like, but in her, there is a mirror. You see yourself--the person working to escape life. “I’ll just be a line cook and potential bartender to start out. Highly doubt I’d be in the near anyone high enough to influence the menu.”

“You’ll get there soon enough.”

“Maybe. But it’s neither here nor there really. If you really want my spot though, I’ll give you my recipe for french toast.”

“But not your biscuits? I see how it is.” The two of you share a teasing grin but Val nods before speaking, “Deal. You work tonight?”

“When am I not here working?” you return. 

“When you’re upstairs getting smooches,” Cyprus interjects. 

“Who’s getting smooches?”

The voice nearly startles you but you catch the cologne; it soothes the ache in your chest. He’s not directly pressed against you, but now that you’re aware you can feel him behind you. You release Val and turn to face him. The grin’s lifting your cheeks before you can stop yourself. “Congratulations,” you offer first. “Hell of a speech.”

Calum reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and produces a pack of matches. You’d jokingly bought a matchbook of them from an antique shop that you happened across in search of second hand canvases that you might be able to use and to find something to replace the desk lamp in your room; you’d come up on a bust for either one of those but did manage to find the matchbook. The matchbook had small individual packets in them. And now the white cardboard of the match pack is tucked between Calum’s fingers. “I had my good luck charm.”

You gingerly take the pack from his fingers, and flip it open. “If only now you had something to light with them.”

“I think it might defeat the purpose of them being a good luck charm.”

“Only one way to find out.” It’s not lost on you about the box also tucked into that inside pocket of Calum’s jacket. You press the match back into Calum’s chest, over the box of cigarettes. “But seriously, that was fucking incredible. Perhaps, not all politicians are bad.”

“Well,” Val teases from behind you. “I don’t know about all that.”

You snort and Calum’s laughter shakes him too as he takes hold of your hand still pressed into him. “I’d say I’m offended, but I’m far from it,” Calum states. “Can I steal you away for a second? It’s nothing bad and can wait if you’re busy.”

“I can spare a second.” You follow behind Calum as he leads the way out. The crowd lets out a few whistles and the urge to flip them all off wins out against the better odds. You raise the single middle digit into the air briefly and there’s a roar of laughter from the group. 

Calum leads you down the hallway, like one would take to get to the front of the castle but ducks into a small offshoot of the hallway. Around another corner, a door reveals itself and it’s not long before the two of you are outside. It’s a side of the castle that none of the windows in the kitchen face, which is a plus. Here you press in a little closer to Calum, daring a grasps at his waist. The belt presses into your palm as your fingers catch around the loops. 

“How do you feel about that speech?” you ask.

Calum’s exhale is heavy. “I-I don’t know how I really feel. Relieved. A little stoked.  A lot of emotions right now I think that I can’t pick apart if I’m honest. I wanted to find you immediately, but it took a little while to do the rounds.”

You shake your head. “No it’s okay, Calum. You have to do those formalities. I get it. But I hope, once you’re able to dissect those emotions a bit more there’s pride in there too. You were phenomenal.”

“It wouldn’t be the same speech it was if you hadn’t asked those questions. If you had made an accusation, or kept quiet, I think I’d be looking at a very different outcome.” 

“Well let’s be glad I didn’t do any of those things.” 

“I am. I’m very glad.” 

The gap between the two of you inched closer and closer together. And like magnets the final push happens together. You reach up towards Calun and he reaches for you. The kiss is soft, a gentle press of lips slotting together. As much as you want to give in, press your body into Calum's, you settle for the quick squeeze at his hip. A teasing hiss falls from his throat. “Tell me you’re staying through the day?” 

You nod at Calum’s question. “I am.” 

“Good, I want to properly show you my gratitude.” 

The exhale of laughter is quick. “I haven’t forgotten about the diner either. You little masochist.” 

“Tricks up your sleeves? Or are you just a sadist with nothing to back it up?”

A hum falls from your throat. “That’s a lot of lip coming from the guy that’s begging.”

“Well, not yet I’m not.” Something buzzes from Calum’s pocket--his phone you assume. He ignores it, coming in again for another kiss. It’s deeper than the first, but still chaste enough. “Tell me, how long did you know?”

