#sequel to Leaving Their Marks Behind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jetii · 29 days ago

Text

Until Morning

Pairing: Wolffe x Jedi!Reader / Wolffe x fem!Reader

Words: 12,758

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, forbidden relationship, smut, soft dom!Wolffe, orgasm denial, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking (in both ways), the beginning is filthy but he's actually so sweet in this, well ok it's all filthy, they are in looovvve

Summary: After confessing your feelings for each other, you and Wolffe carry on. During the day, you're nothing but professional, but what happens behind closed doors is something else entirely.

Prompts: 67. “It’s taking all my self control not to bend you over the table and fuck you right here.” & 92. “Fuck, knowing that you’re walking around filled with my cum has me so hard.”

A/N: I spilled angst all over the smut again, sorry! Hope sweet, affectionate Wolffe makes up for the bits of sad. I'd recommend reading For One Night first if you haven't already. Thanks @aynavaano for the inspo I needed to write this sequel and for inspiring the original!

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Waking up next to someone was a feeling you had yet to get used to, but it was certainly not something you would complain about. The warm, firm body beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing — it's a balm on your weary soul, and a reminder that for a little while, at least, you aren't alone.

You open your eyes and watch him, his features soft and peaceful. In sleep, the lines of stress and worry are gone, the scar stretching across his eye less harsh, and Wolffe looks almost boyish, his expression open and vulnerable. Your heart clenches at the sight, and you resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.

In the early hours of the morning, it's easy to forget what awaits you both outside this room. To imagine a world where you could stay like this forever, the two of you lost in each other. You'll take what few moments you can get, though, and treasure them.

Wolffe stirs beside you, his face scrunching up in annoyance, and he lets out a grunt. That was something you were used to — how grumpy and irritable he could be in the mornings. It's endearing, and you stifle a smile, knowing he would grumble even more if he saw it.

"I can hear you thinking," he mutters, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Go back to sleep."

"Good morning," you reply, amused.

"No, it's not."

He turns his face, burrowing deeper under the covers, and you bite your lip hard to keep from laughing. He's a notorious grump in the mornings, and you'd learned the best way to deal with it is to leave him alone and let him wake up at his own pace, but when you try to get up, his arm snakes out, pulling you back against him.

"Wolffe!"

"Where do you think you're going?" he rumbles, his voice husky.

"To start the day," you tell him. "Some of us have a meeting to get to."

"No," he protests, his arm tightening around your waist. "Canceled."

"It's not canceled," you huff, but the protest is half-hearted, and when his hand slides down to your hip, squeezing the flesh, you can't help but lean back into him, a soft sigh escaping you.

"Not yet," he murmurs as his fingers trace circles on your skin. "Stay here a little longer."

"Plo is expecting you," you say, the reminder more for yourself than him. "You have a lot of work to do."

"I'm sure the General will understand," he says.

You know you should be the responsible one here, but it's hard to resist him. Especially when his lips are ghosting along the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his breath hot against your skin. It's tempting, too tempting, and your resolve crumbles.

"Fine," you relent. "But not too long."

Wolffe smirks, triumphant, and his lips find yours, capturing them in a deep kiss. You melt into him, your body sinking against his, and you lose yourself in the sensation, the feel of him surrounding you. His hand drifts down, tracing the curve of your waist, and he tugs you closer, his hardness pressing into your hip.

"Wolffe," you mumble, breaking the kiss. "We shouldn't. I need to report to Plo, and you—"

"Are busy," he interrupts. "Very, very busy. Right now."

"You're impossible," you groan.

"Mm," he hums, his lips trailing down your throat. "Don't worry, jet'ika. I'll make it quick."

Before you can protest, his hand is slipping between your legs, his fingers seeking out the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on the bud, and you gasp, the sound lost in the kiss.

He's insistent, his touch firm and purposeful, and he wastes no time in delving deeper, dipping into your wetness. Two fingers slide inside of you with little resistance, and the stretch is just shy of too much, his thick digits filling you in a way that has you trembling.

"Kriff, you're so wet already," he growls, his mouth pressed against the hollow of your throat. He nips at the sensitive flesh, his stubble scraping against your skin. "Tell me, jet'ika, does the thought of sneaking around turn you on?"

"No," you gasp, even as your hips buck against his hand.

"Liar," he chides.

Wolffe pulls his fingers out, and before you can whine in protest, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him. His gaze is dark, pupil blown in his single gold eye, and the predatory look on his face makes your toes curl. He leans down, his mouth pressing against the shell of your ear.

"Do you know what I'm going to do?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to fuck you. And I'm going to make it quick, just like you asked. But I'm not going to let you come."

"Wolffe—"

"You're going to walk around today with my cum dripping out of you, and every time you see me, you're going to remember how good it felt. You're going to be thinking about how hard you came on my cock last night, and how badly you want to do it again. And you're not going to get to,” he continues. "You're going to have to wait, like a good girl, until we can sneak away again. Until I can fuck you properly."

The words make a wave of heat wash over you, and your cunt clenches around nothing, a desperate ache forming between your legs. You arch against him, seeking friction, but his hands pin your hips to the bed, preventing any movement.

"Understand?"

"Yes," you breathe, your voice shaky, and he rewards you with a sharp nip to the neck.

"That's my girl," he murmurs. He moves to straddle your thighs, and the sudden shift of his weight makes you gasp. You can feel his length, hot and heavy against the curve of your ass, and you can't help but push back, teasing him.

He chuckles, the sound rough.

"Oh, I see how it is," he says, and he pushes you flat, his palm splayed on your lower back. "You're not very good at being patient, are you?"

"You're taking too long," you grumble.

"I told you I was going to make this quick," he says. "So be a good girl and keep still."

He grips your hips, pulling you up, and then he's pushing into you, his length sliding in easily. The stretch is delicious, and you bite your lip, the ache settling low in your belly. He fills you perfectly, the angle allowing him to sink deeper than before, and you moan, the sensation of being full almost too much. Your head drops down, resting on the pillow, and he gives an experimental thrust, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Maker," he hisses, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips. "You feel so fucking good."

He sets a punishing pace, his thrusts hard and fast. He fucks you like a man possessed, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the room. He's not gentle, not sweet, and the contrast of his tenderness the night before and his roughness now has you panting, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and the change of position has him hitting a spot deep inside of you, the friction sending sparks dancing across your vision. You whine, and he shushes you, his breath hot against your skin.

"Shh," he whispers. "Gotta keep quiet. Wouldn't want anyone to hear you, would we?"

The thought makes you tremble, and he huffs a laugh.

"Yeah," he says, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? For everyone to hear how good I'm fucking you."

He punctuates his statement with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock hitting the spot again. You clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling the moan that threatens to slip out.

"So good," he growls, his voice low and ragged. "You're so fucking good for me."

His pace becomes frantic, his thrusts losing their rhythm. You can tell he's getting close, his breathing heavy and labored, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the anticipation of his release making your cunt clench around him. Wolffe hisses, his grip tightening on your hips, and he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

The sensation is enough to make your eyes roll back, and you feel him twitch inside you, his cock pulsing. His release is hot and sticky, coating your inner walls, and the knowledge that he's filling you up, marking you as his, sends a rush of arousal through you. The idea is depraved, filthy, and it's only your hand covering your mouth that keeps you from crying out.

You can't help but grind back against him, the pressure inside you almost too much. His hands grip your hips, holding you still, and he chuckles, his lips trailing along the shell of your ear.

"Ah, ah," he chides, "be a good girl and take it."

You bite your lip, trying to ignore the desperate need building inside you, but the friction is almost too much, the sound of his voice whispering in your ear making the ache worse. You're trembling, the tension in your body coiled tight, and the only thing you can focus on is the feel of him inside you, his cock stretching you wide.

And then he's pulling out, his length sliding free. The sudden emptiness inside you is a shock, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes. He shushes you, his fingers stroking the curve of your hip.

"What did I say?"

"Wolffe," you gasp, your voice hoarse. "Please, I need—"

"No."

He moves off you, the mattress shifting, and the loss of his warmth is almost enough to make you sob. He runs his hand along your spine, the touch soothing.

"Turn over."

You do as he asks, rolling onto your back, and the sight of him, his pupils blown and his chest flushed, is almost enough to undo you. He leans over, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, and his thumb traces the curve of your cheek.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes burning. Your cheeks flush, the compliment making your heart skip a beat, and he gives you a soft, almost sad, smile.

"You really are, you know," he says, his voice thick. "Beautiful."

His other hand trails down, brushing against your thigh, and he grips your leg, his fingers digging into the flesh.

"I want to see you."

You open your mouth to ask him what he means, but the words die in your throat as he pushes your legs apart, his gaze zeroing in on the spot between your thighs. The action is intimate, almost obscene, and you can't help the flush that spreads across your cheeks, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Perfect," he mutters. "Kriff, you're perfect."

His fingers move, his knuckles brushing against the wetness that's gathered between your folds. You whimper, the touch almost painful, and he lets out a rough sound before sliding his fingers into you. You can feel him pushing his cum back inside you, the action somehow more erotic than anything else he's done, and the thought makes you blush even more.

"That's it," he murmurs. "There you go.”

You can't help but push back, grinding yourself against his palm, and his fingers press against the spot deep inside of you, the pleasure making your vision blur.

"Oh, fuck," you breathe.

He leans forward, his breath hot against your ear.

"If you can make it through the day," he says, his voice low and rough, "I promise I'll make it worth your while. I'll take my time. I'll taste every inch of you. I'll lick my cum out of you, and then I'll fuck you until you can't walk."

The promise makes your toes curl, and you whimper, the ache inside of you almost too much.

"Wolffe, please—"

"Commander?"

There's a knock at the door, and the sound of a voice just outside is enough to make your heart drop through your stomach. Wolffe's head snaps up, and he curses, his expression shifting from lust to irritation in an instant.

"What?" he calls out.

"Sir, it's Sinker," the trooper replies. "General Plo wanted me to remind you of your meeting with him. You're late."

"I'm aware," Wolffe grits out.

He glares at the door, jaw clenched, and then he turns back to you, his expression softening. He runs his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the messy strands, and the touch is so tender, the look on his face so vulnerable, that it almost makes your heart stop.

"We'll finish this later," he promises. He glances down, his gaze taking in the sight of his fingers buried inside you. "Fuck."

You look at him, and his expression is torn, the desire to stay, to continue where the two of you left off, clear. You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, and he closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

"I wish I could just—"

He cuts himself off, and then he's pulling his fingers out, leaving you empty and wanting. You watch, mesmerized, as he brings them to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the slickness that coats them.

"Fuck, I can't wait to have you on my tongue," he says.

You whine, the image of his face buried between your thighs making the ache in your core flare, and he smirks.

"I know, cyare," he murmurs. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

"Okay," you whisper.

"Get dressed," he says. "I'll see you at the meeting."

"Right."

He gets up, moving away from you, and the sudden loss of him is enough to make the knot in your chest tighten. The room feels empty, colder, and you swallow hard, the feeling of him still lingering on your skin even as he pulls on his blacks and starts to clip his armor back into place.

"Wolffe," you say softly.

He pauses, turning to look at you, and the tenderness in his expression makes your heart skip a beat. Wolffe was not a soft man, and the thought of him looking at you like this, like you were something precious, was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

"I love you."

He smiles, a real smile, the kind you don't see often. The kind that reaches his eyes.

"I love you too," he says. "I'll clear the way. You wait five minutes and then follow. Don't make eye contact."

You nod, and he hesitates, the look on his face making it clear that he's just as reluctant to leave as you are. His hand hovers over the control panel, his fingers trembling, and then he lets out a sigh, pressing the button that slides the door open.

"Five minutes," he says.

"Five minutes."

And then he's gone, the door sliding shut behind him. You stare at it, your chest aching, and then you bury your face in your hands, pressing hard against your eyes. You take a few deep breaths, trying to get yourself under control, before you climb out of bed, searching for your discarded robes.

The next few hours are going to be difficult, if not downright painful. You had no idea how you were going to get through them, how you were going to look at him and not see the man who'd held you, touched you, whispered the sweetest things in your ear.

It's a cruel trick, one the universe is playing on both of you, and you know it. But despite the pain, the longing, you would choose him. It's been months since the two of you started sneaking around, stealing moments here and there, and while it's far from ideal, you can't bring yourself to regret any of it.

Despite everything, you're happy. Happier than you've been in a long time. And if the price for that happiness is the constant ache, the longing, the knowledge that you'll never truly be together, then so be it.

Because in the end, it's worth it. He's worth it.

So you dress, ignoring the way the fabric brushes against the sensitive skin between your thighs, clinging to the dampness of your skin, and you steel yourself for what's to come. The rest of the day is going to be miserable, the hours dragging on as the two of you struggle to keep up appearances, but when the night falls and the lights dim, he'll be waiting.

And that is the promise that keeps you going.

"Five minutes," you say to yourself.

You count down the final seconds, the minutes passing agonizingly slowly. When the timer finally hits zero, you let out a shaky breath and push the button, the door sliding open with a hiss.

You step into the hallway, closing the door behind you, and then you square your shoulders, the resolve in your gut steeling you for the hours ahead.

It's going to be a long day.

But the promise of the night to come makes it a little easier to bear.

It's a familiar routine now, the two of you sneaking around.

Hiding in the shadows, finding quiet places where no one will find you. Kissing him, touching him, and letting him do the same. Whispering promises, sweet nothings, and holding him close. The stolen moments, the brief seconds when it's just the two of you and the rest of the galaxy fades away.

It's a dance, a game, and it's one you and Wolffe have been playing for months now.

And yet, there's something new about today. Something different.

This time, there's a hunger, an intensity, to his gaze that wasn't there before. Wolffe has been watching you all day, and each time your eyes meet, it's like a current running between the two of you, an awareness, an acknowledgement.

You know, and he knows, that when the two of you are alone, nothing will stop him from taking you. From claiming every inch of your body. From showing you exactly how much he needs you, how badly he wants you.

The knowledge makes you ache, and the hours crawl by, each second feeling like an eternity. The two of you haven't had the chance to be alone since this morning, and the anticipation is making you tremble. It's a cruel thing, this game, and you've spent the better part of the day trying to keep yourself from looking at him.

It's hard, though.

Wolffe is an imposing figure, his presence commanding. And even with his armor, even when he's not touching you, the pull between the two of you is electric, magnetic.

It's almost painful, this dance the two of you are doing.

He's standing at the front of the command center, his hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders are tense, his expression stoic, and his gaze is trained on the holotable. You know he's only half paying attention, his thoughts no doubt elsewhere.

On you, you think.

You try not to fidget, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but the longer you stand here, the more aware of him you become. His scent, the way his breath hitches every time someone gets too close. The heat of his body, the way his eyes track your every move.

It's maddening.

You've spent the past few hours working in silence, the two of you trying to avoid raising suspicion, but now, with the day almost done, the tension between you is palpable. You're wound tight, your body thrumming with nervous energy, and the thought of spending another second in this room is making you antsy.

Your gaze flickers to Wolffe, just for a second, and his eyes find yours, the intensity of his stare sending a thrill through you. His expression doesn't change beyond the working of his jaw, but the gold of his iris burns bright, the color shifting as his pupil dilates.

It's a simple gesture, but it's enough.

And it's enough to make the ache between your thighs throb.

He looks away, his focus returning to the hologram in front of him, and the moment passes. But it lingers, the ghost of his gaze, the weight of his attention, settling on you like a physical touch. You're trembling, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to glance over at him again.

Wolffe is a patient man, a trait that had served him well as a soldier, but when it came to you, that patience was a thin thread. A single strand that could snap at any moment.

And if the look in his eyes is anything to go by, it won't be long before that thread breaks.

"You've done well, Commander," Plo Koon says, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Wolffe inclines his head, his expression neutral.

"Thank you, General," he replies.

"I appreciate the hard work you've put in. As well as your dedication. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

"It's my duty, sir," Wolffe says stiffly.

"I'm aware that these have been... difficult times."

Wolffe's jaw clenches, but he doesn't respond.

Plo turns, his gaze sweeping the room, and his eyes linger on you, the corners of his mask shifting in what you've come to recognize as a smile. You struggle to return it, and his expression softens. You have a sinking feeling that your former master is aware of more than you'd like, but he doesn't seem upset. If anything, he looks understanding, perhaps even a little sad.

"These are trying times for us all," he says, his voice soft. "I understand that this mission has been particularly difficult for the two of you."

You glance at Wolffe, and the look in his eyes is enough to make your breath catch. The raw hunger, the naked need, is enough to make your knees buckle. He doesn't look away, and his gaze is intense, searing.

"Yes," he rasps. "It has."

"Then perhaps we should call it a night," Plo says. "The both of you have earned a rest."

"I—" Wolffe clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from you. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm fine. I don't need a break."

"Commander," Plo says, his voice gentle but firm, "I insist.”

Wolffe's nostrils flare, but he doesn't argue.

"Sir," he grunts.

Plo Koon gives a dismissive wave, and the others shuffle out, their chatter filling the air. Wolffe remains at the front, his hands still clasped behind his back. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense. The only movement is the subtle clenching and unclenching of his fists.

He's waiting.

You watch him, trying to hide your own nervousness.

"You've done good work, Commander," Plo says. "Both of you."

"Thank you, General."

"I'll leave you to your evening."

He turns, walking toward the exit, and you can't help but stare after him. There's a sense of finality in his words, and you feel a stab of guilt. Plo has been a father to you, a mentor, and a friend. And the idea of deceiving him, of sneaking around behind his back, is something you've wrestled with for months.

The truth is, though, that there's no other choice. Not really.

It's a cruel game, and the rules are set.

The door slides shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone, and you can't help but hold your breath. Wolffe doesn't move, and the room is filled with silence, the tension between the two of you thickening. You can feel his gaze on you, his stare burning, and you swallow hard.

"Sir, a word," he says to you, loud enough for anyone who's still lingering to hear. "I'd like your opinion on the reports."

"Of course, Commander," you reply, swallowing hard, and Wolffe waits until the room is completely clear before turning his gaze on you, his eye burning.

"You," he growls.

"Me?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

It takes you a moment to realize what he's referring to, and when you do, a flush spreads across your cheeks. You bite your lip, trying not to grin.

"I don't know what you mean," you say innocently.

"All fucking day," he mutters, stalking toward you. The sound of his footsteps echo, the click of his boots against the floor loud in the otherwise silent room. His stride is steady, his pace even, and the tension between the two of you builds with every step he takes.

Wolffe stands in front of you, his body towering over yours, and the proximity, the way he's looking at you, is enough to make the blood rush in your ears. He places a hand on the console, leaning towards you, and his eyes are dark, his pupils blown.

"You've been watching me," you whisper, and his eye darkens.

"Do you blame me?" he murmurs. "You're a sight, jet'ika. Standing there, pretending like nothing's going on. Fuck, knowing that you’re walking around filled with my cum has been driving me crazy.”

His hand moves, the tips of his fingers brushing against your cheek, and the touch sends a shiver down your spine.

"Did you like it, cyare?" he asks, his voice low. "The idea of me watching you all day, knowing what we did? How much I wanted to fuck you?"

You let out a shaky breath, your body aching for his touch.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Maker," he breathes. "What you do to me."

His hand moves, tracing the line of your jaw, and his gaze is fierce, possessive. You can feel the weight of his attention, the heat of his skin. His hand comes to rest under your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“It’s taking all my self control not to bend you over the table and fuck you right here, right now," he says.

The words send a jolt through you, and you bite your lip, trying not to moan. You've been aching for him all day, the memory of this morning leaving you wanting. You want to touch him, feel his skin against yours, and the hunger in his eyes, the need in his voice, is enough to make you lose any remaining shred of self control.

"You're not the only one," you whisper.

He lets out a rough sound, his other hand moving to grip your hip.

"Is that so, jet'ika?" he murmurs. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, and you can feel his hot breath, his stubble scraping against your skin. You whine, arching into his touch, and he huffs a laugh, the sound making your toes curl.

"I can't wait to get you alone," he says.

"You won't have to."

His hands tighten, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, and he pulls you close. The press of his armor against your body is sharp, the cool plastoid making you shiver. He leans down, and his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat.

"We should stop," he murmurs, his breath fanning across your skin. "I should walk away."

"Probably," you agree, even as your fingers trail along the curve of his cheek.

"I don't think I can."

"Neither can I."

His teeth scrape against your neck, his stubble scratching the sensitive flesh, and you can't help but tilt your head back, exposing more of yourself to him.

"Kriff," he mutters. "I've been thinking about this all day."

You sigh and close your eyes. "Me too."

He lets out a sound that's half growl, half sigh, and his lips move along the column of your throat. His fingers trace circles on your waist, the touch making you tremble. He's close, his body pressing against yours, and the feel of him, the scent of him, is almost too much.

You've waited all day for this, the promise of being with him, touching him, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And now that the moment is here, it's hard to breathe, hard to think. Harder still, to think about the consequences of this.

But you can't bring yourself to care. Not with his hands on you, his mouth on you.

You need this, and he needs you.

It's the only thought in your mind.

Wolffe presses a kiss to your pulse point, the sensation sending a spark of electricity through you, and his hands are roaming, tracing the curve of your waist. One wanders higher, skimming your side until it cups your breast. His thumb brushes over the stiff peak, and the friction makes your toes curl, a jolt of pleasure shooting down your spine.

