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ladyylesbian · 11 months ago

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Sorority Rules (18+)

Pairing: dom!wandanat x sub!fem!original character

Summary: ‘New Year, New Me’ can start in September...right?

Warnings: MINORS DNI! Pet names, mommy kink, daddy kink, reader has a name? (Honestly idk anymore, tell me if I missed something?)

Word Count: 11.2k

A/N: This really was just me proving something to myself, but I hope you enjoy it all the same :) Continuation of this story is on AO3

you do not have permission to translate/repost my works anywhere! all mistakes are mine and mine alone. likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome & appreciated <3

Freshman year left you beat down on the floor. You had been roomed with a girl named Hela. The two of you had hit it off instantly. In fact, you spent so much time together that everyone would know if they found one of you, then they could find the other nearby, definitely helped that you somehow had the exact same class schedule. By the end of the first semester, Hela asked you out and one week later, she asked you to be her girlfriend.

What was the happiest month turned dark and lonely. Hela spent more and more of her time focused on her sorority since being officially accepted. She had set completely insane restraints on you. You had to text her every hour whenever you were apart, it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t acknowledge your messages. She even would rarely show up at the dorm room to sleep, claiming that the sorority house was where she needed to be, but demanded a picture of you in bed every night.

You had long since given up expecting to see her anywhere but during classes, however, when she sat down with the other girls in her sorority looking you right in the eyes as she did, you finally broke. That was your time together and she was so obviously picking them.

That only snowballed into her eating lunch in the quad with them too. She took you to a few sorority parties and introduced you to her ‘favorite person’ and sorority big sister, Carol. The two were attached at the hip which quickly left you to nurse a drink off in the corner.

You didn’t have the backbone to say anything, blindly hoping she would realize how much she missed you and run back.

It wasn’t until right before the end of year finals that Hela had stayed back in the dorm room once again. The two of you would study nonstop and laugh and joke. Everything you had spent months wishing for was happening. The girl you liked was back.

After finishing your last final before Summer break, you waited for her in the hallway. Less than 15 minutes later she pushed open the classroom door and stepped out. You locked eyes and she rushed up and gave you a hug. “Thank you so much, Madelyn. I really could not have passed these finals without you.”

Smiling warmly at the raven haired girl, “Always. It’s you and me all the time. I couldn’t show up to sophomore year without you next to me.”

Her eyes fell downwards before slowly reaching yours again. “About that, Madelyn, I think we should end things. You are just in such a different place than me and I am changing my major, so we won’t be in the same classes anyways. Not to mention, you can really blow up my phone and I am just not into that. But thank you so much for the help this year.” You can’t help but stare at her wide eyed, blinking repeatedly as you try to process her words. She pats your cheek before turning around and walking down the hall “Have a good summer!”

The only thought running thought your mind is ‘what the fuck.”

You cannot believe this day is finally here, sophomore year of college. After a thoroughly disastrous freshman year, you are determined to completely turn your life around. A new roommate, new classes, if you can be picky, then hopefully a solid friend group will be thrown in there too.

It was still a few days before the actual first day of classes, but you wanted to get into your new dorm and settle in. There were quite a lot of other students with the same idea, all unpacking their parents cars that were stuffed full. You quickly paid the taxi driver and hopped out the back seat. He opened the trunk and lifted your suitcase onto the road.

Dragging your bag up the sidewalk and settling in the line waiting for the booth to find your new dorm room and collect the room key. You look around, wondering if your new roommate is in this same crowd, thinking if her parents are holding back tears as they hug her goodbye.

Thankfully, before you can stumble too far down that path, you reach the front of the line. “Name and year?”

“Oh, uh, Madelyn Andrews. Sophomore.” She flips through the pages and finds your name with ease. Looking down into her organized box of keys, she picks up on set, “Room 616.”

With a soft smile, you accept the key and head towards the sophomore dorms.

Thankfully, there’s an elevator in all the dorm buildings once you’re no longer a freshman. You always joked that it was the university’s way of hazing the entire freshman class.

The slow elevator had you wondering if you could have walked the stairs and ended up there faster, but eventually, opened onto the sixth floor. You held your breath as you walked up to your door.

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface and straining to try and hear any movement. It sounded completely empty inside. With a quick ‘thank you’ to the skies above, you push the key into the lock and turn, opening the door.

Unsurprisingly, it is the same layout as your freshman year dorm, not that you were superstitious, but in the spirit of completely turning your life around you opted for the bed on the right this time.

It didn’t take more than an hour for you to put away your clothes and set up the small mementos of your friends from back home. Walking back over to your suitcase, you pull out a small blanket that barely is long enough to cover your legs and hide it under your pillow.

Laying on your new bed and scrolling your university’s Instagram page, trying to find something to do that can pass the time. That’s when you see there is an early bird trivia event being hosted at the student center in ten minutes.

Taking a second to think, you come to the conclusion that this is the perfect chance to meet new people. Reinvent yourself as someone social, someone beyond only one friend turned girlfriend.

Softly pushing yourself off the elevated bed, you walk over to the shared closet and pull out your favorite white crew neck in case the temperature drops after sunset. With an unbalanced turn, you spin around and pull on your black and gray checkered vans. Hopping over to the mirror to give yourself a fast once over then heading straight out the door.

It’s only a short walk to the student center from your dorm this year, which you’re thankful for, perfect for meeting new people.

Remembering how heavy the student center door is, you pull hard on the handle. The universe must be laughing at you because that seemed to be the wrong choice. The usually heavy door was light this year and you have just thrown the door as wide as it would go, causing a decently loud sound.

A few students near the door look at you, but thankfully the other students further into the building haven’t seemed to notice a thing. Which is where the trivia is being held, so you awkwardly walk through the doors and inside.

“Hello, welcome to early bird trivia: musicals. Are you joining a team or registering a new one?” states a wide eyed brunette woman.

“Oh, I didn’t know we had to have a team..” you begin to look around for anyone you might vaguely recognize. “Not a worry, dear. We have another girl looking for a team too. You two can partner up.” She starts to wave over a blonde, who’s smiling bigger than you would think possible.

She continues, “This is..” she pauses waiting for you. “Madelyn.”

“And she needs a team as well. So, what will the team name be?”

Before you even have a moment to think of something clever, the blonde speaks up, “Mac n Cheese Lovers.” You cannot help but snort at her abruptness. The brunette hands you a paper and pencil to write down your answers on, “Good luck ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers.”

Following the blonde over to a table near the smoothie bar along the left wall, as she sits down she introduces herself, “Hey. My name is Yelena. I hope you like Mac n Cheese or this team name will be super awkward,” she snickers.

You shake your head slightly, “The name is perfectly fitting. I’m a huge fan,” you laugh, “My name is Madelyn. It’s nice to meet you. So what year are you in?”

“Sophomore,” the blonde replies, “How about you?”

“Same, sophomore.” The two of you continue with small talk for a couple minutes until you hear the game host start speaking. He gives a quick introduction of his name and lets everyone know he’s the student activity director, so he plans all university approved events. Which leads him to a quick warning that means no drinking or drugs at these events since he’s required to report them to the Dean. Then, he gets into the trivia rules.

Once he finishes, Yelena leans over to you, “We have to win. Or at least beat my annoying sister and her girlfriend.”

You raise your eyebrow at the woman, “If you knew people, how come you didn’t team up with them?”

She waves off your question before pointing them out, “See those two redheads? That’s them. They are insufferable at any sort of competition. We need to show them up and win, so I hope you’re a musical lover because I am most certainly not a musical theater major,” she chuckles as she finishes her sentence.

“They do look insufferable,” you agree with the blonde, “and lucky for you, while I am not a musical theater major, I am a lover of Broadway, so get ready to kick some ass.”

Yelena claps you on the back and laughs, “I like you, Madelyn. Let's do this.”

“Okay, everyone, first question. What musical movie has the song ‘It's the Hard-Knock Life’?”

You quickly write down ‘Annie’ on the paper next to the number one as he repeats the first question.

“Second question, the musical Hairspray is set in what American city?”

Once again, you write down ‘Baltimore’ immediately next to the number two as he repeats the question.

And the process repeats itself all the way to the end. You, unsurprisingly, knew every answer, besides two. Thankfully Yelena seemed very confident in the answers, which led you to learning that while she was not an overall musical lover, she was obsessed with ‘SIX’, claiming ‘they all should have just murdered that idiotic king’.

By the end, you and Yelena are laughing together and being shushed by other teams around you trying to think. Yelena pays them no mind while she tries to watch and see if her sister and her girlfriend are guessing the answers correctly by the way she’s writing. You tried to tell her that would be impossible to know, but the blonde paid you as little mind as she did the surrounding teams.

Finally, the host announces for everyone to settle down and starts going over the list of correct answers. Yelena is practically levitating off the seat with how excited she is. Your team got every question right. “Okay everyone, count up your total of correct answers.” He waits a few seconds before beginning again, “raise your hand if your team got more than five correct.”

Faster than lightning, Yelena's hand is in the air, yours follows quickly. “Raise your hand if your team got more than ten correct.” Three other teams' hands go down. “Raise your hand if your team got more than fifteen correct.” Another two teams’ hands lower. Leaving your team, two other teams, and Yelena’s sister’s team, much to the blonde’s annoyance.

“Raise your hand if you got more than seventeen correct.” One team puts their hands down. “Raise your hand if you got more than eighteen correct.” The other team drops their hands. Making the final two teams, ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’ and ‘Traitors’, if you were to believe Yelena.

“Looks like we have a tight race everyone, how exciting, keep your hands up if you got all twenty questions correct.” A moment of tense silence falls over the room, the redheads slowly lower their hands. A loud, piercing scream sounds off beside you, “Yes! Ha! I won! So much for ‘Yelena you don't know anything about musicals. Go find your own team’.” The blonde begins doing her victory dance as you laugh. She grabs your hand and motions for you to victory dance with her. And how could you say no when you are equally excited about the win.

“We have our winners, everyone congratulations to..” the host drags off his sentence.

“Mac n Cheese Lovers!” the two of you say while laughing and dancing together.

“Congratulations to ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’. Thank you to everyone for coming out and starting off this year with a bang! I will see you at the next activity!” Slowly everyone staggers out of the student center and into the night as you’re exchanging Instagrams with Yelena and saying your goodbyes.

Not even three steps away from the table, you hear someone speaking to Yelena, “Clearly, you didn’t win with your own lack of knowledge. So, what’s her name?” Not wanting to look back and have them know you’re listening, you keep walking as you hear Yelena reply “Madelyn. Why?”

Cursing yourself for not slowing down because now you’re too far away to keep trying to listen, you look over your shoulder right before walking out the doors. Locking eyes with two pairs of green eyes staring back at you.

Spending most of your days walking around campus and figuring out the quickest way to each of your classes, then finding a second route.., and a third route, just in case. Eventually making your way to the cafeteria since it’s the only food place open on campus until classes begin and sitting out in the quad people watching as more and more people arrive. You haven’t met up with the blonde, or the two mysterious redheads, you met at trivia since. However, you are often sending memes back and forth which you take as a small step towards your first new friend of the year.

It’s officially one day until classes start and you still haven’t met your roommate. You have considered walking back to the welcome booth and asking if you even have a roommate since it’s extremely uncommon to not be moved into the dorms by this time.

As much as most people would love to strike luck and get a free single, that is the absolute last thing you want.

The universe finally seems to answer your silent worrying and wishing as you hear someone fumbling with the keys outside your door. Quickly, you hop from the bed and rush to open the door. Coming face to face with a dark haired brunette.

“Oh, good, you’re moved in already!” Taken aback by the woman’s words, your focus shifts between her and the large number of boxes next to her in the hallway.

“Do, uh, do you need help?”

“That’d be great. My name’s Kate. You’re Madelyn, right?”

A wave of shock hits you at hearing someone you’ve never met know your name. Seeing the look on your face causes Kate to laugh. She starts to shimmy inside and you hurriedly move to the side, so she can walk in easier. Once she’s in, you step out of the room and pick up one of the boxes. “It is, yeah. So, where do you want this?”

“You can just throw everything on the bed.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to move everything into the small dorm. Laughing as you both try to move around with the now limited floor space since Kate’s bed was quickly filled up with boxes.

After an offer to help the brunette unpack her things, you figure out she is quite uncaring about her clothes, but she is very particular about her bow. You learn she joined the school archery team last year, but already stands to make captain for her second year.

She tells you about how last year, on a dare, she hit the bell tower with an arrow. “So, you were the one who caused the crack in the bell tower?” Covering your mouth to try and hide your laugh. She looks at you with wide eyes, “I can’t confirm or deny which clock tower it was.”

Which only causes you to lose all control and laugh wildly out loud.

Successfully surviving the first four weeks of your second year in college, you get to celebrate at the first football game of the season. Thankfully, Kate is not into the sorority scene like your ex was, so you can go to the game together rather than alone.

With your back against your bed and your feet up the side of the wall, you’re waiting for Kate to get back from her archery practice. She made captain last week which led to you both sneaking out of the dorm at midnight and walking to the nearest pizzeria for a celebratory pizza. Your memory was promptly interrupted by the door slamming into the wall, “Shit. Sorry.”

Laughing at Kate’s mumbled apology to the girls next door who always complain about you two being unnecessarily loud. The brunette throws her sweaty t-shirt at your face which you quickly launch back at her as she softly shuts the door.

“Hurry up and get ready, Bishop. The game starts in thirty minutes and you smell like a wet dog.”

“Your words are so sweet. Dipped in honey I would say,” Kate’s words laced with sarcasm as she playfully flips you off while kicking off her shoes.

“Only in honey? You don’t get the soft rose petals or melted chocolate too?” Your words only earn you a deadpan stare from the archer. With a grunt, you push yourself off the wall and sit upright, “Don’t forget that tonight is a black out game, so you need to be in all black to show support.”

“Oh yes, I would hate not to show support. Unfortunately, all my black clothes are currently dirty-”

“I know, which is why I took the liberty of doing our laundry earlier today. Your outfit is laid out on the bed.” You say with a smile and move to make your fingers into the shape of a heart.

Kate can’t help but roll her eyes and laugh, “Of course, you did.” Walking up to her shower bag and picking it up, she heads to the door. “I will be back in no less than 10 minutes, Sargeant,” winking at you, knowing you hate the nickname, before quickly mumbling out, “and thank you for doing my laundry. You’re the best.” and walking out of the room.

Rushing a quick ‘You’re welcome’ out before the door shut. You begin getting dressed yourself, deciding on a black halter top and some black jean shorts with your black high-top converses. Throwing your hair up into a high ponytail, then pulling out your baby hairs so you don’t look like an egg.

True to her word, Kate walks back in 10 minutes later as you put headphones in and stare at the ceiling, you give your roommate privacy to get ready.

Feeling your headphones ripped out of your ears causes you to face the archer as she smiles, “How do I look? Andrews approved?” Kate stands in front of you in black long sleeve cropped top and blacked ripped jeans.

Jokingly, you raise an eyebrow at her, faking a moment of contemplation before returning the smile, “You look hot. You will definitely grab whoever’s attention you want.”

“I don’t want anyone's attention, '' the brunette scoffs.

“Sure you don’t and I don’t hope that my 7am professor is sick on Monday,” you retort.

“I don’t even think she is gonna be there,” Kate starts pulling on the sleeves of her shirt, “I don’t think football games are her thing.”

You take a moment to consider what to say. It’s been months since you had a crush on anyone and wanted to try and impress a girl. When you first found out your roommate started crushing on someone, you had been relentless in attempting to have her confess who it was. But as stubborn as you were, Kate was also head strong in keeping her secret.

“Her loss then. We can post a picture and she’ll see everything she misses out on by skipping the game,” you wink. Linking arms, you and Kate walk out of the dorm and head to the field.

The first stop you both make is the concession stand since food is the top priority any time the two of you leave the dorm together. Ordering you both an ICEE, yours being coke flavored and Kate’s cherry, and a hot dog each.

Once arriving at your seats, you turn around and ask the girls behind you if they could take a picture for you. You both hold up your ICEEs, smiling as you cheer for the picture.

Kate posts the picture on her Instagram, tagging you, and captions the post ‘I’m only here for the ICEEs’.

Quickly commenting ‘and my amazing company’ under her post. Then posting the picture onto your story with hearts underneath.

It’s not until the third quarter that you both finally relent and head to the bathrooms. While standing in line chatting about nothing and everything, the archer tenses beside you and presses herself between you and the wall, “what are yo-”

Kates proceeds to shush you and shrinks further into her hiding spot. Looking around to try and see what has your roommate acting so strange, you come up short since you don’t recognize anyone.

That is until you glance over to the concession line and notice Yelena, who you met your first day back on campus. Quickly turning around to Kate, “Oh, Kate. Do you remember how I told you I met this hilarious girl my first day back?“ You point over to the blonde, “She’s right there. Her name is Yelena.”

The brunette’s face pales suddenly. Worry rushes through you and your eyes immediately start scanning for what’s upset your friend so badly. Until it clicks, “Kate…Oh, Katie,” you start to whisper, “ is Yelena who you have a crush on?”

Her eyes met yours and you can tell you’re right. “I totally know her. I can introduce you if you want. Granted, I haven’t actually spoken with her for over a month, BUT we regularly exchange memes.”

Before Kate could give any response to you, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around.

“Madelyn, I thought it was you! How have you been?” Yelena says with a big smile on her face.

“I’m great. Settling into my classes and wishing I didn’t sign up for a 7am lecture that I completely don’t understand and will need to find a tutor for, the usual. How about you?”

As the blonde opens her mouth to reply, she notices Kate, “Bishop? Madelyn and Bishop? You two know each other?” .

“Roommates,” You both say at the same time before you continue, “We’re roommates. How do you know Kate?”

“She’s my lab partner,” she leans around you and looks at the brunette, “We have a project coming up and I’ve been meaning to reach out and figure out a time that works for you,” she runs her fingers through her blonde hair nervously.

A sneaky smile goes across your face, realizing that Yelena also seems to have a crush on Kate.

The archer stands up suddenly at her crush’s words, “I have archery practice most days, but I’m free on Tuesdays after 3pm, if that works.”

Yelena simply smiles back, “Tuesdays are great, except, I’m in class until 4. How about you come to my apartment, it’s five minutes from campus, and we can eat and start our research?”

“Off campus?”

“Yeah, my sister and her girlfriend wanted to have a secluded place away from the sorority and invited me to stay there too.”

You nod, listening to the two speak while also trying to give them privacy by looking anywhere else in the slowest moving restroom line.

Suddenly, Yelena’s phone goes off, “Speaking of the devil,” she answers.

You can’t hear whoever it is super well over the crowd cheering at what must have been the best touchdown of the game but once they quiet down you hear that voice again from trivia night, the redheaded sister of Yelena.

The blonde turns over her shoulder to look near the concession line she just came from, “I just want a coke.” You look over in the same direction as Yelena, “No, I don’t want anything else. I will be right back. I was just saying ‘hey’ to Madelyn and Bishop. Get your underwear out of a twist. I’m heading back now. Bye.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest when you finally notice the redhead in line. Making eye contact with her deep green eyes for longer than normal which causes Kate to nudge your shoulder as it’s finally your turn to walk into the restroom.

“Sorry,” you mumble to your roommate before turning back with one final look, receiving a wink from both women.

Kate gives a quick goodbye to Yelena before she walks away and then pushes you through the door.

Your roommate tries to ask you about it in the restroom, but you firmly shut down that topic and turn the conversation around on her. If you had known her crush was on Yelena, then you would have tried long ago to set them up on a blind date. Which is probably why the brunette didn't say who she was spending her days thinking about.

Making your way back to the seats, thankfully, without running into anyone else, you try to wipe the redhead’s face out of your memory, feeling incredibly embarrassed for your behavior when seeing her.

The last quarter of the game passes in a blur that you aren’t even aware the game ended until you notice the football players celebrating on the field and groups of people moving around you to leave at the same time. You glance up to the scoreboard and see the score, 30-28, your team winning.

Pulling out your phone, you swipe to pull up Instagram and post the scoreboard to your story, ‘our blood, our sweat, your tears’.

Linking your arm with Kate to make sure neither of you get lost on the way out of the stadium, the cool fall breeze whips at your shoulders the second you make it outside, but you welcome it after squeezing against every sweaty jock trying to get out of the stadium at the same time.

The two of you quietly laugh together when you look back to see people squeezing through the doors you just came through.

Neither of you are paying attention and accidentally bump into someone, to your dismay it was Yelena’s sister. Your body goes rigid at the sight of her. A scowl on her face until she settles her eyes on you then she gives you a soft smile.

“So, so, so sorry about that. We should have paid more attention.” The redhead’s smile slowly grows bigger as you continue talking. “Sorry again.”

You go to turn away and drag Kate along when you feel a warm hand softly wrap around your bicep, “No, I should be ashamed for not giving you more attention when you’re around,” smirking slightly at you.

A small blush rushes to your cheeks, opening and closing your mouth a few times before giving a gentle nod to the woman before turning around again.

Once you are out of hearing range from the redhead, Kate starts laughing, “Oh, you’re like a fly trapped in the spider's web.”

With a quick glare to your roommate and a prompt slap to the arm, “Shut up.”

As you lay on your bed, winding down your night time routine, you decide to scroll Instagram. Liking posts from your roommate and best friend, Kate’s, account. You didn’t think you would get as close to the girl as you had, but the two of you got along surprisingly well. Usually, you would be watching a new episode of Grey's Anatomy together tonight, however, Kate finally gathered her nerves and asked out Yelena, her lab partner, on a date.

Squealing and bouncing in your tiny dorm room bed, “Shut up! You did it? You finally admitted you have a crush on her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!” The brunette laughs in response, “I just asked if she would want to go out to the new ax-throwing bar that just opened up.” She throws herself down on her back onto your bed, frowning and sounding much more somber. “But, Madelyn, Yelena asked if we could go this Thursday. She has to go to the sorority party this Friday.”