“Know about what?”

“The smoking,” Calum answers. 

“I had suspicions when I took us on the picnic. Was confirmed when I got in your car the other day by the smell”

“I’d say I’m trying to quit.” Calum offers it with a grimace. You don’t mind the habit much. You shrug at the statement. He’s probably on and off on the habit as the smell is not overpowering in the slightest. And there’s no reason to force him into something he wasn’t ready to give up yet anyway. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to be a liar.” There’s another buzz. “Someone’s trying real hard to get in contact with you,” you tease. 

Calum huffs a little. “Yeah, apparently.” 

His half step back to gather the phone from it’s pocket gives you enough time to look him over. The navy blue suit, as always, is tailored to perfection. It’s clear he means business, and you hate the way he’s lately been wearing the dress shirts with the top couple of buttons undone. You don’t actually hate it, thought more often than though the thought of tracing the valley of his chest with your tongue has come to mind. The thought doesn’t linger long, as you trail your gaze up to his face again. 

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper to him. 

Calum’s snap is fast--so fast you think he might drop his phone. But he looks up at you, eyes wide. “What?” he questions. 

“I said I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, baby.” You swear for a second you see his chin wobble, but Calum grins in return, slipping his phone back into the pocket. “I’ve gotta head back, but I should be done before 5:30. Do you think you’ll still be up?”

“If I’m not up, you have permission to wake me.” It’s about 3 right now, you figure. Maybe a little before, but definitely not quite four. You don’t think you need that long of a nap, but you do know you’ll need sleep. 

“No, no. If you’re still asleep, I’ll get you up after dinner then. No need to interrupt your sleep. Did it go well with Janet?”

“We both cried. But, she understands.” That’s about well as it could go, if you’re honest. “I didn’t realize I’d miss all of them so much.”

“You all are like a highly dysfunctional, yet functional family. I wish I could say you don’t have to give it up. But you don’t have to stop being friends with them. That’s not something I want for you, given how much I’m part of the reason so much of your life is being uprooted.”

Your worry though is that things will shift. When you go and if things with Calum get more serious, you worry that the relationship will have to change then. It’s a worry that you can’t afford to hold onto right now. You don’t know where things are going. You know you want to carry this torch with Calum for as long as it’ll burn. You want every second you can with him. But the future is evasive--the murky waters that don’t clear until your waist deep in them. You just need to wait until you’re waist deep in it. 

“They’re nice.” You want to try and find a way to continue whatever relationship you’ve built with them. 

Calum cups the back of your head, lips pressing into the skin of your forehead. “They’re your friends, baby. You’re allowed to call them that. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ll bring you a plate if you want.”

“Check the meat first. Declan’s cooking dinner.”

Calum’s laughter is soft against your skin. “I’ve yet to get sick from anyone’s cooking. But I’ll check it before taking the first full bite. If it’s all clear I’ll bring you a plate. Let me walk you back, okay?”

“Okay.”

The hallways are quiet, but you know the kitchen is always alive. Calum cracks open the door to the kitchen and lets you in first. Yvonne, Cyprus, and Declan are still bouncing around the kitchen. A few others are already gone, most likely only hanging around for the vote after their morning shifts. Calum doesn’t cross fully into the kitchen, leans into the door he’s got cracked open. His smile is soft. 

“Play nice. I don’t want any calls from Ms. Janet,” Calum teases. 

You shove at his shoulder, the heat flooding your cheeks. “I’ll have you know it’s only a problem if you ever get caught.”

“Well, then, I guess don’t get caught then.” He winks and starts to back away from the door. 

Once the door closes, you exhale. You didn’t want him to go yet, but you know he has too. “Oh you’re not even going to get a kiss goodbye?” Val shouts from behind. 

“Oh,” you groan. “You lot are going to be insufferable from now until eternity I take it.”

“You wouldn’t have us any other way,” Cyprus laughs. And, you know that you wouldn’t. Not in the slightest. 