"Wolffe..."

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Right," he murmurs. He pulls back, his hands gripping your waist. His gaze is heavy, his iris dark, and his pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Right," he repeats, and you can't help but smirk at the reluctance in his tone. The heat in his gaze softens, his expression shifting into something that looks a lot like adoration.

"Fuck, I love you."

You bite your lip, trying not to grin like an idiot.

"I love you, too," you tell him.

He huffs a laugh, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face, and he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there's a hint of urgency, a tension, to the way he's holding you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get out of here."

You nod, and he lets go, his hands dropping away from you. The sudden loss of him is painful, and you have to force yourself not to grab him and kiss him again. Instead, you step away, moving toward the exit, and he follows, his pace slow.

As you approach the door, his fingers brush against the small of your back. The touch is light, the barest hint of contact, but it's a promise. A reminder.

A reassurance.

"Come on," he whispers, his breath ghosting across your ear. "I have plans for you."

The promise makes your cheeks flush, a thrill of anticipation running through you. Wolffe was not a man who did things by halves, and when he set his mind to something, he was relentless. You've seen that same dedication, that single-minded focus, in battle, and the idea of it being turned on you is almost too much.

"Oh?"

Wolffe grins, and the sight is almost predatory.

"Oh yes," he murmurs. "So hurry up. Unless you want me to take you here."

You let out a shaky breath, a rush of arousal making your core throb. The hand on your back urges you forward, guiding you until the door slides open. As soon as you step into the hall, his touch retreats, and he clasps his hands behind his back, the picture of professionalism.

But the look in his eyes is anything but.

"After you, General," he says.

Despite yourself, you can't help but smirk. "As you wish, Commander."

He falls into step beside you, the sound of his boots loud in the empty corridor, and the two of you make your way toward the turbolift. The silence is heavy, the air charged with anticipation. Every part of your body is acutely aware of him, the heat of his gaze, the sound of his breathing.

"So," he says, his voice casual. "How have you been enjoying your time back with the 104th?"

You frown and glance at him over your shoulder. His expression is smooth, the line of his mouth even, but his eyes are burning.

"What do you mean?"

"Just making conversation."

You study him for a moment longer, and then shrug, turning back to the hallway.

"It’s been fine," you reply, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

"Fine, huh? No problems? No difficulties adjusting?"

You hesitate, your brow furrowing before you realize what he's doing. You give a friendly nod to a group of troopers walking past, and they greet you in return, oblivious to the tension between the two of you.

"No, Commander," you say evenly. "Nothing I can't handle."

"That's good to hear," Wolffe replies. "We're all happy to have you back."

"It's nice to be back."

"I'm glad."

The two of you enter the turbolift, the doors sliding shut behind you, and Wolffe turns to you, the look in his eyes sending a thrill down your spine.

"I think we should talk about these 'difficulties adjusting,'" he says, and his tone is almost teasing. "Maybe come up with some solutions."

"Maybe."

The lift begins to descend, the floor numbers flashing above the doors, and the air crackles with anticipation. You're acutely aware of his proximity, his body so close to yours, and it takes all your self-control not to touch him. Not to run your fingers over the ridges of his armor, the smooth plates glinting in the dim light.

Not to kiss him.

He glances at you, his eye burning, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the curve of your shoulder. It's a simple touch, barely a caress, but the gesture is deliberate. He's making a point, and you can't help but smile, your chest aching with fondness.

"You seem tense, General," he says, and there's a hint of amusement in his tone. "Is everything alright?"

"You're insufferable," you murmur.

"I'm not the one who's been distracting me all day," he retorts, his voice low.

You can't help but roll your eyes. "You started it."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"And how do you figure that?"

"You know very well what you did this morning," you hiss, and you can't keep the smile off your face. "Don't think I've forgotten."

"Remind me," he murmurs. He steps closer, and his hand drifts lower, his fingers skimming along your arm.

"Wolffe—"

"Please," he whispers. "Remind me."

You can't stop yourself. You reach up, your fingers cupping the side of his face, and the gesture is tender, affectionate. You brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, and he leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering closed.

"You were very naughty," you murmur, and the word, so unlike you, makes him smirk. You can't help but grin in return.

"Is that right?" he whispers.

"Very," you continue. "Teasing me like that. Filling me up. Making me wait."

He lets out a low groan, his eyes opening.

"It's been torture, Wolffe. Thinking about you. Thinking about this."

His hand comes up, his fingers curling around your wrist, and he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. His breath is warm, his lips soft. He doesn't break eye contact, his gaze fixed on yours, and you can't help but lean into him, your body pressed against his armor.

"It's been hard for me too," Wolffe whispers.

The admission is almost painful, and you bite your lip, trying to fight the swell of emotion in your chest. The two of you have been sneaking around for months now, finding stolen moments here and there. You've made the most of it, but the fact is that this is dangerous, the risk of being caught too high.

"I hate this," you say. "Having to hide."

"Me too," he says. His expression is raw, vulnerable. "But it's worth it. Being with you. Seeing you."

You blink back tears, and he cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw. He presses your palm against his lips again, and his gaze is fierce, unwavering.

"Worth every moment," he whispers. "Even if it kills me."

"I know," you reply. "I know."

The lift slows, the doors sliding open, and the spell between the two of you is broken. Wolffe steps back, his expression neutral, and he gestures for you to step out.

"After you, General," he says, polite and detached.

"Thank you, Commander," you murmur. Your hands fist at your sides, your body aching for his.

Wolffe follows you, the two of you stepping into the empty hallway. It's late, the corridors abandoned, and the silence is almost deafening. The only sound is the hum of the ship's engines and the pounding of your heart. You walk slowly, deliberately, and the tension between the two of you builds, the ache in your core growing stronger.

"Your quarters or mine?" he asks.

"Yours," you reply.

"Why?"

"Because they're closer."

Wolffe lets out a rough laugh, the sound making your heart skip a beat, and he falls in step beside you. His arm brushes against yours, the contact sending a jolt through you, and he looks down, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk.

"So eager," he murmurs.

"You're one to talk," you reply.

"Fair point."

He grins, his eyes twinkling, and the sight is almost too much. He's breathtaking, his expression bright and playful. It's rare to see him so open, so free, and the realization that you're the only one who gets to see him like this is humbling.

You smile back, the warmth in your chest spreading, and he bumps your arm, his gaze fixed on yours.

"It's nice, though," he says softly.

"What is?"

"This," he replies. "Being with you."

You can't help but bite your lip.

"It is," you agree.

"Even if we're not... able to..." He trails off, and the look on his face is almost bashful. It's adorable, and it makes your chest ache. You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, and his eyes drift to the spot, a sigh escaping him.

"I'm happy," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

He huffs a laugh and gives you a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," he says. "This isn't exactly how I planned to start the evening."

"I don't mind," you say.

"I know," he replies. "But we have time for all that later."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he murmurs, and the promise in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You bite back a smile, trying not to squirm, and he gives you a mischievous look in return. He's teasing you, and you can't help but feel a stab of affection.

There was a time, not so long ago, that Wolffe had been wary of you, reluctant to trust you. But now? Now, there was a level of familiarity between the two of you that you had never experienced with another person. An ease, a comfort. And while you knew the risks, the thought of walking away, of ending this, was unbearable.

Whatever it was that was happening between the two of you... it was real. It was important. And it was worth the risk.

You turn to him and smirk.

"What are you going to do to me?" you ask. "Gonna tie me up?"

Wolffe groans. "You'd like that."

"I would," you agree, unabashed.

"Not tonight," he murmurs. "Tonight is about you."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm," he says, and the low rumble of his voice makes your toes curl. He looks down, his gaze darkening, and he smirks. “To make up for this morning."

You try not to groan. Wolffe's dedication to your pleasure was both a blessing and a curse. While the man was nothing if not determined, his focus was intense. And when he set his mind to something... well. You could hardly complain.

But it was difficult to accept his attention without offering anything in return. It was hard not to want to give as good as you got, and even harder to relinquish control. But when it came to Wolffe, the urge to surrender, to submit, was overpowering. He made it easy. Made it tempting. Made it feel right.

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to tremble. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"You're going to let me take care of you."

The words make your stomach twist. It's hard to believe that a man as powerful and intimidating as Wolffe is capable of such gentleness. That he can be so soft and tender. You don't deserve it, and yet, he seems content to give it.

"If you say so," you murmur.

"I do."

His tone is firm, almost stern, and the sound makes your heart skip a beat. He glances at you, and the look in his eye is tender, his expression filled with warmth.

Wolffe stops in front of his door, and you stand a distance back, your hands tucked in your robes. He places his hand on the scanner, and the door slides open, revealing his darkened room.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment.

Then he steps aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"After you," he says, his voice a low rumble. You look around the empty hallway before stepping inside, and the door slides shut behind you, the room darkening.

There's a faint click, and then the light flares, illuminating the space.

The sight makes your breath catch.

The sheets are rumpled, the same as you left them this morning, but there's a vase of flowers on the nightstand, the petals a vivid red. Next to it is a bottle of wine, and two glasses sit beside it. There are candles lit around the room, their flames dancing, and the smell of spice and clove fills the air.

He's been busy.

He's been planning.

The thought of Wolffe standing here, arranging flowers, lighting candles, setting everything up for you, makes your heart ache. The gesture is so unexpected, so sweet, that you feel the breath leave your lungs. You don't deserve him.

He moves around the room, extinguishing the lights until only the candles remain, casting everything in a warm glow. His movements are precise, careful, and the look on his face is almost nervous.

"You did all this?" you whisper.

"Well," he says, his tone hesitant. "It's not much. But... yes."

"What would you have done if I said I wanted to go back to my quarters?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

He steps closer, his body looming over yours.

"I would've convinced you," he murmurs, his breath fanning across the side of your face. "I can be very persuasive."

You glance up at him and are startled to find his gaze already on you. His eyes are dark, his pupil blown wide. His mouth is set in a firm line, and there's a flush spreading across his cheeks. Your lips part, your throat suddenly dry, and you swallow hard.

He smiles, and it's a small, hesitant thing. "Too much?"

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Not at all."

He lets out a low sound that might be relief and reaches out, his hands coming to rest on your hips. His grip is light, and the heat of his skin seeps through the fabric of your robes, warming your flesh. You can't help but sway closer, leaning into his touch.

"So," he starts. "Would you like a drink? Or should we get started?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Started?"

"We have a lot to cover," Wolffe says with a wicked grin. "A lot of lost time to make up for."

Your eyes widen, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"How long were you planning this?" you ask.

He shrugs, his gaze flickering across your face.

"A while," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Would have done it last night, but someone was feeling feisty."

You can't help but grin, remembering how you had teased him. How you had teased each other. The way his mouth had felt against yours, his hands gripping your hips. How you had ridden him, his body trembling beneath you. The look in his eye as he'd watched you.

"Sorry," you murmur. "But the view was incredible."

"It's always a show with you," he murmurs, his smile wry.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he says. "Every time you walk into a room."

You blush, and he chuckles, the sound low and throaty.

"Don't deny it," he says. "I've seen the way you move. The way you hold yourself. Like you know people are watching. Like you're aware of every eye on you."

You swallow hard, your cheeks hot. He's not wrong. There had been a time when you'd enjoyed the attention. But that was before. Before the war. Before your world had changed. Before Wolffe. Now, his gaze was the only one you craved. His opinion the only one that mattered. And the idea of disappointing him, of letting him down, was unbearable.

"You do that," he murmurs. "Get people looking at you."

"You're the only one I care about," you whisper. "I've always had eyes for you."

Wolffe blinks, startled, and a slow smile spreads across his face. The sight is devastating, the softness of his expression making your chest ache. You can't help but lean into him, drawn to him like a magnet.

The way he looks at you... It's the same way he's always looked at you. Fierce and gentle. Aching and longing. Hungry and hesitant. You've never met anyone who can convey so much emotion with a single look. And you've never felt as seen as when he looks at you. You've never felt as loved as when he holds you.

Wolffe's hands slide along the curve of your waist, and he pulls you against him, the press of his armor against your chest making you shiver. He leans in, his nose brushing against yours, and you tilt your head back, trying to capture his lips. But he avoids the contact, his mouth hovering just out of reach.

You huff a laugh. "Kiss me already."

He hums and brushes his lips against yours. It's barely a kiss, the touch a featherlight tease. But it's still electric, the contact making your skin tingle. He does it again, the pressure lingering, and your eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping you.

The two of you trade soft kisses, and it's torturous, the pace so slow and gentle. It's almost maddening, and your core throbs, the ache becoming more persistent.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back, his gaze burning. You can't help but reach up and cup the side of his face, your fingers brushing against his cheek. The skin is smooth, and you trail a finger down the line of his scar, the raised tissue warm.

"What is it?" you ask.

"I can't decide where I want to start," he says, his voice low. "And how much I can fit in."

"You have all night," you murmur, trying not to smile.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, General?"

You bite your lip. "Maybe."

"Mm," he hums. "Well, we'll see how you feel after I've had my way with you."

"Promises, promises," you say, a smirk curving your mouth. You gasp as his hands tighten on your waist, the touch making your skin burn. He's not hurting you, not even close, but the pressure is a reminder of his strength, the raw power he has over you.

"Do I ever disappoint you?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Never," you whisper.

His mouth curves into a smile.

"Good," he murmurs. He dips his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your ear, and his breath is warm, his stubble scraping against your skin. "Take your robe off."

You nod and fumble with the clasp, your hands clumsy. He waits patiently as you tug the garment off and toss it to the side. As soon as the fabric falls to the ground, his hands move to the collar of your tunic, and he begins to undo the ties, his fingers working slowly.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers. "No idea how badly I need you."

You shiver, a moan escaping you, and his hands slide down, tugging the shirt free from the waistband of your trousers. He pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. It lands in a heap next to the discarded robe, and your boots quickly follow

He leans down and presses a kiss to your bare shoulder as his hands find the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it with ease and lets it fall to the floor before straightening up and pulling you flush against him. His mouth finds yours, and his lips are soft, the kiss gentle.

He breaks the contact, and his gaze is burning.

"Take the rest off," he says, and his tone is soft, but the command is clear.

You reach down and push your pants off along with your underwear, and his hands move, gripping your hips. He lifts you effortlessly and sets you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. You shift, the sheets cool against your skin, and he kneels down, his hands trailing along the length of your leg.

His fingers brush against the inside of your ankle and begin to trail upwards. The touch is light, almost ticklish, and his mouth follows, his lips leaving a burning trail along the inside of your calf. He reaches the sensitive flesh behind your knee and presses a kiss to the spot before continuing upwards.

"Wolffe..."

His lips find the inside of your thigh and continue upwards. His breath is warm, and his stubble scratches the delicate skin, making you gasp. It's agonizingly slow, the pace unhurried, and your toes curl, your muscles clenching. He reaches the crease of your hip, and his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin.

"Wolffe..."

He chuckles and continues higher, his mouth moving toward your center. His lips brush against your folds, and you shiver, the sensation making you tremble. He pauses and looks up at you, his gaze burning.

"I've been thinking about doing this all day," he murmurs. "My mouth on you."

You can't help but squirm, his words sending a thrill down your spine. He presses a kiss to the hollow of your hip, and then, without warning, his mouth is on you, his tongue tracing along the length of your slit. You let out a ragged gasp and fall back onto your elbows, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"Oh," you whimper, your voice shaking. "Oh fuck."

His mouth is relentless, and the pleasure is immediate and intense. The sensations are almost too much, and you can't stop the moan that escapes you. You're wet, embarrassingly so, Wolffe's release still leaking from your core.

The thought makes you blush, but Wolffe doesn't seem to mind. His hands slide along the length of your thighs, and his thumbs part the swollen flesh of your folds. He dips his head lower and licks a long stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit. The pressure is unrelenting, and you writhe under his attention, your legs trembling.

"Fuck," you hiss, trying to keep still. "Fuck."

His mouth is everywhere, his tongue licking and teasing and tasting. It's too much, the pleasure building, and you can't help but arch your back, your eyes squeezing shut. Your breath comes in short gasps as he laps at your folds, his hands gripping your thighs. You can't help but thrust upward, grinding against his mouth.

"That's it," he whispers. "Good girl."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, and the orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes fly open, and the room blurs, everything fading away except for the sensation of his mouth on you. Your body tenses, your muscles contracting, and your head falls back, a ragged gasp escaping you.

The waves of pleasure roll over you, and it's several moments before the feeling subsides, the tension in your body finally releasing. You've barely relaxed against the sheets when Wolffe slides a finger inside of you, his movements slow and gentle. The sensation is almost painful, the friction making you hiss.

He pauses, his mouth pulling away from you, and he studies you, his brow furrowed. "Alright?"

You can't help but nod. "Yes."

His eyes dart to the scar that bisects the inside of your thigh, his gaze lingering.

"Does it hurt?" he asks softly.

"Not anymore," you reply. "Just sensitive."

"Are you sure? I don't want to—"

"Please," you whisper. "Please don't stop."

Wolffe nods and continues, his movements slow and steady. You watch as his finger moves in and out of you, the sight making your skin flush. His thumb brushes against your clit and begins to move in small circles. The contact is almost too much, and a whimper escapes you.

"Oh," you gasp, biting your lip. "Fuck, Wolffe..."

He dips his head and his tongue joins his thumb, the two of them working in tandem. His mouth is warm and soft, and the sensations are almost too much, the pleasure making your eyes roll back. He adds a second finger and his movements become faster. Harder. You can't help but buck against him, grinding into his hand.

"More," you beg. "More. Please."

He doesn't hesitate. His mouth closes around your clit, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud, and your core pulses. It's almost too much, and you writhe beneath him, trying to get away from the pleasure.

But he doesn't stop.

His fingers continue moving inside of you, his mouth relentless. He adds a third finger, the stretch almost painful. Your core clenches, the tension building, and it's a matter of moments before another orgasm crashes through you, more intense than the first.

Your back arches off the bed as your muscles tense and then go limp. Your limbs feel like lead, and you collapse back onto the mattress, gasping for air. Your vision is blurry, the room spinning. You can feel sweat beading on your forehead, and it takes a moment for your senses to return.

Wolffe's kneeling between your legs, his hand resting on the inside of your thigh. His expression is smug, his eyes twinkling, and there's a hint of mischief in his gaze.

"Want another?" he asks.

"Fuck," you groan. "You're going to kill me."

He smirks and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach. "You said that last time."

"Did I?"

"And the time before that," he murmurs.

"It's a good way to go."

"Hm," he says. He kisses a line across your abdomen, and his hands wander, sliding along the curve of your waist. "I can think of a few other ways."

His mouth travels lower, his lips brushing against the hollow of your hip. You can't help but tense, a moan escaping you.

"Relax," he whispers. "I've got you."

"Please," you beg.

"Please what?"

"More."

"More of this?"

"Yes," you gasp.

Wolffe smirks, and his tongue licks a long line up the inside of your thigh. His stubble is rough against your sensitive flesh, and you can't help but squirm, trying to get away. But his hands grip your legs, his hold firm, and he continues, his mouth traveling up the inside of your thigh.

The contact is teasing, his movements slow and deliberate, and his tongue is hot and wet against your skin. You can't help but buck your hips, grinding against his mouth. He groans, and the sound makes your eyes roll back.

"Don't stop," you beg.

"No?"

"Please."

"Beg me," he murmurs, and he nips at the inside of your thigh, the sharp pain making you gasp.

"Please," you gasp. "Don't stop. I need you. Please."

He chuckles, his breath fanning across your slick folds.

"Good girl," he whispers.

You shudder at the praise, a shiver running down your spine. His mouth returns to your center, and his tongue traces along your folds, lapping at the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you writhe, your head falling back.

"Wolffe," you moan, trying to pull away. But his grip is too tight, and his tongue continues to move, licking and teasing and tasting. It isn’t long before you're trembling, the tension in your body reaching its breaking point. Your hands fist in the sheets, and you arch off the bed, crying out as the third orgasm rocks through you.

You collapse back against the mattress, panting.

"Fuck," you hiss, trying to catch your breath. "Wolffe."

He doesn't respond, his mouth still on you. His tongue flicks over your clit, and he sucks the swollen bud between his lips, drawing another cry from you. He doesn't stop, and the pleasure builds, the sensations becoming almost unbearable.

"Wait," you gasp. "Wait, I—"

But it's too late. The fourth orgasm is even more intense than the others, and the intensity makes you see stars. Your whole body goes rigid, and you can't stop yourself from thrashing. Your back arches off the bed, and your fists twist in the sheets as your mouth clamps shut, a high-pitched whine escaping you.

It feels like an eternity before the pleasure finally subsides, and you slump against the mattress, trying to catch your breath. Wolffe pulls away, his mouth shining, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Okay?" he asks, his tone amused.

"I'm... I'm..." You swallow hard, unable to form a coherent thought. "Yeah."

"Good," he murmurs, and his voice is a low rumble. He pushes himself up and sits back on his heels. His eye is dark, his pupil blown wide, and his hands come to rest on your waist, the pressure firm.

"Up," he murmurs. "Knees."

You nod, and your limbs move slowly, the exhaustion from earlier creeping up on you. Your body is still trembling, and it takes a moment for you to settle into position, your knees digging into the mattress.