Moving around until you're laying down shoulder to shoulder with her, “Psh. Don’t even start, you are going and maybe even getting a second date for Friday.” Wiggling your eyebrows at her and shoving your body slightly into her.

“If that happens, then you’re coming with me. You need to get out and finally move on from your ex.” Placing your hand over your heart, you playfully scoff and wave off a mumbled agreement, trying to steer away from another possible conversation to find out who your ex is.

Smiling as you recall the memory, you suddenly hear the door to your dorm unlock.

Kate whispers to someone in the hall, who you assume to be Yelena, “Of course, I’d love to. See you tomorrow.”

Quickly, she walks in and immediately places her back on the door to close it. A wide grin on your roommate's face as she looks over to your bed. First kicking off her shoes, then running to jump into your bed. You stare at her, waiting for her to begin.

Kate sighs before exclaiming, “SHE ASKED ME OUT TO THE SORORITY PARTY TOMORROW!” Wrapping your arms around your friend as you jump together over the great news.”Get ready, Madelyn, you and I are going to a party!”

“Wait, Kate,” You pull back to look at her wide eyed, “I thought you were kidding.”

The party started at least an hour ago, but because of your indecisiveness on what to wear, which ended up just being a simple v cut blue dress with white high tops. As you both walk up, you stare at the brick house bursting with music. You hear Kate talking, “Party Rules 101. Don’t forget not to go upstairs with anyone. Do not accept a drink from anyone who is not me. I know you will want to leave early, so do not go without telling or texting that you’re heading out either. Okay?”

You blink a few times before you recognize she wants a reply, “Got it.” She smiles at you and takes your hands before walking up the porch steps.

Kate knocks on the white door. You wonder how anyone would be able to hear the knock inside with how loud the music is playing, but not even five seconds later the door is open. The sound of the music makes you take a step back. Anxiety washing over you instantly as you look down. You don’t even hear the words spoken between your friend and the redhead opening the door.

Kate’s hold on your hand tightens in hopes to reassure you before she pulls you along to step inside. It isn’t until Kate’s other hand waves to get your attention off the floor that you look up and realize both girls are staring at you expectedly. “I’m sorry, what?” you say softly.

The redhead chuckles and repeats herself, “Hi, I’m Wanda and the Vice President here. We have two bathrooms downstairs, one by the kitchen and one by the laundry room. Also, two upstairs just in case. Drinks, of course, are in the kitchen or the backyard. Is there anyone you are looking for that I can direct you towards? Or anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’m looking for Yelena actually. Do you know where she is?” Kate quickly replies. “She’s in the living room playing beer pong,” Wanda points over to her left, “Go right through there and you will find her.”

With lightning speed, Kate drops your hand and rushes off to find the blonde. Your mouth hangs open as you stare off in the direction she flew.

The redhead laughs as she looks at you before offering her arm, “Can I escort you anywhere?” Glancing around the foyer, you can't recognize anyone, so you nervously agree and link your arm with hers, “I don’t think I know anyone else here, so anywhere you want to go is fine with me.”

A bright smile spreads on the Vice President's face as she guides you out of the foyer and into the backyard to watch someone attempt a keg stand. You can’t help but look stunned as you watch the girl drink. “Would you like to try?” Wanda startles you with the question. Shaking your head no with absolute certainty that you could never have arm strength or lung capacity.

After a few moments more of watching, she slowly guides you over to the pool. The redhead kicks off her shoes and motions for you to do the same. The two of you sit down along the edge and place your feet in the water. You start to mindlessly kick your feet along to the music that is playing throughout the speakers. “So, am I allowed to ask your name?”

Multiple memories come to mind with times the Vice President has heard your name, “I’m pretty sure you know my name.”

Wanda’s tongue drags underneath the bottom of her teeth, “Oh, I do, but I want to hear it from your pretty, little mouth.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, taking a moment to settle your racing heart, you slowly speak, “Madelyn.”

Deciding to try and control the conversation you cut her off before she could say anything else. “Do you usually take interest in random people that show up to your sorority’s parties?”

She chuckles at your question, “No, not usually. But I would not say you’re a random person. Plus I have never had the pleasure of someone as captivating as you walk through those doors.”

“Yeah, right.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the redhead.

She grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, “Oh I didn’t take you for the bratty type.” You could have sworn that her eyes sparkled when she said that.

You shutter, trying to think of a reply. Your brain is completely lagging at the touch and sound of her voice. Wanda’s thumb moves and pushes between your lips, “Is there anything even going through that little head of yours?”

A small groan rips it way out your throat and your eyelids droop slightly. The redhead pushes down slightly onto your tongue.

Mumbling around her thumb, “Yes.”

The Vice President’s smirks at your reply, “Yes,” She mocks you, “Yes, to what?”

You shift your eyes back to her as you take in the specific color of her eyes, a sparkling green, this time a soft moan comes out of your lips, “Please..”

You think Wanda must take pity on you because suddenly she drops her hand from your mouth. Everything about her seems to return back to when you first walked in the house. She’s back to being sweet and polite, it makes your head spin. “What brings you to the party tonight, Madelyn? Well besides escorting Bishop, of course.”

This was a question you didn’t know how to answer. Why were you here in the backyard of your ex’s sorority spending time with her Vice President? Glancing around the backyard, noticing that you still don't know anyone here, you sigh, “Honestly, I’m not sure. Kate said I needed to come if she got a second date because, apparently, I need to move on.”

“And do you want to?” She looks at you expectantly, “Move on, that is.”

“I don’t even know what I would have to move on from. It’s been months since we broke up. And she didn’t care about me long before that anyways.” You let out a dry laugh, “I don’t even think she liked me. She just liked sex with me.”

The look on the redhead’s face makes you stop your ranting, “Sorry, that is not proper party conversation,” you force out a laugh, “way too depressing.”

She smiles, dragging her eyes down your torso and onto your legs then pulling them back up before landing her eyes back on your face. “How would you like to find something to drink?”

Thankful for her change in conversation, you smile slightly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The two of you make your way through the house and into the kitchen, “What will it be? Beer? Vodka?” walking around the kitchen as you listen to her talk. “... Or maybe a juice box?”

Whipping your head around, you glare at the Vice President, scoffing, “I’m not a child. I can drink alcohol.”

Right after you speak, you hear someone laughing from the archway. “Oh, Wands, what a delightful surprise,” she steps further into the small kitchen, “Tell me you were able to get us this cute little thing to play.”

This makes you snap your head quickly around again. A rush of arousal runs through you when your eyes lock onto the redhead, “And who the hell are you?”

The cheshire smile on her face makes it clear she remembers you, she moves towards you before gently lifting up your hand as she bows her head to place a soft kiss on it, “To you, Madam President.”

“What the fuck.” You snatch your hand away and look towards the sparkling green eyed woman before returning your gaze in front of you.

“Oh, what a dirty mouth, I will have to clean that out.” The redhead smirks at you. Another wave of arousal hits you, gulping as you maintain eye contact, “Like you’d get the chance.”

Wanda speaks up, breaking the growing tension in the room, “Darling, wouldn’t she just be…” walking up and placing a finger under your chin, her voice dropping, “...divine?”

You shutter at her words. Eyes bouncing between the two redheads suddenly much closer to you than before. Realizing they have successfully surrounded you, your arousal spiking but you choose to mask with slight panic. “So what is this then? Two spiders trapping someone in their web and then going in for the kill?” Puffing out your chest slightly, trying to gain back some more control. “You think the President and Vice President would require consent.”

Wanda chuckles in your ear behind you, “Oh dear, we do.” Bringing her finger up to brush some hair behind your ear before speaking softly, “We only accept enthusiastic consent. Absolute begging.”

Your knees wobble slightly at her words. “A little archer told us that you needed to move on, and typically we wouldn’t do rebound sex, but you…” The President takes a sharp inhale through her teeth, “You are too special to pass up.”

“So what do you say, baby, want to be ours for the night?” Wanda whispers.

A million thoughts race through your mind. Most importantly, the fact you’ve never had a threesome or sex with people you don’t really know. You look around the kitchen and notice how nobody else even acknowledges the two redheads circling you like prey.

“I say,” You gulp, mustering all the fake confidence you can find. “I say show me a good time first and we will see.”

The two women share a sinister smile before they each drape an arm around you and walk you out of the kitchen and into a room that only stores a pool table and some chairs.

“We have the next game.” The President says to the small group finishing up their game before walking you over to the side of the room. She lowers her hands to your hips and lifts you with ease onto the barstool behind you.

Shock fills your face at her actions before you glare at her, “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of sitting in a seat by myself.”

The redhead simply smiles at you before moving to stand next to the side of your chair, absentmindedly running fingers through your hair.

“Hello? Earth to you. Usually, when someone speaks to you it's polite to respond.” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. She gently turns your head to look at her. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

“Madelyn, I have a name and it’s not baby.” You scoff, “What is your name anyways?”

She winks at you before smirking, “I told you. To you, it’s Madam President.”

“That’s not a name. That’s a title. What’s your name?” Your eyes met the redhead locked in a standstill. You already know you won’t last long. Her eyes trap you in endless pools of deep green. They are powerful and unmoving, you huff, “What’s your name, Madam President?”

The President lifts her hand and holds your lower lip before pulling it down and out slightly, causing you to look through your lashes to maintain eye contact, the action making you feel as if you’re losing the last shreds of your control. The redhead presses down the slightest bit more before pinching your lip and releasing it, “Natasha.”

Wanda, who has been repeatedly running her fingers from your shoulder to the knee, leans over you slightly if only to be in your personal space, “Natty, it’s our turn now.”

You go to hop down, but yet again your hips are grabbed and you’re picked up and put down by Natasha’s hands. You give her a glare even as a blush starts covering your cheeks.

“Tsk, tsk. Don’t be like that. I would hate to have to spank that gorgeous ass for the first time surrounded by all these people.” Your blush deepens with your embarrassment at the volume the redhead spoke. The heat pooling between your legs only causes you more confusion.

The three of you walk towards the table. Natasha moves to rack the balls and Wanda takes you over to pick out a cue stick, grabbing one for Natasha as well.

It’s decided that you will be on your own team, which you tried to protest by saying you have never played a game of pool in your life, but your complaints fall on deaf ears.

Wanda starts off by breaking the balls, officially starting your unfair game. She gets a solid into a pocket, “That makes you stripes, baby.” She says in a sickeningly sweet voice before getting two more solid balls into pockets.

Standing there with your mouth open, you begin to complain, “This is so unfair. There is no way I will be able to even get close to hitting even one of these balls in!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you in the first round,” Wanda says, holding up her hands. She walks over to you and shows you how to bend down and how to aim your cue stick. You lean down like she showed you but still, you feel her hand press down between your shoulders as she speaks in your ear, “Like this, darling. Eyes level with your target.”

Acutely aware this position has almost completely folded in half on the pool table, you pull back the stick and then push it forward with a decent amount of force.

And you completely miss.

To make matters worse, you got one of their balls closer to the pocket instead. Groaning, you stand up and look unamused at the two redheads who are both trying to hold back their smiles at your reaction, “This game is stupid.”

Natasha comes up to the table, leans down, noticeably higher than the position Wanda moved you into. She breathes in and out, then hits the cue ball, causing it to sink a solid ball into the nearby pocket. She glances up at you, smirking, while still leaning down. Causing a completely automatic eye roll. The redhead arches her eyebrow at you before moving to a new spot. She leans down, breathes in and out, and.. misses. “HA!” You cheer as your stripe ball goes into the pocket instead of the solid ball that was next it.

You walk up to the table for your turn and glance to Wanda for her help again. Natasha subtly shakes her head, which you don’t notice since she was behind you. Wanda simply gives you a nod of her head, encouraging you to try by yourself. So you lean down and focus on which ball you’re aiming for and what pocket is your goal.

Breathing in and out a few times before pulling back your cue stick on your inhale and pushing it forward on your exhale. As the stick connects with the cue ball you feel a stinging on your ass. You immediately stand up and spin around with a glare, “Hey! That’s not fair.”

The President laughs as she looks over your head, “Well, it seemed like good luck because you got the ball in.”

Spinning around again to see if she was lying but there, clear as day, you see your stripe ball missing from the table and sitting in the pocket. “Don’t think for a second that I won't punish whiny, bratty behavior though, baby.” Natasha whispers in your ear, her front flush against your back, “Now, say thank you.”

You shiver at her words. The logical part of your brain can’t stop wondering why you should thank her for spanking you, but when you feel her hands on your hips as she pulls them closer to her own, that part of your mind goes blank. The heat between your legs grows even hotter and you let out a soft sigh before fingers hook under your chin and guide you to look up at Natasha, “Say thank you.” She softly growls.

“Thank you.” It comes out more as a pant than actual words but the redhead is pleased enough.

The rest of the game crawls by slowly as each redhead tries to work you up with innocent touches and whispered words. Your head becomes fuzzy in the best way, but even in this state you are completely aware that every other stripe ball that’s gone in is because of Wanda and Natasha simply trying to keep the game going.

With all solid and striped balls now off the table it’s down to whoever can sink the 8 ball in the game.

Wanda glances at you before smirking, “What if we make a little bet out of this?”

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Are you joking? This whole thing is already a game of if you two can get me into bed.” Natasha licks her lips at your words, causing your cheeks to blush even more than they were.

The Vice President ignores your reply, “Great! So I was thinking, if we sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show,” you arch your eyebrow at the redhead, “and if you sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show.” She winks at you.

“That’s absolutely-” You're cut off by Natasha speaking, “Deal.”

“Deal?” You shriek as the two redheads shake each other's hand, “You two cannot agree on this without me also agreeing.”

They both come up to you and place a hand on your cheek, “And do, baby?” Wanda mumbles into your ear. Right after Natasha says, smirking, “Wanna make a deal?”

Your skin flushes at their voices, your mind hanging onto their every word. You slowly close your eyes and your head falls back slightly. Wanda lowers her head to breathe along your neck, occasionally brushing her tongue against it while Natasha’s fingers tangle around your hair, pulling it back.

A soft moan hits your ears, shocking you when you realize it came from you. Suddenly coming back to yourself, you lightly push off the women, clearing your throat to try and fake your control over yourself once again. “If I sink the 8 ball,” you take a deep breath, “then I decide the next time you touch me.”

Both redheads simply nod their heads in agreement before extending their arms to allow you space for your shot. Looking over the table and considering all the choices you quickly realize that you absolutely have no shot at winning. Ignoring every other reason besides the obvious one, you didn’t want to win.

But you wouldn’t make it apparent to the President and Vice President.

So you lean down, “Corner pocket.” You spend a considerable amount of time figuring out your angle and practicing the strength of your hit. With one more inhale, you pull back the cue stick then exhale and strike the cue ball.

You hit the 8 ball but it stops just short of falling into the pocket. You give a shy smile to the women before stepping back.

There’s a silent conversation going on between the redheads before Wanda nods and steps up to the table. “Corner pocket.” She winks at you before aiming at the cue ball and without any delay she strikes. The 8 ball disappearing into the corner pocket.

Without even a second to think, your feet are suddenly lifted into the air and over Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda comes up to grab the cue stick from you and places it on the pool table.

Once you realize the redhead plans to walk out of the parlor room with you over her shoulder, you begin to protest, “Wait. Wait. I can walk. You don’t have to think I’ll back out of the bet.”

You feel a soft hand brush the back of your thigh as the sparkling green eyed woman steps into your view.

“Oh, baby, we know, but Natty here is a very proud winner and wants to show you off,” her thin fingers smoothing down your hair. You stare at her dumbfounded as she swipes her thumb across your lower lip, “If you’re a good girl then we’ll give you an extra special reward. Can you do that for us?”

The Vice President allows you your time to process as you blink a few times before nodding your head.

A swift smack to your ass has you gasping as Natasha corrects your action, “Words baby.”

“Yes.” Another softer smack to your ass. “Yes, I can be a good girl.”

Both redheads make a pleased humming sound before walking out of the room. You try to avoid eye contact with all the partygoers. The blush across your face and chest only grows at your slight embarrassment.

It isn’t long until you're walking up to the stairs. Suddenly stopping right at the bottom, trying to turn your body at the sound of Kate’s voice. Mortification slams into you when she leans around the redhead holding you to look at your face.

Her tone relentlessly teasing, “Now, I thought I told you not to go upstairs with anyone,” the memory of her words at your arrival pulled to the front of your mind.

Rolling your eyes at your roommate only caused her to laugh further at your predicament.

Yelena speaking prompts the brunette to move back into the circle of conversation with her and the redheads, “Don’t kill the poor girl. It would severely ruin my chances with Bishop.”

Natasha laughs at her sister’s comment, “Please, the only thing she’ll get is mind altering pleasure,” pinching your ass when finishing the sentence. “Now, I’d love to chat, but I have a bet to cash in on.”

Wanda leading the way up the stairs, pausing as Kate speaks, looking up at your roommate, “She has a study group tomorrow morning at 10am! She can’t miss it!”

The redheads laugh, continuing up the stairs, the President turns slightly as she walks and salutes to the brunette, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Less than fifteen steps later, you’re carried into a large room. Your heart stopping completely at the sound of the door closing and locking. As if noticing the slight pure panic, Wanda stands by the door twisting the handle, “It locks from inside, so if you twist the handle, then it’s automatically unlocked,” then she relocks the door.

Nodding your head in thanks and understanding of her words, she gives you a reassuring smile in return.

Then, Natasha lightly throws you onto the bed, a grunt leaving your lips, leaning over you, she smirks. Wanda comes up to sit beside your head and gently rubs your forehead with her thumbs.

The deep green eyed woman locks her eyes with yours before placing a soft kiss on your chest, then throwing herself to the empty side of you.

“Now, don’t keep us waiting,” you turn your head to see sparkling green eyes looking at you.

They wait a few seconds before both women have another silent conversation. Suddenly, you startle the redheads by standing up.

Standing with your hands on your hips, stilling your voice and shifting on your feet, “Well, this will be rather awkward to do in silence.”

The President smirks at you before pulling out her phone and playing ‘Supermassive Black Hole by Muse!’ from her speaker.

Slowly you begin to sway your hips and drag your fingers across your chest. Kicking your shoes off as sexually as you can. You let the song play for about twenty seconds before you lean down and run your nails up your legs stopping where your thighs meet your center.

Turning around, you hook one finger under your right strap and pull it down, staring directly into sparkling green eyes. Then, turning your head to face the other direction and repeat the action, but slower, as you look into the deep green eyes.

Your dress only stays up from pushing out your chest. You continue to dance around until you slowly sit down onto your knees. Rolling onto the ground, your head closer to the women, arching your back as you begin to spread apart your knees. Never looking away from the redheads as your knees hit the floor. Watching as both women tighten their grips on the bed sheets.

Straightening your legs and bringing them back together, slowly using all your core strength to sit up rather than using your hands. You turn around and crawl over to the bed, standing before placing one foot on the President’s thigh.

She brings her hand up to gently hold onto your calf before digging her nails in. Biting your lip at the minimal pain before moving your hands across your chest, breathlessly Natasha speaks, “God, don’t be that much of a tease. Let Daddy see.”

Grabbing her hands, you bring them up to your chest, she squeezes before pulling down your dress exposing your breasts, strangely thanking yourself for foregoing a bra tonight.

The cool air in the room feeling amazing on your burning skin.

Lowering your foot, you walk over to the Vice President and bend how she showed you earlier during your game of pool. A loud hum of approval leaving her mouth.

Keeping your position, you gather the material at the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. Leaving Wanda staring directly at your covered center. Her finger gently travels up the inside of your thighs, never reaching the apex.

Noticing the dark patch on your light gray underwear, she speaks mockingly, “Do you want Mommy and Daddy to take care of that for you?”

A small moan slips out as you feel two different fingers suddenly press against the dark spot.

“Words, baby,” both women huskily say at the same time.

“Please, please,” you’re all but moaning.

A smack on your ass that you can tell was from Wanda by the feeling of rings soothing the sting, “Be specific, baby.”

You breathe in and out a few times before roughly swallowing, “Please, take care of me.”

The redheads, losing their lack of control, slowly decide that your answer was good enough for now, for the first time.

Natasha walks around to face you, her hands find your shoulders and makes you stand up. Wanda moves further back on the bed, removing her shirt and bra before leaning against the pillows.

Grabbing onto the President’s face, you stand on your tip toes and connect your lips to hers. She eagerly begins kissing you back, nipping at your lip. Moving her hands to your ass, smacking your ass lightly, so you’ll jump into her arms.

Continuing to kiss you as she walks to the side of the bed and places you down. Ending your kiss, a low whine comes from you. Sealing your lips quickly but both women have already heard you and have lust flashing through their eyes.

“Now, go ahead and make Mommy feel good while Daddy makes you feel good.” Nodding your head at the redhead’s directions, you turn around and crawl up the bed and between Wanda’s spread legs. She holds up her hands and guides your lips to her nipple.

Natasha begins to massage your ass and tease your slit over your underwear, soaking them further by the second.

Sucking and pulling on the Vice President’s left nipple, bringing your right hand up to roll her right nipple between your fingers. You continue this while feeling the unending teasing around your clit.

Popping off Wanda’s left nipple, you drag your tongue across her chest until you can wrap your lips around the right nipple, twirling your tongue around the nub.

On the first suck, you feel a rush of cool air hit your center as your underwear is pulled down your legs, moaning loudly at the sensation. Without even a second to spare you feel the redhead’s tongue lick up the wetness on your lips before softly pushing her tongue inside your entrance.

Your jaw slacks at the feeling, your head falls away from the needy nipples in front of you. The redhead pulls you back against her nipple, “That’s a good girl. You’re giving Mommy so much pleasure,” holding you close to feel every sound come from your lips, moans of her own filling the room.

Natasha licks her way up to your clit. Giving soft licks before wrapping her lips around your clit, humming, then pulling softly on the bundle of nerves.

Your knees start shaking at the pleasure, causing you to fall further onto Wanda.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble around the nipple.