______________________________

Calum takes the door handle tight in his palm, easing his weight into it. The light under the door is still off and he’s not sure if it’s from your departure from his room this afternoon or if you’ve returned and gotten the nap in like you said you might. So he takes the steps into the room carefully. There’s a small shuffle from the sheets and Calum’s quick as he can to get the door closed. The light from the hallway fades as he sweeps the door closed. 

I’m proud of you. The soft utterance has echoed in his mind the entire afternoon. It’s played like a loop--the soft look and ooze of pride on your face. It’s not that he thought he’d done terrible. He felt good about the speech. A couple people approached him and tld him how rousing it was. The close vote didn’t exactly help his vote of confidence either. Yet, Calum still felt an odd mixture of emotions--some of them a lingering anxiety that he now considers something he’ll be dealing with for quite some time. He’ll always be concerned about how what he says is received. He’ll always be worried that he’s not doing enough. 

But you’d stilled most of that concern with such a simple phrase, I’m proud of you. He had done good. He’d won the vote like he wanted. It is still a victory nonetheless. 

“No,” you groan as Calum settles onto the bed next to you. “No, you’re too handsome right now for me to resist you.” Your voice is thick with sleep. 

“Just one kiss,” Calum barters. 

You blindly reach for his face. “One.”

Calum captures your lips in a kiss, once, and nearly goes in for a second you, but you fall back into the pillows. He kisses your cheek instead and pushes up from the mattress. I’m proud of you, feels almost as good as the first time the two of you shared an ‘I love you’. So Calum lets the thought carry him to his bathroom where he strips from the day and showers. He doesn’t need your approval for everything, he knows. But it’s nice to hear it, to have that verbal affirmation to what he knows the two of you share. 

Changed into an old T-shirt and flannel pants, Calum slips onto the bed next to you. He stays above the covers, but does press another kiss to your temple. This time you don’t rouse awake. He knows in another hour or so your alarm will ring if it’s set, so he settles against the pillows. Like clockwork his right hand falls to the top of your head, light scratches against your scalp as he picks up his phone in his left hand. 

Calum checks through is texts first--a few from friends who also watched the voting today and congratulating him. One reminding him of his dental appointment next week and then one from Michael--outside of the group text. Don’t ask how I found this. Attached to the message is a link. Calum doesn’t like the look of things just from the preview and when he opens it, pictures from the date the other day load up first--one of Calum walking you of the restaurant. Your face is mostly hidden. 

So Calum scrolls on, down until a hot pink headline catches his eye: Even as summer cools off, things with this pair are heating up. 

His heart thunders in his chest as scrolls down. A picture of you kissing Calum’s hand is the first one after the headline. It’d be passable if not for the look on Calum’s face. He knows immediately without a doubt people will scrutinize the hell out of it. Though he should be embarrassed about his own pleasure being captured on film--not with his own consent involved of course--the thing he’s worried about is that this causes issues for you. 

You just landed that job and hadn’t even started. The thing Calum doesn’t want are these photos to ruin your shot. They aren’t the most scandalous photos ever--far from it. But they are particularly revealing the more Calum scrolls, pictures of the teases and taunts. Calum tries to remind himself it is tame. There’s no nudity, no sex tape, or sexual photos that have gotten out. It just feels like a warning that nowhere in public is truly safe for you.

The first thing Calum wants to do is call Forest, see if he can get in contact with Turner and ensure that your position stays secure. And the second thing he thinks about is his promise. How you asked him to only be a knight in shining armor when you asked. Right now, Calum knows that he’ll need to tell you when you wake up. He only needs to talk to you and then everything else will be done together as a team--whatever you want. Calum just hopes nothing bad comes as a result of this. There’s no reason for this to get in the way of your new job. Your face isn’t that clear in some of these photos. It wouldn’t be hard to piece together who you might be, but it is a worry that even with your job as a line cook that things might get crazy fast. 

The chime echoes around Calum and he spin from his desk chair to the bed. You push up from the covers to turn off the alarm. When your arms hit the mattress, you sit up. “Why are you way over there?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Calum returns. He crosses the short distance to your open arms. 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you whisper into his shoulder. 