You watch as Wolffe stands, and he strips off his armor in quick succession, the movements smooth and efficient. The sight is always a surprise. You're not used to seeing him bare.

When the war first started, the clones had been reluctant to undress around you. Their uniforms were a source of comfort. Of safety. It was only later that you realized how vulnerable it made them feel. How naked they were without their armor. It was a show of trust. A sign of acceptance.

It had taken months of gentle coaxing to get Wolffe out of his armor. The fact that he had removed it for you that day in the bunker was a testament to how far the two of you had come.

And now?

Now it was a familiar sight.

You watch as he unclasps his codpiece and sets it on the shelf. He's already hard, the bulge obvious, and his cock is straining against the material of his blacks. You can't help but bite your lip, the sight making you squirm despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a smirk curving his mouth.

"You know I do," you murmur.

"Well then," he replies. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his blacks and pushes the material down his hips. His cock springs free, the tip red and swollen. You can't help but lick your lips, the sight making your core clench.

"How do you want me?" you ask, the words breathles.

He lets out a rough laugh. "You'd let me do anything right now."

You swallow hard. He's not wrong. The orgasms he'd given you had left you weak and trembling. You couldn't deny him anything, and you didn’t want to.

"True," you say. "But where do you want me?"

"Right where you are."

He steps closer and grips his cock. You can't help but stare, his length impressive. Everything about him is impressive. It's almost intimidating. Almost.

The truth is, you've never felt as safe as when Wolffe's arms are wrapped around you. As cherished as when he's between your legs. As protected as when his gaze is on you.

His hand begins to move, his fist pumping his length, and you watch, transfixed. He lets out a low groan, and the sound makes you shiver, the heat in your core flaring. His thumb brushes against the tip, spreading the precum, and he grips the base, the veins along his length prominent.

"Touch yourself," he orders.

You nod and reach between your legs. Your folds are wet and swollen, and your clit is still sensitive from the attention Wolffe had given you. You press a finger against the bundle of nerves and gasp. The contact makes you shudder, and your eyes drift shut, a ragged moan escaping you.

Wolffe watches, his gaze intent. "Good girl."

"Fuck," you hiss. "Wolffe... I need..."

"What do you need?"

"You."

"Yeah?" he whispers. "Do you think you can handle it?"

It's a tease, but you know he means it. He wants to know that you're okay, that you're not pushing yourself. You've experienced Wolffe's stamina firsthand. More than once. And while it had been incredible, the man was insatiable. It's a miracle the two of you hadn't gotten caught.

"I can take it," you say. "Come here."

He nods and steps closer. His hand grips his cock again and he gives himself a few more pumps. He's flushed, his breathing ragged, and his hair is damp, a lock of it falling over his forehead.

The sight is breathtaking.

"Come on," you urge. "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Positive," you murmur. "Please."

He grunts and shifts forward, climbing onto the bed. His hands find your waist, and he guides you back, the pillows cushioning your head. He moves to hover over you, his forearms braced on either side of your head, and his hips settle between yours, the length of his cock pressing against your center.

The sensation is delicious, and you can't help but roll your hips, grinding against him. Wolffe groans, the sound deep and rumbling, and he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching the delicate skin.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Let's take it slow."

"Why?" you breathe.

"Because we have all night."

He kisses a trail along the column of your throat and then pulls back. His hands find the backs of your knees, and he lifts, hooking your legs over his elbows. He shifts forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, and the contact makes you hiss.

He pushes in, the stretch almost painful. The sensation is so intense that your eyes roll back, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. His movements are slow and steady, his pace agonizingly unhurried.

"Fuck," you hiss.

"Yeah," he whispers. "You're doing so well."

The praise sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but moan. Wolffe’s lips quirk upward, the corners of his mouth curving into a grin, and he dips his head, kissing a trail along your collarbone. His tongue traces the curve of your shoulder before moving higher, his mouth finding the spot below your ear.

He sucks on the sensitive flesh, and the contact makes your breath catch. He continues, his teeth grazing your pulse point, and the pressure is firm, but not painful. He wouldn’t leave a mark. Not in a visible spot. That was one of the unspoken rules.

You were both careful not to leave any evidence behind after the first time. No bruise, bites, or scratches. Nothing that could raise questions. Nothing that could cause a scandal.

But the thought of being marked by him, of him leaving some sign of possession, makes your heart pound. It’s a possessiveness you reciprocate. You can’t help it. When it comes to Wolffe, you’re hopelessly drawn to him.

His mouth moves lower, his teeth scraping against the swell of your breast. He sucks on the tender flesh, and the feeling is intense, the ache making you writhe. He repeats the motion, the suction firm, and the sting makes your toes curl.

He releases your skin, and his eye flickers upwards, the color a dark grey.

"I should stop," he murmurs. "Shouldn't leave any marks."

You can't help but whine. "Please..."

"It's not a good idea."

"Just one."

He frowns, his expression conflicted. But he doesn't say no.

"Where?"

You consider the question for a moment, then your hand finds the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. You guide him lower, toward the valley between your breasts. He obliges, his mouth moving over the spot, and the contact makes you shiver.

"Here," you murmur. "Please."

He pauses, and then he dips his head and bites. The feeling is sharp, the pain making your muscles tense. His tongue flicks against the skin, and then he's sucking, his mouth relentless. The pleasure is immediate, and the combination of pain and bliss makes you moan.

His mouth lingers, his tongue tracing over the mark. Then he pulls back, the look on his face almost proud.

"Good?"

You can't help but huff a laugh. "Yeah."

He leans in and presses a kiss to the spot, and you can't help but squirm, the friction making your core clench. Wolffe lets out a groan, the sound low and guttural, and his hips snap forward, his movements quickening.

The sudden change makes you gasp, the feeling almost too much. You're still sensitive, and the feeling is intense, the ache deep. You can't help but tilt your head back, your eyes squeezing shut, your chest heaving as your lungs fight for air.

"You alright?" he asks.

You nod, biting your lip. "Yes."

He kisses the hollow of your throat.

"You're taking it so well," he murmurs. "Just a little more."

"Okay."

His thrusts pick up speed, and the rhythm is steady, his pace unhurried. But the strength of his thrusts makes your eyes water, and when he moves your legs, hooking them over his shoulders the change in angle is almost unbearable.

You cry out, and your eyes fly open. The sight is devastating, and you can't look away. Wolffe's above you, his body caging yours, and his face is flushed, his mouth open, his brow furrowed.

The expression is one you've seen before.

The look in his eye is intense. Fierce. Possessive. It's a side of him that only you get to see, a vulnerability that only you get to witness. You can't help but wrap your arms around him, your hands roaming his back, his shoulders, his sides. You touch him everywhere, the feeling almost desperate.

Wolffe leans down, pressing your thighs further into your chest, and his mouth finds yours in a messy kiss, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip. His movements are sloppy, his focus on his thrusts, and the lack of coordination makes him seem vulnerable.

It's a side of him that he would never show anyone else. Only you.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and your hands find his face, your thumbs tracing along the scarred ridge of his brow. He turns his head, kissing the palm of your hand, and then his lips find the inside of your wrist, his mouth moving along the line of your pulse.

"Wolffe," you whisper, his name a plea.

"I've got you," he says. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, and his hand snakes between your legs, his fingers finding the swollen bud of your clit. His touch is electric, and you let out a ragged gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

"So close," you breathe.

He nods, his breath coming in short gasps. "Come on. Let go."

You can't help but obey. You arch off the bed, your head falling back as the final orgasm rocks through you. It's the most intense of the night, the waves crashing over you and pulling you under. It feels like an eternity before the sensations subside, and when they do, you collapse back onto the mattress, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you.

You're dimly aware of the fact that Wolffe is still moving, his thrusts becoming frantic. It's a matter of moments before he follows you, and his whole body goes rigid, the muscles of his abdomen tensing. He lets out a low moan, the sound deep and rumbling before the warmth of his release fills you. He keeps moving, drawing the pleasure out until the last of his release has been spent, and it's a few moments before he finally stills.

Wolffe lets out a long exhale and leans forward, his weight settling on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You wrap your arms around him, and your hands find the nape of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

The two of you lie there for a while, neither one of you speaking. Your limbs are heavy, the ache in your core pulsing. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, and you can't help but sigh, the exhaustion catching up with you.

Eventually, Wolffe shifts, his head turning to press a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs.

You nod, and he pushes himself up, his body moving away from yours. You miss the contact immediately, the warmth of his skin, the smell of him, and you can't help but reach for him.

"Wolffe..."

He chuckles. "I'll be back."

He slides off the bed and stands, the mattress shifting. His body is silhouetted by the light from the candles, and he moves across the room, disappearing into the refresher. He returns a few minutes later with a damp cloth.

"Up," he murmurs, and his hands find the back of your knees, the touch firm. You let him move you, the cloth warm as he wipes away the remnants of the two of you. When he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and moves around the room, extinguishing the candles and grabbing a clean shirt from the shelf.

You sit up, wincing at the twinge in your muscles. Wolffe turns, holding the shirt in his hands.

"Here," he says.

You accept the garment and slip it over your head. The fabric is worn, the collar loose, and the sleeves hang over your hands. It's comfortable, and the scent of him surrounds you, making your heart clench.

"Better?" he asks, his mouth curved into a smirk.

"Much," you reply as a yawn escapes you.

He reaches for the sheets, pulling them up.

"Get in," he says, and you slip under the covers. He does the same, the mattress dipping under his weight. Wolffe rolls onto his side and pulls you close, his arm draped over your waist. The two of you trade soft kisses, and he brushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sleep," he whispers.

"Don't want to," you murmur. "Not yet."

He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, his fingers threading through your hair.

"You need to rest."

You let out a soft sigh and bury your face in the crook of his neck, his pulse beating beneath the thin skin. "Don't like the dreams."

Wolffe stiffens, his body tensing, and he's quiet for a long moment. The silence is deafening, and you wonder if you've said too much. You hadn't meant to. Not tonight.

"I don't like them either," he says, his voice hoarse.

You know what they are, how vivid and real they can be. You'd heard him wake more than once, watched him gasp for air, his eyes wide, his expression terrified. And he'd comforted you more than once when the strange visions found you in your sleep, the two of you laying in the dark, clinging to each other, afraid to let go.

You'd tried not to think about what it might mean. How it had gotten to this point. Whether the nightmares would ever end.

If you could survive the war.

"Sorry," you mumble, your voice barely audible, the words muffled against his skin.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Still."

"No," he says firmly. There’s a beat, and then he sighs, the sound weary. "I hate watching you struggle. Hate not being able to do anything."

"You are doing something,” you whisper. You pull back, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the two of you look at each other. He reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"Doesn't feel like it," he murmurs. "Sometimes I worry..."

He trails off, and the look in his eye makes your heart clench. You can't help but lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocates, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, and you kiss him again. And again.

"You have no idea how important this is," he says as the two of you break apart.

"What is?"

"Being here," he replies. "Holding you."

Your throat tightens. "Wolffe..."

He gives you a small smile, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I've always been good at taking orders. Even before I met you. Before the war."

"Is that right?"

He hums, his gaze focused on his thumb.

"It's what I'm trained to do," he says. "It's what I was bred for. It's why they created us."

"I don't think they planned for this," you murmur, and it's an effort to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

He frowns. "What?"

You reach up, your fingers trailing along his temple, his scars soft. The sight of him in his armor had been intimidating at first. Terrifying, even. The way he held himself, his expression hard, his jaw set, his demeanor unreadable. But now?

Now, the thought of him putting it on was heartbreaking.

"For you to want more,” you whisper.

He's quiet for a long moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss is gentle, and he cups the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. You return the pressure, trying to convey what you're feeling. What you've always felt.

Wolffe's the most incredible man you've ever met. He's strong and brave and kind. Loyal and fierce and protective. And you would give anything to give him the life he deserves. The life he should have.

When he pulls back, the look in his eye is fierce.

"This is the only order I've ever disobeyed," he murmurs. "The only thing I've ever wanted to break the rules for. To rebel. To choose for myself."

And he doesn't have to elaborate.

Your heart skips a beat, the words making your chest ache. The first night you'd spent together had changed everything. The two of you had known the risk, you'd known what would happen if you got caught. But neither of you had cared. You'd been helpless to resist, the tension finally becoming too much.

It had been an act of defiance.

A way to rebel against the orders you'd both been given and the path your lives had taken.

You'd done it again and again. The two of you had fallen into bed more times than you could count, and every encounter had been the same. And now, with the war coming to a close, with the fighting reaching a fever pitch, the two of you were running out of time.

"Wolffe..."

"And I'd do it again," he whispers. "In a heartbeat. And I'm not sorry."

The words make you shiver. They're so similar to what he'd said when the two of you had first laid together. When the two of you had surrendered to the connection between you, unable to resist the pull.

You can feel tears start to prick your eyes, and it’s a struggle not to let them fall.

"Me neither," you whisper, your voice thick.

He reaches up and brushes the stray tear that had escaped away, his thumb leaving a trail of warmth against your skin. You swallow hard, and he pulls you closer, his hand moving to the back of your head.

"You need to sleep," he murmurs. "We're leaving early tomorrow."

You nod, and the two of you adjust, shifting into a more comfortable position. He curls around you, his body solid and warm, and his arm wraps around your waist, his palm flat against your stomach. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing begins to lull you, and your eyelids grow heavy, your vision blurring.

"Don't let go," you whisper.

He tugs you closer, his face pressed against the back of your neck.

"Never."

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#wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #the clone wars #clone trooper wolffe #clone x reader #roy writes #i love them but they also make me so sad #i had a request for a post order 66 with them and i might write more #however not entirely confident they have a happy ending...

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risuola · 1 year ago

Text

SHUSH, WE'RE IN THE LIBRARY — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

cw: smut, student x teacher, age gap (reader is 18, Satoru is 28), public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), little bit of cum play, reader discretion is advised — 1,8k words

a/n: since you liked the first part so much, here’s a little nsfw sequel

» FIRST PART

When you walked into the library earlier in the day, there wasn't a single hint as to how the visit was going to end. It had been a few days since your last training session with Gojo, the one where you kissed him (and punched him in the face), and everything seemed quiet after that – he left Tokyo for a couple of days on a business trip, and you had no idea he was already back. You were quickly made aware of that, when his honeyed tone reached your ears as you walked pass him, not even noticing the headful of white hair, “not even a hello? Ayy, that’s rude,” he chuckled and before you could even think of reaction, he was already behind you. You were searching for a book, somewhere in the middle of dozens of bookshelves, when he trapped you in between old medical literature and his well-build body.

“I didn’t notice you, sensei,” you admitted quietly, suddenly hyperaware of him – the sound of his voice, the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body; everything became all to close, tickling your senses and freezing you on the spot.

“I may forgive you,” he chuckled and you felt his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you flush to his torso. Breath stuck in your throat as you noticed the hard outline of his cock pressing against your back. “So, tell me, what are you looking for at that hour?”

“I forgot about homework Shoko gave me”, you responded, trying to keep your composure. “I came here to study before I meet with her.”

“Forgetting about homework? How unruly”, Gojo lowered his head, nipping at the tip of your ear and once again, you stopped breathing. It was all new to you, he was never that brave with his flirting but he had told you before he left that he’ll catch you when he’s back. That day on the training grounds, things got pretty heated, until he noticed some students approaching, what forced you two apart. “How about I give you a lesson.”

“Sens-“

“Shush, we’re in the library,” he smiled and your vision went dark, as he covered your eyes with his blindfold. Fighting with confusion, you forced your other senses to sharpen and you quickly became extremely aware of the traces his large hands were leaving all around your body, the wet marks his lips were planting on the sensitive skin of your neck and his rock-hard statue right behind you.

Satoru acted quickly, desperate to finally have you after he's been thinking about you nonstop for the last few days. He gathered your skirt up and unbuttoned your shirt a bit to get more access to your skin, while his lips never lost contact with your neck. Grateful for the early hour and the empty library, he whispered filthy little somethings into your ear, messing with your senses as you never knew from which side he'll speak next. Your little gasps and whimpers overjoyed him, the needy roll of your hips against his hardened cock made him hold his breath and he reached down, sneaking his hand under your belly and lower to tease you. The wetness that has already soaked a patch through your panties made him grin with cocky pride.

"So needy," he purred, not wasting any more time. His long fingers found their way beneath your underwear and you bit onto your lower lip, swallowing the whimper that threatened to escape your throat as you felt the circling pressure on the most sensitive bud in your body. Feeling brave, you reached back, touching his thigh and moving up to stroke his clothed member. The size hit you, a gasp left your mouth and you realized that there's no way he could fit inside you. As if sensing your hesitation, he undid the button and zipper, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free. You gasped as your palm wraped around his girth, your mind slowly spiraling about what you've gotten yourself into, but your pussy seemed to be nothing but excited. Satoru could feel the arousal underneath his fingers, he felt your clit throbbing and your hips rolling slightly to get more friction from his hand.

"Now you're going to be a good girl, yeah?" he smirked, taking away the pleasure of his digits and swiftly turning you around. "Down," he commanded, and without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. Quickly you found the magic wand, your eyes are still covered so touch was the only sense you could only rely on. As you stroked it up and down, you felt your mouth salivating, you were curious and decided that if you cannot see it, at least you can taste it. Driven by the thought, you gave the head of his cock a few experimental licks, circling your tongue around the tip and tasting the salty pre-cum that's already collected there.

You felt his hand stroke your head, wordlessly praising you and you took him into your mouth, slowly at first, almost teasingly, as you created a mental image of what you felt under your tongue – all the veins dancing around his long shaft, the sheer size of what you were working with, the way he filled your mouth completely and you still had room to use your hand. Encouraged by his palm, you picked up the pace, licking and sucking, listening to his breath hitching in his chest above you, and when the tip hit the back of your throat and you used your teeth to graze along the length, his head fell back. Few fucks left his throat and you felt him snap his hips forward. His cock was leaking, throbbing in the warmth of your mouth and you decided to tease him a bit.

Taking him out completely, you run your tongue along the underside of his hard member and Gojo felt like it's torture as your lips sucked hard on the very tip. "Enough teasing," he breathed out, grabbing you under your arms and pulling you up again, your back turned to him. The next thing you felt was his length sinking into you without warning.

He pushed himself into you painfully slowly, stretching you incredibly well, and you muffled the moan that tried to escape your chest with your hand. Satoru bottomed out, angling his hips upward, filling you just right as his palms landed on the sides of your waist, where he also kept your skirt from rolling down. Your panties were quickly torn by him, the seams giving up under the pressure of his strength, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sudden feeling of losing your underwear. "Such a good girl," he cooed directly into your ear, before pulling out almost completely, only to push back fully. He was drunk with the sight of his length disappearing inside you, the feeling of your muscles squeezing him is overwhelming and if it weren't for the grounding iron grip on your hips, he'd be completely lost here and there.

You bit down onto the heel of your palm, quieting yourself as your mind went completely blank. All your senses were focused on him – the taste that still lingered on your tongue, the musky scent of his cologne, and the way his thick cock hammered into you, twitching and flexing from time to time, successfully driving you crazy. You saw stars in the darkness of his blindfold. The force of his hips was brutal, stretching you deliciously with each thrust, kissing every sweet spot inside you, and the way your pussy squeezed him was a reward he found intoxicating.

You gripped tightly onto the bookshelves in front of you, your knuckles turning white as you tried to stabilize yourself. "S-sen-sei~," you panted, your words half coherent as Satoru ruthlessly pounded into you from behind. His hand crawled around your neck and pressed against your mouth, silencing you. "Sshh," he whispered directly into your ear and you could hear the amusement in his tone, you knew he was smiling, "you don't want anyone to hear you, do you?"

You didn’t, but how could you help it when he was abusing your cunt so well. You hummed, gritting your teeth to shut yourself up as he fucked his way right into your soul. Gojo watched with pride as you took him whole, the sound of skin slapping echoing in between shelves and the way your ass jiggled at the impact of his body colliding with yours made him go feral. You could feel yourself crumbling under the sheer power he had over you, your knees barely kept you standing, and if it wasn't for the supporting grip he had on your hip, you would have surely fallen over, defeated by the towering body that loomed over your own.

It became too much, he felt the warmth rushing through his veins and he leaned into you, burying every breathless groan into your shoulder and you could hear how fucked out he was, you felt him throbbing inside you and the dangerous wave of your release was approaching fast. The rhythmic squeezing of your pussy brought him to the edge and he babbled the most obscene praises against your neck. You felt like the temperature in the library raised, burning your skin with lust and satisfaction as you came undone, creaming around his cock and he followed closely, unable to resist the delightful twitches of your walls. Spilling his load, he filled you completely and you felt his thrusts becoming sloppier, uneven as he ride out the blissful haze and he laughed softly, his head buried in the skin between your neck and shoulder. He was overjoyed, ecstatic, he sounded almost high as he pulled out and turned you over so he could scoop you into his chest before you collapse.

Your knees were weak and you clung to him for dear life, focusing on the drumming of his heart beneath your ear. The library fell quiet, only your mingled breaths bounced off the bookshelves, quickly being absorbed by the countless pages of old literature.

You felt him pull away, smoothing your clothes back into place before zipping up his pants.