Bringing her fingers up to your clit, rubbing circles, “Come on, baby. You're such a good girl for us.”

Her fingers slowly push into you, curling slightly against your velvet walls. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. Let Daddy make you cum, alright?”

A truly unholy sound fell from your lips, clenching around Natasha’s fingers, Wanda lifts your head slightly, so you could reply, “Please, make me cum.”

Lowering her mouth back to your clit as she sucks, licks, and nips all over while her fingers continue a relentless pace. Wanda brings her own finger to your nipples and begins rolling them between her fingers. “God, everything about you, baby. Everything is perfect,” pulling at the nubs blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

“Fuck,” your voice cracking at exclamation. Shaking from the stimulation, the coil in your stomach tightens more with each second.

Wanda leans her head forward next to your ear, “Come for Mommy, baby. Come all over Daddy.”

A simultaneous pinch from the Vice President's fingers on your nipples and the President's pinch on your clit has a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a scream rips from your throat as you cum all over Natasha’s face and fingers and fall on top of Wanda.

Dragging out your orgasm not stopping until she's pulled every sound from your lips does she begin to lick up all traces of your orgasm, sitting up and moving towards the other. You look up just in time to see them share a deep kiss, each moaning at the taste of you on their tongues.

Breaking apart, deep green eyes look at you, “Do you have another one in you, baby? You came hard enough to drown me,” lust shining in her eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just make me cum that hard again,” your eyes pleading.

Smirking at you, Wanda moves you to scoot down the bed, tapping your thighs. It takes a second for you to realize where she wants you, but you quickly move to hover above her face. Natasha settles between her girlfriends thighs, removing her skirt and underwear in one pull, “Now, this will be a sight to see,” lowering her mouth immediately, sucking the redhead’s clit into her mouth the way she likes.

Biting your lip at the sight, you sit down, your eyes connecting with the deep green ones between the redhead’s thighs. Allowing the Vice President to move you where she’s most comfortable. Feeling her tongue push into your entrance has you arching your back.

Natasha’s fingers move to Wanda’s clit, rubbing at a brutal pace. Below you the redhead sucks in a sharp breath. Moving to drag her teeth along your clit.

Your hips arch at the feeling, soft grunts passing from your lips, “Shit.”

Pulling you back against the redhead’s mouth, “Tsk, tsk, where do you think you’re going, baby girl?”

Rutting your hips against the face below you. Moans and pleas mumbling out of your mouth at the suction of your clit. Natasha sits up, keeping her fingers on Wanda’s clit, and leans towards you. Digging your nails into her shoulders, as she begins to leave soft bites along your chest before kissing up your neck.

Inhaling sharply as her teeth sink into your pulse point, sucking harshly on the delicate skin, “Such a dirty mouth.”

The pleasure on your clit increases, building up your orgasm quickly. Moaning as you drag your nails down the redhead’s back.

Wanda becomes sloppy underneath you, hinting at her own release coming soon. “Mommy’s getting close. Come with Mommy, baby,” Natasha mumbles against your neck, pushing you right to the edge.

Sucking your earlobe into her mouth and biting down on your soft skin, “Seeing how you ride Mommy’s face makes me wonder how well you would ride Daddy’s dick,” her words sending both you and the woman beneath you over the edge.

The Vice President slowly licks your cunt to clean you as the President drags her finger through her girlfriend’s release. Bringing them up to your mouth, “Be a good girl,” and pushing them between your lips.

A sinful moan escapes both of your lips, though for different reasons. Exhaustion riding through your body allows Natasha to gently lift you off Wanda’s face and leans you against the pillows.

Your eyelids fight too close to receive a moment of rest, quickly winning over your desire to stay conscious. Both women get off the bed walking into the en-suite and cleaning themselves up quickly, returning with a towel for you.

Noticing your sleeping form, the two exchange a look before Wanda’s soft hands spread your knees and gently clean you up.

“She’s perfect for us,” the President whispers.

“She is, but how can we convince her of that,” the Vice President whispers back.

As a plan forms in her mind, the redhead smirks, “We will just have to show her.”

Wanda throws the towel aiming for the laundry hamper, but misses, before laying down into the bed next to you. Natasha follows suit, listening to the music thrum downstairs while closing her eyes.

Groaning and swatting at the air when you hear the familiar sounds of a phone alarm going off.

Your messy morning hair is removed from your face, startling you into opening your eyes. Confusion flashing through you until you see two pairs so similar yet different green eyes.

“Wha-,” you begin, but are cut off.

“I would have let you sleep in more, baby, but we need to get you dressed for your study group. The last thing I need is my little sister trying to murder me for ruining her chances with the archer.”

Blinking a few times, begging for your brain to catch up, yet all your mind can think of is, “Her name is Kate.”

The redheads smile at you, “Yes, of course, we apologize,” Wanda says sincerely.

With a pat on your thigh, Natasha sits up, “Now, I don't think you want to go to your study group in that little blue dress you were wearing last night, so you can borrow something of ours.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can just run to my dorm. I need to brush my teeth anyway, so it’s okay.” However the looks you receive fills your mind with doubt, “What time is it?”

“9:45am,” Wanda grimaces. Your jaw falls open at the realization that you will definitely not make it in time unless you go straight there. Cursing yourself for not understanding your math course better and needing to go to the study groups in the first place, with a deep breath you look up at the women, “Show me the outfit.”

Standing in the mirror you can’t complain. It was a simple pair of medium washed jeans, though slightly too long since you are shorter than both women, they have been cuffed and paired with a loose long sleeve shirt sporting their sorority name and logo. You felt a bit like a walking advertisement. The worst part, yet best part, was the sports bra Natasha gave you to wear.

Cringing as you put on your soiled underwear from the night before, you throw on your shoes and tie your hair into your best messy, not messy, bun. Hurrying down the stairs towards the front door. To your surprise, the redheads follow behind you. Thinking they must be the type to walk out guests, you say nothing.

Reaching for the door handle, you're cut off by Wanda’s ring-covered hand opening the door for you, extending her arm in an ‘after you, ladies first’ motion.

Arching an eyebrow at the action before turning to face them, “Thank you for the clothes. I’ll return them washed by the end of next week, swear,” beginning to turn back around before stopping and facing them again, whispering, “and thank you for last night too,” then rushing down the steps of the porch.

Stepping out of the doorway both women laugh before replying, “Now, that you don’t need to thank us for.” Trying to hide your blush from the redheads as you speed walk down the sorority's front lawn, checking your phone for the time, seven minutes to get there, thinking ‘I can do it’ as you break out into a run across campus.

#shay writes #wandanat x reader #wandanat x reader smut #wandanat #wandanat smut #wandanat fic #sorority au #college au

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lupinsweater · 10 months ago

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Lunch✨

a small drabble based off of a conversation with @moonlightspencie and @amiableness that you can find here

pairings: james potter x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT minors DNI, desperate!james, oral (fem receiving), this is just straight up porn

word count: 471

I could eat that girl for lunch

Yeah, she dances on my tongue

Tastes like she might be the one

“Come on, darling, let go for me,” James coaxed, his voice sending vibrations between your folds as he suckled on your clit, his fingers curling inside of you in slow, deliberate pumps at your encouraging moans. He had been at this for well over an hour- somewhere along the way you had lost count of how many times he had brought you over the edge.

“Can’t, Jamie,” you pleaded, your legs trembling from the overstimulation. Your thighs and the sheets below you were pooled with your slick, and you had tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He moaned into your dripping pussy- it was obvious that just eating you out was enough to get him close to his own release.

James continued to lap at you like a man starved- his eagerness to get you wetter and more fucked out for him obvious. Your fingers closed around the sheets next to you as you attempted to grasp at anything to keep you from squirming. He pulled away from you for a moment, his head resurfacing from between your legs as he gave you a smug and lust-filled smirk, his eyes glazed and his face soaked with your cum.

“Oh, but you can, baby. Just one more time for me, please,” James said as he leaned up to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue- you didn’t have enough time to dwell on it before he pulled away and was back between your legs. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging desperately. He groaned at the feeling, gripping your thighs tighter.

You could feel James moving slowly- you propped yourself up just enough to see him grinding down into the bed, desperate to relieve his aching cock. You watched, transfixed, as his moans grew closer together and his ministrations to you grew more desperate. His hips stuttered, and he moaned helplessly into your aching core. You clenched around his fingers as you toppled over the edge with him, the sight of him finishing in his pants enough to bring you to your own release. James pulled away as you finally stilled, kissing a trail from your stomach up to your lips. You kissed hazily for a few moments before he pulled away, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

James gazed down at you as he wrapped you up into his arms. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice filled with concern and affection.

You smiled, opening your eyes to look at him once more. “More than okay,” you replied, your voice a soft murmur. “That was incredible.”

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. “You’re incredible,” he said, his tone sincere and full of adoration. “Can we do that again?”

“Give me a few hours and then we can talk, James.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter drabble #shay’s drabbles #james potter smut #james potter fic #18+ mdni #mdni

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sun-snatcher · 2 months ago

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( all credits to @bankaizen from this phenomenal gifset ! )

✠ | LIGHT HATH NO TONGUE ; SHAY CORMAC

summ. A lethal injury blurs the line between friend & foe. pairing. Shay Cormac / Assassin!f!reader w.count. 12.7k (WHEW.) tags. no y/n , porn-with-prose , fluff & smut galore , whump, pre-established lovers-to-enemies , & enemies-to- …something? , forbidden lovers trope , religious references , catholic guilt if you squint a lil a/n. More suitable on AO3! Regardless, I hope you enjoy Shay Cormac doing the nasty by yours truly. Hugs & kisses to the lovely @amariyad for beta-reading!

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; If it could speak as well as spy, This were the worst that it could say - That being well, I fain would stay, And that I loved my heart and honour so, That I would not from her, that had them, go.

— John Donne, “Break of Day”

“SO YOU MEAN to tell me,” Connor says, in the aftermath of a lengthy silence, “That he saved your life, and delivered you back to the Colonies himself?”

“Yes. Gave Faulkner quite the fright seeing his flag flown in the waters,” you add, finding yourself perturbed at how Connor hasn’t yet turned to face you. The Assassin has one ear tuned to you and another to the stag he’s been tracking in the snow. Only his insular, hard-set profile can be seen underneath his beaked hood as he nocks an arrow, and it makes you wonder what it is exactly he’s thinking between the knot of his brows.

Connor inhales. Draws his bow. Relea—

His usual perch creaks in uncharacteristic protest. In a flash, the stag startles, and leaps into the underbrush, vanishing beyond the thicket.

He huffs.

You never thought you’d imagine yourself saying, “Speak your mind, Connor,” to the bluntest, most forthright man alive you’ve ever had the grace of knowing (and, in a way, raising), but alas, here he is answering you with that usual impassive look that rattles you to the core. He always looked so much like his father whenever he pulls that face.

“I’m glad you are well,” he allows, truthfully, once both of you had descended the treetops. Though Achilles had done most of his training, you’d also been enough of a presence in his life to be a second mentor when you came by, and grew to be an even closer friend. “I was beginning to think the worst when you didn’t write back. Come. Let us check the snares.”

You both lead yourselves further out the forest, back towards the border of the Homestead. Connor tells you what he’s done so far while you’d been away; recruitments, marshaling intelligence with Aveline in Louisiana, and restrengthening the foundations of the Colonial Brotherhood again.

Achilles would be proud, you’d told, and after he’d gathered and skinned his game, and quietly made headway back home, finally caved.

“Shay Cormac,” Connor begins curiously. “What is he to you?”

“He’s an--”

“Idiot,” you murmur, in an undertone that buries into the Captain’s very marrows. “…You should’ve left me behind.”

Never, is the instinctive thought. Then, bitterly: Aye, I should’ve left you a long time ago— In the bloody past; as I had done with the Brotherhood.

“That so?” Shay says instead, between the battledrum of alarum in his ears. His words are surely wavering from the crippling panic, but he has to keep you conscious for as long as he can. A buck-shot in the gut is too dangerous to let you fall asleep on. “An’ why’s that?”

You still feel the warmth of his palm around your nape, holding you close and safe and secure to his chest; where you can hear the rampant thundering of his heart. He’d done this before, once upon a time, neath the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, when you two were everything but—

“Enemies,” you shiver. The bloodloss has you feeling cold. “We’re enemies, Shay.”

And yet.

Here you are. In the arms of a Templar; the sworn enemy.

For weeks during the hunt you’d teased him on the irony; how God must’ve been playing a cruel joke on him to have to chase turncoats of his own Order. You can hardly piece together how or when this truce even came to be. Something about both of you going after Templar-turned-mercenaries, except his intent had been borne out of duty, and yours out of vengeance for a late friend.

“Aye,” he laments. “That we are, dove.” Then, chidingly, “An’ still y’took the bloody shot for me.”

Your laugh is sudden. Weak.

Wet with blood and barely a whisper, really. And if Shay hadn’t known you as intimately, then he might not have heard it at all— but he does, and so he did. “Well, I must surely be dying, then.” Your winsome smile is damningly red, and so, so tired. “I haven’t heard you call me that in…”

Ages, you mean to continue, beginning to slip from him. When we were on the same side.

Shay calls your name. It’s distant. Underwater. Vibrating from the hollow of his high-collared throat you’re tucked firmly against, and travelling like a soothing frisson into your aching bones. You’re drifting, unmoored, somewhere between a sea of blinding pain and of numbness; of the waking world and the dreaming.

“No, no, none’a that, c’mon. Y’can’t go to sleep yet, dove,” he hurries. “Eyes on me, now, aye? Attagirl.”

Had they been closed? You didn’t realise. The world’s tilted and swaying at an angle, and you can’t recall just how long you’ve been fighting to stay awake the moment Shay had whisked you away in his arms after the firefight you’d both encountered. It’d been an ambush. You’d caught the silver glint of a flintlock in the starlit night, and a blink later, you’re lying in a puddle of red where Shay should have been instead.

(Instinct. It’d been instinct to take the hit. You’d have done it ten times over, because you’re a fool like that. Somewhere in the blurry haze, you think you can hear Liam grumbling defiantly over your shoulder like he always used to do when you came to Shay’s defense.)

Y’bloody amadán, Shay had scrambled, looking the most terrified you’d ever seen him. Why’d you fuckin’ do that?!

“Why not?” you answer him now, delirious from the bloodloss. You’ve carefully been deposited onto a cot, it seems. A silhouette shifts quickly about the room. The air clots thick with the disgusting tang of metal and the sharp salt-winds of the sea. It makes you want to heave.

“Because if y’do, then I won’t see those pretty eyes’a yours, dove,” Shay replies, smart as ever. “Come now, keep talkin’ t’me, aye? Y’know I like hearing your beautiful voice.”

Liar, you hiss. At least, you think you do. Every sense in your body is guttering wildly between nothingness and white-hot pain. You want to tell him everything hurts. That your stomach feels flayed and you want the pain to stop. You want to tell him that you’re fucking terrified; that you don’t want to die. You want to tell him everything. Anything. I missed you. I hate you. I’m sorry. I love— I don’t love you. Why did it have to be this way? Why did you go? Please, don’t go. Not again.

“Thought y’wanted me to leave y’behind, dove?” comes his answer. Had you spoken aloud? There’s a thread of dry amusement in the low timbre of his words. You recognise the raw fear in them, regardless. It’s crept to the hazel-brown of his eyes.

“Hey, look at me. Doctor’s gonna keep your body an’ soul together, aye?” He must have pulled a chair to your side sometime earlier, wherever it is you are now, because he’s come to meet your half-lidded gaze in a doting hush. “S’alright, m’not goin’ anywhere. Y’have my word. Just stay awake, dove. Stay with me.”

Stay with me. You try to recall why that sounds so familiar.

“Hey, hey. Eyes open,” he reminds you, voice faint as the Doctor makes quick work with removing every musket ball embedded in your flesh. The shot had been poor; a desperate attempt at a final, killing blow. It’d fortunately only clipped through your side as you shoved Shay from the crossfire.

When you writhe at the surgical digging, let out a whine that’s caught between a pitiful cry and a howl— “I know, I know,” Shay breathes, all teeth and grit and grief as he muscles you back down. He couldn’t flat out say, you’re gonna be alright, you’ll pull through, because he couldn’t lie to save his own life— much less yours.

It’s inadequate, but it’s all he can offer you as he cradles your face and pets your hair, “Lord above, it should’a been me. I’m sorry, dove. I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes go dazed and faraway as your head lulls. You think you hear the Doctor saying something about your strength failing, beneath the gossamer cloud of the void. “Shay?”

“M’right here, dove.”

I’m glad it wasn’t you.

His hands are trembling from adrenaline. When had he removed his gloves? You suppose it doesn’t matter. You like it when he touches you. You like the feel of him swiping at the strands across your forehead, of him thumbing away the tear running down your cheek. There’s something about seeing the tender side of him again that makes you feel safe, underneath all the split knuckles and the rough around his edges. It reminds you of—

“—Home.” You choke back your tears, but they well anyway when you abruptly plead, blindly reaching for him between the marbling spots in your vision, “I want— I want to go home.”

Something splinters in Shay’s heart. You’re reduced to a dizzy, disoriented mess of homesickness, mumbled between sharp, staccato breaths: Nostalgia for the docks. Back in New York. Days of youth, with Liam. When the three of you were young and dumb and free, and neither the Brotherhood nor the Order had stood between you all. When war and bloodshed and being torn asunder sounded like the makings of a bad dream.

“Aye, love, we’ll go. We’ll go, then,” he soothes. There’s a burn licking up the back of his eyes as your grip in his hands begin to loosen. His voice rasps like stone. Liam is long gone. Home is gone. Now it seems you might be taken from him, too. Surely this lie, great as it is, wouldn’t count against him; not when it’s meant to give you a measure of peace?

“We’ll take the Morrigan, an’ we’ll set sail. Might even let you steer ‘er yourself, how about that? We’ll spot a whale or two. Y’ever seen one’a those? You just— Just stay with me, aye? Stay with me, love, please. Just a little longer.”

Stay with me, he’d said, that time you’d first crossed paths with him following his apparent death. You remember now. It’d been like meeting a phantom. Please. We can save the world together.

“I can’t, Shay,” you reply, then; Now. “I can’t.”

The world dips into dark.

Shay doesn’t pray, but it’s a very close thing.

He isn’t exactly the type. He thinks he ought to, though, for someone as warforged and broken as him. But repentance had been more his Ma’s thing, as far as he remembers being told of her Catholicism. The gold cross he inherited is just that. Memorabilia. A vestigial haunt of the past. A slow, tightening noose around his neck—

A lot like you.

“If she breaks the fever, she may just make it,” the Doctor had said. “You’re lucky you got her down to me quick enough.”

I make my own luck, comes the lightning reflex. But he catches himself. Glances at you in the cot. Your pulse is as delicate as a butterfly’s wing, chest rising and falling so minutely he had to keep making sure you’re still breathing to calm himself.

You’ve been balancing the tightrope for days; Threading the needle. This is far from lucky.

He shifts his collar, unclasps the cross from his neck, and closes it gently into your palm. It isn’t him who needs a miracle, after all, and repentance does not fit the likes of Shay Cormac.

Revenge does.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

— John Donne, “Death Be Not Proud”

You wake, and sleep, and wake, and sleep.

Between it all, Shay’s voice croons like an interlude. Shifting in the peripherals of your diaphanous, muslin-thin haze somewhat like an angel, incandescent with righteous fury smouldering in his eyes. He promises home. He promises justice. He promises divine retribution. Fallen, you correct yourself. A fallen angel.

You glean the Morrigan’s been anchored at Port La Joye for nearly a week, after you’re able to reconcile your left from right and your dreams from reality.

The crew are good, honest, working men. Fathers who have daughters; brothers who’ve sisters; sons of mothers. Shay runs a tight ship, but he’s made sure to not involve and tie them into Templar-Brotherhood shadow business, you gather, because they rejoice once they see you back on your feet (“Glad to see ye right as rain, lass! So will the Cap’n. Never seen his face lookin’ white as a ghost before.” “More like Hell on earth! Ach, I pity th’ poor souls he’s after, truly.”), and more than willingly help you with filling in the blanks of the timeline from when you’d been shot back in Halifax and untethered from existence.

Then it takes another 3 days before the Captain returns to his ship—

And only a mere second to cross the distance between you two once he sees you, idle in his quarters.

“You’re awake,” Shay breathes, as if he’d just breached a terrible tidal wave; as if seeing you is like daybreak after a seastorm. “You’re—”

“Please tell me that’s not your blood, Cormac.”

He blinks. Takes in the dread reflected in your eyes. Right. He’d hunted down the scents of the remaining Templar turncoats that’d slipped from him back in Yarmouth and, like a starving hound to fresh meat, had slaughtered them as a farmer would a voluntary culling. “Aye,” he agrees, grimly. “None’a it’s mine.”

His face is practically drenched with dark splatters, and his usual calm temperament has gone withdrawn. In the dim, swinging lantern light, he looks like the slow-crawl beginning of a ghost story. “I take it they’ve all been… handled.”

Shay doesn’t skip the bitterness in your tone. “I would’ve saved y’one,” he replies, “For y’to avenge your friend yourself. But it’s not like y’were in any condition.”

A seemingly endless moment passes.

��Thank you, Shay.”

He winces.

“Don’t— thank me, for murder.” Shay knows enough about himself to still find the act of killing repulsive, however much he had an affinity for it, or so Haytham constantly liked to claim. (He hasn’t yet managed to shake out the way the turncoats begged and bayed for mercy; hasn’t yet silenced Adéwalé’s final words those years ago—)

“I mean for saving me,” you correct, pointedly. “I’m not the type to appreciate people killing in my name.”

Shay drops his shoulders at that. Hadn’t realised just how tense he’d been. The long weeks of voyage, fretting over you, and the blind pursuit for reve— justice— suddenly seemed to weigh on him. There are old aches he’s been ignoring that sting now, like angry, insistent contusions.