“Oh, it can wait a minute. You just woke up.”

“Pictures of our date are surfacing online,” Calum mutters into your neck. “I’m worried it’s going to hurt your chances with Forest.”

“Show me, please?”

It’s hard to piece together your thoughts, not with the furrow of sleep still on your brows as you scroll through tabloid on Calum’s laptop. But you do release a snort after a moment and tip the device so Calum can see the screen. “I’m kissing and nibbling on your hand, baby. I thought it was the picture of you sucking my fingers or like ass out photos.”

“Okay, first, we’ve not been ass out in public so unless they’re deep faked that wouldn’t get out there. Second, there is a photo of me sucking the ice creams off your fingers if you scroll down far enough. Third, there’s going to be more people interested in trying to get the next most scandalous shot of us. The sharks can smell the blood in the water now.”

Calum watches over the top of the screen to the photo in question. It's clear as day with him licking the ice cream off your lingers, the spoon does just enough to block anything that could be construed as too graphic, but it's as close as Calum can get being caught red-handed without having the paint on his hand.

“Hmm, yeah, I can see your concern especially about people knowing that you're really into ice cream now," you snort.

Calum knows it's your attempt to diffuse the situation. The insecurity isn't lost on him, but you've always covered up that fear with a bit of a deprecated humor. It's a smoke and mirror tactic. Though perhaps now some levity isn't harmful. It is, on the face of it, not an appealing photo of Calum--the angle is terrible and if it there weren't high stakes he could find it himself to laugh. These photos are truly child's play to what has come out in the past about people of interest and celebrities, but it's you--you are cost in the crosshairs this time.

"But, I mean, in all seriousness," you continue on, "the first photos plus these don’t make it exactly hard to maybe piece together what I look like. However, if Forest wants to take back a job offer because of pictures of me with my boyfriend then maybe it’s not a good company. I mean, we’re in the business of service. As long as I can cook, then I don’t think my chances are hurt that much.”

You know more about what something like this can mean for your chances. Yet Calum’s not ready to let go of the voice in the back of his head. What if it does hurt your chances? What if after all this you don’t have any income anymore? Calum’s more than happy to help cover whatever expenses you have until you find a job or arrangement that suits your needs best. But you’re going to want to work and find something fast. 

“But,” you start and then stop to clear your throat. “But thing I can do right now is I could try and call Turner and get ahead of this on their end. We can’t stop the folks who do this, but we can take precautions. Go to places a little further out of town. I’ll be a bit more careful about taking bites out of you if you promise to instead suck toes in private. We can figure something out.”

Calum gathers a throw pillow from the floor and whacks you in the shoulder with it. "I highly doubt this situation demands a joke about sucking on toes. And if there's something you want to tell me, please by all means do so. But yes, we could take more precautions."

Your laughter chokes you, a broken but delightful sound. Calum hands over his glass of water. He’d gotten it in the hour-long fret session he’d been down. Michael offered his help too, keeping an eye out for any more sites that post the photos and so his best to collect them for Calum. Calum could then go to Miranda with a clear list of who would be slapped with whatever legal red tape she could give them of course. 

“Would you be okay if I went to Miranda and see what she can do? She’s got connections to places we dare not think about.” 

You nod, swallowing down your sip. “Yeah, that’s okay. Just keep me posted on what she says, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay, baby.”

“I’ll call Turner tomorrow after I get home and I’ll let you know what happens there too.”

There’s a plan, as you and Calum settle down into the kitchen and Calum warms up the plate of the food Declan made, he reminds himself there is a plan. There is a plan and the two of you would work it together. 

"So," Calum starts around the plate of cookies he put together himself to snack on while you eat. "We have a plan."

You nod around a bite of potatoes.

"We have a plan," he mutters to himself. It's real. Tangible. A plan. You'll call Turner. He'll go to Miranda. Whatever happens after that just has to come after that. For the most part, you should be okay. It might not be hard to piece together who you are, but it's not easy. There's still time.

There's still time.

"We'll be okay, love. We'll be okay," you offer, taking his hand.

Calum squeezes at the pres of your digits into his palm. "We will."