"You've been such a good girl," he praised, catching the drop running down your thigh with his fingers and then lifting it to your face. "Open," Satoru commanded and you complied, taking the digits into your mouth and licking them clean. "My favorite student."

When he finally removed the blindfold from your head, you felt the cold air hitting the damp skin underneath your eyes, Satoru smiled gently, wipes away the teary residue with his thumb and leaning in to plant a soft, tender kiss on your lips.

“I can’t wait until you graduate,” he muttered against your mouth.

“Gradua… fuck, I need to go see Shoko.”

“First you need to clean up. We’ve made quite a mess.”

“But-“

“I’ll explain you.”

“If you say so, sensei.”

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yaekiss · 8 months ago

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since your normal requests are still open （＾ω＾） i absolutely NEED to go next door to my darling kaeya!!! he can’t just be so devoted and adoringly obsessive without being rewarded! after that little show of a picture he sent, can’t quite be satisfied until i ravage him the way we know he wants </3

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Kaeya, no gendered terms for reader, Kaeya calls you "my heart", unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Kaeya, unhealthy attachment from reader, stalking (from Kaeya), mentions of biting and marking (Kaeya receiving), handjob (Kaeya receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: This is a (long overdue) sequel to this love letter from a previous event (now closed!) Sigh I really meant to finish this a lot earlier, first it was supposed to be your birthday present then when that date passed by, a v-day gift of sorts,,,,, But it's here now!! Hope it's kind of what you were looking to read @pulpbeing !

The whole walk over to the next room, regardless of how short it was, you were barely cognizant. It was hard to be, when mere minutes ago, it was revealed to you that your lover was some sort of obsessive stalker. (Yet, why does your heart still hammer so hard in your chest?)

Each step draws you closer and closer to Kaeya, and before you even register it, you’ve reached the door to his room. It's the very last one in the hallway. The room opposite his is vacant.

Your blood thrums under the skin of your fingers as you reach out to the smooth cold handle on the door, as if the mere act of crossing that threshold could shatter everything at once.

And to your surprise, the door swings open without any resistance.

The second your foot pads onto the carpet of his room and the door locks behind you, the atmosphere turns electric as a singular starry eye bores into you from where Kaeya is lounging on the bed.

And there he is. Draped in the same lacy white lingerie in the scandalous photograph he sent to you. As if the sight in the picture wasn’t stunning enough already, the sight of your lover before you outright steals the breath from your lungs.

Adorned in naught by the gauzy fabric, you drag your gaze down from his face, to the crimson-stained trail left from that trickle of wine from his lips. The sheerness of the lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination with the way it snugly hugs his figure. The curve of his chest, his slender yet toned physique, stark white garter belt against the flesh of his thighs.

It's all ridiculously tantalising to you. And he knows it.

“No need to just stand by my door, my heart. You can do more than just gawk at me, you know?” Kaeya all but purrs out to you from where he’s seated, his one eye squinting as he grins.

Somehow, your body has already betrayed your warring thoughts within because when you next blink, you’ve crossed over to the bed, the mattress dipping as you take your seat beside him. His grin grows more blinding at this and he squeezes in closer to you, until your thighs are touching.

“So the cat’s out of the bag, and now you know I’ve been tailing after you in Fontaine like some lovesick dog off a leash,” he sighs noncommittally, as if he didn’t just admit to stalking you.

He fixes you with a gaze, “How exactly does it make you feel?”

“Is it fear?”

The silence grows when you don’t respond, as if you know in a deep twisted part of your mind, that despite this, Kaeya would never harm a single hair on your head.

“Or is it desire?”

And it’s at this, that your heart thumps.

The kiss is messy, more tongue and spit than anything else but you can’t be bothered when you’re busy removing the lingerie still on him. He melts into you as your hands wind around his frame, unravelling and undressing him from the flimsy layers of white lace that dare to separate him from you. When you watch the pure white tumble from him, perhaps he’s not the only one whose desires drive them wild.

A breathy moan leaves him as you leave bite mark after bite mark across the expanse of his neck. The feeling of your teeth pressed against his skin, the pressure and force behind it threatening to break past the surface. You’re kind enough to grant him one last hickey prior to pulling back and briefly admiring your handiwork.

Hands trailing down his side, you graze your fingertips over his hips before you settle a palm against his length. Just before he can roll himself up to rut against your hand, your other hand grips the side of his hip, stilling him as a protesting noise slips past his lips.

“You’ll move when I say you can. You can do that for me, yes?”

Docile, he nods and simply watches on as your hand wraps itself around him. You can tell by the way he’s fisting the bedsheets that he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to fuck into your hand. Aided by the precum drooling from his tip, you glide your hand slowly up and down, marvelling at the way his breath hitches and eyes screw shut whenever you twist your grip exactly where you know he likes it.

It doesn’t take long before you can tell he’s reaching his limit. His breathing grows clipped and ragged and his groans and whines become increasingly needy. Every time his hips jerk involuntarily, your hand stills, prompting him to plead pitifully for you to continue. He makes quite the sorry sight before you, and your heart twinges with the need to watch him come undone.

Deciding you’ve toyed with him enough for now, you lean in, whispering, “Go on, let me see how you reward yourself.”

His pulse jackrabbits as you lave your tongue along his jugular, panting out broken “thank you”s at your generosity while he frantically chases his release, rutting into your hand. A quick twist and he’s spilling over, crumpling in on himself as he moans unabashedly at the pleasure you’ve shown to him. He has his chin hooking over your shoulder and arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a tight hug whilst riding out his high, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.

Suddenly, your world tilts when Kaeya pulls you down onto the bed, you lie atop him, trapped in his embrace.

And coy as he is, he slithers next to your ear and whispers breathlessly, “It’s alright, you can have your way with me,” you can feel his heart pound from beneath you, your pulse matching his.

“There’s no one next door anyways.”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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sparklingcid3r · 19 days ago

Text

I promised a rumble rundown, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Let’s go🙏 also here's the yt vid i used lol

youtube

0:14-0:17

Paul says, “Hello, Darrel. Long time, no see” and then immediately starts checking him out with that upside down smile, ik what u think abt 👁️👁️

0:24-0:27

“I’ll take you” yeah Paul I’m sure u will 🙄 Darry’s cold af w the staredown tho, it’s unfortunate that Pony and Soda have do a full head turn to look at each other like “IKKK he ain’t j said that”

0:27-0:31

DALLAS MY GLORIOUS KING ARRIVES,, shirtless??? And the crowd goes mild‼️ Pony also gets popped in the face and down he goes, it was so good that he was here for just a little bit, everyone say bye now bc the next time he shows up in the fight u won’t even know it’s him I’m deadass

0:48-0:55

Soda is ripping into this guy right, my baby’s a champion!! And then gets up and kinda… walks past Steve getting his ass beat lmao. He even puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder to steady himself as he goes by😭

He just misses the mean double gut punch Steve tanks like the unit he is, because Steve GRABS THIS MAN’S PUNCH and RIPS one across his face, it was beautiful. Masterclass in the ring I’m afraid

0:56-0:58

Okay. I need to give yall the play by play for this single two-second sequence because it was genuinely the greatest clip of cinema I’ve ever seen in my life.

Paul’s got Darry out of frame and he’s confident, dare I say cocky. He’s doing the universal hand signals for “Cmon, hit me bro.”

And I’m gonna say this next part softly. Lean in and listen to me:

When I tell u that Darry clocks Paul in the face, I don’t mean he just clocks Paul in the face. Darry rises like a phoenix from the ashes and swings so hard that everyone around him can feel the aftershocks. Paul has just experienced the equivalent of a steel boxing glove to the dome. Teeth are flying. Paul will have no recollection of this moment for the rest of his life. Take a look at this.

Alr now we back up because YOU CAN SEEEE THE MOMENT OF REALIZATION. This man starts BAILING. The minute Darry spins back, Paul’s got bug eyes, all “Hold up. Wait a minute. He really ‘bout to clock my shit.” He did not want that smoke NEARLY as much as he thought he did, and ykw? I don’t blame him 🤷‍♀️

Letting yall know that I had to go back and slow down the playback speed so that I could bask in the glory that is Darrel Curtis’s behemoth of a punch. Geologists are losing their minds wondering how volcanoes are erupting and mountains are shifting, unaware of what just happened in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

1:00-1:03

Dally bitch slapping a dude is a great way to kick off the one-minute mark, and a good kick to the ribs just for funsies ig. U go girl🫶

1:04-1:07

Hottest Two-Bit has ever looked sorry

1:19-1:21

Alr Dally is literally picking people up and WWE rocking their shit as he slams them to the ground. That kid was dropped neck first. How did Pony not have to write a sequel.

1:22-1:24

Just an entire sequence dedicated to Soda mewing even as he gets bitched in the face. It’s alr tho, he got his get back

1:47-1:49

Istg I’m not tripping, u listen and u can hear Pony screaming for Darry yall I thought this was supposed to be a good time, I’m actually sobbing

1:55-2:01

STEVE CLUTCHES UP??? DEADASSSS that was the CLEANEST three-shot KO I’ve ever seen, then he body flips the guy behind him??? I WASN’T FAMILIAR W UR GAME, RANDLE 🙏

2:09-2:15

The Socs are kind of getting ready to retreat at this point but rq we gotta check in on the exes, Paul’s getting clowned on again lmfao.

This man tried to kick Darry, then when Darry’s got his foot and is getting ready to spin him like that pigskin, he’s PULLING on Darry’s HAIR??? Man, just leave 😭 ur cooked. And the last time we see him, he’s CRAWLING AWAY😭😭 at least STAND UP

2:24-2:27

Pony’s getting washed in a 6v1 it ain’t his fault this time, bless up. Luckily my goat Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr. pulls up and literally starts throwing bodies. Absolutely spectacular that I get to live in the same lifetime as this movie.

2:30-2:32

Darry’s asking, “Ponyboy, you okay?” and some NOBODY tries to grab Darry’s shoulders. Who do u think u are???

3:35-3:45

Greasers get the W👏

So in conclusion I think we can all agree that if u are locked in an iso with Darry, just offer up ur cheek and get it over w. Ur not getting the dub. Roll down ur sleeves and go home, ur benched.

Sorry this is messy af, I'm just having fun rn LMFAO

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bluejutdae · 2 months ago

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Perv!Roommate Jeongin | Jeongin x you

notes: sequel of this. I hate it, but eh. Might delete it in the future..

PervRoomate!Jeongin whose jealousy is slowly making him spiral out of control. Now that he has tasted you, the thought of anyone else getting too close drives him mad. When you go back home and talk about your day, he listens carefully for any male names that come up. Your coworkers, your friends, the guy at the coffee shop who paid for your drink… they’re all threats trying to take you away from him. So he starts to “accidentally” show up in places he knows you’ll be at. “Oh, you come here too?” and “was it tonight that you planned to come see a movie here?”

PervRoomate!Jeongin who, anytime he sees you talking a little too cozy with another guy, jokes saying you’re cheating on him, that you shouldn’t flirt with others. It’s an inconvenience for you, but you can’t deny the shiver that went through you from the possessiveness of his words. He starts manipulating you when you consider making plans. He looks at you like a puppy and convinces you to tell your friends you’re busy, guilt tripping you into staying home with him, because “I just miss spending time with you, jagi. Don’t you care about me?”

PervRoomate!Jeongin who has no remorse when he gaslights you, telling you agreed to watch that movie with him. And no remorse when he lies, pretending to be sick the moment you’re about to go out with someone. How can you abandon your roommate-slash-fuck buddy when he feels like that? The same night, after he convinces you to sleep in his bed because he feels too cold, he smiles to himself. Once words about you being unavailable spread at work and among your friends, the competition will be destroyed.

PervRoomate!Jeongin starts to leave marks on your body, where they’re most visible. Hickeys on your neck, a bite mark on your shoulder. It’s his way of marking you, another proof that you’re his and no one else’s. He gets a twisted satisfaction from seeing the marks he left on your skin. And the display of ownership doesn’t bother you too much. It’s just something silly, right? It’s not real ownership.

PervRoomate!Jeongin who plays the victim any time you two argue, and he makes you feel guilty. “I was only looking after you. That skirt was really short. You know how many perverts are on the train, right?” He’s pushy, yes, but he only wants you to be safe, right? Sometimes, after a fight, he seems so hurt by it. “I just care about you so much, can’t you see that?” Of course you can see it. And when he kisses you, you reassure him, you kiss him, and inevitably you spend the evening together in bed.

PervRoomate!Jeongin always fucks you harder after a fight, more possessive, and more marks litter your body the day after that. A collar of bruises on your neck, a clear sign of STAY AWAY FROM HER, clear to everyone but you. When he has you on your knees, fucking you from behind, with you back pushed against his chest, he whispers “you’re mine. All mine. No one else can have you like I do.” But you never worry, people say all sorts of things while having sex, and you’ve always loved some dirty talk.

PervRoomate!Jeongin that, now that has access to your body, your attention and your underwear drawers, wants more. “If we’re both single by the time we’re thirty, we should get married”. But if things go his way, neither of you will be single…

#bluejutdae #stray kids scenarios #skz #skz smau #skz fake texts #stray kids smau #stray kids imagines #stray kids fake texts #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin scenarios #perv!roommate Jeongin

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just-aake · 10 months ago

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Love in Red

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The color red means something different when it is about Natasha.

a/n: Not exactly a sequel but this short fic is related to Marry Me.

Warnings: light angst/fluff

Words: 482

The color red is not associated with good things. In society, it can be used to mean caution, alarm, or danger.

The red sirens on police vehicles and ambulances indicate trouble.

The red brake lights on cars warn you to slow down and stop.

The red words on the emergency exit signs tell you to leave.

Red is a warning.

But with Natasha, it becomes something more.

Red can be beautiful.

Especially on her.

The light crimson tint on her cheeks that is always followed by a roll of her eyes every time you shower her with flirty compliments.

The scarlet lipstick on her lips whenever they curl into her usual confident smirk right before she pulls you close and kiss you breathless.

The bright ruby symbol of the signature hourglass on her belt which your hands quickly remove from her body.

The dark auburn hair flowing through your fingers as she brings you to the highest points of pleasure and bliss.

The deep burgundy marks that she leaves all over your body after spending yet another night together.

Then she slips away without a sound.

Leaving you alone.

You should know better.

It’s as you said at the beginning.

Red is not associated with good things.

Like the way your faces grow red with frustration when you both argue about the other person’s safety.

Like the red dot that appears on your body during the mission before a burst of pain suddenly shoots through your stomach.

Like the red of your blood on her hands as she applies pressure while crying out your name.

No, the color red has always been a warning.

A warning that you always ignore.

A warning of the dangers that come with being near a woman like her.

A warning of the way she only allows people to get close up to a certain point.

A warning of the work and effort it takes to build a relationship with her.

Any sensible person would give up and leave.

That was the whole purpose of the color.

To warn you away from her.

The next time the color red appears, it is behind your eyelids from the bright medical bay lights shining above you.

Opening your eyes slowly, you see the lovely color again.

The auburn strands of her hair fall over her sleeping face laying beside you on the medical bed, a light rosy flush on her cheeks from the cold air in the room, and the crimson on her knuckles as her hand holds tightly onto yours.

Red is not supposed to be good.

Yet whenever you look at Natasha, the only thing you can see is how beautiful all of the different shades of red appear on her.

To you, red is not a warning.

It is a reminder to have patience.

After all, someone like Natasha is someone worth loving.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff

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corazondebeskar-reads · 6 months ago

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the art of breaking: part two

the art of breaking, part two: theory of decay

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. this fic contains themes of abuse and extremely dark content.

words: 10k

summary: joel knows just how to make you his forever. a sequel to "the art of breaking"

warnings (new warnings in red) and story under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, glory hole, reader gives tommy a blowjob (joel and tommy do not touch), body modification, permanent marking, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, whipping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, vaginal, reader x other men, degradation, humiliation, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare, blink and you miss it piss "play," straight up abuse this time guys, overstimulation, forced eating, needles, voyeurism, objectification, human furniture/ashtray, cigarettes, consumption of non-food items, nipple/clit pumps, this one might be worse than the first idk sorry

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

i. dessication

When he goes to work, he leaves you free to roam the house and do your chores. For shorter trips out, he tends to put you in your cage. There’s no real reason, but it keeps you in a good place. You’re always softer, quieter when he gets back and lets you out.

He couldn’t do it all the time, of course. There are things needing to be done. Plus, every day, he gets to come home to you knelt, waiting by the door with dinner kept warm. He could afford a housekeeper, but then you’d have nothing to keep your mind and body occupied when he’s away.

Of course, sometimes he leaves you chained up in the basement. He can’t always be nice, after all. And the thing he loves to come home to most, second only to you kneeling at the door, is your exhausted body still tied where he left it, bearing the marks of his latest pleasure.

Sometimes, he just leaves you in stocks to contemplate all the raw kisses from his favorite whip. Sometimes, he has you pinned to the table with a vibrator strapped to your clit for the day. On the lowest setting—he’s not a monster.

Well. It starts on the lowest setting. He can do whatever he wants with it through a handy app. It was the only way Tommy could convince him to upgrade to a smartphone.

But today, you’re just set about neatening up. Neither you nor Joel are messy— though he does have a tendency to empty his pockets wherever he’s standing—and it’s not a huge house. You finish up early and have time to read while supper’s in the oven.

You’re already kneeling when you hear the key in the door, eyes down, hands behind your back, but you have to tense up not to flinch when you hear a second pair of boots.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” drawls a voice you don’t know.

The only reason you don’t panic is because Joel’s boots enter your field of vision. You’re intimately acquainted with them—literally—and despite the fresh layer of dirt, you’d know them anywhere.

“Ooh, damn, she’s good,” says the voice.

Joel chuckles and reaches down to stroke your cheek. “Told ya.”

You melt a little against his hand, letting the pride in his voice warm you.

He rubs his thumb over your cheek and lets you press a little kiss to the digit before stepping back to take his shoes off and dump the handful of change and crumpled receipts on the foyer table. “C’mon,” he says, snapping his fingers so you know he means you, too.

You resist the urge to look at the stranger, but you don’t like the way he lingers to follow you instead of following Joel. You can feel his eyes on your exposed flesh, the dress just short enough to show off your cunt when you crawl.

No one has ever come into the house before. At least not when you’re out and about. You don’t know if Joel’s had company while you’ve been in the basement or something; you’ve never even thought about it. All you know is that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen another person.

It’s terrifying.

You go to kneel between Joel’s feet, but he stops you. “Turn around,” he says, guiding you with firm hands to face forward.

He laughs when he sees that you’re still staring very carefully at the carpet. “Y’can look at him; he ain’t gonna bite.”

The other man, who has settled in the armchair facing the couch, laughs too. “I might,” he says.

“No, you won’t.” Joel’s voice goes hard for a moment, and you don’t need to see to know he’s glaring.

It makes you feel better. So what if someone’s looking at you? Joel’s still protecting you.

He lifts your chin up so you have to look at the other man. He’s broad, though not as much as Joel, with dark curls and dark eyes that make you feel like he wants to cut you open and see how you tick.

“This is my little brother, Tommy,” Joel says. “Go tell him hello.”

“Hello,” you say quietly.

“C’mon, now, go give him a proper greeting,” Joel nudges you with his foot. You crawl over to Tommy and kneel between his legs. Your gaze darts from him to Joel, teeth worrying at your lip.

“Don’t embarrass me, girl,” Joel warns.

Tommy lifts your chin with his hand. “He wants you to suck me off. Go ahead.”

It’s nice, but it’s not his permission you need. You risk one more glance at Joel.

“You heard him. You got two seconds, sweetheart, before you’re gonna regret it,” he growls.

“You goin’ soft? You usually have ‘em trained better by now,” Tommy teases, but his words have Joel seeing red.

You sit back. “What?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, did you think you were special?” Tommy says with a nasty smirk. He pats your face. “Poor thing.”

You look at Joel, tears welling up.

“What, you think I had a house full of equipment that’s never been used? Y’should be grateful. All my toys before you had to suffer some trial and error. I got it perfected now, and you’re wasting it, being a fuckin’ disobedient bitch.”

You close your eyes tight and choke back a sob. He’s never, ever spoken to you like that before. When you turn back to Tommy, you have your mouth open wide and waiting.

He leans back. “Well? You gonna make me do all the work?”

“Can I use my hands, please?” you say, eyes darting from Tommy to Joel.

“Great, now you got her all nervous,” Tommy bitches, and Joel rolls his eyes.

“Go ahead,” Joel tells you gruffly. You’ve been so good. So obedient. Maybe he shoulda warned you that he wanted to show you off. No, he thinks, it’s not his fault. He didn’t owe you a warning. You should just accept it and obey.

You’re shaking when you tug open the button of Tommy’s jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Apparently, it takes long enough that he grunts and knocks your hand away, pulling his cock out.

It feels like a trap. Joel has not explicitly ordered you to do this. But he doesn’t usually try to trick you.

“For Christ’s sake,” Tommy snaps, and yanks you forward. You get with the program quickly, wrapping your lips around him and trying to do your best.

He’s smaller than Joel, but it’s a decent cock. Not that it matters to you. Despite not having to gag on him, you can’t breathe anyway, too preoccupied. Why is Joel doing this? Is he going to punish you for it later?