“I’ve set course back to New York,” he says, stiffly, unsure how else to inhabit the silence. “With the winds an’ a little bit’a luck, we’ll be there before winter.”

A beat.

You finally look at him. Truly look at him. Beyond the blood stains and the prickly defensive walls he’s put up since you’d first dealt the truce with him. Beyond the donned Templar uniform and the Captainship.

He’d been afraid, you realise. Has been. You try to imagine what it might’ve been like from his perspective; that it must have been terrifying to have been in his shoes, watching the last of his childhood friendships die out (and for him, no less); watching a piece of his heart d—

Shay is still. Glacially so.

There’s that post-adrenaline jitter in his eyes that you’re familiar with yourself; caught somewhere between fight-flight-freeze. Paralysed in survival mode. The ugly type that lingers after gruesome violence, and you’re left scorched with little else of your humanity but the animalistic remnants of raw, buzzing energy that leads you spiraling downwind if you don’t steady yourself quick enough.

(Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget Shay Cormac is just a man doing what he believes is right.)

“Christ,” you sigh, before reaching out to grab his lapels. You tug him to you, ignore the confusion in his eyes as you set him on his bed with a stubborn Sit down, Cormac, and draw a chair (the very same, you later note, that he’d sat in to watch over you through the restless nights when you’d been recovering) beside him.

“A little bit of luck?” you parrot, unimpressed. You toe the pail of fresh water prepared by the bedside closer to your feet, and reach in to wring the frayed cloth damp. “Don’t you make your own luck, Cormac?”

“You—” He elects to protest, but when your hand sets on his cheek demandingly, and you begin to clean away the blood splatters and cruor on his face, he finds the words fail to take shape.

Shay should stop this. It’s the right thing to do. Neither of you owe each other anything now. He had saved your life as you did his; the scales are balanced. Scores even. Debts repaid. With this distance, this proximity— knees bumping against knees, face inches apart— all it would take to cut down another crucial pillar of the Brotherhood is a swift blade to the jugular.

He could be done with it. He could be done with you. He—

—wants to kiss your palm.

When had been the last time the both of you had trusted each other enough to be this vulnerable? Unarmed. Armours off. Skin against skin. Nothing but the hope, the blind faith, that the other wouldn’t strike at the open opportunity?

Shay finds himself leaning into your touch near imperceptibly, instead.

You press your palm to his jaw, thumb at the scar below his eye. His gloved hand circles your wrist, relishing in the pulse, the warmth—

“You’re alive,” he finally manages. Chants it in his head, practically, like Church prayer and hymn, along with the rest of his rioting thoughts that’s unspooling like yarn: of doldrums, how still the sea gets, how his Da used to tell him the calm is the most dangerous kind of waters to sail. He thinks of how still you had been, boneless in his arms and slack on the cot with nothing but blood on your face and stomach and hands.

Then he thinks of his Ma, too; (She must’ve been like that after he’d been born. Motionless. Still.) And is reminded of the gospel his Aunt once read to him on a lown Sunday: of the tale of Lazarus, who’d been raised from the dead with nothing but words. Shay thinks of you here, now, resurrected; has half the mind to properly worship God again like you’d been a miracle come to life.

But calling it a miracle would’ve been generous. You fought to live.

“I must sound crazy,” Shay swallows, awkwardly.

Your eyes dart between the bob of his Adam’s apple and the seam of his lips so quickly he could’ve been imagining it.

“No, not really.” You tear your gaze away, soak and wring the cloth from the tinges of dull crimson. “I know a little bit of what it’s like to see a ghost too, remember?”

1756. When Shay had all but abandoned the Brotherhood, and you’d gasped out a plea while you tried to intervene Chevalier from firing right at him— and then, reappearing the year afterwards like an apparition, except this time you had called out for him in a whisper of nervous recognition. You’re alive.

Shay Cormac is your ghost just as much as you’re his.

You move to take his hand, carefully remove his gloves to clean the split knuckles, the old scabs. The dried blood sitting in the cracks and crevices of his palms, his fingernails. (Pontius Pilate, Shay shudders. Are you absolving him, he wonders? Or had he lost your forgiveness the day he decided to turn his back to the Brotherhood?)

“Y’don’t have to do this,” he rasps, and very nearly tags dove at the end of it. “Not for me.”

“You’re right,” you hum. “I don’t.”

You don’t stop. Shay just sits and stares at you. The lantern illuminates above you like a proverbial halo, and Shay takes the opportunity to admire; to carve into memory every divot and slope of your face lest he never gets the chance again.

“You’re—”

“Don’t,” you say, teeth set at the familiar tone.

—Beautiful, he doesn’t get to say. Angelic. “Alive.”

“Yes,” you patiently say. “I am.”

He’s bruised and scratched and sweating from the exertion of his manhunt, now looking at you in that deep, soulful way you’ve always known him for— but his expression, you notice, is open and unbearably, unrepentantly soft.

“Before I forget.” The cloth is returned into the bucket, and you lean back to your seat to reach your collar. His Ma’s gold cross finds its way back to him.

“Y’needed it more than I,” he says.

You huff. It’s a far cry of your trademark smile. Shay hangs onto the rare sight of it regardless. “Well, not anymore. Besides, isn’t it the faithless who need it most?”

Shay isn’t quite sure how to answer.

But he settles on just saying “Aye,” because declaring It’s you who makes me believe in God would’ve been too candid.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And do run still, though still I do deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more.

— John Donne “A Hymn to God the Father”

“--old friend of mine.”

“He wanted to kill the old man.”

“No,” you scold, in the most motherly way you can summon. “Haytham wanted to kill Achilles. It was Shay who convinced him otherwise.”

“It changes nothing. He is still a Templar, and a traitor.”

You wince at that. Connor notices. “Yes, as so everyone often likes to remind me. But Shay Cormac was my friend first. We grew up together in New York.”

Now that. That he hadn’t known. He hadn’t gathered your relationship with the Captain may have predated even your allegiance with the Brotherhood.

Unbidden, Connor couldn’t help but think of Kanen’tó:kon. Of what and how much he would give to go back to simpler times. “I understand,” he says, at last.

“Yes. It’s hard not to care,” you admit, as the Homestead came into view. Your hand settles on your stomach, where the healing pockmark wound of the killshot still marrs your flesh in taut, pale scar-tissue. Connor eyes the movement. “Quit looking at me like that,” you say, put out by his scrutiny.

“Like what?”

Like Haytham; like Achilles. Like I’m a turncoat. “Like I’m pregnant,” you blurt, offended. “I was shot in the stomach, Connor. Are you touched in the head?”

“I’m not,” he retorts childishly, wrinkling his nose. (It makes you wonder if it’s a trait of one, or an elision of both his parents.) “If we cross paths with Shay Cormac again—” he begins to deflect, and oh, now he truly is sounding like the Haytham Kenway and Achilles Davenport you knew—

“I came to that realisation long before you have, Connor,” you cut, in a manner which meant for him to tread lightly. But he’s a Kenway through and through, and states, boldly: “Yet here you stand, by his mercy.”

You frown. Land softly from off a bough and into the glittering snowbank beside him. In hindsight, it isn’t unfair for Connor to question your loyalty. You hadn’t yet confessed to him you’d been the first one to act out of turn and warrant Shay’s indebtedness, after all.

“Speak plainly, Kenway.” You needn’t tell him twice. Connor is not one to skirt the edge or beat around the bush.

“I think--”

“Any closer, an’ you’ll fall overboard,” warns Shay. “Won’t save y’a next time around.”

But he figures you might not care at all, and he couldn’t blame you: Beyond the stern a lovely gam of whales have been breaching the white-capped waves, playfully trailing after the Morrigan’s wake in delightful song, where you listen, enthralled; captivated.

“I might just,” he hears you lament to yourself. “Oh, I wish I could take one home.”

There’s a small, sincere smile on your face that you’re not completely letting him see, but—

Jesus, Mary an’ all the Saints, Shay admires. You’re heaven-sent.

All of the Morrigan thinks so too. Not even a week into the voyage, the crew had taken to their new lady-guest with welcoming arms, and Shay’s never had the pleasure of witnessing his merry band of seamen trip over their own heels trying to make your sail back home as comfortable and hospitable as can be until now. You recover, and acclimate well and swiftly, so it’s no surprise they like you;

The easygoing angel-face who could not only take a joke but could also give one, who isn’t soft to fierce thunderstorms nor spoiled rotten to turn your nose up at hardtack; who offers sage advice on their womanly woes and whispers embarrassing tales of their rough-around-the-edges Captain every now and then when the sun beat too hard.

Shay allows the tongue-in-cheek jabs, ofcourse. He claims so on the pretense of boosting good morale— really, he just likes listening to your voice; especially when it meant you spoke of him in that wistful manner he hadn’t heard in years: fond, and so charged with… something.

“Childhood friends with Cap’n, eh?” Someone had mused, one sluggish, warm sunrise. “Nothin’ else beyond that, m’lady? What? Oh, come off it, Hoskins— I may not be her type, but she’d surely never give your sorry face a chance!”

“We’re—” you’d caught Shay’s wandering eye from the helm. “—friends,” you allowed, between the crew’s jostling. “Until New York, that is.”

Shay had held your gaze until you turned away.

It isn’t as if the atmosphere between you two is cold, though neither is it exactly pleasant. It’s been cordial, and amicable, and perfectly courteous, yes— but there’s something high-strung in the air even the salt-winds couldn’t cut through, and any man aboard with sense and a working pair of eyes could see it.

(“Ach, friends?!” Came a whisper that late night. It was the Morrigan’s Navigator, their most keen-eyed; it seems, even in people. “I been tellin’ yous since we left port, mates: No man comes back bleedin’ like the Devil ‘imself and suffers like the Cap’n did for their own glory. To him, she’s worth the pain, and twice more.”)

Howbeit, he’ll take what he can get, Shay supposes. An unspoken agreement seemed to have solidified that the usual back-and-forth arguing from when you’d both first started the truce would be pointless now, and most of all useless on your trip back. That means conversations are brief and civil, but it’s far better than animosity or being completely ignored.

“Fancy havin’ a go of the Morrigan?” Shay offers out of the blue, amid an uneventful afternoon. It’s more a measured, wary gesture of banter. Then, before you can decline; “C’mere,” he reaches for your hand, guides you to stand between him and the steer. “Go on, she doesn’t bite.”

“Shay, this is a terrible idea.”

“Y’survived a gunshot, lass,” he snorts as he settles you at the helm. “You’ll be alright. I’m here.”

(A flash of memory. Hands caressing your cheek. M’right here, dove.)

It takes little to notice his nebulous presence step up close behind you. “Heavier than it looks, aye?” Shay hums, gently ghosting the edge of your wrists. The heat of him stirs something deep in your chest. “But be easy, still. She isn’t a horse y’can yank. Go with the currents; there shouldn’t be too much give.”

A tentative, studious moment passes. When he’s satisfied—

“Attagirl.”

—he pulls away. Shifts to lean casually against the guardrail facing you. All that fills the sea air now is the creak of the Morrigan, the flap of canvas, and the echo of his saccharine praise in your ears, drowned out by the droll of the crew singing Leave Her Johnny.

You try not to feel the way his eyes unabashedly linger on your face.

“I always wondered how you ever knew which direction you’re going. It’s just a horizon to me.”

He cocks his head to the sun. “Rises east to west. See where it’s setting? That means west is dead ahead. Y’keep the sun just off your left shoulder— or portside— an’ you’ll stay on course.”

“And when night falls?”

“Compass. Constellations guide our way too. I’d show y’tonight, but,” he turns over his shoulder, where a smatter of clouds in the distance have begun to look like trouble. “Storm might be brewin’.”

You’ve seen the celestial maps that Faulker had gifted Connor once upon a time, when he’d gotten the Aquila repaired. “Polaris? The North Star.”

He raises his brows, impressed. “That’s one of ‘em, aye.”

“Aye, Captain,” you narrow.

“Oh, you’re learnin’, y’are,” he twits, unruffled. He strides over to set his tricorn on your head, and you roll your eyes when he crosses his arms with a satisfied look. “There. Don’t y’look a right gentle-woman, Captain?”

“It’s loose. Your head must be abnormally huge, Cormac.”

“I fancy that’s just ‘cause I’m smarter than you, Captain.”

You turn your nose up playfully. “Fishes live in the sea,” you begin to recite in challenge. “As men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.”

And had Shay been in a sour mood he might’ve taken the passing jab at the Order more personally— but how could he? The dusk light has broken through, painting you saffron and ethereal, limning you in saint-like radiance.

For a treacherous moment, he allows himself to imagine he isn’t harboring an Assassin of the Brotherhood; that Shay Cormac is just a Captain, and you are just his— friend? His lady? His passenger? (Whatever it is; anything but an enemy.)

“Let me guess,” he says instead. “John Donne? No? Plato, then.”

“William Shakespeare, actually,” you smile, triumphant, and it’s a sun-bright sight: warm and beautiful and soft. “Though, I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?” he exclaims, although he couldn’t hold heat to it— you’re happy, after all, and he can’t help but smile too. “An’ what’s that supposed to mean, then?”

You shrug in faux-nonchalance. “Didn’t take Shay Cormac to be such a learned poet, is all.”

“Aye? You’re the one who’s all high-society—”

“Oh? Enlighten me, please, when have I ev—?”

Your musical laugh is cut short.

You yelp.

The Morrigan had lurched, sails having caught rogue wind, and before you register it—

A hand over yours on the helm; chest firmly behind your back.

(Heart against heart.)

Shay has steadied you.

(…That lightning reflex has always been such a frustratingly attractive feat of his.)

“S’alright,” he soothes, voice going a low, fetching timbre. His words ghost above your shoulder, eagle eyes trained on the luffing sails. “Rogue wind, is all.”

Shay stays, this time. Steadfast as a plinth. Rooted behind you like a Cypress tree. His other hand tentatively slides a lick of fire from your elbow and up your forearm, until it finds its rest on yours. It’s rough, firm. As expansive as the broad of his solid chest fitting like a perfect puzzle against your spine, where he’s dipped his head just a little to accommodate the height difference as he speaks:

“Easy, now… Jus’ a few degrees.”

He’s a looming tower. A formidable force. Shay Cormac has always been able to inhabit and command an entire room with nothing but his sheer presence, and here you are—

Caged, yet again, between the space of his unyielding arms.

A pleased hum— mmh— rumbles from the hollow of his throat and travels through you. It’s dizzying. Fogs all rational thought in your mind. Makes it wander, elsewhere, to a distant time you heard him groan it when you’d touched his bare flesh—

“Attagirl,” he praises.

Something zips through your nerves.

Christ. He must be doing that deliberately, you think (or hope?), because it’d be far more eliciting otherwise. That gravel-deep undertone that seeps into your skin and makes your blood run rampant. Surely— surely, he could feel the thunderdrum of your heart beating into his own ribcage too, from how he’s sidled— pressed— stood— his weight securely against you.

“You talking to me, or your Morrigan?” you try to deflect, and you hope to God he hadn’t heard the tremble of your voice. The yen.

“You, dove. Ofcourse.”

Later, amid a friendly round of Liar’s Dice with the crew, you think (or rather, come to a conclusion) that that may have been the tipping point. In him calling you dove; that sanguine lilt in his tone, blanketed by the air of casual off-handedness: Shay hadn’t noticed at all that the petname had even slipped out his tongue— it was second nature.

Who is so safe as we? where none can do Treason to us, except one of us two.

- John Donne, "The Anniversary"

The thunderstorm had passed without too-destructing an effect. The crew escapes waterlogged, but it’s hardly the worst; they’ve faced fiercer weathers and conditions than a bad lashing. You’d gone out of your way yourself, much to Shay’s disproval, disappearing below deck to help with the wounded and with fastening any loose cargo from tipping over. In the aftermath, the crew had managed to cajole their Captain into allowing them reprieve in rum stored from the hold.

“Go on, lass, sing a song for us!” someone suggests to you, when the last of the pour had passed, and the sky cleared into a cloudy, starlit night. There’s a chorus of excited agreement: “A lullaby, perhaps?” ; “Bet you’ve a lovely voice, m’lady!” ; “Aye! Don’t shirk repayment, miss.”

“Boys,” Shay says, by way of warning.

They shrink quickly.

And you couldn’t stop but colour warmly at that; the hair-trigger instinct of his when it comes to— well, you. He hadn’t said a word until now. Shay meets your gaze then; knows you aren’t the performative type, not even when you were children.

But you let him see your quiet smile. It’s sincere.

“I suppose I do owe you good folks a song or two for your labours,” you say, peaceably, and make way to the mainmast to bow theatrically as they rejoice. “And to the Captain, for doing good on his promises to me throughout the voyage so far, despite my… being trouble.”

Shay laughs. It’s a small sound of assent as he nods his head to you from where he’s leant starboard.

You’re not in your usual mufti of assassin robes in favor of the wet weather: you’d forsook your leather boots after they’d overflowed with rain, and you’d turned to layering the cotton raiments of a usual sailors outfit so you wouldn’t be weighed down too heavily as you busied in the belly of the Morrigan.

Regardless, the crew take to you as they always do, hanging onto every word you sing like dazzled sailors to a siren song— rapt with attention as they clap and stamp and cheer along to your coltish, barefeet song and dance: To Téir abhaile ‘riú, to The Jolly Beggars, to Spanish Ladies, and a number of other unheard shanties or cantatas you’ve picked up from your worldly travels.

Then, when you’d grown tired—

“Very well, then,” you yield, “But the Captain shall pick the last song. So, what shall it be; happy or sad?”

A beat.

“Sad,” Shay decides.

You hum. “Alright. But I’ll warn you; it’ll break your heart.”

And perhaps it’s the alcohol rendering him loose-lipped— but Shay had huffed out a weak laugh, and with a defeated shake of his head, muttered: “Already broken.”

You don’t know what to say. You never have— not when faced with Shay and his frustrating habit to wear nothing but naked truth upon that weary, scarred face of his.

You don’t know what to say; so you stand on the crate leant against the spar instead, and begin the slow croon of The Parting Glass as a drizzle begins to fall. A lament; a bid farewell to sailors and friends and comrades and enemies.

Shay watches you throughout it all. Basks in you, practically. Of too-old times and bygones and things he can’t take back.

God must be cruel, he reflects, To punish me with a woman so beautiful upon my ship, an’ have her want nothing to do with me.

“Should be 2 days before we port to New York, with the winds carryin’ us,” he informs you, after applauding your stellar performance. He had moved towards the eddying crowd sometime during your song. “Get some rest, aye?”

He offers a hand to help you down your stand.

(Ever the gentleman.)

It’s an excuse to touch you; And a greedy part of him wants to hold on forever— but he watches you go in the end. It feels like wherever you touch him glows.

(Shay can’t help but flex and unflex his hand.)

In Gist’s absence, his Quartermaster claps him on the back instead. “Looks to me another lashin’ll be comin’ down. Lay your head to rest, Cap’n, why don’t you? We got it from ‘ere,” he says, “An’ spare yourself the grief, brother. Go talk to her.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about,” Shay brushes off.

“Well then, don’t talk.”

“What?”

“Y’heard me.”

“Shut your gob,” Shay says flatly, in the way he’s learned from Haytham how not to allow anyone to get a rise out of him. But he finds himself trailing after you, anyway.

“Hello, Captain,” you greet, when he’d stepped into his cabin he’d given up to you for privacy. “Or shall I say broken-hearted man?”

“I prefer Shay,” he says, only barely managing to reign in: When it comes to you.

You hum. Run your fingers through your half-damp hair to untangle the snarls. Shay idles by the Mercator globe, lit under sull moonlight shining through the sea-weathered bay windows. For all his repertoire of being a ruthless hunter, and for all the way he seems to be able to cut a mean, menacing figure under that damning scar of his and his Captain’s gear—

He looks out of place in his own cabin. Perhaps because you haven’t exactly seen him inside of it since he’d lent it to you, but even then, he looks almost slightly… out of place. The quarters is a charming, comfortable nook under the helm; sparse yet graciously spacious in a way all Sloop-of-Wars tended to be. Pieces of Shay catch and cling in its corners:

Anthologies, novels and an old hardback bible collecting dust on a bookshelf by the red chaise; A navigation desk with tools and notes in his handwritten-scrawl of bearings, strewn over fading nautical charts— all carefully arranged in a way it didn’t scatter over to the simple bed by its side.

(Not that it matters, you’d thought, the first time he let you in here. The bed had kept its firmness because it’s hardly been slept on. Shay must have preferred the canvas hammock he’d strung up in the other corner of the room, the true seaman he is.)

All this to say: Sleeping in here alone throughout your voyage these countless nights, with nothing but the lap of ocean waves and the droll of the Morrigan— it feels alot like a glimpse into the barebones of Shay Cormac’s soul.

A manifestation of his sea-pelagic loneliness.

“Hope you’re not looking for a private song,” you say, carefully, unravelling the long sleeves of your sailor’s shirt-turned-chemise. The size is comically large on you, but it’s comfortable.

Shay starts. Blinks. He hadn’t calculated trailing in after you would’ve immediately been taken as a come-on, but he wasn’t about to risk stumbling through an awful explanation over himself. “I… wanted to talk.”

“Well,” you uncross your hands, lean back at his desk. “I owe you as much.”

“Y’don’t owe me anything,” he replies, quickly. It’s honest. “We evened the scales back in Halifax. I…”

“Yes?” you say, after the silence had stretched a moment.

“I think I just wanted to see you,” Shay admits, on an exhale. “Before y’go.”

Go. How final it sounds, in spite of the 2 days that remain. “Funny,” you say, tracing the gridlines of a discarded map to distract yourself from just how… raw this conversation is; where it seems to be heading. “I imagined you had your fill of me long before I even ended up— broken on your ship.”

“We were allies, once,” Shay says dutifully, as measured as he could. He hadn’t said friends, nor lovers, but you find, for some reason, that it stings more that way.