And the worst thing, the thing that keeps bouncing around your brain as you try to get Tommy off: What happened to the other girls? Did he get tired of them and kick them out?

Was he not going to keep you?

You don’t notice you’re crying, but Tommy clearly enjoys it. He moans and holds you down as he cums down your throat. You aren’t ready, though, and sputter a little, coughing and leaking his cum down your chest.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snaps. He gets up off the couch and yanks you away from his brother by the hair. “What the hell's the matter with you today?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Shut up,” he says, and drags you out to the place you visit in most of your nightmares, despite only having been there once in reality.

The Pit.

ii. consumption

When he comes to get you in the morning, you’re wrecked. Deflated, no more tears left to pour down your cheeks. For now, at least.

The sun is against his back when he opens the gate, reaching down for you with one strong arm. Bathed in the golden light, he is every inch your savior, and when you’ve climbed out on shaky legs, you prostrate yourself at his feet the way he likes.

He’s still mad, though, so he steps one filthy boot on your head and grinds your face into the mud. He pisses on it for good measure, the hot stream dripping down your hair and face onto the soil.

He’s got a switch in one hand. With you effectively pinned in place, he wastes no time in swinging it down on your ass.

You scream and sob as he beats you. When he finally stops, when he’s drawn every bit of his anger in welts against your skin, he lifts his boot from your head and squats down.

“Why d’you have to make me do this?” He’s solemn, sorrowful.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say, focusing on controlling the hysterical sobs wrenching from your chest.

You don’t know what will follow, so you remain still, not daring to move without an order.

“I should drop you off at a fuckin’ whorehouse,” he mutters. He pulls you up by your hair, and you scramble to your knees. “You can learn to suck who you’re told to suck.”

“Please, sir, please don’t, please—” It’s too much. You stumble, sobs wracking your body hard enough that you can’t move. You collapse in the grass with his hand still holding your head up.

He lets go, letting you fall.

You crawl to his boots and kiss them, mud be damned. It wasn’t like you weren’t covered in it anyway. “Please, sir, I’m so sorry, please don’t—” you say between sobs.

“Please don’t what? You think you’re in any position to be askin’ for anything?”

“Don’t get rid of me, please; I promise I’ll be better; I can be good.”

“I’ll think about it, if you can fuckin’ earn it.”

“Please, please let me try to earn it.”

He squats down and helps pull you to your knees in front of him, cupping your filthy face in both hands. “I don’t wanna send you away. You know I love ya. But if you can’t be good, then what’s the point, baby?”

Your sobs are subsiding out of the pure elation that comes from his gentle touch. “I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

“I know ya will. You don’t really have a choice.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get you fed and taken care of. But you’re about to have one of the worst days of your fuckin’ life.”

You choke on a sob and sway a little. The fear and the hunger are like a fog over your brain.

“Hey. Listen t’me.” He holds your hands in one of his. “You’re gonna learn, and it’s gonna be real hard for ya. But at the end of it all— if you take it all like a good girl—you’ll be forgiven. Got it?”

You look up through tear-sodden lashes, lip quivering, and nod your head.

There’s no part of you anymore that registers an issue. No warning bells, no red flags, no hair raising.

You follow him to the bottom of the patio steps, where he nudges you to kneel back down, folding over so your face rests against the soil. You wait while he goes inside, unsure of how much time has passed until he comes back out with a plate of eggs, scrambled with cheese and little bits of sausage.

That raises some alarms. Not to the way he treats you, but more of a signal for what to expect. It’s protein-heavy, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but it smells delicious. And there’s no way you’re getting to eat that after behaving so badly.

You’re half right. He squats down next to you and scoops up a bite with the fork. You don’t take the bait; you know that’s not for you.

He moans exaggeratedly when he chews, grinning all the while. And then he scrapes the rest off the plate into the dirt in front of your face.

“Ah, ah. Not yet,” he says, and you close your eyes at the sound of his zipper being yanked down.

“You get wet from that beating earlier?” he asks.

You nod, even though he’s already reaching down between your legs and shoving his fingers in your cunt. He brings back his shiny hand and strokes his cock.

“Look at me, baby,” he says, shifting onto his knees so when you open your eyes, you’re faced with his fist pumping away at the red, angry head. “Coulda been you. Shoulda been, but bad girls don’t get what they want.”

You whimper. It really does hurt your feelings, but you know you have nothing to say for yourself.

“Open. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and get some fresh.”

You obey immediately, squeezing your eyes back shut as soon as he starts to cum. A little bit lands in your mouth, which you hold open.

“You can swallow that. But don’t eat yet.”

He walks away, puttering around on the patio. You try to work up the nerve for his command, stomach churning. Maybe it’ll still taste fine. Maybe cold semen and dirt won’t ruin it that much. Maybe.

If you hadn’t earlier, you believed him now about it being the worst day of your life. He certainly wasn’t starting out small. Sure, you’d eaten off the floor before, but inside the house. The house you clean, so you know how sanitary it is.

But thinking about doing this makes you want to cry. And when he tells you to get started, you do cry. Just a little.

“You got about six minutes,” he says, checking his phone for the time instead of the eternally broken watch on his wrist, “and there better not be a single crumb left. Get your ass up here as soon as you’re done.”

You’re not sure how long it takes you, but it must be nearly the whole six minutes, because by the time you’re knelt at his feet on the patio, he says, “Cuttin’ it damn close, sweetheart.”

He’s playing fucking Candy Crush, legs kicked out on the little wooden table in front of him. He’s got you knelt at his side, and after a few minutes, he digs into his breast pocket and hands you a smushed carton of cigarettes.

You draw one carefully out of the pack and extend it to him, letting go once he’s pinched it between his lips and pulling out the lighter. Carefully, you ignite the tip for him and tuck it back away. You go to give the carton back, but he shakes his head.

He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke. “Hang onto that for me. And this,” and he hands you his coffee cup.

It’s not the first time he’s used you as a table. He tried using you as a footrest but found it less satisfying. You try to sit and work through your nerves, try to ignore the terror that he might not keep you if you can’t endure the day.

It’s a good thing that he drained you of any concept of dignity long ago, cut you open, and let it ooze away like pus from an infection.

“Open,” he says absently, not bothering to look away from his game.

Your eyes and mouth snap open, and he taps the cigarette against your lip, letting the ash fall onto your tongue. You jerk back a little but correct it immediately.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll give ya a pass this time. But keep your mouth open, tongue out, and don’t fucking swallow.”

He’s clearly happy to spend the afternoon like this. He goes through a second cigarette and still doesn’t let you swallow or spit. Your knees ache from the planks of the deck.

He gets up and goes inside for a few minutes, taking his empty coffee cup with him. You don’t dare drop your position, though.

When he comes back out, he hands you a bottle of beer, condensation already dripping. He resettles to watch the game on his phone.

Anything resembling hope is trickling out. He hates watching things on the little screen, peering at it through his glasses. But he never smokes inside the house, so he’s resigned himself to this for the sake of your punishment.

It makes you feel less than the ash on your tongue.

By the time it’s over, your mouth has long gone dry, itching with the ash of four cigarettes, when he stands up and stretches. He leans down and holds your chin before spitting in your mouth.

“There ya go. Swallow.”

And you do. When you cough a little as the ashes cling to your dry throat, he pries your mouth back open and spits again.

It helps a little.

iii. dismemberment

You’d only been in the Pit once before. The first time was arguably your worst offense, which was good, Joel thought, that you still hadn’t topped that misbehavior.

But as glad as you are that it hasn’t happened a lot, it means you don’t really know what to expect. When he brings you into the ensuite, you know this routine enough that you kneel on the shower floor, barely flinching when he turns only the cold tap, and the faucet sputters to life.

He never gets in until you’re shivering, so while he gathers fresh clothes and towels, you scrub the mud from your body. When he checks and finds you satisfactory, he turns the knobs until the water runs warm.

Your shivers don’t subside for a few more minutes, though. Not until you’re practically done cleaning him with the spongey loofah. Hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes, though only a few slip loose.

When he turns around and takes it from you, you thank him for letting you wash him.

He gives you a smile, hand cupping your cheek.

“Of course, baby. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you remember how to be my good girl.”

But first, before he can follow up on the threat, he washes the mud and piss from your hair with gentle hands, massaging your scalp. You hold still, head tipped back, and let the tears come harder.

He notices but doesn’t comment. It’s normal now, when he takes care of you after a hard punishment. Or, in this case, in the middle of one.

You go to speak, to pour out your regrets and devotion, but he shushes you.

“I want you quiet ‘till I say otherwise,” he says. “Nothin’ outta you unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

You nod, and he helps you to your feet, drying you with a soft towel and taking care around the raised welts on your ass. There will be some nasty bruises tomorrow, but when isn’t there? Your tits have mottled spots of yellow fading, and the shape of Joel’s hand around your throat basically never leaves.

He gives your raw, burning skin a sharp smack, sending you off to put on the dress he’s laid out for you.

He tells you nothing, just leads you to the truck. The drive is quiet, apart from the crooning voice on the radio. It’s a bit of a drive, and you park in a broken-up lot surrounded by rusty chainlink fence. He grabs your hand and takes you across the street to a dilapidated building. A cheap banner is tacked above one of the doors.

Joel hands a bill to a man, who opens the door just enough for you to squeeze in. It doesn’t take long to figure out where you are.

“Been a while since I brought you someplace nice, baby. Hope you like it, ‘cause we’re gonna be here most of the night.”

That’s the understatement of your life. He hasn’t taken you out of the house in over a year. You’re not sure you remember how to exist away from home, clinging to his arm as he leads you through the club.

You can’t decide what will be worse, but you don’t have to wonder for long when he drags you around to an empty stall. He’s not there to use a hole. You’re there to be one.

He clips your collar to the wall with just enough slack that you could pull back to breathe if the person on the other side doesn’t let you.

He takes the ring gag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of you. “You need this, or are ya gonna be good?”

“I’ll be good,” you say immediately, a phantom ache in the hinge of your jaw.

“You sure? ‘Cause if you have to ask later or I have to make that decision myself, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper.

“Good.” He pats the side of your face, two sharp smacks in lieu of a caress. There will be no softness for you tonight.

He waits to talk to you until your mouth is full. You look miserable, but you don’t hesitate. It’s not to the standard he’d usually require, but you’re both aware of the hours ahead, so he lets you pace yourself.

He crouches down near you. “You like that? Some random dirty prick in your throat?”

You, of course, can’t answer, but your eyes close against the hurt.

“It’s fucking disgusting. You think I want to let just anyone use you? I could fuck any hole I want. I could go out there and have every cunt and ass and mouth. You know why I won’t?”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t try to answer, don’t stop what you’re doing.

“Because they ain’t you, sweetheart. You’re my perfect girl. Nicest I’ve ever had. And if I got something this nice, and I don’t share it with my brother? You don’t even suck him off right? How do you think that made him feel, baby?”

He keeps it up, past the point where he feels like carrying on, but he can tell it’s wearing you down faster than the relentless facefucking. You’re starting to work your jaw, joints popping in between visitors, but even that doesn’t compare to the way you’ve started to shake when he’s scolding you.

“I know you’re tired, baby. I hope you remember this fuckin’ lesson because I’m not sacrificing two nights of sleep again to repeat it.”

You whimper around the stranger’s cock, which encourages them to fuck into you harder. But Joel knows the tears in your eyes aren’t from that.

“Yeah, you were bein’ selfish, huh? I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep with you out there, and now I’m up all night with you here.”

There it was, he thought, watching you break. A little too early; it was going to be tough to keep you going. But nothin’ did you in like the thought of having hurt him in the process.

And it was true. He never slept with someone out in The Pit. Too fuckin dangerous. He kept watch on a camera. He needed you scared and sorry, not dead.

He watches as you choke down the stranger’s seed, looking like you might retch. He shuts the little sliding door for a few minutes and gives you some water. After you’ve rehydrated and seem a little less green, he opens it back up.

“Alright, get ready for the next round.”

In the truck on the way home, he keeps you tucked close to his side. Between the dark, empty highway and his coat wrapped around you, you start to doze off.

He nudges you a little. “None of that now. Ain’t finished with you yet.”

You whimper, not in protest but in exhaustion. Despite how hard you try to fight it, you’re fast asleep when he pulls into the driveway.

He thinks about waking you up anyway, to follow through on his word. He carries you inside and up to the bedroom, still deliberating, but when he tries to set you down on the bed, you cling to him desperately, even in your sleep. He manages to wriggle the coat off you and lays down beside you. He’ll just let you both rest for a little while.

You wake up, mid-afternoon, shaking all over. Joel awakens moments later, eyes wide as he tugs on your arm to roll you over.

“Oh, baby,” he says, and moves to get out of the bed. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep.”

But you grab onto him, lip trembling.

He knocks your hand away. “I‘ll be right back, jus’ hold on.”

You’re curled into yourself, sobbing, when he gets back three minutes later.

He hands you a water bottle anyway. “Sit up; you need to eat. It’ll help.”

Somehow, you find the strength to struggle and wriggle your body into sitting. He brings you to lean against his chest while he leans against the headboard.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a kiss pressed to your head.

You start crying hard all over again.

“I know. M’sorry. I should have talked to ya last night, huh? S’that what you’re all worked up about?”

You nod. There you are, sitting in his bed, when you hadn’t fucking earned it. But he doesn’t shove you off or hurt you for it; he just feeds you a protein bar and lets you sip at the water between bites.

After he’s given you the last of the bar, he has you slide down to your knees by the side of the bed.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I disobeyed and embarrassed you.”

“I didn’t ask you what you did wrong.”

“Oh,” you say softly, and have to think. “I didn’t understand, at first. That you wanted me to suck his cock.”

“And after you did?”

“I—” you don’t want to say it. You know he’s going to be mad. He doesn’t like when you question things like this.

“Is this because Tommy said you weren’t special? ‘Cause you know better.”

“No, I just… why did you get rid of the others? What did they do?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and cups your face in one hand. “I don’t think that’s anything you gotta worry about. Not anymore.”

“But how will I know how to do better?”

“You already are. None of ‘em ever made it this far. They talked big talk but couldn’t back it up. Some of ‘em didn’t want to give up the things you have, some of ‘em couldn’t handle my expectations. I told you, you’re the nicest thing I’ve ever had. You’ve let me make you exactly the way I want you to be.”

“Even though I was so bad the other night?”

“Yep. Because you took every consequence, and I know you’ve learned your lesson. And you’ll probably fuck up again someday. But if you keep wantin’ to be better, I’ll keep teachin’ ya.”

You can’t help but cry again. You’re so tired and so tired of crying.

“What, were you worried I was gonna replace you with some new young thing someday?”

You nod, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“I’m gettin’ old, sweetheart. I don’t want to keep breakin’ in toys that ain’t worth my time. I just finished puttin’ you back together exactly the way I like ya. You stay my good girl, and you’ll be mine ‘till I die.”

It doesn’t stop your tears.

“Hey,” he says. “What do you need?”

It startles you. “What?”

“What do you need? What’s gonna make you feel better, baby?”

You’re not sure when the last time you’ve had to think about something like that is. He’s been taking care of you for so long now.

“Whatever you want,” you say.

“No, baby, that’s not what I’m asking.”

“That’s my answer, though,” you realize. “I need to feel whatever you want me to.”

“God damn,” he whispers. “I fucked you up, huh?”

Your lip trembles.

“No, baby, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just kinda incredible. Jesus. How could you think I’d ever get rid of you? There’s not a fuckin’ bit of you that isn’t mine.”

Your cheeks burn, so you bury your face into his palm and press a kiss to the center.

“You want to know what I want, is that right?”

You nod.

“I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth. And then I want to order us some fuckin’ takeout and eat it in the bath.”

It makes you smile just a little.

“Yeah? That sound good, baby?” His thumb rubs against your cheek.

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, open up for me.”

You wrangle yourself into position. The initial weight and taste of him sends warmth through your bones for the first moment since he dragged you outside.

It’s sloppy, the way he fucks your throat, in a way it usually isn’t. It’s always messy, but his thrusts are erratic. You can’t keep up with his pace because there simply isn’t one. It’s not long before he’s holding you down and pumping his cum down your throat.

It trickles down and cleanses everything in its path. You’re lighter, like you can breathe again. You thank him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his twitching cock.

He’s panting, but strokes your cheek with one hand. “That’s my good girl. Feel better now that I washed all those other guys outta your mouth?”

Technically, he had done that last night, had shoved three soap-covered fingers in your mouth in the gross club bathroom. Wretchedly, it had the side effect of making you nauseous, and he had insisted on doing it over after you threw up.

But this felt more pure to him, more consecrational in a way. The soap might have cleared the actual evidence away, but his come was your wine and wafer.

“Yes, sir,” you say into the flesh of his thigh where your head rests. You kiss there for good measure, eliciting a pleased hum from him that sends you preening a little.

He lays back on the bed, leaving a hand on the top of your head to stroke your hair while the other gropes around for his phone. “What do you want, baby? Lo mein?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

He feeds you noodles in the bath and then eats you out until you fall asleep.

iv. reduced to bone

You’re on your knees in the basement, bent forward over a metal pipe placed at just the right height to nestle into your hips and keep them tilted up in the air. Stocks hold your head and wrists in place, tits hanging just below. The wood is slowly dampening as you drool around the ring gag.

“Got a surprise for you, baby,” he had said when he led you down. “You know how you keep beggin’ me to hurt you worse, and I have to keep tellin’ you I’m not tryin' to wear you out?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Well, I think you’re going to like this.”

That had been… well, you’re not entirely sure. A while ago, maybe, but your brain wasn’t the best judge of time right now. After he had secured you here, he had dragged out the little machine. It’s sitting under your torso somewhere, thin clear tubing stretching out like a web he’d caught you in.

There’s no noise but the hum of it, which you’ve gone pleasantly numb to. The pressure is unending, each nipple and your clit being tugged into the tiny cups relentlessly.

It tingles, just on the side of too gentle to be fulfilling on its own. That’s okay. You’re pretty sure you’ll be in delicious, mind-shattering agony soon.

This you know because, well, it’s Joel, but also because of the tools he’s laid out on the little wheeled cart and left for you to stare at.

A thin cane. Clover clamps with a length of chain. A tawse with a tapered, pointy tip. A wand.

It makes you dizzy to look at.

Also, you know because it’s a Friday night. Joel enjoys you however he likes any day of the week, but he’s careful about saving the deepest of his cruelties for Fridays. Because mind-shattering wasn’t really an exaggeration. When he gets like this, you sometimes don’t surface enough to take care of yourself for a day or two.

On those occasions, he never leaves you alone. Doesn’t want to, both because he loves when you need him that deeply and because you’re so soft and pliant. Truthfully, he thinks he could do anything to you then and you’d thank him for it.

Which is why he’s got Tommy coming over tomorrow. It’s not that he thinks you need to be out of it to avoid a repeat of last time. He knows you learned your lesson and you’ll be good.

But he’s got something special in mind that he needs help with. It’ll just be easier for everyone if you’re at your most agreeable.

And yeah, you owe Tommy a blowjob. One of the ones that make Joel feel like he mighta died and somehow gotten through the pearly gates by the grace of your devotion.

Plus, he’s pretty sure you’re going to love his plan, and he wants you unprepared, so you’ll cry real pretty and be truly desperate to show him your appreciation. It’s been on his mind since that night a few months back when you didn’t seem to believe him about never letting you go.

He’s never fucking letting you go. There’s nothing in this world that could take you from him. He’s made sure of it.

Sometimes, he has to remind himself that you don’t know you’re married.

He thought about telling you that night, so you’d understand the depth of the commitment he’s made. But he doesn’t want you to take it the wrong way. Doesn’t want you thinking you need to act like a wife .

He’d had a whole bucket of bullshit cooked up to excuse it, but when he told you to sign the paper, you hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t questioned that you couldn’t see what it was, only the line where he pointed. You’d signed the fucking paper and never asked a goddamn thing.

He was glad. He didn’t like lying to you. This was just one of those hoops to jump through in a world that didn’t understand what you shared.

When he comes back down, your eyes are already glazed over. Your body shines with a thin layer of sweat, and your chest is heaving as you squirm. It’s gone beyond gentle. The waves of suction have you whimpering soft and high, barely louder than a breath, but nearly constant.

He chuckles and strolls over, crouching down to wipe the sweat off your brow with the bandana from his pocket before it gets in your eyes. You give him a truly pathetic look, eyes wide as you drool helplessly.

“Not so nice now, huh?”

You whine.

He strokes your cheek with an exaggerated pout before sliding two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue. It tries to curl around them, eliciting another cruel laugh.

“Jesus, girl. S’there anything that would stop ya from gagging for my cock?”

You shake your head. Even if you weren’t spread by the ring gag and choking on his fingers, you’re beyond speech. Too far deep.

Joel actually doesn’t mind when you talk. He’s got no rules restricting your speech (well, most of the time). As long as you’re respectful, he likes the company.

But he really likes when you go quiet like this. When he’s pushed you so far that you can’t .

“Look at you, all worked up. We haven’t even gotten started, baby. You gonna be able to take it?”

You nod, whining, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes them on your cheek.

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t quite understand ya.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you whine again.

“I’m just teasin’,” he says and kisses your forehead. “I got ya. I know you’re gonna be my good girl and take everything I fuckin’ want.”

He reaches down and tugs the tubing until the cups pop free of your breasts. You cry out, but it turns into a desperate moan when he tugs the one off your clit.

Yeah, he coulda turned the pump off first so they just fell off, but where’s the fun in that?

He’s grinning wickedly as he reaches back up to your breast. He barely, just barely, brushes over the side of your nipple, and the sound you make goes right to his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so swollen.” He has to remind himself he’s playing the long game; he just wants to pinch and pull so badly. He’s pretty sure you’ll scream, even though normally it wouldn’t be much at all.

But he wants to fuckin’ torture you tonight, so he’s going to drag it out. He wants you incoherent and beaten down when he’s done, so far gone you’ll stay there for days.

So he’s gotta start soft. He drags his fingertip around your areola, not quite brushing the nipple but tracing the ring left behind by the cup. You twitch, shoulders jerking back, and he grips your breast.

“None of that, now,” he croons, letting go and switching sides to torment your other breast.

It’s holy, in that way you never quite understood. Not like the Jesus kind, though you never were much for church either, but in the way that people chase salvation through empty bottles and sharp needles.

With the wand and the tawse, he breaks you down again and again and again. But that’s the thing about Joel. He reduces you to pain or pleasure or the delicious apex of both that brews between your thighs, and then he cleans you back up, puts the pieces back where he likes them.

He makes you come until you cry, and then, when you’re sobbing and exhausted, that’s when the night really begins. You’re twitching and jerking at the barest contact, writhing with every snap of the cane.

It’s so, so good. Until it isn’t. But he’s running that damn mouth of his, that sweet, filthy mouth, and you can’t not take it. Your tears are gone, all run out; he likes to wring you dry. And he keeps rubbing his hand over your hypersensitive flesh, already raw and ruined, and murmuring soft words and sweet taunts.

“Look at you,” he croons. “My pretty little toy. You’re so beautiful, suffering for me like this, baby.”

And so you do. You suffer for him. There’s nothing left in your little subby brain right now but Joel Joel Joel.

You’re dry. He almost can’t believe it. The only time you’ve not been a sloppy, soaking mess was when he broke your finger.

He whistles low and slow. “Shit, baby. Guess you have some limits after all, huh.”

It’s impressive that you can even lift your head enough to shake it weakly. An overwhelming fondness washes over him.

“ Aw. Takin’ it for me anyway, were ya?” He comes around and squats near your head, unhooking the gag and easing it out of your mouth. He rubs gentle circles on the hinges of your jaw as you whimper.

“Did so good for me, baby. Lemme get you outta there, and I’ll give you my cock.”

You shake your head, tears spilling over, but you don’t have a voice. The words don’t come together in your mind, just devastation.

His grip turns tight, forcing you to look at him. “No? You tellin’ me no?”

You shake your head again, lip quivering.

“You don’t want my cock?”

You shake your head harder and try to reach for him, hands flexing where they’re bound in the stocks. Trying to make him see just how bad you want his cock.

Luckily, he understands that much. “You wanna stay there? Baby, my knees ain’t gonna like fuckin’ you here.” But he can tell from the way your face crumples that he still isn’t quite getting it.

“Are you tryin’ to tell me you want me to keep goin’?”

You nod and he slaps you, a sharp strike that catches you by surprise.

“Stupid girl,” he says, scowling, and gripping your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I decide when we’re done. The whole point of this was not to ruin ya. This ain’t a punishment. Well, it wasn’t. Might be, next time.”

He stands up, shaking his head. “Dumb fuckin’ cunt.”

It hurts worse than the cane did.

When he sees the heartbreak on your face, he sighs. “Ah, shit. Look, I know you’re just tryin’ to please me. But you’re makin’ me feel bad for tryin’ to be careful with ya. If I take it too far today, you won’t be able to take as much anymore. I ain’t breakin’ you.”

You’re sobbing too hard to respond, but you don’t try to argue or struggle when he releases you. You crawl to lay kisses to the toes of his boots and nuzzle your cheek against them.

He sees it for the apology it is.

v. parched to dust

This time, when Tommy Miller takes out his cock in front of you, you’re ready. And there’s no way in hell you’re disappointing Joel again, so you wrap your lips around him, not quite eagerly but with enough determination that no one could fault you.

When you drag the second consecutive orgasm from him, he tugs you away with a fist in your hair, panting and gasping. Joel swats his hand away and beckons you back to his lap.

“ Jesus,” Tommy finally says, tucking himself back into his jeans.

“Told ya it was just a bad day,” Joel snipes.

“Sorry,” Tommy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shoulda figured. It’s just… you’re a little soft for her, yeah?”

“Course I am. But I’m not soft on her.”

You know he loves you. You do. But hearing him admit that he’s soft for you makes your chest ache.

“Got another surprise for ya, baby,” Joel says, rubbing his hand over your back.

You’re overwhelmed. It’s not that he doesn’t give you things or do things for you; it’s that it’s never such a big deal. It just is . He takes care of you. That’s how this works. Not gifts and surprises.

You bite your lip so you don’t question it, but he sees through you.

“Now I know you don’t remember. D’you even know what day it is?”

“Saturday,” you say. “You’re home.”

He shakes his head, but it’s betrayed by the smirk. “You’re right, baby. But what’s the date?”

You actually have to think for a minute. You hadn’t crossed off the calendar this morning like you usually did, and yesterday’s activities have you a little rattled. “It’s um, it’s August 19th?”

“That’s our anniversary, baby.”

Your brows scrunch as you try to think back. That’s not right. Your first date was in February. You moved in sometime early in June. You’re not sure what his metric is, but August doesn’t make sense. “Um. Are you… are you sure?”

He doesn’t get mad like you thought he might. He just laughs. “Course, I’m sure, baby. It was the night we came home from your folks’. When you agreed to be mine.”

Your face heats. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, baby. I didn’t expect ya to remember. But you’ve been mine for two years now, and you’re still worried I ain’t gonna keep you. But I’ve been thinkin’, and I know how to prove it to you.”

If this doesn’t convince you, he thinks, nothing will. Never mind that his whole goddamn life revolves around you. Never mind that you’ve worn his collar for the last 731 fuckin’ days.

You’re busy wondering why he made you suck another man’s cock today if he cares about your anniversary. But then again, you’ve long accepted that what he wants won’t always make sense. It’s not your job to make it make sense. It’s just your job to do it.

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs,” he says.

You swallow hard around the sudden fear, and he laughs.

“What? Had enough yesterday?”

“No, sir,” you say. It’s mostly the truth. Mostly.

He shakes his head. “Not today. C’mon.”

Now that he moves, you follow.

Tommy’s already in the basement, which almost gives you pause, if only because his movement startles you.

Joel has you hop up on the padded table instead of the metal one, typically a sign that either you’re going to be here for a well-extended time or that he’s going to fuck you on it.

Tommy’s setting things you don’t recognize out on the little cart, but you don’t try very hard to look. Looking makes your breathing get a little ragged, so you look at Joel instead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, bending slightly to give you a kiss before he begins to slowly circle the table, fastening straps over your body.

He’s left the dress on, which is weird, too, but you’re not complaining. It’s always a little chilly down here and even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re glad he’s not made you bare yourself completely in front of Tommy.

It’s a lot of straps. You watch curiously, if not a little dazed, as he secures your ankles, thighs, stomach, chest both above and below your breasts, arms in three places, neck, and head.

The one around your neck clips to your collar, not adding another band or choking you. But you’re unable to lift your head and neck at all.

When he’s done with the strap across your forehead, he smooths away the worry lines that crease beneath it.

“Just need ya to hold real still. You’re probably going to like this, but don’t fuckin’ come.”

“Yes, sir.” Your eyes are wide and worshipful as you wait for further commands.

“Be real good for Tommy, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your throat, but you promise immediately.

He hops up to sit on the spanking bench nearby.

“Where first?” Tommy says.

“Hip,” Joel says, settling in to watch.

Tommy goes about his business and pulls the bottom halves of the table apart, wrenching your legs open slowly. He spreads them wide and slides a stool over, situating himself right up by your cunt, and flips the hem of your dress up over your belly button.

You whimper and try to look at Joel for any indication of how you’re supposed to behave, but the restraints don’t allow enough wiggle room.

Something cold smears across the front of your left hip, and, much to Joel’s surprise, you break. You’re still raw in more than one way from the previous day.

“Please, sir,” you blurt, lip trembling and eyes squeezed tight.

He hops down, brow furrowed, and comes closer, raising a hand to Tommy to pause him.

He cups your face. “Please, what, baby?” His other hand rubs up and down your side.

You force your eyes open to look at him, blurred through waiting tears.

“Please, can I have a gag?” you say. Your eyes are scrunched, and fists clenched.

He strokes his hand over your cheek. “‘Course you can. Good girl.”

The praise keeps you calm while he steps away. When he comes back, you open your mouth wide, and he settles it between your lips.

You nearly cry in relief when you feel the little bulb press inside, not much different than the head of his cock. A few tears spill over when he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Atta girl, he says, pinching your chin before returning to his perch.

The warmth of his touch lingers, and you let the pressure of the gag distract you from where Tommy starts to move again. You suck on it steadily, eyes fluttering shut when you feel the unmistakable scrape of a blade across your hip.

Shaving. He’s shaving you. You can’t fathom why, with only peach fuzz reaching there. And you think maybe it’d be a cold day in hell before Joel let anyone shave your pubic hair. He liked it kept trimmed but not too neat.

“I’m from the seventies, baby. Women’re supposed to have a nice healthy bush,” he had told you fairly early on when you were just dating. He hadn’t told you to stop shaving and waxing, but of course, you had.

Warm water washes over the area with a washcloth not far behind. Tommy’s firm hand does a final sweep with something cold.

“Alright, honey,” Tommy says, his voice almost seeming fond , “just hold still and be a good girl, okay?”

As if you’d do anything else.

You startle a little at the loud buzz that kicks up, and Tommy rubs gloves fingers over the opposite hip for just a moment.

And then he gets to work. It hurts . But the pain clues you into what’s going on, and you come to the only logical conclusion: Joel’s having you tattooed.

You start to cry, the feeling of being loved and owned overwhelming. You don’t hear Joel’s chuckle, buried as it gets under the gun in Tommy’s hands.

You thought it was overly cautious of him earlier, to worry about you having an orgasm during anything involving Tommy. But you get it now. The pain itself is bearable, almost delicious, but the rush of euphoria in your veins from the mere concept is intoxicating.

It goes on and on. Maybe it’s only half an hour. Maybe it’s four. The pain cycles, fading to a soothing heat before building back up to a scald.

You don’t realize it’s over right away. The buzz of the gun plays on in your brain even when the room falls quiet. And Tommy’s doing something to it, probably wiping it down, but your skin still rages.

Joel hops down and comes over to the side of your left leg. “Shit, that’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says to his brother.

“Looks damn good. Hey, she’s got a real pretty pussy, huh?” He says, elbowing Joel. “S’funny, watchin’ her leak all over.”

Joel peers over, running a finger over your cunt, and laughs. “Knew you’d like that,” he says.

You whimper.

He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo. “Want to see, baby?” He asks though he’s already turning the screen to you.

The skin is red and irritated, but the ink takes your breath away. In shiny black, right there on your hip, sits a blocky “JM” surrounded by a circle. It looks like a fucking brand.

Your eyes fly to his, whining desperately and praying he understands. A sly grin spreads across his face, and the tip of his middle finger traces oh so gently up your slit.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, not bothering to touch you further. He knows you won’t need it.

Vision blacking out, you writhe uselessly against the restraints as the pleasure batters through you. You’re only vaguely aware that the loud keening sound is coming from you, but it’ll register later when you feel the raw ache in your throat.

Tommy whistles. “Sorry I doubted you, princess.”

You whine through the aftershocks, tears welling up again at the thought of the tattoo. You hope Tommy would leave so Joel will fuck you.

Then you remember him asking, “Where first?” just as Tommy drags his stool around to the right side of your torso.

Joel comes with him, rolling up his sleeves and tinkering with something on the cart. They both touch your arm a lot, fingers roving and adjusting you. You start to tune it out until Tommy lathers a spot on the inside of your wrist.

Once it’s been shaved and cleaned, someone presses something against the spot for a moment.

“Well?” Joel says.

“Lines look clear to me,” Tommy says. He’s leaning close to your arm.

Joel doesn’t walk away this time. As the gun kicks back to life, he stays with his hand resting on your upper arm, looming over Tommy’s shoulder.

It’s easier this time, now that you know what to expect. It hurts, but you’ve had worse and probably will again. You’re feeling a bit too dizzy, though, when it finally stops.

“This one’s for you to see,” Joel says, starting to unlatch the straps. He frees your arm first and then your head and neck, plus the gag. The ache makes itself known as soon as you shift a little.

You peer immediately at your wrist, and a strange clenching tears through your chest. A few inches below your palm lays the dark outline of Joel’s thumbprint.

“Oh,” you whisper, a strange tingling spreading through your limbs. “Oh.”

“Knew you’d like it,” he says, lips curling into a smug smirk.

Once you’re untethered, he peels your dress off so the fabric won’t brush against your hip.

“There’s a protein bar and a bottle of water on the coffee table,” Joel says. “Go eat and wait by my chair.”

You’re swaying a little but he helps you down and makes sure you can stay on your feet before he removes his hands from your waist.

You make your way upstairs in a daze. Truthfully, you don’t really remember it. When they come upstairs, you’re knelt in your place, wrapper and empty bottle on the table.

“Good girl,” Joel says, lowering himself with a little groan into his recliner. He shifts around and pulls his cock out. “C’mere.”

You hop up immediately, and he takes you by the waist to help you settle where he’s fully hard already.

“Don’t move,” he says, to your great disappointment. “None of that,” he scolds at your pout. “It’s my turn. Just relax.”

Tommy sets the gun and equipment up to the side of the chair. You settle against Joel’s chest, snuggling in and resting your head on his shoulder so you can watch.

Joel’s other hand, the one not waiting in place, comes up to cup the back of your head. He bends his head down to kiss where he can reach. “You’re being so good. Just a little bit more, and then you can take this cock.”

“Do not come on her tattoo, Joel,” Tommy says.

Joel laughs, but Tommy smacks his arm. “I’m serious. It’ll fuck it up and probably infect it. Don’t fuckin’ do it.”

“I’ll wait ‘till it’s healed, don’t worry.”

You moan and clench around him at the idea, which only encourages his pleased chuckling.

Tommy takes your hand, peeling it from where it rested against Joel’s chest, idly brushing through the hair there. You let him, letting it go limp and unresistant.

He presses your thumb against an ink pad and pushes it down on a piece of paper, rolling it carefully. He repeats the process a few times before he’s satisfied. Wiping it clean, he coats it one more time before pressing it against Joel’s wrist.

You stare, rapt, as he traces the lines of your fingerprint onto Joel’s thick arm, framed by dark hair. It sits in parallel to the watch on his other wrist.

“Where d’you want these?” Tommy says after he’s wrapped up and started to pack away the equipment. He’s holding the papers where they tested your print.

“The safes. One in each office,” Joel says.

It’s weird, certainly, but so is Joel, so you don’t give it much thought.

He’s cradling your face in his palm, looking at you with something so tender and ferocious that you can’t possibly look away. He thrusts up into you, his other hand tight on the hip opposite the tattoo.

It hurts, but, well, you don’t mind.

The way he fucks you open now is slow, cruel after making you sit still for so long, but he’s savoring it. Savoring the way you can’t help but stare at him in worshipful bliss. It’s like a drug, the way his attention makes you hazy. He’s got you hooked, addicted, right where he wants you. His.

Not a damn part of you that isn’t.

The smirk curls across his face, and his hand curls around your neck, abandoning the gentle caress for something you both understand as love. You come on his cock when he tells you, every time he tells you, as he leaves you gasping and clutching his forearm, not prying him away but holding on as the room spins.

When he fills you, he kisses you deeply, hand back around your throat as his mouth takes the rest of your air. You collapse against his chest when he lets go, and he holds you there with a smug, satiated smile and a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You doze in and out in his lap as he and Tommy share a bottle of bourbon.

“Damn, I shoulda brought Daisy over. You haven’t had someone for her to play with in a while,” you hear Tommy say through the fog of your brain.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Joel says. His hand is scratching at your scalp and it feels so good you almost forget Tommy is talking.

“... my wife and your little pet—” he’s saying.

You don’t mean to open your eyes, but you catch his as soon as you do. He laughs. “Yeah, I got a wife. I’m not as mean as my brother, here.”

You find that hard to believe, but also, you don’t really think of Joel as mean. He’s strict, sure, and he has high expectations. But he takes such good care of you, and you want for nothing.

The phrase stirs something odd in your head. Do you want for nothing? Well, it’s at least partially true. You don’t want anything, not a thing you have or don’t have. You’re happy with whatever Joel gives.

It’s probably the same thing. Besides, you wanted that career; you wanted to put on a face, a mask, and pretend to be someone who gave a shit about the company’s reputation. And you were wrong, so wrong. And Joel’s always been right. So what do you know about what you want?

Joel’s rumbling voice startles you a little where you’re tucked against his chest. “She was one ‘a mine, y’know,” he says to you.

Tommy’s wearing a sly grin. “Yeah, until you scared the shit out of her,” he says, laughing. “Poor little thing didn’t know what to do with herself.”

“She wasn’t like you,” Joel says. He waits as if he expects a reaction, but you don’t stir from your safe place in his arms.

“Nah, not everyone’s as fucked up as y’all,” Tommy says. “I ain’t a sadist,” he says to you, a glint in his eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love puttin’ her in her place, but mostly, I just like havin’ my pretty little wife at home.”

Joel’s watching you; you can feel the heft of his gaze. But you’re so blissed out, so calm right here in his lap, dripping his seed slowly around where his cock still fills you.

“Would that bother you? Playin’ with a girl who used to be Joel’s?” Tommy goads.

You think about it for a moment. “She ever get his mark?”

Tommy grins, teeth like a shark. “Nope.”

You hum, unbothered, and nuzzle your cheek against Joel.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Knew you’d learn this time.”

You gaze at his thumbprint on your arm. The cells around it will grow and die, but not his claim on you.

It’s almost comforting, you think, that by the time that fades, there’ll be nothing left of you anyway.

bonus: the art of breaking playlist

thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who asked for a part two and expressed love for the first. I will admit I am INCREDIBLY nervous to publish this both because it's kind of fucked up but also because so many of you loved the first part and I'm scared this won't live up to your expectations.

please, if you enjoyed this, let me know! soothe my anxiety lol. and if you don't want to publically do so, anon is always on.

i love you!

#dead dove fic #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #dark fic #dddne #tw non con #READ THE WARNINGS #HEED THE WARNINGS #fic: the art of breaking

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teegeewrites · 3 months ago

Text

The new fic is here! This was one of the most fun fics I've ever written, and I hope whoever reads it enjoys as well!

Scent of Revenge - AO3

Mario was no stranger when it came to hard battles, which included a muscular gorilla obsessed with his ex-girlfriend and toys of his likeness as well as a powerful turtle-dragon king who repeatedly kidnaps the Mushroom Kingdom’s benevolent ruler and desires to rule over said kingdom. Every time, the plumber emerged victorious against them. However, this trial, while not as arduous as squaring off against mighty beings, presented its own challenge.

Physically, the opponent in question posed no threat, so Mario didn’t have to worry about any bruises or any other external aches. However, it tested him in a different way, even if it lacked the sentience to realize it.

It not so innocently sat in the middle of the round table. It had the shape and size of a standard vinyl record. Ripe red Yoshi berries smothered in thick syrup of the same hue spread across the off-white primary section. A golden-brown layer of graham cracker crust lay beneath it to complete its tantalizing image.

Although Mario has seen and eaten his fair share of cheesecake in his life, none had him as transfixed as the one in his presence. Unfortunately, his sight wasn’t the only sense titillated by the dessert’s elegant presentation. The sweet aroma it emitted, especially the berries, pleasantly tickled his nostrils and caused him to involuntarily sniff quite a few times. This potent assault on his senses made his mouth drool and stomach grumble in anticipation. He was certain the accursed thing would’ve blown a raspberry at him if it had a tongue.

Mario chuckled to himself as he thought about how he was reacting. Princess Peach’s confectionary creations always had this effect on him, so he’d like to think he’d be used to them by now. Nonetheless, here he was in awe of yet another sugary concoction. When she invited him to the castle to sample her latest endeavor, he could’ve rivaled Sonic with how fast he arrived. Now, here he sat, exerting as much self-control as he could muster while awaiting her return. If he were Wario, the whole thing would already be sitting pretty in his stomach. However, he would never consider doing such a thing to Peach. No matter how tempted he was, he wouldn’t lay a finger on the cheesecake until she came back.

Fortunately, the wait wasn’t long as she appeared with some plates, utensils, and a large knife. He smiled as she cut two generous slices with the knife and placed them on their plates. He internally celebrated his victory against the strong temptation, for his tenuous patience was about to pay off. However, he would have to wait a little longer because of his self-imposed rule of waiting until the princess finished her first bite before even thinking about picking up his fork.