“Once,” you repeat, keenly, blinking long enough to picture the Homestead in its prime: of Liam, Hope, Kesegowaase, Chevalier, Achilles, Adéwalé. “And then again, at Halifax, in a way.” He watches you hesitate before continuing. “What does that make us now?”

You don’t ask Or in two days? Because you don’t think you’re ready to hear an answer for that yet. (Shay is glad you hadn’t. He wouldn’t have been ready either.)

“A Captain, an’ a passenger,” he says, pragmatically. But there’s nothing rational about the rattle in his bones from the sight of the cotton blouse you still haven’t had the chance to change out of, damp still from the rain, and sticking to your dimly-lit silhouette at the seams.

He tramples the thought. It’s natural to confuse nerves for— yen. “And to you?” he asks.

“A broken woman,” you begin, light and humorous when you lift your shirt to show the bandages around your abdomen. He wonders, privately, if you’d caught him staring earlier. “On the ship that belongs to a broken-hearted man, apparently.”

“We were both broken a long time ago,” Shay says, resolute.

“Is that what you think?” you ask, something genuinely surprised and pensive in your eyes. “Is that why we… never actually happened?”

Something in his chest lurches.

(Happened, by way of meaning: Something that could’ve been serious; could’ve been true. Something that went beyond clandestine trysts and touchy dalliances under everyone’s nose in the Brotherhood before—)

“I…” Shay inhales. It’s strained. “…How much have y’had to drink, dove?

Dove. You purse your lips, a dry laugh bubbling from you. “What a darling you are,” you say, bemused. (You're glad the lantern light is dim enough to hide your shy fiddling.) “Making sure I’m not going to say anything I regret, hm?”

“Or do. Aye.”

“I had one bottle, Shay. And I’ve had plenty of time recently to realise that rarely do I ever regret alot of things when it involves you.”

“Liar,” he snipes, if only to curb that tide of dangerous affection in his stomach, and the unbidden memories where both of you would fold against each others arms in countless, restless nights from before.

“Which part?” You raise your brows, and when he’d tilted your head to give you a look that roughly translated to All of it, obviously, you snort critically. “I don’t regret you ever coming into my life since we were children. Nor taking this bullet—”

He seems to bite his tongue in a flinch.

“—But I do regret not being drunk enough now to forget my own terrible performance just then.”

“I told y’the first time y’were here,” he reminds: “Y’have a beautiful voice.”

Reflexive, again. As if he always teeters the water’s edge; Could never hold back from the truth— could never hold back from you. It makes something hot stick in your throat. “And how much have you had to drink, Captain?”

“Not nearly enough.”

Something charged passes in the air.

Shay shifts to move towards you. It’s hesitant. Tentative. The Morrigan creaks underneath his slow stride, until he stands a foot from you. His eyes are trained on the bindings beneath your threadbare blouse, hand hovering where the old blood had blotted through like a bastardised version of the Ursa Major constellation. “Y’put the heart crossways in me, y’know?”

You don’t say anything. (There’s nothing you can answer to that other than an apology, after all, and you aren’t in the habit of apologising for something you don’t regret.)

“Y’were so still,” Shay describes, going somewhere far away in his mind. It’s the softest you’ve ever heard him speak. An’ the waters were still, an’ so were the winds, an’ the world, an’ my heart. All of it. All but my mind. “I thought, for sure…”

He finds himself brushing his fingers against yours.

For a terrifying minute, the idea makes itself known.

“…We shouldn’t,” you say.

But you interlock your hands with his. Meet his gaze.

“We shouldn’t,” he agrees.

It would be a terrible, terrible thing. A betrayal to the Brotherhood and the Order each. It’d be a fork in the road; a turning point; a watershed moment. The same way his eyes opened to the truth after Lisbon: Tectonic plates coming together to herald nothing but destruction, when the world gave way beneath his feet into a— a divide. Between you and him. The Assassin-Templar shadow war, this gaping maw; the uncrossable—

“Dove,” Shay wavers, thumb smoothing behind your palm by way of quiet permission. “Are you… cold?”

Goosebumps line your skin. “Yes.”

—Crossed.

Kissing Shay Cormac feels like coming home.

Nostalgia comes in the slow, satisfied hum that carves out of his throat and into your parting lips; Homesickness in the way your nose fits like a slot perfectly against his, in the familiar sea-brine and bitter-rum taste of his tongue.

It’s deep and delicate and perfect. Akin to anchoring at your true port of call; your true North.

His free hand slips to cover the thin of your cheek curtained under your hair, honey-slow and shaking, as if he’s afraid you— he— would shatter at any moment.

“Tell me to go,” he shudders, between another breathless kiss that threatens what remains of his resolve. “Please, dove,” he rasps, voice as rough as stone from sheer restraint. “If y’don’t, if y’don’t want this—”

“Christ, no. I want you,” you pant, and press your face closer into his open hand. “Please.” Shay watches your long lashes flutter shut, watches you turn to kiss his palm with the kind of pious reverence you’d only see between candle-lit pews at Sunday Mass. “I’ve always wanted you, Shay.”

You’re looking up at him now with radiant hope: Doe-eyed, like a wicked siren calling him to a watery grave— to damnation.

Fuck.

He yields. (His emotions are never far from the surface these days— and when it comes to you? Always. Always.)

His lungs deflate. Shay dips his head back down to kiss you, purely fervid with the only longing to hold you. To shelter you. To protect you. “You’ll be the death of me, d’y’know?” he says. Confesses. Mouths the words against your jaw as he breathes in the rainy scent of you like it’s something sacrilegious.

“And the cold will be the death of me,” you jest, when he slides his hands up to peel the shirt off your wet skin, rivulets running from your hair down your navel, to where you’ve tugged your breeches off.

Shay loops a single, steady arm around you and lifts you onto the desk edge, all solid muscle and terrifying ease— it’s paralysingly attractive. A reminder of just how much that pristine, lean build of him belies the pure strength and utter brawn he possesses.

It’s that which does it for you. Zips arousal down your spine and kindles something primal in you.

(The Assassin Hunter, they call him. The Brotherhood’s Bane. No wonder.)

It shouldn’t have been a thrill to feel so subdued, pinned beneath him and his tenebrous gaze like a helpless animal waiting for a slaughter, and yet—

And yet.

(Ever the gentleman:)

“Let me, then,” Shay asks, ghosting his lips gently to your brow. So how could you not let him? When a Man of God sins for you? When a Templar Knight bends his creed just to kiss you; who cradles and covets you like you’re a very piece of Eden itself?

“Lemme take care’a you,” he repeats, brogue accent gone deliciously, sinfully thick from fervor. “Aye. I’ll warm y’up, dove, hm?”

Please do, you’d meant to answer, but you surged forward instead to meet him halfway. He is warm. Infernally so. Shay Cormac has always run hot as a blaze since you’d first met. A pillar of effervescent sunlight that had drawn you to him; the burn of his noble righteousness pouring out the cracks of his soul and through his skin, lighting him aflame and scalding those who never understood him the way you have.

(It makes you all the more desperate to disrobe him and cling onto him; to tuck yourself impossibly at the spaces between his ribs, burrow yourself into his beating heart. You want every iota and inch of him. You want him in a way that no word can possibly describe.)

“Shay,” you keen, seeking his mouth again. And to hear his name whispered like this— like a prayer coming from you; like saying my beloved, my heart, my God— Shay thinks he might just truly offer pieces of himself up to you on a silver platter. “Touch me.”

The plea is a strike of a match.

The tenderness melts away into something more ardent.

God, he shouldn’t be doing this. He truly shouldn’t—

You can feel the molten heat of him sinking into your very marrows when he presses against you, hard and eager; all while laving his tongue over your naked body, skin still wet and cooling from the storm’s wake. Shay’s ungloved hands are broad, smouldering— calloused from years spent climbing ashlar and knotting sails— abrasive enough to roughen you up, to curl at the base of your throat and to knead the flesh of your breasts.

Then they wander. Lower and lower; deliberately careful. While his mouth canvasses every dip and divot of your neck, his fingertips trace the margins of your tremulous body in tandem, skating over your hips and tugging off your thin underlinen, where he can feel, finally, the warmth of you— the soft, wet, seam of you.

“Jesus, fuck.” His voice is coarse. Laden with desire. Your noses bump when he leans his forehead to yours. All it takes to have you slick and needy is nothing but his blistering touches and open-mouthed kisses, it seems. “Already, dove?”

“I missed you,” you whine, tinny and saccharine. The concession has him groaning. Your left hand rakes up his nape and cards through his hair in anticipation; right hand a plinth to support your weight from the inevitable bliss he’s going to bring you to. “Please, Shay, please—”

He sinks one, gingerly, to the knuckle.

The gasp that escapes you is choked. Shay swallows it with a heady kiss. “Easy, now,” he grunts, ragged and humid, when you sidle your hips closer to the edge. “S’alright, dove. M’not goin’ anywhere. We got all night.”

We’ve got 2 days, you want to retort, but a pinched moan wrenches out of you instead. He’s pushed in another thick finger. The stretch makes your toes curl when he moves; makes him curse at the way he can feel you pulsing and pulling him in. If you’re this plush, this tight from his fingers alone—?

Shay feeds a third not long after. Works it in with effort. Mutters praises at your ear as he does so, teasing and rubbing your sensitive clit with his palm. Attagirl. Aye, y’doin’ so good for me, dove.

He watches, transfixed, at the glisten of his fingers as they noisily glide in and out of you, mouth watering at the lewd sight and sound he can draw out your body; mewling and writhing right infront of him, barely able to keep your eyes open or string your words coherently from sheer dizzying pleasure. Yes, Shay— Hah, yes— s’good. So good, please—

Ofcourse, it’s good. Shay’s touched you like this before. Hurried or unhurried; he’s memorised, intimately, how to pet and play and punish you. He knows where you’re weak: that lovely spot deep in your cunt he brushes with a perfect hook of his fingers— “Ah— fuck. Shay. Right there, yesyesyes—”, or the bare spot right below your jaw he enjoys marking up with a biting bruise— “You’re mine, dove. Mine alone. Y’hear?”

The hoarse sound of him makes you shiver. It’s brassy. Matches the malevolence he carries in presence even when he looks wrecked just from watching you be taken apart by his hands: broad chest rising and falling in deep breaths of your scent in the stifling air, underneath all the uniform layers of dark leather and glinting buckles.

(He looks like a hawk, a villain; raking his scarred eyes over fresh kill. The thought makes you stir. Sparks an old memory in your head from when he’d gone territorial over you in an old mission long ago, and he fucked you so hard you swore you’d be branded by every inch of him on the inside for the rest of your life.)

“You’re close,” Shay says. States. He knows. He always does. Recognises it in the feather-tremble of your body and the way you arch your back, clutching at his wrist (your hand is so small compared to his. Drives him fucking crazy—) as if you couldn’t tell whether you wanted him to stop or continue fingering you. “Aye, y’are, aren’t you?”

You nod mutely. Vision crossing. There’s nowhere for you to go, so you burrow your face against his throat like you want to hide from the world as you come undone.

Shay lets you. It’s an endearing moment, and he’s sweet like that. Even if he wants to study your face as you get off on grinding against his palm, even if he wants to swallow your tongue and every susurrus moan that he ekes out of you. He slides his hand up your spine and settles it there instead, holds you up when your own arm fails you and curls over his neck for support.

“So good, dove. So beautiful,” he whispers, at the scant space below your ear. Shay damn near smiles at the way the words involuntarily opens you further, allows his fingers to smooth and stroke and scissor— until your legs abruptly snap shut around his wrist like a vice, astrolade clattering to the floor from your blinding, seizing orgasm.

You’re gasping. Moaning. Twitching like a fragile fawn in his arms. “Shay— I— ah, ah—”

“Easy now, love,” he soothes, nuzzling at your temple.

The sight of you melting from your hot, silken climax prompts something primal— something instinctive in him. (Wolves, he imagines. Perhaps hounds. One’s already been satiated with having you fall apart because of him, the other still longs to shield you; to fold you into his arms and shelter you with whatever goodness is still left in his damned soul.)

He slides his soaking fingers out. A puff of a sigh escapes you. Relieved. Sated. “C’mere,” you mumble, blearily nosing forward for another kiss—

“S’alright,” he says, dodging you by resting his thumb on the dent beneath your lip. “Tell me to go, dove, an’ I will. I will. We don’t… we don’t have to.”

(There it is again. Taking care of you and leaving himself out to dry. Ever the gentleman. It makes your heart jump.)

“I want to,” you promise. Your voice dips into something dulcet; dangerous. “I’ve been wanting to.”

Something flickers in his eyes.

He swallows so hard you can hear the click in his throat.

“I’ve been wanting…” You trail off, grasp his hand holding your chin. He watches, rapt, as you splay his fingers apart, your slick still sticky between them, and then—

Press them into your mouth.

His ring finger. His middle.

It breaches past your bitten-red lips, slow and sinful, smarting against the wet glide of your curling tongue, coated in saliva as you suckle at the ichorous taste of them.

“Fuck, dove,” he says, and more inwardly: You’re a minx. Shay knows you. Knows you’re teasing him with his guilty pleasures; his oral fixations. The perverse texture and sound and feel of you: your tongue laving hungrily and sucking at your own slick, choking from his fingertips catching and going beyond your molars because of how far you insist on taking him.

It makes his cock twitch from the depravity; makes his skin simmer like a low-grade fever under his clothes. He wants to slip something else into that glorious, tight mouth of yours—

“Still cold, aye?” he rasps. Slides his fingers out the tight seal of your lips with an obscene pop. “Need somethin’ else to warm y’up, hm?”

He kisses you before you can reply. Brain-melting. Desperate. A low, amorous groan into you that roils your insides. Then you’re picked up— once more, by those delicious sailor arms of his— and deposited onto his bed like you weigh nothing.

Good God. “Christ, Shay, you’re…”

You falter, suddenly shy of all things. Here you are, naked and exposed with nothing save bandages around your stomach, supine and heaving on the untidy linen of his sheets— and you’re curiously, girlishly, timid over complimenting him.

It makes him laugh. Quiet. Airy. “Use your words, dove.”

But you’re too busy staring— ogling him where he stands at the foot of the bed. Shay’s undressing himself, patient and meticulous, and enjoying is an understatement for how you feel watching him divest and strip himself for you. (There’s something incredibly intimate about being allowed this, to witness him dismantle the precious armour— the defenses and image— he presents to the world.)

“Go on, then,” he croons, “What did y’want to tell me?”

Shay tugs his shirt over his head from the neckline. Swift. Smooth. When he crawls over you, unclothed, you think you finally understand the true, biblical epitome of temptation.

The sturdy contours of him, lean muscle cording across his torso and his vast arms; body smattered with forgotten scars and wounds both old and new that make him all the more roguishly handsome; the happy trail from his navel leading down to the heavy, leaking, length of him—

“Strong,” you concede, breath skittering when his shadow descends over you like doom itself, and he slowly settles some of his weight on your body. Your hands have wasted no time in pawing eagerly against his chest, gripping at his firm biceps when he smothers you with an indulgent kiss. “You’re so strong. I’ve always— mh— admired that about you.”

“Admired, aye?” It’s a teasing sound. A huff of sincere laughter ducked into your shoulder. He’s preening at the rare stroke of his ego, the bastard. “S’my hands all it takes to have y’this sweet on me?”

“Shut up,” you bite your grin, feel the blood rush to your cheeks again. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re perfect.”

Your heart stutters. Skips. Stumbles. Then Shay kisses you, sweet and brimming with loving affection— and kisses and kisses and kisses. Hand cupping your cheek, and the other stroking at your nape. The type that’s full of utter devotion: like you’re salvation; the only person capable of ever delivering him utter Absolution.

Shay digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs, sangfroid, and begins to pry them apart.

You can feel the hard length of him throb, tip spitting prespend against your navel.

“Shay,” you call out, tugging at his hair when he tongues the swell of your breast and latches to your nipple, gropes at the other with a rumbling groan he couldn’t seem to bite back.

“Aye?” he says, before pulling away entirely in a worried blink, “Your stitches. Did I—?”

“No, it’s not that,” you say, meeting his concerned gaze and his touch running over your bandages. “I just, I’m not— It’s been awhile since—”

Oh. Oh. “S’alright,” he reassures, taken aback by the way his own lungs unwillingly expand from the new knowledge; the sudden rush of appetite flooding him. “Been some time for me too, dove.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, and gives you the thousandth kiss of the night. “Jus’ tell me if I’m hurtin’ you, aye?”

(Ever the—)

“Gentleman,” you smile, petal-soft. You press a chaste, delicate kiss on his cheek, at the crooked scar splitting it.

Something basal rattles in him at the tenderness. Startles a flutter of sparrows in his chest.

And then—

You curl your fingers around the base of him.

Shay jerks with a start. Hisses something guttural in Gaelic. “Fuck, dove—” He ruts forward, face digging to the crown of your head, where you’ve taken to licking at his jugular: tasting the masculine, heady sweat of him as you squeeze his cock.

Shay can feel the molten heat of your folds splitting at the nudge of his weeping head.

He might ruin you.

(He wants to. Greedily. To fuck you until you see the stars of Cassiopeia beneath your eyelids; until everytime you swore loyalty to that damned, wretched Creed of yours, all you would ever remember— ever feel— is how full you were when you were taking Templar cock.)

But he’s a restrained, merciful man for all his notoriety of pitiless bloodshed. A distinct dissonance; a paragon of irony. It’s hardly a surprise, really, if you think about it.

Shay Cormac is a Man of God, and men of God are raised to deliver only two extremes: grace and retribution.

So he’ll be gracious. Generous.

His hand falls to your right knee, thumbing the flesh beneath it; And pushes once more to spread yourself to him, to accommodate the thick of him as you guide him up into your soaking, eager cunt—

You whine at the fit.

The wrecked, immodest sound alone unmoors him.

Makes him all the more desperate to take you apart. “I know, dove,” he coos, emblazoning into memory the way your face twists in half-pleasure, half-pain; eyes misty at the edges and brows furrowed into a pinch. “Missed y’too.”

When Shay buries to the root, he distracts you from the scathing ache with another nip at your jaw and lip; gropes and moulds his hands over your thrumming skin and flesh. The pull of you inside— the nigh-virginal tightness of you (how long has it been again?)— has his vision swimming from the scorching decadence.

Then you’re pleading his name. For him to move. To satisfy. A murmuration of Shay, m’so full. S’good. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—

It tears a depraved moan out of him once he shifts to ease in, and out. Yeah? Feel good, dove?

From where you’re eclipsed, pinned underneath him, his gold Cross swings above you with every bated breath and every forceful thrust; A twisted reminder of your heresies. (The both of you will reason this truce out, someway, somehow. Chalk it off as filling the boredom of your recovery and voyage— but either of you know better. Know the truth.)

A sacrilege of the Penitential Act: For what I have done (“I love you.”), and have failed to do (“You shouldn’t.”); Forgive me.

(…But forgiveness is in neither of yours’ hands.)

Clawing down his back, legs greedily bracketed around his hips to siphon every inch of him in, the ferric sheath of him in you has liquid pleasure crackling through his veins. Between all your wanton purrs and his crude growls the room drowns in impurity under the pelting rain outside;

It’s breath mingling with breath, heart thundering to heart, skin sliding against skin. He white-knuckles your hip when he hikes you up harder into the bed, each urgent rut of him reaching further inside your pulsing cunt as you grip into the sheets.

“Oh, hah— fuck—” you choke. “Yes, Shay. God—”

“No Gods here, dove,” he grunts, devilish, and you swear you can hear him smirking that canine-sharp smile of his. “Jus’ you an’ me.”

You shiver. Whimper into his devouring mouth when he seals you into another kiss, and he grinds into you so hard you’re sure the curve of him would poke at your navel. The thought alone— of being full of him, of him breeding you with every drop of his seed that it might just take— has Shay shuddering against you.

He shouldn’t. Heavens above, he shouldn’t.

Even here, right now, he shouldn’t even be this demanding with how he’s fucking you. Gorging at the searing feel of your sex giving in and stretching to his girth— he ought to be a little more gentle, given your quivering state.

(He likes brutal. He wouldn’t have made a brilliant soldier for either the Brotherhood or the Order at all if he couldn’t handle being a brute; If he hadn’t indulged— or at the very least, been a little bit familiar with that dark skeleton in his closet.)

Shay’s trying to be gentle, ofcourse, which is already everything to you. He’s restraining every fibre of himself, and you know this. Can feel it in the deliberate brace of his hard cock inside you; in the way he stifles his animalistic noises to your ear, outmatched only by the noise of your flush cunt. Can see it in the pretty furrow of his brows, as if laid with proverbial thorn; the hitch of his lungs at each inhale of you.

He sets a perfect pace. Keeps to it until you can feel your nerves fraying at its edges. The knot formed where his hips are meeting yours in circadian rhythm tightens, has you gasping his name in anticipation when he palms down your arched spine and cants you closer to the fierce nudge of him.

Aye, doin’ so good, Shay hums, knowingly. He sneaks his hand to your slit, petting and teasing at your swollen clit until you’re clamping around him. Y’gonna give me what I want, love? Y’close?

The answer is stolen from you.

It’s an engulfing crescendo of all-too-much. Your orgasm splits you from the lower belly up, synapses firing wildly from the all-encompassing feel of him still battering into you, overwhelming every single sense you possess. Your eyes roll. Your mind whites out into pure pleasure. Aching muscles aren’t your own, inner walls and legs spasming and quivering around his throbbing length; And throughout it all: Attagirl. Attagirl, love. A chuisle mo chroí. Mo ghrá.

His release stutters close after.

It takes more coaxing, grinding; More time before the growing tension in his groin snaps like a wire. He’d fucked you through your climax, but now you’re egging him on, velvet-voiced and seductive, despite the sweltering edge of overstimulation creeping on you. “I wanna— ah— feel you. Please, Shay. Harder. I wanna feel you inside me— mh— for weeks—”

It sparks him closer to his edge. Inside? he’d ground out, sparing a glance between your sticky thighs, where his cock slots into you like you belonged here. Fuck. Y’know I can’t do that, dove.