Peach smiled genteelly at him before cutting a piece of her slice with a fork and elegantly wrapping her peach-colored lips around it. She placed her free hand on her cheek after swallowing the piece and moaned softly as a blissful close-eyed smile formed on her face.

“I’ve never been one to toot my own horn, but I think this is delicious,” Peach opened her eyes and smiled softly towards Mario. “However, I am more interested in what you think of it, Mario.”

Not needing to be told twice, Mario nodded before cutting a large portion of his slice. He made sure to grab a berry because he wanted to taste everything. He smiled at Peach before placing his fork in his mouth. His eyes widened in awe as he swallowed the portion. He marveled at how creamy and dense the cheesecake was. It had the right amount of tartness he believed a cheesecake should have, and the sweetness of the berries and syrup provided a delicate yet effective balance. In other words, this cheesecake was divine.

“I must say, Princess, this has to be the best cheesecake I have ever tasted!” Mario grinned. “You may have outdone yourself with this one!”

Peach’s cheeks gradually took on the same hue as her dress as she unsuccessfully tried to prevent a smile from forming on her face. “Why, thank you, Mario. To be honest, this endeavor intimidated me. I heard how difficult making a cheesecake can be, so I was afraid it would be a disaster. The Toads who tasted my first attempt thought it was good; however, I know they would praise anything I made, even if it was a rock boiled in water. Hearing you laud my effort, however, means a lot to me.”

Mario’s cheeks gradually warmed at Peach’s comments as he briefly looked down at his lap. He lifted his head as soon as he felt his face return to normal and grinned. “Thank you for the kind words, Princess. You are the best baker I know outside of my nonna and mama, so I knew I was in for a treat when you invited me over to try your cheesecake. Trust me, I know how frustrating making one of these things is! I burned my first attempt and never tried to make another one again. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said this is the best cheesecake I’ve had the pleasure of eating. In fact, I'm already looking forward to seconds!”

He grabbed his fork and devoured the rest of his slice in record time, which elicited the bell-sounding tone of Peach’s laughter. After finishing their second slices and engaging in some conversation, Peach placed a hand over mouth as she poorly tried to contain a giggle.

“Is something funny, Princess?” Mario asked with confusion.

“You have some crumbs in your mustache,” Peach giggled.

“Oh, is that so?” Mario smiled playfully as he reached for a napkin. “I guess I better take care of that real quick!”

“Mario, wait! Allow me to wipe them off,” Peach volunteered as she rose from her seat with a napkin in hand. She approached Mario and meticulously wiped away the offending crumbs from his mustache. A rush of blood trickled towards Mario’s face during the cleaning, and he released a held breath after Peach was finished.

“There, crisis averted! The hero’s mustache is all clean!” Peach grinned cheekily.

Mario chuckled in response, which made Peach chuckle in return. Peach’s face, however, became more serious as she gazed into his eyes before grabbing his cheeks. Mario’s heartrate picked up its pace as he returned the gaze. Mario then thought he was hallucinating because it appeared that Peach’s eyes gradually shifted down towards his lips. The next thing he knew, her face inched towards his, causing a bunch of alarms to sound off in his head.

“Um, Princess,” Mario gulped, causing Peach to stop for the time being, “not that I’m being ungrateful or anything, but what are you doing?”

Peach grinned with seductive playfulness, making him gulp even louder. “Don’t worry, Mario. Your question wasn’t rude at all. To answer it, I believe my hero deserves a second treat. I guarantee this one will be just as sweet if not sweeter than the cheesecake.” She closed her eyes and puckered her lips before continuing to inch closer to his face.

Peach’s insinuation did not fly over Mario’s head, and that caused his heart to act like an unruly prisoner trying to break out of its cell. His face rapidly heated up, and beads of sweat danced on his forehead. He had conflicting feelings about the predicament he found himself in because while he sat frozen in his chair in nervous anticipation, this was also something he dreamed of happening ever since he met the princess. He eventually relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes while awaiting his second dessert…

~~~

“OWWW!”

Mario woke up to something slapping his cheek hard. He massaged the tender spot and glared in the direction from which the sharp blow came. There sat Luigi, slumped on the couch snoring away with an arm flailing loosely. Mario shook his head in disbelief while chuckling to himself knowing who the culprit was, for this was far from the first time Luigi inadvertently struck him while asleep.

Speaking of sleep, Mario realized the interaction with Peach in the garden was merely a dream. He was annoyed and disappointed at first, but that quickly gave way to a lamentable smile forming on his lips.

“This always happens at the best part,” he murmured humorously to himself. “I can’t even get lucky in my dreams.”

After laughing about his poorly timed luck, he recognized the television was still on airing an infomercial. He smiled as he remembered that he and Luigi were watching a movie together and must have fallen asleep at some point. He rose from the couch and turned off the TV before reclaiming his spot next as the dream replayed in his mind.

“Hee-hee, cut it out, Daisy! That tickles!” Luigi’s groggy voice brought Mario back to reality. His brother was clearly dreaming about Princess Daisy and from the smile on his face, it was certainly a happy one.

“At least I’m not the only one dreaming about a princess,” Mario laughed quietly to himself as Luigi continued to talk about Daisy in his sleep.

As Mario continued to be amused by his dozing brother, he noticed something peculiar on Luigi’s face. He had an idea what it was at first but leaned closer to get a better look. There was no mistake about it: Luigi’s face was covered with orange kiss prints, with his nose having the most.

It took Mario a herculean effort not to laugh out loud as not to wake Luigi up from his slumber. He knew only one person who painted her lips orange and from that deduced who did this to his brother. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth to stifle another bit of incoming laughter that threatened to escape.

A quick glance at his hand upon removing it made him furrow his brow in confusion. A few pink spots were on his fingers, and a pink smudge sat in the middle of his palm since it was the same hand he rubbed his cheek with earlier. He had a notion what the pink marks were; however, he wanted to confirm them first. He raced to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, there were multiple pink kiss prints all over his face, including a few smudged ones from his earlier actions, causing him to smirk at his reflection. Unlike Luigi’s, however, the ones on his face were placed in a delicate heart pattern, excluding the one dead smack in the middle of his nose. He was disappointed at first that one wasn’t on his lips but smiled in relief since he wanted to be awake should that moment ever come. He chuckled heartily, knowing how meticulous and graceful the person responsible was, before leaving.

Luigi was still blissfully dozing away when Mario returned to the living room. As much as he regretted doing so, he roughly shook Luigi’s shoulder to wake him up. Luigi reacted by groaning then stretching and yawning before staring at Mario with his eyes halfway open.

“Mario, what’s going on?” Luigi moaned irritably. “I was getting to the best part of…”

Luigi’s voice trailed off as his sleepy eyes fully widened. Any traces of sleep vanished from his face, and his eyebrows almost disappeared under his tousled hair.

“Um, Mario. Pardon me for asking, but why do you have a bunch of kiss marks on your face?” Luigi chuckled as his lips stretched into a smug smirk. “Did the princess visit and the two of you make out while I was asleep?”

Mario flinched as his face burned at Luigi’s teasing inquiry. He certainly wouldn’t object to such a thing happening, but it wasn’t true. A quick look at the orange kiss marks on Luigi’s face helped him recover, and he returned the smug smirk.

“I wouldn’t be talking if I were you,” Mario teased. “You should worry about your own face before commenting on mine.”

Luigi cocked an eyebrow. “Mario, what are you talking about?”

“Go look in the mirror, and you’ll see!” Mario chuckled.

Luigi’s brow furrowed before he shrugged and made his way to the bathroom. An astonished shout echoed throughout the house a few seconds later, causing Mario to laugh so hard he nearly hit the floor as he plopped on the couch. Tears flew from his eyes as his laughter continued when Luigi returned.

“Go ahead, chuck it up!” Luigi stood with his hands on his hips before joining Mario on the couch. He sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.

Mario placed a hand on Luigi’s shoulder after his laughing fit ended. “Well, Luigi. It appears we had some visitors while we were asleep.”

“I didn’t know Daisy was in the Mushroom Kingdom,” Luigi shook his head.

“Did you forget that the princess told us Daisy was visiting for a week? She arrived yesterday.”

“It must have slipped my mind,” Luigi rubbed the back of his head. “I would’ve looked forward to seeing her again. Back to the topic at hand, I can’t believe they did this to us! They could’ve at least woken us up so we could enjoy it!”

“Yeah,” Mario nodded in agreement. “I bet you anything this was Daisy’s idea! I doubt the princess would come up with something like this on her own.”

“Well, she has kissed you a few times while you rested after rescuing her,” Luigi grinned, making Mario’s cheeks burn some. “But they were just once and out of gratitude. They were nothing like this! With that said, I completely agree this is something Daisy would come up with!”

“We’re not going to sit back and let this slide are we, little brother?”

“Definitely not, but how are we going to get them back?!”

“Good question,” Mario rubbed his chin. “One thing’s for sure: leaving kiss marks on their faces while they’re asleep is out of the question.” The brothers shared a laugh over that.

A few minutes later after flipping through some scenarios in his brain, Mario’s eyes lit up as a light bulb turned on in his head. He smiled widely as a clear picture of his idea formed in his mind.

“I take it you came up with something?” Luigi chuckled with a smile of his own.

“You know me too well, Luigi!” Mario returned the chuckle.

“So, spill the beans! I need to know what it is!”

Mario laughed at Luigi’s excited anticipation. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll tell you in due time. I even know when to put the plan into action.”

Luigi’s eyebrows popped. “When would that be?”

“I just remembered something,” Mario smiled. “The princess told me that she, Daisy, and Toadette will be spending all day in Bubblaine tomorrow for a girl’s getaway. That means they won’t be in the castle during that time. Surely, we can do something then, can’t we?”

“Now I’m even more interested!” Luigi rubbed his hands together with a mischievous smile. “At least give me a hint at what you have in mind.”

Mario placed a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. “First, we’re going to pay Minh T. a visit…”

~~~

After wiping the kiss prints from their faces, much to Luigi’s displeasure, Mario and Luigi left their house on their way to visit Minh T. During their trek, Mario filled Luigi in on his plan to avenge the princesses' prank, making Luigi’s eyes widen a few times.

“Mario,” Luigi began with concern in his voice, “not that I’m doubting you or anything, but are you sure we’ll be able to pull something like this off?”

“I want to say absolutely,” Mario answered truthfully. “However, we’ll get our answer after speaking to Minh T.”

Luigi looked at the sky with a furrowed brow. “Even if Minh T. says she could do what we’re going to ask her, you know Toadsworth won’t approve of such a thing.”

Mario skidded to a sudden stop at Toadsworth being mentioned. “Mamma mia, I forgot about him!”

Luigi was right that there was zero chance the royal advisor would allow what they had in mind. Not only would he admonish them for considering such a thing, but he would also reacquaint them with his cane a few times for good measure. Although Mario has been hit by harder and more powerful attacks, he has unpleasant memories about that cane striking him, and it was something he didn’t want to experience again if he could help it.

Mario rubbed his chin as he mulled over how they would execute their plan without Toadsworth being the wiser of it. It was something he overlooked while thinking up this plot. He breathed in relief as a smile gradually stretched his lips, for he recalled something about what Toadsworth would be doing tomorrow. His relaxing posture did not go undetected by Luigi.

“So,” Luigi began with a curious gaze, “you have an idea on how we’re going to sneak this past Toadsworth?”

Mario’s smile grew wider as he addressed his brother. “Luigi, we won’t have to worry about Toadsworth after all!��

“Why not?”

“Because he won’t be at the castle, either! He’ll be visiting Little Fungitown assisting the Toads who live there with something.”

“Whew, that’s a relief!” Luigi rubbed his forehead. He then frowned. “Still, the council Toads will certainly object.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about them,” Mario assured Luigi. “They hold us in high reverence and know we would never do anything that would deliberately harm the princess.”

“If you say so,” Luigi sighed. “I guess our main concern is Minh T.”

“Yeah,” Mario nodded his head in agreement. “Let’s find out if she’ll be able to help us.”

The brothers resumed their trek towards the little garden area across the street from the post office where Minh T. usually hangs out. Fortunately, she was there, watering the flowers surrounding the Flower Fields gateway while cheerfully humming to herself.

“Hey there, Minh T.!” Mario waved as he and Luigi approached her.

Minh T. flinched before turning her head and seeing the Mario brothers approaching. A bright cheery smile lit up her face as she rose to greet them. “Hey there, Mario and Luigi! How are you two doing?!”

“Splendid!” Mario matched her energetic spirit.

Minh T. nodded in acknowledgement. “So, what brings you two here?”

“Well,” Mario began, “Luigi and I want to know if you can help us with something.”

“Mario, you know I’ll try to help any way I can! After all, you’re the one responsible for making my dream of having these beautiful flowers bloom here a reality! So, what do you need from me?”

“Well,” Mario rubbed the back of his head as he felt his cheeks get warm from Minh T.’s compliment, “it’s a huge request, so I understand if you’re unable to do it.”

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do,” Minh T. encouraged Mario with a small smile.

Mario sighed as he told her what he needed from her and asked if it was possible. The Toad furrowed her brow as if she were in deep thought, clearly taking in everything he told her. He gulped nervously, wondering if his request was too much. A minute passed before she addressed the Mario brothers.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Mario. What you ask of me is not something that will be easy to do, especially in such a short time frame.”

Mario nodded in somber understanding. Maybe it was presumptuous for him to think he could pull something like this off in one day. Luigi placed a hand on his shoulder with an understanding smile, which he returned. It was worth a shot, but he saw his plan to pay the princesses back evaporating faster than the steam from Princess Peach’s teapots. He would have to think of another idea, one more feasible. He was about to thank Minh T. and return home when a huge smile formed on the Toad’s face.

“However, it doesn’t mean that it’s impossible! This will certainly need assistance from Wise Wisterwood and the other flowers in Flower Fields. I’ll ask them if they can help us. Wait right here; I’ll be right back!” She then entered the gateway to Flower Fields, the door closing immediately afterwards.

“Hey, Mario,” Luigi nervously rubbed his hands together, “do you think Minh T. can convince Wise Wisterwood and the others to help us out? This is a rather ambitious request.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Mario replied with cautious optimism as he placed a hand on Luigi’s back.

A few agonizing minutes later, Minh T. emerged from the gateway with a neutral expression on her face. His fists clenched in nervous anticipation, Mario wasn’t sure if it meant she returned with good news or not. He didn’t want to jump to gun so to speak, so he waited to hear what the Toad had to say. His nerves began to ease when her lips stretched into an assuring smile.

“Great news, guys!” Minh T. beamed. “They’ll be able to help you! Wise Wisterwood immediately accepted when I told him it was a favor for you! He said it was the least he could do after you defeated Huff N. Puff and helped restore peace to Flower Fields.”

“Woo-hoo!” Mario jumped with enthusiasm, making Luigi and Minh T. chuckle. “Thank you so much, Minh T.! We owe you big time for this!”

Minh T. rubbed the back of her head as her cheeks turned a light pink. “Aww, it’s nothing, guys. As I said earlier, you helped me bring this garden to life, so consider us even. He told me he and the flowers will have everything ready by tomorrow morning. Come around by then, and everything should be prepared.”

Mario nodded before bending down and giving Minh T. a grateful hug, causing her entire face to match the color of Peach’s dress. “We’ll be here by then! Once again, thank you so much!”

“Again, you’re welcome, Mario!” Minh T. returned the hug.

“Well, Luigi,” Mario addressed his brother after he and Minh T. broke their hug. “It looks like everything worked out, after all!”

“I guess it did,” Luigi nodded. His tummy then started growling, which made Mario and Minh T. snicker. Luigi chuckled in embarrassment when Mario’s abdomen made loud rumbling sounds of its own. “It appears I’m not the only one hungry here,” he teased his older brother.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mario feigned irritation as he rubbed his midsection while trying to fight off a chuckle. “So, what are we eating? I want to try out that burger joint that recently opened at Toad Town Mall.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Luigi smiled. He turned his attention to Minh T. “Do you want us to bring you back anything, Minh T.?”

“No, I’m fine,” Minh T. replied. “I made my own lunch today. Thank you for offering, though.”

Mario placed a hand on Luigi’s shoulder, which Luigi imitated. “In that case, I guess we’re off. See you tomorrow morning, Minh T.!”

“Sure thing!” Minh T. smiled brightly.

The Mario brothers waved goodbye to Minh T. as they made their way towards Toad Town Mall, with the Toad returning the wave. Mario couldn’t keep the huge grin from his face during the trek, even when Luigi constantly teased him about it. He was looking forward to tomorrow.

~~~

Mario sat up in his bed with a jolt in the wee hours of the following morning thanks to a text notification from his phone. He rubbed his heavy eyelids before grabbing the phone and reading the message. It was from Peach letting him know that she, Daisy, and Toadette were on their way to Bubblaine. He texted her back wishing her safe travels and hoped they enjoyed themselves. She instantly replied with a thank you as well as a pink heart and a winking kiss face emoji, which made his cheeks warm as he put the phone down back on his nightstand.

Since he found it difficult to go back to sleep, he hopped out of bed and gently opened the blinds to peek outside. He grumbled to himself as the sun was nowhere in sight. Despite his copious energy, Mario was never much of an early riser, so he fought off the irritation threatening to explode from his body. He figured a cup of coffee, and a quick bite would improve his mood; hence, he traveled to the kitchen to prepare his light breakfast. He thought about waking Luigi up but although his brother was definitely the morning person between them, he decided to let him sleep for a little longer.

A couple of hours later while watching TV, he received another text message. He opened his phone and saw that this one was from Minh T., informing him that his packages were ready for pick up. His lips curled into a huge smile as replied to the text, telling her he and Luigi would be there shortly. As soon as he sent the message, he hopped off the couch and raced upstairs to Luigi’s bed.

“Luigi, get up!” Mario heavily shook Luigi’s shoulders. “Our packages are ready! We have to go get ‘em!”

Luigi groaned as he opened his eyes. “Ugh, give me a moment, Mario.” He slowly sat up as he blinked himself awake. “I’ll be dressed in a few minutes.”

Mario nodded before returning downstairs. Since Luigi was slower than him when it came to getting ready, he figured it would be at least a half hour before they left. That would give him enough time to watch at least one more show, so he sat in his previous spot on the couch and returned his attention to the TV. As soon as the show concluded, Luigi dashed downstairs and grabbed a piece of toast Mario had made earlier from the kitchen table.

“OK, Mario. I’m ready!” Luigi uttered in between bites of toast.

Mario smiled as he turned off the TV and rose from the couch. He and Luigi grabbed their hats from the rack next to the door and left to meet up with Minh T.

The image of Minh T. standing in front of two boxes that rivaled the size of the average Toad house with a jubilant smile on her face greeted the brothers upon arrival. She waved them over, which caused them to put more pep in their steps.

“Hey guys!” she welcomed them. “So, what do you think?!”

“Minh T., this is absolutely perfect!” Mario beamed with a huge smile. “You’re the best!”

“Aww, shucks!” Minh T. blushed. “I’m happy I could be of help.”

Mario placed a hand on her head in appreciation, making her blush deeper. He immediately removed it upon noticing her reaction, and his cheeks warmed. He chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh-heh, sorry about that! I guess that’s a habit I got from the princess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Minh T. assured him. “Speaking of the princess, I’m sure she and Princess Daisy will be thrilled with their gifts!”

Mario and Luigi chuckled from guilt, for they knew they didn’t tell her the whole truth about what the items inside the boxes are for. “Yeah, they’ll be surprised, that’s for sure!” Mario said. “Well, we’ll be taking these out of your hands now. Give our thanks to Wise Wisterwood and the others!”

After equipping the Shrink Badge, Mario gently leapt on the two boxes so as not to crush them, shrinking them down to a manageable size. He and Luigi picked them up and waved goodbye to Minh T. before carrying them towards the castle.

Upon reaching the castle’s main door, they let the guards know they were delivering a surprise present for the princesses. The guards acknowledge the reason for their visit before opening the doors for them. They checked the boxes in the main lobby to make sure they had the right ones before heading towards the princesses’ rooms.

Mario was fortunate to run into a maid who was about to lock Peach’s room. He stopped her and let her know he was dropping off something for the princess. The maid was apprehensive at first since she had strict orders not to let anyone in the room without permission from either Toadsworth or Peach herself. Mario, however, convinced her to grant him this privilege this one time. Since he was the Mushroom Kingdom hero and a close friend of the princess, the maid acquiesced and allowed him to do what he needed to do.

Minutes later, Luigi met Mario at the center of the lobby and grinned mischievously while giving Mario a thumbs up.

“Well, mission accomplished!” Mario laughed. “I would love to be a fly on the wall when they come back tomorrow!”

“Hopefully, they won’t treat us like bugs and try to squash us!” Luigi echoed the laughter. “So, what you want to do now?”

Mario thought for a moment before an idea sprang to mind. “Remember Tayce T. asked us to replace her kitchen faucet when we bumped into her at Toad Town Mall yesterday?”

“Now that I think about it, I sure do,” Luigi affirmed.

“Great, that’s settled!” Mario smiled. “We better head home and get our tools first.”

The brothers nodded at each other before leaving the castle. Mario didn’t know what awaited him when the girls came back from their outing, but he was proud to return the favor for what they did to him and Luigi twenty-four hours earlier.

---

“Man, that was a lot of fun!” Peach exclaimed happily as she, Daisy, and Toadette entered the castle lobby. “It’s been a long time since I remember feeling this refreshed!”

“Tell me about it, sister!” Daisy beamed. “Those spas in Bubblaine are elite! Heck, they give the ones in Sarasaland a run for their money! Our skin and hair have never looked or felt better!”

“Let’s not forget about the food!” Toadette chipped in. “I heard great things about the Luncheon Kingdom, but the dishes in Bubblaine have a great reputation for a reason, especially their seafood!”

“No kidding!” Daisy agreed while rubbing her stomach, making Peach and Toadette laugh. “I think I put on at least fifteen pounds alone from this trip!”

“Considering that you ate more than Toadette and me combined, it wouldn’t be surprising at all,” Peach smirked.

Daisy fake pouted before crossing her arms and turning her head. “Gee, thanks for the words of encouragement, Peach!” However, her pout quickly gave way to laughter, which made Peach and Toadette join her.

“As fun as this outing was, I’m exhausted!” Toadette yawned. “I think I’ll head home and try to get some rest. Thanks for inviting me, Peach and Daisy!”

Peach kneeled down and hugged the pink Toad. “Anytime, sweetie! Thank you for coming with us.”

“No problem, Peach! I’ll see y’all later!” Toadette received a crushing hug from Daisy after Peach finished hers. She quickly re-orientated herself before leaving the castle, causing Peach to smirk teasingly at Daisy.

“Don’t say a word,” Daisy returned the smirk. The princesses then giggled together before Peach unsuccessfully tried to smother a yawn with her hand.

“Toadette had the right idea,” she said. “I think I’ll get some rest too. The trip back takes a lot out of you.”

“I’m right there with you,” Daisy agreed. “As much as I want to give Mario and Luigi their souvenirs, I’m ready to catch some Z’s. Besides, it is late, so we can give them their gifts tomorrow.”

Peach nodded her head. “Well, I guess this is goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Same here. Goodnight, Peach,” Daisy yawned. The princesses hugged each other before retreating to their rooms.

Despite the signs of sleep becoming more prominent in her body, Peach was still in an upbeat mood. As much as she loves running the Mushroom Kingdom and adores her people, she was glad to get away from her duties for at least one day. Spending quality time with two of her best friends only made everything better. She frowned a little knowing she would have to return to her responsibilities tomorrow, but she wouldn’t change anything for the world.

A tired smile formed on her face as she finally reached her bedroom. After absentmindedly running a hand through her purse, she grabbed her keys and unlocked the doors. What she witnessed made her eyes and mouth widen vastly and place a hand over her thumping heart.

Atop her four-poster bed stood a mountain of carnation pink roses stacked to the upper panel. Not a single inch went uncovered, and there appeared to be no threat of a single flower falling out of place. Despite the inconvenient sight, Peach was impressed by the creativity and structure, and a smile crept on her face in spite of her attempts to resist it.

“PEEEAAACH!” a loud familiar voice shrieked from the hall, snapping her back to reality. She turned around to see Daisy leaning at her door, huffing as if she ran the Yoshi Island marathon. Somehow, Peach held the laughter that threatened to escape from her lips in check.

“You won’t believe what’s…” Daisy began but stopped at noticing Peach’s bed. A smirk formed on her lips. “It looks like you were victimized as well.”

“Wait, you mean…” Peach started.

“Yep,” Daisy cut her off while chuckling. “I have a huge mountain of flowers on my bed as well, except mine are yellow daises.”

The laughter that Peach originally imprisoned broke from captivity and incredulously filled her room. Daisy placed a hand on her shoulder and added her laughter to the mix.

“Wanna guess who’s responsible?” Peach offered between laughs.

“Girl, we already know who did this!” Daisy hacked before regaining her composure. “Besides, I found this next to a vase of daisies on my desk. This clearly gives them away.”

She handed Peach an orange card with some writing inside. Peach read the card aloud:

Violets are blue, roses are red

Enjoy the daisies on your bed

My headstrong flower, best take heed

‘Fore on my face you plant your seed

- Luigi <3

Peach chuckled after returning the card to Daisy. “Well, at least it flowed nicely.”

“That’s my Weegee for ya!” Daisy said with some pride as she hugged the card. “With that said, let’s see if Mario left you something as well.”

Peach nodded as she turned her attention to her desk. Sitting right in the center was a pink vase filled with a few roses and a pink card leaning on the front. She immediately picked the card up and opened it. As with Daisy’s, she orated the writing, which was much sloppier than Luigi’s:

Ah princess, the sweetest fruit

I admit your prank was cute

But I return from the brink

To stack your bed with roses of pink

- Mario <3

“Did Luigi help him write that?” Daisy chuckled wryly.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Peach returned the chuckle. “Well, this was obviously payback for what we did to them yesterday.”

Daisy crossed her arms and huffed. “You’d think they appreciate it more. Most guys would repeatedly have Thwomps cave their heads in to receive what we gave those ungrateful jerks!”

“Now, now, Daisy,” Peach placed a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “You have to admit we deserved this. Besides, I think it’s kind of sweet.”

“Oh Peach, I’m only kidding!” Daisy laughed. “We absolutely had this coming. I agree with you that it’s very sweet, all things considered. At least it was our favorite flowers.”

“True,” Peach agreed.

“However,” Daisy grinned impishly, “that doesn’t mean they will get away with this.”

Peach shook her head. “Oh, Daisy. We got them, they got us. We’re even now. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Daisy conceded with a sigh. “With that said, we can still have some fun with them.”

Peach cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Daisy shared her idea with Peach, and Peach found herself agreeing with it. The princesses giggled among themselves after Daisy finished.

“It should be fun!” Peach said before returning her attention to her bed. Her brow furrowed at the roses. “Well, it looks like we won’t be sleeping in our beds tonight at least.”

“Hmm,” Daisy nodded. “So, what are we going to do?”

Peach pondered about their conundrum for a moment before a solution formed in her mind. “You know the furniture in entertainment center have pop-out beds, right? We can sleep there tonight and have the flowers removed tomorrow.”

“Great idea, Peach!” Daisy beamed. “That settles it! We can even watch a movie and pop some popcorn while we’re down there! I’m going back to my room and grab my sleepwear. I’ll meet you there!” She rushed out of the room with as much gusto as she entered.

Peach shook her head in amusement at her friend before going to her wardrobe to grab her nightgown. As she grabbed the soft pink fabric, she remembered something that gave her pause. Her fellow princess makes Bowser sound like a cat purring contently while visiting Slumberland. Her mind flashed back to when she thought an illegal kart drag race was occurring outside of her castle the last time she and Daisy slept in the same room. Chuckling to herself, she grabbed a couple boxes of earplugs before heading to the entertainment center.

---

Two days later…

“Luigi, you ready?!” Mario called upstairs.

“Almost, Mario! I need to grab one more thing!”

Mario sighed as he shook his head. Yesterday afternoon, Peach invited him and Luigi to a picnic with her and Daisy via letter. The brothers accepted the invitation, of course, but one thing that troubled him was there was no mention of the flowers he and Luigi left in their rooms. He wasn’t sure if the princesses were trying to get them back for it, so he planned to be on full alert in case they had anything plotted.

A minute later, Luigi emerged from their room and met Mario downstairs. Instead of his usual green shirt and cap and blue overalls, he wore a green short-sleeved buttoned shirt with white Bloopers spread across it over a white T-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, a green visor with a green ‘L’ encased in a white circle, white high socks, and a pair of green sneakers. In his hand were a pair of green sunglasses.

“Looking good, little brother!” Mario pointed finger guns at him with a grin.

“The same can be said for you, big bro!” Luigi returned the gesture.

Mario looked down to check his attire, which was similar to Luigi’s except his colors were red instead of green, and his shirt had white mushroom power-ups instead of Bloopers. His sunglasses were perched atop his visor, which had a red ‘M’ in the middle.

“Hey Mario,” Luigi began, “where are we going to meet the princesses? Do they want us to pick them up from the castle?”

Mario shook his head. “The princess texted me a few minutes ago and asked us to meet them at the park. They reserved a section for us ahead of time.”

Luigi nodded, “OK, that means we can head straight there. Let me grab the macaroni salad and drinks real quick!”

~~~

Mario and Luigi kept their eyes peeled for the princesses upon entering the park. Mario smiled at the Toads and friendly Goombas and Koopa Troopas enjoying themselves. There were even three Toad families celebrating birthdays with some festivities. He was happy the weather was ideal for any outdoor activity.

“Mario! Luigi! We’re over here!”

A familiar voice broke Mario out of his appreciative gaze as he looked in the direction from which it came. Princess Peach was waving at him from a picnic area. Mario tapped Luigi on the shoulder and pointed where Peach and Daisy were. The brothers shared a quick nod before racing towards the table. Luigi had to be more cautious since he was carrying the bowl with the macaroni salad. They stopped a few feet short of the area, and Mario’s jaw dropped in appreciation of what awaited him.

Peach was wearing a soft pink sleeveless mini dress with a low neckline. The dress also showcased her long slender legs and hugged her body as if were an additional layer of skin. It was similar to her tennis outfit but more revealing; it appeared one can slightly see-through the fabric, which was some of a shock since Rosalina was the only woman who was more modest than Peach regarding their clothing. That didn’t mean Peach was afraid to show any skin, however. Completing the ensemble was a white sunhat with a pink ribbon around it over her ponytailed hair, gold dangling bracelets from her wrists, and a pair of pink wedge heel platform sandals.

After he returned to normal, Mario quickly checked on Luigi, only to see he was just as mesmerized as him, except his focus was mostly on Daisy. The Sarasaland princess wore an orange sleeveless crisscross blouse that displayed a healthy portion of her flat toned abs, a pair of white shorts that stopped at just above mid-thigh, an orange ribbon around her hair, and a pair of orange wedge heel platform sandals. Mario thought he saw drool form on the corner of Luigi’s lips, and he couldn’t blame him. Daisy was certainly showing more skin than Peach, which was nothing out of the norm for the girls.

“Hey boys!” Daisy approached and greeted them with a hug. Mario returned the hug with little issue. The same couldn’t be said for Luigi, however. It took him a few seconds before he returned Daisy’s hug.

His brain must have short-circuited seeing Daisy’s outfit, Mario snickered to himself. He shook his head from hypocritically thinking that because he had nearly the same reaction when he laid eyes on Peach.

Speaking of whom, she also approached and hugged him and Luigi. Mario was enthralled by her hair's strawberry aroma and the floral scent of her perfume. He complained inwardly when they broke the hug, for he wanted to get lost in her pleasant scents for a little while longer.

“Nice to see the two of you make it!” Peach flashed a huge bright smile, the one that never failed to make Mario weak in the knees. “You guys look great!”

“T-Thanks,” Mario stammered. “So you do two!” He mentally kicked himself for acting like a shy schoolboy talking to his crush for the first time. Luigi was the one who usually behaved in such a manner. Speaking of his brother, his snickers did not escape Mario’s ears, which made Mario chuckle to himself. He would get his revenge on him some time in the near future.

“Glad you seem to think so!” Daisy winked as she struck a flirty pose, causing her blouse to rise some. From the corner of his eye, Mario could’ve sworn he saw a trickle of blood threatening to drop from Luigi’s nose. The poor guy would be gushing a red geyser if Daisy kept this up all day.

“Oh, is that for the picnic?” Peach asked Luigi upon seeing the bowl he was holding. Luigi could only nod weakly in response before stretching his arms towards her. Peach took the bowl with an appreciative close-eyed smile and placed it on the table before returning. She did the same with the drinks Mario forgot he was holding.

“Again, I’m happy you two accepted my invitation to join Daisy and me on this picnic,” Peach addressed the brothers. Her smile then became perter. “We’ll start eating soon but before we do that, however, you know Daisy, Toadette, and I visited Bubblaine two days ago, right?”

Mario gulped heavily, for he figured this was the part where the princesses exact their revenge for the floral surprise that he and Luigi left them. Unable to speak at the moment because of his throat rapidly going dry, he only nodded his head in response.

“Well,” Peach continued, the smile never leaving her face, “during our time there we came across something that we thought both of you would enjoy, so Daisy and I purchased them and wish to give them to you now.”

Mario was caught off-guard since he thought Peach would mention their prank. However, fought off a smile when she told them she and Daisy got them something.

“Oh, you didn’t have to, you know,” Mario nervously rubbed the back of his head.

“You’re right, we didn’t have to,” Daisy interjected, making Mario frown. She then flashed a comforting smile towards the brothers. “But we did anyway because you two are very special to us. As much as Peach and I would love to bless you with them, you two have to shut your eyes first.”

“Wait, do we have to?” Luigi asked in a nearly whiny matter.

“No,” Daisy answered with a small smile. “but Peach and I want to surprise you.” Peach nodded in agreement. “So, unless there are any more questions, could you both please close your eyes for us?”

Mario blinked at the request and was about to raise an objection. When Peach and Daisy flirtatiously batted their eyelashes towards him and Luigi, however, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. Luigi already had his eyes closed, so Mario followed suit, chuckling along the way.

No sooner than he did, he felt something being placed around his neck. The next thing he knew, his visor was removed from his head and replaced with what felt like a round thing that perfectly fit his head shape. This item rubbed gently against his forehead, and a familiar fragrance entered his senses.

“OK, you can open your eyes now!” Peach’s voice sang perkily.

Mario didn’t need to be told twice as his eyes reacquainted themselves with the surrounding sights. He glanced down to see a wide oval-shape necklace made of large pebbles whose polished surfaces glinted prettily under the sun. He turned to face Luigi, who had a similar necklace around his collar, except his pebbles were green. However, something else made his eyes expand curiously. A well-crafted crown of daisies adorned his brother’s head in lieu of his green visor. Seeing Luigi wearing such a thing gave Mario a good notion of what was on his own head, and the thought made him grin despite himself.

“So,” Peach addressed the brothers, “what do you think?”

“Princess, these necklaces are wonderful!” Mario answered happily, with Luigi nodding in agreement. “It’s easy to tell a lot of care was placed in crafting these.”

Peach nodded in confirmation. “We discovered these beautiful multi-colored pebbles at the beach. A friendly Bubblainian noticed and offered to make jewelry from them. We were skeptical at first, but to gain our trust he created this gorgeous pendant from one of the pebbles right in front of us! That was enough for us to want to have some jewelry made. Daisy, Toadette, and I each had pendants made for ourselves, then we decided to have something created for you two.”

“Well, we certainly appreciate you keeping us in mind during your getaway,” Mario smiled. “By the way, I have a feeling I already know the answer, but how was it?”

“It was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken!” Daisy gushed as she leaped in the air. “This was my first time visiting the Seaside Kingdom, and I’ve read a lot of rave reviews about the place. Let me tell you, those reviews did not do it justice! There was so much to do, and the residents there were some of the nicest people you could ever come across. In fact, I’m ready to go back again. Say, why don’t the four of us schedule a future date to visit?”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Peach jumped in. “Mario, Luigi, what do you think?”

Mario shared a nod and grin with Luigi before returning his attention to Peach. “You know we’re down to go anywhere with you two, except Isle Delfino!” Everyone chuckled at Mario’s comments.

“Great!” Peach exclaimed happily. “I’ll have to check the calendar and see which date works the best for us!”

“Sounds good, Princess,” Luigi smiled. “I’m happy you two had a great time. Both of you deserve to get away once in a while.”

“Thanks, Weegee!” Daisy grinned cheerfully. However, her grin became gradually more impish. “Speaking of deserving, did you two notice the other thing we gave you?”

Sweat began to decorate Mario’s forehead because he knew this was where the hammer was about to come down. There was zero chance he and Luigi could deny their deed since they left enough evidence for the princesses to ascertain who was responsible.

“Y-Yeah,” Mario blurted out unconfidently.

“Peach and I have to admit your prank was clever,” Daisy stared, the grin never leaving her face. “To do it while we were away even more ingenious. Did you know how long it took us to clean everything up?” Mario and Luigi could only shake their heads.

“I’ll tell you,” Daisy continued, “it took us quite a while. Oh yeah, I should tell you Toadsworth was not too fond of your prank. It took all of Star Haven to stop him from marching to your home and greeting you with his cane upside your heads!”

“Hehe, thanks,” Mario chuckled nervously. “We appreciate that.”

Peach nodded before chiming in, “it wasn’t a total waste, however. We didn’t want to throw those beautiful flowers away, so we came up with ways to preserve them. Some were planted in the castle garden. Others were given away to the people. Also, we helped Minh T. plant a lot of them around the kingdom. We kept some for ourselves. Lastly, we created those crowns for you with the few remaining.”

“T-That’s nice to hear,” Luigi stammered.

“Although we couldn’t sleep in our beds that night thanks to you two, despite us admittedly earning it for what we did to you,” Daisy said, the last part of the sentence spoken quietly, “we like you so much we gave you two gifts instead of the one. Thank your lucky stars Peach and I aren’t completely vindictive!”

Mario and Luigi did nothing but nod. Daisy grinned again with a mischievous glint in her eye as she sauntered towards Luigi, making the younger Mario brother gulp. Her grin spread wider before honking his nose.

“Hey, what…”

A peck on the tip of his nose, leaving an orange kiss mark in the process, instantly silenced what was sure to be a protest from Luigi’s lips. Luigi’s face rapidly became crimson as a droopy-eyed grin spread across his face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute!” Daisy grinned huskily, to which Luigi could only weakly nod.

Mario shook his head while chuckling as Daisy gave Luigi a small hug. He continued to watch them when a pair of hands firmly placed on his shoulders turned him around. Before he could properly react to what was happening, those same hands gently cuffed his cheeks, followed immediately by the softest lips he’s ever felt quickly pressing themselves on the edge of his nose. His face felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting as his eyelids traveled halfway over his eyes.

“Although it was revenge for our actions, it was still a sweet gesture,” Peach spoke softly as her long silky soft fingers tenderly stroked Mario’s cheeks. A bright mirthful grin then flashed on her face. “It looks like we’re even now.”

Mario, like Luigi, only nodded feebly as he remained in a blissful state. If there was one weakness he and Luigi had, it was having their noses kissed, no matter how big or small the pecks. Both princesses knew this, and they weren’t above taking advantage of it when they felt like it. Nonetheless, Mario never complained, for he would never reject nor grow weary of such a thing. Besides, he knew the princesses loved them as well.

“Time for a group selfie!” Daisy’s energetic voice rang in the air as she disrupted the intimacy between Mario and Peach by grabbing their hands. The two of them shared a laugh as they along with Daisy and Luigi posed in front of Daisy’s phone being held by a selfie stick.

“Everyone, give me your brightest smiles! I don’t want to see anyone frowning!” Daisy jokingly admonished. “Ready?! Three…two…one!” A quick light flashed from the phone, indicating the picture being taken.

“OK, one more!” Daisy exclaimed cheerfully. She counted from three again before snapping another picture. This time around, a loud gasp filled the air during the flash.

“I’m sending everyone the pictures now!” Daisy informed everyone.

As soon as she pressed the send button, the familiar chime of the original Super Mario Brothers theme sounded on Mario’s phone. He took it out and opened the attachments from Daisy. The first picture had everyone smiling widely, and Mario chuckled when he saw he had a kiss print in the middle of his nose as well, except his was pink of course. A glance at the second picture had him trying his best not to sound like a hyena. What had him reacting this way was Daisy smooching a red-faced Luigi on the cheek and Luigi leaping with his eyes and mouth open as wide as humanly possible. He knew where the gasp came from at least.

“Did everyone get the pictures?” Daisy asked. The other three confirmed they did with a nod. “Good, because I’m starving! Let’s eat!” She then wrapped an arm around Luigi’s shoulder, making him blush again.

“Come on, sweetie! I hear you make a mean macaroni salad. I want to try it out!”

“Hold on, Daisy! No need to be so eager!” Luigi cried out as Daisy dragged him by the hand towards the picnic table, his heels skidding in the grass.

“That's one battle Luigi will never win!” Mario laughed to himself. A familiar pair of soft hands intimately grabbed his arm, causing him to almost get lost in Peach’s baby blue eyes.

“I’m feeling a little hungry myself,” Peach batted her eyes. “Will you care to accompany me to the table?”

Mario good-naturedly rubbed his chin. “Let me think about it for a second. You know I will, Princess!”

A soft mellifluous laugh flowed from Peach’s lips before she flashed Mario another bright smile that he thought could stand toe-to-toe with the sun. “Well then, let’s-a go before Daisy really gets going!”

“No need to tell me twice, Princess!” Mario laughed as he and Peach walked towards the table holding hands.

Mario reflected on the past few days up to the picnic. While there was a mini prank war between the battle of the sexes, it was all in good nature as neither side went out of their way to deliberately hurt each other. In fact, both pranks showed the respect and admiration each side had for one another. In the end, it could be argued that he and Luigi strengthened their bonds with the princesses when it’s all said and done.

He didn’t know what the future held, but he was going to live in the present and enjoy this moment with his brother and the princesses.

#new fic #sequel to “Leaving Their Marks Behind”#posted on ao3 #Mario #Luigi #Princess Peach #Princess Daisy #Minh T.#Toadette #Mareach #Luaisy #mario fanfiction #tee's writing

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