But he entertains the thought anyway. Chases the thrill. Tells you how good you feel around him and spreads you just a little bit more. Imagines notching and seating so deep into your aching cunt until you couldn’t possibly spill a single drop of him; until you’d taste him from the inside out.

Shay rucks you up higher into the bed, allows a sliver of his viciousness to slip through in the unbridled way he carves himself into you with every thrust. (“Please, I can take it. Harder, Shay— hah, C—Captain—!”) The feeling of you leaving crescent-indents on his biceps and shoulders as you clumsily clutch onto him, surging helplessly as he groans and grunts into your balmy skin, and takes and takes and takes what he selfishly wants—

“F–Fuckin’ hell—” It’s a jagged rasp. Your name tumbles from his wet lips, husky and corrosive and dangerous. The growling sound alone makes you keen, reminds you of who exactly it is that’s just fucked you raw and is now painting your body with his cum:

Shay Patrick Cormac. The Templar’s very own Assassin Hunter.

Your natural predator.

Sex and sweat and Shay’s scent clots the very air. Ropes of his molten hot spend spurts over your torso as he pulls out to fist his jerking, fluttering cock into satisfying completion (“Been so long, dove. S’all for you. Saved it all— Fuck, ah— Just for you—”); the white, pearlescent threads of him shooting even up to your chin and bottom lip, still glossy and shiny from drool after your sloppy kisses.

Not even a moment later, Shay watches your red tongue dart out to lick it up.

Bloody hell—

“Oh,” you purr, breathless. (He tastes salty. Masculine. It’s intoxicating.) “So you do prefer being called Captain, hm?”

“Don’t,” he pants, half-laughing as he drops his head on your shoulder, trying to navigate through the cloying fog of his mind-melting orgasm.

There’s something grimly satisfying about seeing and having you— a Grandmaster Assassin of the Brotherhood— like this. Ravaged. Conquered and sprawled beneath him like a puppet with its strings cut. An unfurled flower. Bruises mottling your flesh like blossoms. Activates something carnally possessive in his hindbrain.

(And to think he’d been holding back all this time—?)

Eyes flitting shut, Shay presses another series of delicate butterfly-kisses: shoulder, cheek, nose, forehead. Non-sexual spots. It’s, ironically enough, infinitely more intimate than the fact you just coupled exhaustively on his own bed.

Then, after he’d gone to clear the debris and remnants of him off you: “Still cold?” he humors, melting into rest underneath the scratchy covers beside you.

You huff a soft, tired laugh. Tangle your sore legs with his and scoot closer to his bonfire warmth after he lets you doze in his embrace. The vestigial high has both of you drifting back to earth slowly. “Mh. Warmest I’ll ever be for a long while,” comes your content, nuzzled reply, feeling him comb through your hair as you intertwine your fingers with his again.

It feels like old times, tucked into him. It feels like the day you’d taken the shot and he scooped you up into his arms— like everything has changed, and nothing at all.

Still, we’ve changed, you think, thoughts piecing back from the sex in a way you hadn’t noticed before. There’s a new scar slicing across the hairs of his chest, and another unfamiliar pockmark wound on his collar that looks to have come from a ricocheting bullet. Testaments of time and battles that’s passed between you both.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he ensures.

A beat.

“You could never hurt me.”

Yes, he very nearly agrees. I could never.

“Shay,” you whisper, before the bravery escapes you.

“Dove,” he acknowledges.

His voice rumbles from his sternum and into your ears. It’s a painstakingly mellow sound. It’s home.

“What did we just do?”

His hand stills. You can only hear the hum-drum of his heartbeat echoing in his chest.

“I think,” he says, faintly, “We’ve just said our goodbyes.”

Against all odds, however—

You laugh. It’s sudden. As bright as tide breaking on shore. “What?” Shay says, unable to stop his smile against the crown of your head.

“Told you you were a learned poet.”

“Lord, I ought to throw y’overboard, woman,” he sighs.

Another laugh. The banter is a glimpse into the domesticity you’d once shared so often, and he couldn’t help it. He’d nudged a kiss to your forehead and went, “I’ve missed you,” and met your lips before he could confess: I miss you already.

“We’ve voyaged weeks,” you point out.

“You know what I mean, dove.”

“Ah, the sex, then?”

“Being close to you,” he corrects, unimpressed yet amused. “Having you in my arms.”

You do know what he’s trying to say. The loving; the freedom of being just you and just him. Of loving with neither guilt nor shame from the fact you both construe the world in different light.

“Have I told you how much I hate it?” you say craning to meet his half-lidded gaze.

“The sex?” he volleys easily, smiling like a serpent as he sneaks his hand between your thighs again. “I think I remember y’enjoyin’ yourself plenty, dove.”

“Bastard,” you swat playfully, pinching at his forearm as he laughs out. “I was going to say how safe you make me feel.”

Shay doesn’t say a word, but his expression rings louder than any reply: he’s glowing; a spark of sincere and profound fondness in his eyes, that has to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He hadn’t even seemed to mind at all that you’d mentioned you hated it.

“What an inconvenience that must be,” he finally says, and as much as he’s tempted to tease you further for it, settles on giving it a rest for now. “We’re all guilty of something, whether we admit it or not.”

“Original sin,” you hum. “I forget you’re a Man of God, Shay Cormac.”

A beat. For a moment, you wonder if you’d said something you shouldn’t have.

“Well… You make me believe,” he says, softly. The quiet concession matches the tentative unfurling of affection in you.

“In what?”

Everything. “In God. In goodness. In love.”

Shay tugs you into a doting kiss. The deep and fiercely kind that translates everything he can’t put into words; the kind that rattles the very foundations of your soul and every mighty defense you’ve ever built around your heart.

“I love you,” he exhales; like he’d been holding it back for centuries. “Please remember that. Please remember that’s never changed.”

“Oh, Shay,” you begin, and kiss him once more for good measure, instead of telling him:

I--

“--think you do not have it in you to kill Shay Cormac, when it comes down to it.”

A narrow look. You don’t even bother starting with the surety of Connor’s choice of words: when, over if.

“Just because I trust him onc—”

“No,” he overrides, suddenly, inexplicably fierce. “You love him. There is a difference.”

He’s learned this dilemma for himself the hard way. He had faced a ghost of his past, forged a truce, and naïvely dreamt of an impossible unity. In the end, all he received was the black blood of his own father on his hands, and a terrible guilt that would last his entire lifetime and the next.

But, he had, by the grace of whatever watches over him, not learned what it is to be at the very brink of death in the same way you had been after you were shot— To walk the precipice and return home with only a scar to show for it; and he prays he will never understand what that’s like for a long time. Perhaps it’s because he is his mother’s son (and yours by charge), too, that makes him lower his hackles.

“Se:nikónrarak,” Connor re-attempts, determined, though less hostile this time. “If you are not careful with your heart, it may prove to be your demise, again.”

You stop short. “Again?”

“I am no fool,” Connor says knowingly over his shoulder, where you’ve rooted yourself at the frost-pathed foothills leading up the Homestead. “You are the quickest Assassin I know. You would not have been shot, unless you wanted to be in the crossfire.”

“I don’t—” you hesitate, dismayed. “I don’t love him.”

Connor disappears from your view.

In the far distance, a lone rooster crows.

What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away sometimes, They never will despise.

— John Donne, “A Hymn to Christ”

More footnotes & insight in AO3!

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demigoddessqueens · 7 months ago

Note

Hey it’s me, ya boi, a tumblr gremlin.

Remember the pirate boots striptease? What would happen if you show that little idea to said captains of the high seas Shay and Edward? Maybe Connor too seeing as he sails the high seas (or close to said seas).

Ooof stop (but not really!) everyone on the ship will hear 👂

KINKTOBER 2024

Shay

Surprised by what you’re playing at first but smoothly transitions into the scene you’ve set, going so far as to tease you more than you did him

Edward

Oh he’s got that devilish grin to him and completely immersed into your antics, shamelessly loud and teasing you as well

Connor

He’s surprised by such forwardness by you but goes along with it. Even gets more into your role playing if you let him

#assassin's creed #assassin’s creed x reader #assassin’s creed #edward kenway x reader #edward kenway #my writing #shay cormac x reader #shay cormac #headcanons #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #smut headcanons

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intoxicated-chan · 1 year ago

Note

Could I possibly ask for NSFW Shay x reader content? If you’re not in the mood for anything smutty then just general Drabble/hc content is more than fine too! Any Shay content is welcome 🖤

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Summary ➳ When Shay remembers your dream to see the Northen lights, it takes the chance to take you there and love you under the stars.

(A/n) ➳ Your wish is my command! If you guys have any Shay requests, I’m open!! This was more fluff than smut, I honsetly got carried away with this.

Word Count ➳ 2.6k

Content warnings ➳ Female reader/Navigator reader, teasing, jealousy, mentions of killing, sexual content, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, penetration, p-in-v, creampie...

Everyone knew that Shay and Chevalier never got along. At first, Shay could take it, the insults, and the fights, but it became worse when Chevalier overheard Shay’s desire to court you. It was during an argument when it was brought up, teasing Shay, laughing at him, and getting physical with him, laughing at his missed punches. As usual, Liam stepped in, silencing Chevalier, and snatching Shay away.

Shay could still hear his laughter as Liam tried his best to comfort his best friend. But Chevalier became his nightmare when he arrived from a mission to find you and Chevalier sitting on the steps of the manor, a happy expression on your face as Chevalier spoke to you.

He stepped in, questioning why Chevalier was still here when Achilles was looking for him. But Chevalier saw right through his act, knowing how it pissed Shay off to see you with him and so before he left, he gifted you a book, one that you have been looking for.

Shay hated how your eyes gleamed as you took the book from his hands and continuously thanked him. It was a rare book in your eyes. You escaped from your home, just days away from marrying an older nobleman when you turned eighteen.

Shay knew that you knew Chevalier was being kind to you. Another rarity around here and he tried not to take it to heart.

“Is something the matter?” You asked Shay, obviously clueless and knocking Shay out of his mind. “Did the mission not go as planned?”

“Everything is alright.” He replied, giving you his signature smile. “I’ll meet you on the Morrigan?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Oh yes! I have a charted map that I must give.” You nodded. “Chevalier said I was learning rather quickly.”

“Did he now?”

You nodded once again before scurrying off, waving him goodbye. He watched your figure head towards the Morrigan, making sure he saw you entering the cabin of the ship.

And after giving his report to Achilles, you were not in the cabin anymore. You were relaxed, sitting on his ship as you read your book. You just looked so beautiful unbothered and hated to bother you, you were enjoying the moment.

You swiped the strays of hair in your face away, trying to focus on your book. “Chevalier certainly knows what interests you.” He commented. “My men say you refuse to move, that you refused to sing with them. I thought you enjoyed Leave her, Johnny.”

“Chevalier’s taste is quite different than mine, I’d give him quite a scare if he truly read the contents of this book.” You marked the page of your book before closing it carefully. “I did not sing but I loved their voices. We should have them perform.”

“Might I see?” Shay reached for the book, but you pulled it out of his reach. “C’mon, you’ve got nothing to hide from me!”

“No.” You immediately said but your smile did not falter. “I must show you the map, I’ve located numerous military camps with supplies. They will be useful to the Morrigan.”

You both walked to the captain’s cabin, Shay opened the door to let you in first and then closed it behind him. He followed you to the table with the map laid out, a part of North America with marked points.

“It’s quite chilly but Chevalier it would be worth it.” You commented, pointing at one at a time to explain. “When I was using the spyglass, I was able to get some of the contents of the supplies. Here, you get wood and metal. And here, cannons. There is a fort here so you must tread carefully-”

Shay didn’t bother to listen, rather, he took in your features, how your finger tapped in a certain pattern when at a marked location, how you went into detail about certain patterns soldiers take, or how each of the supplies can help the ship or crew in many ways.

Memories of a conversation he had with you weeks earlier came through his mind, your laughter, your casual mention of an ethereal light. It all started when you went to North Atlantic once, the temperatures were freezing, and you remained up on the Crow’s Nest. He went to get you himself and he saw you stare up at the sky, like you were waiting for something.

You explained the stories of his and Chevalier’s crew speaking of green arches that curve across the sky, lights dancing in the sky. You wished to see them yourself instead of hearing them or paintings, you wanted to gaze your eyes upon them.

You were exquisite, magnificent, alluring... He knew the perfect time to take you to see the northern lights, he wanted to be the first to take you, to see your eyes gleam once more.

“Are you listening to me, Shay?”

Shay cleared his throat. “O-Of course!” He answered awkwardly. He tried to play it off, but you did not see him staring again. To see you so focused and helping him, made him all giddy, you are available for him. “You were talking about... Um, that camp.” He gestured vaguely towards the map.

“Really?” You lifted an eyebrow, sneering but in a joking manner that Shay understood. You then pointed at one mark. “What does this camp hold?” You questioned.

He leaned over the table, taking a moment to think. “Ammo! There's ammo.”

You shook your head as you tapped the spot your finger still rested on. “That is not a military camp, Shay. It is a hunting location. I marked it for personal use. Might find some deer or rabbit there.”

He was caught off guard, his cheeks had a tinge of red on them. “Right, of course. I knew that.” He rumbled, trying to recover.

But your demeanor shifted from playful to worried. You have never seen Shay so distracted before. “There must be something on your mind. I have never seen you so distant.” Your tone became soft, folding your arms.

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in the cabin except you. “It’s nothing too worrying.” He assured you but when he looked at you, his resolve softened. “I was thinking what you said once, about the lights, the ones you did not know the name of.”

“The dancing lights in the sky?” Your expression slowly brightened when you realized. “Yes, yes. They say it is like the heavens themselves are celebrating or the spirits were dancing.” You awed with wonder.

“I was thinking... Perhaps we could set a course north. Father than we had planned before. I would like to take you to see the northern lights or as Hope calls them aurora... Borealis?” Struggling to pronounce the name, he cursed at himself for screwing it up.

The surprise and delight he saw on your face was worth more than all the treasures they had plundered. You stepped around the table and came closer to him. “Really? You would do that for me?”

Shay nodded, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “Yes, I believe it’s time we chased something beautiful, not just profitable or killable.”

“I’d like that very much, Shay.” His hands moved to cup your face, your eyes locking with his. “Thank you.”

Nothing is said between you both, your faces just inches apart. The candlelight flickered, adding a touch to the moment. Shay started to lean in first, and you followed his lead. Your lips were about to touch until the doors to the captain’s cabin burst open.

Liam barged in, he looked urgent but froze in place when he saw how close you two were. “Shay, (Y/n), sorry but-” Liam started, his eyes darting between you two. A smirk was briefly on his lips but stopped when Shay glared at him. He composed himself. “Achilles gave us orders. We need to set sail immediately.”

The two of you pulled apart from each other, embarrassed, but you tried masking your disappointment, covering it up with a poor attempt at professionalism.

Shay patted himself down, turning to face Liam. “And?” He motioned Liam to continue.

“We’re goin’ North Atlantic.” Liam handed Shay a scroll. “The French are moving deeper, Achilles believes they have a lead on another Assassin branch, he wants us to intervene.”

You fumbled with your hands, clasped together. “I shall start preparing the crew, check supplies, and repair the Morrigan if necessary.”

As you moved past Liam to exit the cabin, Liam leaned closer to Shay, his voice low but teasing. “Trying to one-up the Chevalier, eh?” He chuckled, but then his tone became serious. “Make sure your head stays in the game Shay.”

“Always, Liam.”

With that, Liam left the cabin, the doors closing with a soft thud. Shay stood there, hands on his hips as he let out a frustrated groan. He was so close! He took a deep breath as he had weeks or months to try again.

Besides, if Hope was correct, it would soon be the perfect moment to see one.

The Morrigan was anchored in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Liam left the crew’s sleeping quarters after checking for injuries or casualties. He dismissed those standing on the deck of the ship to get some sleep, he and the captain, along with their navigator were going to keep watch for this night. He needed everyone rested and ready.

He stood at the wheel, arms crossed, and reamined still.

Up on the crow’s nest, the air was crisp, and the stars shined in the sky. Shay climbed the rigging to the nest, where he found you leaning again the wooden frame, gaze fixed on the sky. You twiddled with your fingers. He was able to sense the nervousness raiding off your body.

The deep breaths you took, letting out small clouds of your breath each time you exhaled, and shifting side to side. You wore thick clothing to shield you from the weather and the gloves he gave you when you forgotten yours somehow... He took them.

“Beautiful night.” Shay commented, his voice low as not to startle you. He leaned against the wooden railing next to you.

A smile tugged your lips, though your eyes didn’t exactly show it. “It is.” You agreed, then sighing, lowering your head. “The lights... Will they be as the crew described them to be? The heavens celebrating, the spirits dancing. What if they don’t appear? what if they’re not everything I had hoped for?”

Shay looked out across the sky, which was turning darker by the minute, and then back at you. “They will be.” He said, confident. “They’ll surpass every tale, every painting you have ever seen.”

“I hope you’re right, Shay.” You laid your head on your arms, tired.

It was a comfortable silence, waiting in the cold as the last light of the day vanished. Shay could sense the disappointment coming off you, he was ready to tell you to rest until he saw a faint flow.

It grew brighter, greens with blues, it stretched across the sky like ribbons of lights. It was like its own river.

He nudged her, pointing upward. “Look.” He whispered.

Your confusion turning awe as you saw the gentle wisps growing. The ocean reflected the colors of green and blue, maybe even purple. It was more of what they said, heavens celebrating and the spirits dancing...

“The aurora borealis.” You gasped. Your eyes wide in amazement. You could not describe the beauty of the lights, it would not compare to seeing it yourself. “I...” And you didn’t know what to say. All you could focus on was the colors dancing.

Shay watched your face, it was illuminated by the ethereal grow. It him smile to see your eyes glimmer like before, the slight parting of your lips, your face so focused. His hand reached up to gently turn your face towards him.

“Shay-”

“Even more beautiful.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in, pressing his lips onto yours in a kiss, the only warmth in the chilly night.

You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around him as you returned the kiss. “Please Shay.” You groaned in his mouth. “Please.”

You pushed him against the wooden mast, he kept his hands on your hips as he sat down with you right on his lap. Shay pulled out his knife, cutting a hole in your pants. He tossed the knife aside.

Your breath hitched at the air hitting your cunt. Shay stuck two fingers in his mouth then slowly pushed them inside you. He thrusted it in and out of you, he worked his fingers deep inside you, he used his thumb to work on your clit, easing the pain, and making you clench around his fingers.

Shay then stopped and slipped his finger out of you, making you gasp, in shock at the sudden loss. You clicked your tongue, slipping your hands down his chest and to his breeches.

“Impatient, are we?” He smirked, watching you pulling his cock out.

You angled your hips, gripping his shoulders as you rubbed the slit of your cunt against the hard cock.

Shay gave you one last kiss, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, his facial hair tickling you. “Careful.” Shay warned you. “Don’t go hurting yourself.”

You trembled as you sank onto his cock, hissing in between your teeth. You choked on your moans as you took his full length then circled your hips.

You began to bounce up and down his cock, he let out a louder moan. You cried out, throwing your head back. “Oh god, Shay!” You sobbed.

Shay managed to push you to change positions, laying you on your back where your legs kept him close and inside of you. Your nails bug into the back of his assassin’s coat and Shay planted kisses on your exposed neck.

He started at a slow pace, making sure you could feel him. Your eyes flickered open, looking up at the northern lights still there.

“More Shay, please.” Feeling your high approaching.

He picked up his pace, lifting his head up, and squeezing his eyes shut as he clenched his jaw. But he too, opened his eyes. He can see the northern lights reflecting in your eyes. You looked out of this world.

That's when you looked him in the eyes, he froze for a moment. Your hand reached to the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss him.

He continued, feeling his orgasms building along with yours. And after a couple of more thrusts, you both let out loud moans, he cursed as he felt you clamp down around him as he comes inside of you.

Shay had no qualms about the cold, he took off his assassin’s coat to wrap it around you. He then tucks himself back into his pants and you sit up, feeling the stickiness in between your legs.

You both sat against the mast. A smile on your face as you laid your head on his shoulder, panting. “Better than the tales and paintings.”

Though the northern lights were gone, he could still envision them. “I’ll always take to see them.”

“That would be impossible Shay. But I would love to see them now and again.”

Shay snorted, standing up and grabbing your hands. You wobbled, falling into his chest. “I’ll go as far as I can to take you to see them.” He placed a kiss on top of your head. “And I’ll take you under them each time.”

“Since when did you become so romantic?”

“Since I read your book.”

“Shay!” You smacked his chest while he laughed.

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #assassin’s creed smut #assassin’s creed x reader #shay cormac smut #shay patrick cormac #shay cormac x reader #assassin's creed #assassin’s creed #assassin’s creed rogue #shay cormac

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kiatheinsomniac · 1 month ago

Text

❝contains: shay cormac❞ ✩ — fan favourite ♡ — contains smut

ᯓ★ 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬:

the precursor scholar

ᯓ★ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

reuniting with his daughter! reader

what he calls his s/o

first kiss

reacting to you being hurt

finding out you have a hidden tattoo

body preferences for his s/o

his s/o is really good at giving massages

his type in a s/o

he wakes up and finds his s/o in his robes

how he reacts to having a sleepy s/o

when his s/o has a scar with a funny story

his s/o is hispanic/latina

his s/o has a nightmare

ᯓ★ 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 / 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 / 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬:

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 [archived] my very old oneshots from my pre-tumblr days

⊹₊ liked it? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

#shay cormac x reader #shay x reader #shay #shay cormac #assassins creed fanfiction #assassins creed fanfic #assassins creed #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue x reader #shay cormac x reader smut #shay cormac x reader smut #shay cormac smut #shay cormac smut #assassins creed x reader smut

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bigtreefest · 1 year ago

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Chapter 7: Then Again

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: Mountain Ranger! Ari x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got regrets they might wish to go back and change, but then again, you would have never gotten here

Word Count: 3,304

Content/Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, SMUT, honest conversations, hiking, cuddling, soft intimate shower, oral sex (f receiving), p in v protected sex, lotsa kissing, praise and lowkey size kink, swears

Author’s Note: O. M. G. This is the first time I’ve written smut, so I wanted to make it super soft and loving like I feel really pairs for this couple. Nine months into the relationship, wowza. Talk about true love, somebody pls find me a bear of a man like this.

Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo welcome and appreciated!!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Below is the song which inspired this chapter. It’s my favorite on the entire album. It just kinda puts warmth and longing into my chest, so I hope the vibe matches what I’ve written.

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“Yes Mom, I promise I’ll be safe.” You looked into the camera of your phone as your mom looked right back at you.

“As long as you promise. I don’t want you eaten by a bear, but apparently you’ve got your own bear of a boyfriend to ward them off.” You laughed along with her own chuckle at that joke.

“Yes, Ari knows these woods well. I have no doubt he’s taking us on a good and safe route.” Your head turned away from the phone at a knock at the door.

“That’s probably him now.”

It was Sunday morning and Ari had asked you on a nice hike with him. The weather was set to be sunny, yet brisk, perfect for a rigorous walk through the mountains.

You opened the door and Ari greeted you with a kiss on the top of your head. “Morning, Duchess.”

He turned to see you were on the phone. “Oh, good morning Mrs.—“

“Ari, please. Call me mom. How many times do I have to tell you?” You both smiled and blushed at that as Ari went into your kitchen and dropped off his things. You sat on the couch, continuing your phone call.

“I knew there was something about that boy the first time I saw him. I’m so glad the two of you are so happy together. I can’t wait to come visit and officially meet him in person soon.” Ari had spoken to your mom on several occasions over FaceTime now, each time garnering more of her respect and adoration, which was rare for her. She always had sky high expectations, and you were her daughter after all, but she didn’t want you to have to face the same struggles she did, both career and romance-wise.

You rolled your eyes, thinking she wouldn’t catch it, but of course she did. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. You know I’m right. I’ll let you go have fun on your date, though. I love you!”

You smiled back. “Love you, too, Mom.”

Once the call ended, you walked over to Ari, watching him bent over and looking through your fridge. You just couldn’t resist the urge to smack the plump, ripe piece of ass in joggers before you. Just as you were winding up, a large hand went and covered both cheeks.

“I know what you’re, thinking, Angel. You’re not gonna get me this time.” He rose from his hunched position, and towered over you, eyes glinting with mischief, pairing with the sly grin on his face. Before you knew it, Ari had scooped you up and plopped you back on the couch, peppering your face with kisses and tickling your sides. You were helpless, kicking your legs from under his body, doing your best to fight off the attack.

“Ari, quit it! I give, I give, you win!” You squealed through your giggle.

Ari’s hands and lips stopped their assault, but he didn’t pull away, instead, leaning in and putting a fat kiss on your lips. “Get on your hiking boots! We’ve gotta go before it gets hot.”

You nodded and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Help me tie them?”

Ari’s head drooped down as he sighed and grabbed your boots off the floor. He could never say no to that look. He kissed each shin as he slid the boots onto your feet. “Anything for you, Duchess.”

You helped by tying one of the shoes as Ari tied the other. He was just such an expert, having to do this everyday for however many years now. Looking at the single knot you had made on your right shoe, he untied it and pulled the laces tight, making his own double knot in its place.

“You’re so much better at that than me.” You huffed. He laughed back, kissing the wrinkle away from your forehead that showed up when you were frustrated.

“Nonsense. You’re great at it. I just like ‘em extra secure.” He grabbed your hand and helped to lift you off the couch, the two of you putting on your hiking backpacks and heading out the door, ready for the trail.

Your hike was filled with amazing views and sightings of so much wildlife. You truly loved seeing Ari in his element, as well. He constantly checked on you as he led you through the winding trails, pointing out his favorite spots and, of course, stopping for snacks and photo ops.

He could tell when the exhaustion was starting to creep in, but luckily by that point, the two of you were nearly home.

As you came back, Ari started on heating up the leftovers from dinner the night before. You went out to your back porch which overlooked the rolling landscape, rich with colors of green and rocky gray, mountains graced with snow caps when you looked up at the peaks surrounding you.

Ari came out carrying two warm plates of Thai food from the good place in town and you snuggled up on the couch of your patio furniture and ate together.

He grabbed your plates and set them aside, as the two of you chatted, the sun casting a warm glow over the landscape. Ari pulled you close so your back was against his chest, his strong arms tight around your waist. He wiggled to scoot until his back was up against the arm rest, finally placing his head on your shoulder as the two of you settled.

Ari kissed your neck, his beard lightly scratching the sensitive skin, as you sat there pensively. “Ari, do you ever wish you could go back and change things? Go back to a time that was simpler, where you didn’t know what it was like to live through so many hardships? Do it all differently?” You felt his chest heave with a sigh and he exhaled out of his nose, the warm air hitting your collar bone.

Ari let the question hang in the air for a moment, thinking over everything in his life while he formulated an answer. “If I could go back, I probably would’ve held onto my old Bronco. It used to be my grandpa’s, and it was getting old, so I traded it in for the truck. I probably would’ve visited him down in Atlanta a little more, too, before he passed.”

You nodded as he hummed, thinking of more things. “I probably would’ve stuck around for graduation, finished my degree so I could become rich.”

You giggled as his chest rumbled behind you. “I’d probably apologize to Savannah for wasting her time, would’ve hung out and vacationed with my childhood friends a little more….”

“Had a little more patience, or sent a few more prayers to heaven, but I don’t know if that all was really in the cards. If it were up to me, who knows where I’d be? I look back at all of that. The heartbreaks, the hard goodbyes, they led me here.”

You turned to look up at him, his gaze distant in thought before he looked down at you. “If it was all different, though, I wouldn’t be sitting here with my whole world in my arms, stealing kisses on a Sunday afternoon. Sure, there are a few things that I might’ve changed if God put me in charge, but then again, I would have never met you.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes at his words. “Why? Is there anything you regret?”

You laughed and sniffled as you shook your head. “No. Not at all.” He used his thumb to wipe the tears falling down your cheeks.

“I feel really dumb right now. I was gonna say something stupid like buying bitcoin to be rich. Or like, maybe just not date at all until I found you. But you make a great point. I wouldn’t have come up here if it weren’t for all that. I think I love you too much to regret anything that led me here. Anything that I thought was a wrong turn definitely turned out right.”

He shook his head, laughing along with you, kissing away the rest of your tears. “Trust me, I love you more.”

The two of you sat there, basking in each other’s presence, before you began to become overly aware of the dried dirt and sweat that sat on your skin.

“I, um…. I think I’m gonna go take a shower. Get the outdoors off of me.” Ari nodded and helped you up off his lap, preparing to head home and do the same when you lingered before heading inside.

“Do you want to….join…me?” Ari sprung up out of his chair, head nodding vigorously. He grabbed the plates off the table and ran to drop them in the sink. He watched as you sauntered, hips swaying while you discarded pieces of clothing, one by one, completely naked before reaching the barn door that closed off the master bathroom from your bedroom.

Ari shimmied down his pants with much less grace, shucking off his shirt and socks, before joining you in the steamy room. He watched in awe as you stepped into the water and it ran down the curves of your body. Ari reached his hand under the stream and immediately retracted at the sting of the heat.

“God, Duchess. I love you, but I don’t think I could stand it if the lava you’re standing under burns my skin off before I even get to touch you.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Bear, it’s not that bad.”

You begrudgingly turned down the temperature as Ari joined you. This wasn’t the first time you and Ari had done anything, but it was the first time you had seen each other fully naked all at once, since you hadn’t fully had sex yet.

You turned around as Ari grabbed your shampoo, gently rubbing it into your scalp. You moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his fingertips massaging your head, basking in the intimacy and ecstasy of the moment.

“Angel, if you keep making noises like that, I don’t think we’ll ever get clean.” You laughed as you leaned back to wash the shampoo out of your hair.

Ari leaned under the stream with you to wet his hair. You squeezed the shampoo into your hand and began to massage it into his scalp, scratching your nails through his hair just the way he liked.

“Oh, fuck Angel, that’s good.” You giggled, hitting him in the chest.

“If I’ve gotta stop, so do you, mister.”

The two of you continued to wash each other, sharing kisses and feather light touches here and there before getting out and drying off.

Once you had brushed out your hair and Ari’s, the two of you made your way to your bed, sheets freshly washed just the day before. You had your towel wrapped around your body while Ari’s hung low on his waist. Ari held your hips, looking into your eyes, as you slowly backed up until your knees gave out from hitting against the bed.

Ari moved to crawl over you, his towel coming undone as he did so. Your eyes trailed down his firm chest, to his chiseled abs, until you could see how hard he was. You moaned at the sight, watching how his dick twitched in response.

His eyes stayed locked with yours until he leaned down and kissed you, trailing away from your lips and down your neck before retracing the path with his tongue.

You shuffled under him, removing your towel and discarding it on the floor with his, adjusting yourself so your head laid against the pillows. He kissed you again, deeply, passionately, before smiling and pulling away.

“I love you. I’d never change anything about my life unless it meant I could have met you sooner just to love you that much longer.”

You could feel his heavy cock tap against your leg as he kissed down your chest, eyes never leaving yours. You watched intently, lips parted in a light gasp as he finally reached where you were yearning for his touch.

Ari’s biceps bulged when he pulled your legs apart, placing a gentle kiss on your clit. Your breath shuddered at the sensation.

“Is this okay, Angel?” You nodded and whispered back.

“Yes, please. Please keep going.”

Ari’s tongue darted out of his mouth licking a stripe up your slit. Your back bowed as he dove in, licking and sucking. You knew he called you Angel, but his tongue was heavenly.

You let out a high-pitched moan, entangling your fingers through the wet strands of Ari’s hair, using the leverage to grind against his face. He inserted a finger into you, pumping it and curling it against your spot just right. You felt your legs began to shake, but pushed Ari’s head away before you could reach your peak.

“Wait, hold on.” You spoke while still trying to catch your breath. He looked up at you in bewilderment, beard glistening with your arousal.

“What’s wrong, Duchess? Did I do something?” You shook your head, still gasping for air.

“No, no. It was so good, I just, uh…..I want you to be inside me when I come.” Ari nodded, coming back up your body to kiss you.

“Okay.” He whispered back, a soft smile on his face. “Gimme a sec.”

He ran over to his discarded joggers and fished in the pocket to find his wallet where he pulled out a condom. He returned to you in bed, taking his spot between your legs again, and rolled it on. You knew he was huge, and you’d only taken two of his fingers before, but you couldn’t help the anticipation to feel all of him.

“I’m gonna open you up first, okay Angel?”

You nodded and immediately threw your head back as Ari scissored two of his long fingers against your walls, preparing you and stretching you out for what was to come. You wailed when he added a third and Ari swore he had never heard or seen something so beautiful before. The movie that was you feeling this level of bliss from him made him feel warmth and pride through his chest. He needed to be inside you.

Ari pulled out his fingers, swirling his tongue around them and sucking them clean, moaning at the sweet taste. His eyes rolled back and he nearly came from the culmination of partaking in your pleasure up to that point. You couldn’t help but clench against nothing, watching the specks of lust within the love in his gaze after that as he leaned down and framed your face with his large hands. He leaned in to kiss you, then pulled away as his dark blue irises, thin around his blown pupils, shifted between your eyes.

“Are you ready? Are you sure?” It came out breathy and strained. He wanted this as badly as you, after taking everything step by painfully slow step for nine months together.

“Yes, Ari. Please. I just want to feel you so close.”

He nodded and ran the head of his cock

up and down your folds, gathering your arousal before perching at your entrance. He kept one hand at his base, the other on your cheek as he looked deeply into your eyes. You felt the bulbous tip breach your entrance, almost with a pop as your tight warmth welcomed Ari.

“Ah, oh, Angel, you’re so tight.” Ari nearly yelped at the feeling of being inside you. You watched as he couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter closed from the overwhelming pleasure. “I’ll take it slow, promise.”

All Ari wanted was for you to enjoy this as much as him, and when he was able to pry his eyes open to see the way your face was contorted, your eyes as sincere and pleading as his, he knew you were. He slowly pushed in further, accompanied by a deep moan from you. Neither of you were virgins by any means, but something about this moment with Ari felt like being born again, straight into delectation.

He pushed another inch in, slowly, and your hands flew to his broad back, nails digging in the muscles that firmly blanketed his scapulas. His hips jumped at the sting, pushing him in to the hilt, causing you both to brace against each other at the fullness and all encompassing warmth.

His head dipped into crook of your neck, breath fanning your collar bone and beard sending tingles through your body as he sucked on the spot that gave you chills.

Your hands ran down his back and to his ass, pulling him in closer to you, if that was even possible.

“Ari, I need you to move.” You felt him nod against you and his hips pulled out only a few inches before rolling back in.

You breathy moans were close to his ear, spurring him on to keep going faster, pulling out farther and pushing in deeper until the warmth from your core began to climb up your body again. He found a rhythm and could feel as your pussy began to clench.

“Duchess, I can feel you’re close. It feels so good. You’re always so good to me.” His praise pulled you that much closer to the edge, hands grasping for purchase across his back, slipping slightly from the thin layer of sweat.

“Fuck, Angel. So tight. It’s okay, you can let go. Let go for me.” Ari needed you to come for him. He needed to feel your body sucking him in, holding him tighter. He pulled his head from your neck to look into your eyes when it happened. He moved his thumb down to your clit, rubbing tight circles and sending you over the cliff you were hanging on.

“Oh god, Ari!” You keened, your ankles locking around his narrow hips as your entire body contracted in ecstasy. Ari wasn’t far behind, the tightness surrounding him causing him to drive his hips all the way forward and spill into the condom. He collapsed over your chest again as he grunted lowly into your ear.

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes as you caught your breaths. He pulled back, his now dry hair draping over the sides of his face and framing yours, making a small world where it was only the two of you. His silky brown locks blocked everything else out. The only thing in existence was your shared gaze, filled with hazy satisfaction and dopey smiles.

Ari leaned down and kissed your lips, and then your forehead before he whispered to you. “I’m going to pull out, okay? You stay here while I go get a washcloth.”

You nodded and gasped as you felt the sensation of the ridges of his dick passing against your walls until you were empty. On instinct you rolled over to your side and closed your legs, still sporadically convulsing from the orgasm. Ari returned and cleaned you up, pulling up the covers and crawling into bed behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you closer.

He kissed you shoulder and muttered. “I’m so happy to have you. I love you so much.”

You turned over and tangled your legs with his, pulling him in for a lazy, filthy kiss. “I love you, and I’m the luckiest person in the world. Or more like, my whole world was just in me.”

You winked at Ari as his shoulders bounced in laughter at your ridiculous statement. You were drunk in happiness, but neither of you would have it any other way. You slung your arm around his waist and nestled deeply into his chest, a satisfied smile on your face.

Next >

Bonus A/N: as Paris Hilton says, “that’s hot”

Series Taglist:

@patzammit

@hawkeyes-queen

@identity2212

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starswallowingsea · 8 months ago

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sorry but if you're writing a "retelling" of a fairy tale and decide to change like. several fundamental characters to make it hot incest erotica i think you need to reevaluate why you are doing a retelling and not just writing something original other than trying to capitalize on people knowing who cinderella is. some questions to consider: what is the original plot of cinderella, or at least what is the plot of the disney movie version of her story? what is the importance of her having ugly step sisters rather than your retelling's "four hot step brothers"? where is the prince in your retelling, or did you leave that plot out entirely because you just wanted to write incest erotica?

#shay speaks #anti booktok #incest //#incest cw #the original image that inspired this post is under the read more btw.#i am not making this up i do not like making straw men about this shit #you could just add smut scenes between cinderella and the prince. but then its not incest or whatever #i dont think incest is hot maybe that's what im missing here but also. just write something original #penelope douglas has been doing just fine writing this shit on her own as original stories #<- i hate douglas btw oh my fucking god #anyway

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shaisuki · 1 year ago

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❝ A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS bullying + university au + heavy bullying + degradation + humiliation + threats + blackmails + she/her pronouns + sabotage + bribes + blow jobs + cunnilingus + name calling (slut, whore, being called pig related names) + noncon + dubcon + dacryphilia + penetrative sex + implied spanking + anal sex + double penetration + nonconsensual recording + DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

NOTES. it's been long since i've paid attention on this one and for @bimbosandbubbles, vanny. thank you for inspiring me to finish this one. semi part 2 here. part 3.

SYNOPSIS. evading your bullies isn't a good idea so they take you to learn your lesson.

at the start of your uni days, you expected life would open a new path for you. meeting new people from different cities or in the international, new experiences and a way for you to start a new life with a degree after college but you shouldn't have planned anything for yourself as life had different plans for you. to mock you and spat at your face for being naive.

stuck in the endless game of cat and mouse with the university's golden duo.

his bright blue eyes peering behind his dark glasses while he watch the busybodies of students walks through the busy hallways of the university. searching for a certain someone that has been the sole enjoyment of his for the last few months. the only one who have lasted them for so long.

spreading his long arms at the back of the bench. legs spread in an inviting manner as he leans back, head thrown back. looking at the person sitting besides him.

“suguru, are you sure she'll show up?” gojo whines, asking the dark-haired male with the same footing as his in the university. looks and popularity-wise.

taking a puff from his cigarette, geto turns his eyes to him before looking at the students coming out for their next classes. blowing out the smoke before replying to him. his purple eyes glints.

“patience, satoru. she will show up.” anticipating the return of their favorite plaything. you could such be a tease at time like this.

it was time. your eyes rapidly searching for them. hoping to avoid the duo that everybody have singing their names. you don't want to deal another humiliation nor degrading remarks coming from them. you prayed. prayed and prayed, hoping someone will hear your pleas. clutching the straps of your bag tighter as you step outside of your class.

you began to made your way to your next class. you were glad many students were still present and crowding the hallways but you could never be so sure. passing the crowd with an apology to your lips as you occasionally bump into them but you keep your guard up, avoiding to look in the courtyard. you keep your sight straight ahead but you could feel your eyes tear up when a sudden shove from a busy student hit you. the collision making you look in the direction where the duo was waiting for you.

even at the distance, you can see geto's eyes fixated on you. a smirk curls in his lips. shooting you a playful smile at your direction.

your prayer wasn't heard that day.

scrambling into your feet and pretends you didn't see him. making yourself blend in the crowd and disappeared into the place where you only know. your heart beating a mile per minute, running away from them.

“there she is, satoru.” geto called out to his friend. making gojo straighten himself up and looks where geto is looking at. you're running away from them. how sad. how stupid.

thinking you could easily escape them and blending in the crowd. clever girl. they thought but they couldn't miss you. like predators marking their prey to be devoured. they know you more than you know yourself. exchanging looks and geto smirks while gojo chuckles. fuck, you interest them more.

two cats letting the mouse escape and corner it again before they can fully escape in their grasp.

looking around, you made sure there's no one following you. no signs of the white hair and dark long hair best friends lurking around. taking the more quiet place that students use as shortcut when in a rush.

you just wanted a peaceful college life. not being a playtoy for the duo who passed you around like you were some cheap whore. you want to ask someone to help you but how could they help you. some attempts were made and the good souls who believes in you where blacklisted from the university for some unknown reasons.

you didn't know how much power gojo held and the words coming from geto's mouth enticing people who hang from his every word and realizing it only at the end.

gojo satoru is the only son and the heir of a multi-million company. who made a name for himself in the campus. the pretty boy who have different arm candies hanging in his arms weekly.

geto suguru who you doesn't know much but made himself popular along with gojo in the campus. charming he is and had a fan club made for him and to his best friend. they're the best if people were asked about them.

and you. you were just nothing but a toy to them. a past time when they're bored and you're left like nothing when they're done with you.

they won't follow you, do they? looking behind you to check and you almost let out a breath of relief. you barely escaped geto earlier. your nerves still working you up.

“i didn't take you the type to ditch us, (y/n).”

you almost jump, making you stop in your tracks as you look up in front of you. hand in his pockets while waving the phone in his other hand. a grin in his face while stepping closer to you.

with every step he take, you took backwards. not wanting to face him or geto. you don't want anything from them. tentatively taking your steps backwards. you just could blend again with the crowd. your mind formulating a thousand escape plans. you only look at him in contempt. a last chance of bravery against him.

spinning your heel and you made a run for a life. you could taste the escape in your lips. away from him. away from the people who made your life hell.

flashes of light blinded you for a second before realizing you were stopped. the tight grip in your arm, the smell of cigarette clinging into his shirt. it almost made you gag.

“nice one, suguru. (n/n) thinks she can escape us.”

there was a stinging sensation behind your eyes. the hope you're once clinging ripping into shreds. falling once again to the madness this two seeks for the pleasure of their own entertainment.

geto pulls you closer to his. wrapping his arm in your shoulder. your back against his chest while his hand went to cup your jaw. raising your head to meet his smile. you sure could punch him if you have the guts but looking at his face, you couldn't deny that geto suguru is attractive. maybe it's the lightning or how his hair is elaborately tied in a bun where the other locks of his hair is loose underneath and the single strand of his hair falling down. acting like bangs in his face. the warm light of the sun illuminating his face like halo. it's almost— godly.

you felt stupid for admiring one of the people in your life who made it hell. it's a realization how small you felt, how powerless you are with this two and they remind you of it every single time of your life.

your lips is curled up in a frown and gojo take notice of it. the latter grinning and walking forward where his friend got you trapped.

grasping your chin in his slender fingers, blue eyes inspecting your face behind his dark glasses. leaning closer to brush his lips to yours and the immediate reaction earns a laugh of amusement to his. tucking back your lips and moving your head to the side. blinking back the tears and he'd be lying if he didn't like the tears on you.

you weren't special. you're nothing worthy of praise nor attention but you do give them a hell of a time. you didn't even look or close to the numerous bitches they had fucked. they were naturally submissive which they like and the worst is they got clingy which is incredibly annoying for them. skanky bitches like them think they can have a piece of them. thinking they're now hotshots for sleeping with them when they're just holes for them to fill and to leave.

you — you got a fight in you. they wouldn't tell you that aloud. they didn't need to shape a bitch for them. bitches are made for them and you, even a dozen times they break you, you're still standing up and perhaps they could keep you longer until you submit to them and throw you away like a trash. follow them like a lost puppy that is still coming back even kicked and worship them at their feet. they needed you to break.

your eyes betrayed you, no. it wasn't tears instead it was the impalpable glare you have given to someone and not just to someone. it was one of your bullies.

his shit eating grin turning into one of a coldest lines forming in his lips before turning into one of a condescending smile. an immediate silence taking over and geto didn't missed that despise being behind you. harshly yanking your arms he was holding and earning a whimper from you.

“ah, ah. what's that? acting brave now are we? who taught you that or perhaps we didn't teach you enough what happens to fat slut like you acting up? mmm?” he hums. closing his eyes as his lips crooks into a smile. his bangs covering one side of his eye and the other opens or both. you couldn't tell when his bangs is covering the other.

“suguru, don't be like that. we've been just too lenient at her and now — acting too brash. we don't want this for our pet suguru, do we?” gojo tuts. tapping his fingers to your cheek, eyes locking to geto. the eye contact generating the sickest of punishments they can sentence you to.

“please — i-i need to go....” your voice stumbling at the words and your false courage starting to crumble. you couldn't think how stupid you were for glaring at gojo. he deserves it and it's not enough. you thought. bitter memories starting to surface while you think of all the humiliations you had to endure by his hands and if you were getting punished which was already placed into you, you should have glared at his friend too.

gojo tuts.“nuh uh, where do you think you're going? this is what you get for avoiding us. you need to learn your place.” the snow white haired boy jeers at you.

suguru only smirks, grabbing your arm to drag you from wherever they wished to punish you. gojo following suit whilst humming a tone from a random song.

you ended up in a vacant classroom in where the area is currently renovated and staff and students alike are forbidden to enter minus the construction workers who were taking a lunch break. giving the duo the time to punish you in their own ways. you can feel the bile rising in your throat and the familiar sparks of tears stinging behind your eyelids. your heart quickening its beats from the nervousness and the shame you have to face on or it will never end. it never ends.

“strip.” the black haired male ordered you. seated in one of the chairs in the vacant room. his friend is also comfortably seated too. a huge smirk plastered on his face, resting his head in his palm while those blues in his eyes glints in anticipation.

“n-no.” you stammer out. your hands trembling. clenched in fists in your back.

geto fakes a frown. twirling his phone in his hand while he types the password in his phone.

“no? such a shame if the whole uni would see what kind of a slut you are. you look good in this one, pretty i might say. taking satoru's cock so well. hm?” tapping the phone in his fingers while showing you a clip of a video they had previously filmed from the past sessions. both had a copy in their own phones. they may never say it but it's a video they treasured whenever they misses you. “poor mommy and daddy. they will know how much of a slut a daughter they had raised.”

“you can't do that. you have no right.” there's a sound similar to a whisper in your voice. a cruel smirk etched in his face, looking at your helpless state. they know the power they hold. what would you do report? ask the others? too bad, they'll never believe you as long they're around. people worship them. what's the power of a peasant against them? nothing.

“he can, (y/n)-chan. just one tap away and the whole world will see you for who you really are. a slut who's desperate of attention. now, follow suguru's order or we'll post it.” satoru warns. playing with the arms of his dark glasses. the action making you see a peek of what's under them.

and just like that, like a puppet you obey them. your hands trembling along with your vision blurring from the tears that started to spill from your eyes. forced to follow what they ordered to you. you couldn't risk to be find out. knowing full well that you would just be shamed even it's not your fault. who would believe you after all? you were an unfortunate being that got thrown in a tiger's den. you think of your parents — who worked so hard for your education. if hardwork and determination would reward you along with their sacrifices. you will be the first one to graduate in your family. you just have to endure it. give in to their demands and maybe — just maybe. it will end faster and you could wallow in shame on your own.

retracting your arms and you unhooked your bag slinging in your back. placing it on the nearest table. there's a soft thud along with the taps of their shoes in the wooden floor. impatiently waiting for you to completely strip of your garments.

your head hung know as you hesitate to reach out for the lower buttons of your blouse. your fingers wobbles as the buttons enter the holes of your blouse. one by one. the buttons coming undone and you blinked back the tears again but no matter how many times you blinked the tears came running down your cheeks.

you couldn't run. not when the fate of your education and dignity are stored in their phones — or maybe. you'll let them and disappear forever — away from their hungry gazes and hands that turns filth whatever they touches.

a pair of blue and purple dances at your snivelling form. that look suits you better than being a stubborn bitch you are. all bark and no bite. who's the the loser now?

it's getting quite annoying how you slowly take your clothes off and the modesty of it. a red long sleeved blouse and underneath it a black tank top paired with a long black denim skirt that preserves and gives you the impression of being a modest and goody two shoes person. boring. they make sure to put in mind what clothes you are allowed to wear for immediate contact.

satoru sighs but it's closer to belching. growing impatient as he taps his shoes in the floor before standing up and walks towards you.

he holds the tops of your shirt before tearing it up. the last buttons flying away as they got ripped. you panicked and grasping his hands to stop it but he's stronger than you. easily pulling your arms away as he yank your shirt. the action resulting in your skin burning and welts starting to form where the cloth had touched your skin.

“no! no — please! i—i'll do anything you want but not this!” you cried, hands squirming to take it away from his tight grasp. “tsk. too late.” gojo taunts. turning his head to look at geto who was enjoying the view. “suguru~, lend a hand will you? little mousy-chan is real stubborn today” asking his friend nonchalantly.

geto shakes his head, cupping your jaw harshly that it started to hurt and leaves bruises to the skin. forcing you to raise your head to look at him. “this wouldn't happen if you were obedient. we could have shown you mercy and instead what did you do? running away from us like a squealing pig. accept your punishment.” his pupils darkening and you watch it through your glossy eyes.

“a bad, bad — bad girl, you are. who taught you this? ahh, maybe it's mommy or daddy. run away from the big bad wolf eh. it's that what they taught you. they're wrong. you're a swine who lures men at your undesirable self.” he continues to sneer at you.

you didn't know what's hurting at this point. your body or your soul. you didn't know. you couldn't even shield yourself from the spite of their hatred and disgust for you. if you were really this ugly and undesirable for them. why would they bother for it. you know it wouldn't be difficult for them to get their dick wet. girls swoon and was more than willing to give their body for them and if they want another to give the same treatment you receive, they can. a much more appealing person for their taste. a far cry from what you are.

he lets go of your jaw, the sound of your tank top being ripped from the back resonating in the room. geto grabs your head, your face pressing on his chest while he holds you to avoid interrupting his friend who was having the time of his life tearing your clothes off. your bra following suit. your denim skirt being tugged away and that made you cry even more, leaving you only in your panties.

gojo continues his torment at you. slapping and pinching the muffin top in your waistline. chuckling while his fingers digs marks into the skin. amused from the fat of your body jiggling and swaying with the assault it was taking.

his eyes twinkling in pure glee and it returns to normal meeting geto's gaze at him. looks are exchanged, a quiet agreement that they both fully understand what it meant coming for you.

geto places his hands into your shoulders before pushing it down, forcing you to kneel with no consideration for the bruises that will later bloom. gojo watches in pure amusement while his friend manipulates you into his will. this is what suguru is. his true colors in full display.

geto is not the person you want to be messed up with. striking in the place where you don't expect it. nothing can hinder suguru when getting what he desires and a shame for those fuckers who tried to help you. what they did get? blacklisted from the university with a anomaly he conjured up.

flickers of sunlight and dust mingles in the room. gojo shakes his head watching as his friend switched his charismatic demeanor into one of a sadistic. “suguru, don't get too hasty. i thought you were the cool one here.” he said nonchalantly, eyes hungry with desire and need from raking through your half naked figure. kicking your torn clothes strewn in the floor.

“i don't tolerate defiant bitches who can't follow rules and begs for mercy from their mistake.” his voice cool with hint of malice behind them. “i should put you in your place, (n/n). ” he smirks, relishing on how hope simply vanishes into your eyes.

“now don't be like that to me, (y/n). please me and maybe i'll change my mind.” his eyes narrows down at you while you're in the verge of tears. your lips are wobbling. faced with suguru's crotch and you regret looking in his eyes. a silent plea for him to change his mind. a condescending smile only and you received your answer.

you blink back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes while you reach for his belt loops. shaky hands unbuckled his belt and you were shook that you were fumbling and when geto took a breath, you quickly managed to unhook the loops and pulling the zipper of his pants down.

you never wanted to make it worse than it was when geto would show his impatience towards you and in your situation you can only obey.

he's huge. always was. the outline of his cock is pressed against his boxers. “i presume you won't be needing my help to get it out, princess.” his tone velvet smooth with a hint of impatience dripping in it. you accepted your fate when you tug his boxers down. his cock springing free and it slaps to his abdomen. “suck.” he orders you with no hesitation and you think you could cry at this moment and then you remembered how cruel the two are when disobeyed especially the male above.

you take a experimental lick in the tip of his cock before enveloping it with your tongue. you feel him shiver. a grunt can be heard next as you swallow half of his cock. bobbing your head in a slow motion while you stroke the other half of his cock.

suguru stare at the scene below him. his cute piggy taking his cock in your mouth. he places his hand behind your head. forcing you to look at him and it makes his cock throb more at your mouth. your round cheeks in display and your lips wrapped around his cock and that teary gaze of yours meeting his own. “take more of this cock, princess.” tapping your cheek and you obediently followed. he let out a curse as you take him deeper. closing his eyes for a brief moment and he returned to watch you take more of him. “you can only follow an order if you're being threatened. might do more of this—shit—haaah.” grunting as you fondle his balls.

satoru watch in pure amusement as you take his friend's cock. slobbering all over it as you suck him deeper and he's a little jealous. not used in his spotlight being taken by someone and suguru was no exception and your attention should be also on him. his blue eyes peering through his glasses. he watch as your round face struggled to swallow more of his friend's girthy cock. drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as you bob your head back and forth.

gojo shudders at the blood rushing in his cock. he began to palm his cock through his pants. groaning and the little puffs of breath he was taking. unable to contain his excitement he pulled out his cock. stroking his veiny cock in a slow torturous manner as his cum dribbles down from the tip of his cock.

“suguruuu~” geto winces at the call of his name. eyes half-glaring at his friend for interrupting the haze he was in of your mouth sucking him. “you're not the only one allowed to fuck (y/n)-chan's mouth. sooo let me have her mouth.” gojo smiles at him and suguru scowls for a moment before giving your mouth to suck satoru's cock.

gojo grins. “f-fuck... suck me more...” the white haired boy stutters. burrowing his dick deeper in your mouth making you gag but he didn't care. feels too good to notice that you're almost choking on his cock as tears appeared in the corner of your eyes. your other hand still occupied jerking suguru's length.

the duo loves nothing more than this. their cute, little toy being used by them. you spent the last minutes alternating between their cocks, both covered by your spit. you were currently sucking him off and suguru groans at his impending orgasm and satoru isn't doing good either but before their orgasm bursts. they made you stop.

“open wide baby.” gojo pants. both of them pumping their cocks in unison before shooting their load in your mouth. spurts of their cum dropping in your tongue and some landing in your face. “what do we say after giving you our cum?” his face remaining passive as he reminds you and if you answer it wrong, this will last longer.

“t-thank you.” you shyly mutters. voice low and sounding so obedient. that seems to satisfy suguru as he replied with a hum. holding your jaw between his thumb and index finger. swiping the sticky cum glazed in your face with his thumb, he smeared it in your face and without further adieu you swiped the cum in your lips with your tongue. the bitter taste of their cum coating your taste buds and it would linger for days to come.

“you could be such a good girl, you know that, sweets.” satoru commented. admiring your face covered in cum. “even you could be such a bitch sometimes and you choose today to act up and we know what happens when you break a rule, you get punished.” squishing your round cheeks before staring at you dead in the eye with his blue eyes glimmering more than ever. “and punishment starts now.”

breathing is not the same as it was anymore. you sat in suguru's lap uncomfortably. your ass stinging, covered with handprints as it starts to form welts. air became lacking as suguru continues to kiss you.

“mmm...” the small sounds is all you can manage while suguru shoves his tongue deep inside. it's been minutes and this punishment gets worst as the clock ticks.

suguru can be gentle as he is rough. the dried tears sticking in your cheeks are the evidence of it and your much demure attitude after a spanking does the trick of it so he's rewarding you of kissing you until you're breathless. your soft lips perfectly melding in his and suguru enjoys every minute of it. you taste of the sea and something sweet or it just could be him. licking your tears before this. it was humiliating to you while he savors every minute for it.

geto smirks in the kiss when he hears gojo speak. “she's so fucking wet, suguru.” gojo laughs. watching as slick flows in your dripping hole. your thighs are spreaded by him and preventing you to close your legs away from his gaze. “all that spanking got you, hah. i barely touched you.” mocking you as he laughs. your body tensed and geto noticing the change in your body chuckles. “getting shy, are we? let satoru do what he wants and maybe we're going to be gentle to you this time.” it wasn't much of a request but an order. you simply nodded. “good girl.” suguru mutters before dipping again for a another kiss. holding you closer to him while his hand in your back gripping the rolls on it and the other hand in your breast. his finger brushing to your stiff buds.

satoru let suguru have his fun and so is he. what's in front of him is going to tastier and he can't wait to dig. parting your thighs wider, satoru first bestowed a chaste kiss to your doughy thighs. making sure they are given equally the amount of being worshipped by him. he won't say it aloud but your thighs are his favorite. smooching the expanse of your thighs and sometimes resting his cheek to your thigh just to feel that softness over it. he will get both of them to squish his cheeks or crush his head. he doesn't care.

a smack sound can be heard as satoru took his first lick to your fat pussy. humming in delight for diving back in. his tongue lapping in your sweet heat and more obscene noises grew from his desperate feats of licking your slit with his tongue. alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue to get more of that goodness.

your plush body jerks involuntarily. all the places with the extra bits jiggling at the sudden intrusion of his tongue. moaning in the kiss where suguru had you locked. “mmm...hah—mmm...” is the only sound you can produce as suguru licks your tongue and going back again to take your lips in his. drool covering both of your mouths. eyes half-lidded and you're drunk in this haze and you take a peek of satoru in between your legs. his white hair moving so gracefully as he slurps loudly the juices spilling in your cunt. his large hands holding firmly your thighs. sinking in the softness of it as your thighs gets bigger at being squish. the flesh spilling in his thick fingers.

satoru let goes on your clit with a loud pop before you can cum. your whines muffled by suguru's lips on your own and satoru chuckles. wiping the juices covering his mouth. “i got on her pussy first, suguru.” satoru reminded him and the man in front of you smiles. “no need to remind me, satoru. i'll take her ass.” he nonchalantly commented and your widens. squirming in his lap to get off but suguru clutches your flabby arms in his hands. “don't be scared. it will feel good like your pussy does.” he convinces you but you don't want it. “who cares about that, it's part of the punishment.” suguru growls and that puts you in your place. accepting what they decided for you.

“hey, suguru. frightening our dear (y/n)-chan will get her holes tight. you might want to loosen her.” gojo commentated whilst rubbing your slit with his fingers.

geto tsk. visibly annoyed, a rare occurrence for gojo to see his friend like this. “satoru, punishment is punishment.” the purples in his eyes darkening and gojo shrugs. “whatever. i still get to fuck her fat pussy.” sticking out his tongue towards suguru.

it was painful to swallow the lump in your throat that never existed again and again. your hands are clammy while the duo began to position themselves to you. satoru slapping your ass before hooking his arms behind your knees and his hands holding the back of your thighs hoisting you up. wrapping your arms in his and the other in suguru.

the black haired beauty holds your ass. suguru spreading your ass cheeks and the tip of his cock prodding at your tight hole. “please, geto. not in there please. i—i'll do any—mmph” the sharp thrust of his cock interrupted your plea. making you cry at the burning sensation in your hole. clenching your fist in a tight manner. your eyes hot and warm tears came rolling down your cheeks from the pain like rivulets. “and what? you'll do anything. too late now, sweetheart.” suguru examines your face as it twist again in the thrust of satoru's cock in your cunt.

“fuck!” satoru curses out. chuckling at himself. “the only good thing in you is tight pussy of yours.” your velvety walls clenching around his cock. “are you crying?” satoru teases taking a mental note of your tears.

both of them adjusts their hold on you. beginning to move their hips in an upward motion to thrust their aching cock in your warm holes.

it burns. everything stings with every move. your muscles begging to rest as it tears from how they stretched your muscles and your limbs put in a uncomfortable manner. this is how your day supposed to go on. why you must be in this position. unwilling and unlucky to escape this kind of situation. you're always in trouble with this two and maybe if you weren't so fat for this two to mock and make fun of you wouldn't be here.

mistaking the tears in your eyes as being overstimulated which is true but you're troubled with the inner turmoil of yourself so you get lost and the two began to harshly pound their lengths deep inside you. groaning and throwing at curses.

satoru rests his forehead in your shoulder and behind his glasses, his eyes, the prettiest shade of blue seems to shine in astonishing sight of your pudgy belly. squished together and like dough being stacked together. jiggling at the impact of their thrusts in you and his sight lowers. his cock disappearing inside your pussy as it glistens and the wet squelch it was making, it was simply music to his ears. biting the junction of your neck. he stare at suguru who's smirking at the sensation of your tight hole gripping his cock. “she feels so good, suguru—ahh.. this pussy's trying to choke my cock.” satoru commented.

“you hear that, you feel so good.” suguru holds your jaw forcing you to look at him. “open your mouth, baby.” parting your lips at his order, suguru spits on your mouth. a glob of his spit hitting your tongue in which you didn't hesitate to swallow and suguru smiles. “good girl.” he praises.

hard muscles are a contrast to your soft body. sandwiched between their bodies while they keep their pace steady in bullying your holes with their cocks. a moan is ripped from your throat when satoru hits the spongy spot in your cunt. knowing what he had done, satoru grips your thighs firmly as he angles his cock inside. hitting that spot repeatedly until you can't stifle the sounds coming from you. involuntary moans come spilling from your mouth and gojo swells with pride that only him, well both of them. he and suguru could make you moan like that. how did he know? silly to ask that. they're the only ones who had fucked you since you started college and the first to take your virginity. they didn't even allow men to approach you.

suguru wanting you to make you feel good like satoru does have to speed up his thrusts usually than what he always do. it's not even a work up from him. his desire for your asshole to only know the shape of his cock and he's the only one who can fuck this ass of yours.

“'too much. too much.” you babbled. the pleasure and pain is getting overwhelming for you to take. instead in pitying you it earned a chuckle from the two. “since when did it became too much for you, huh? you're a slut. sluts don't go to tell that it's too much. all they can do is shut up and take it.” satoru taunts you.

gojo hisses when your cunt squeezes around him. the creamy white ring forming in the base of his cock as you came. “shit! she came suguru.” satoru said in amusement and even he's like that he's getting close too and so is suguru. they exchange looks briefly before putting their strength in reaching their end.

you can't speak. they've taken your ability to speak. you can only moan in silence as you feel another orgasm bubbling in your abdomen again. you're going to cum and it's going to be more intense than the last one. you feel them both. hot and throbbing. the veins in their cocks making ridges in your soft walls. taking and molding their very shape.

harsh thrusts are back to back being blown to you. the tips of their cocks hits deeply as they can before releasing their loads. both groaning as spurts after spurts of their cum are being loaded inside of you. never did you felt to be so full and warm until they've released their loads inside of you. hot and sticky.

it took a few more thrusts before the both of them had ridden their high. handsome as they are and wicked even after fucking their favorite plaything. removing your arms around their shoulder. you slowly descended on the floor. both of their cum escaping your holes. dripping and staining the cold hard floor where you sat. you ignore them and you know the drill after being fucked by them. it's time to leave and slowly, you began to gather your clothes. your blouse are useless. tattered and shredded and it won't cover you. you're lucky your denim skirt are still intact.

reaching out for your bag to get the spare clothing you packed for when it happens. you grabbed the wet wipes. patting where their release had stained you, mostly in your face. a stream of tears you didn't even notice falling from your eyes got you wondering why the floor below you is getting wet. the realization dawning into you and you can only cry silently. dressing yourself and trying to be more decent.

satoru and suguru busied themselves fixing their clothing. not leaving the sight of their toy cleaning their self. suguru crouches down to meet your position. “crying after what you've put yourself into.” he commented. “pathetic.” satoru mutters as he watch you beneath him. “try not to defy us again, okay? it would be much worst than this one.” there's a hint of softness in his voice and maybe you could convince yourself that he wasn't a jerk from the way he spoke but you know better. they had humiliated you until you hated yourself. degrading you like you were nothing a dirt and not a human being.

“i understand. i'm sorry.” you say. bowing your head in shame for being disobedient at them. for not following simple orders. “good.” his only response to you.

“can i please go now?”

suguru hums and with that, you slowly made your way outside. your bag tightly secured in your back with your ripped clothes, you left without saying a word again with tears streaming down your face.

when you disappeared from that door, the duo both left at the building. going on with their lives again as the golden boys of the university and you were left with nothing, not even a shred of your dignity.

satoru reviews the newly recorded of you being impaled by their cocks. feeling hard again from the way your pussy wrapped around him along with your soft body pressed against him. “the best, satoru.” suguru commented after seeing what his friend is watching in his phone. “send it to me.” whipping his phone in a second and quickly typing.

your phone buzzes. alerting you with a message. you were wiping your tears after you nearly trip. absentmindedly wandering in the campus and if it wasn't for you almost tumbling you wouldn't break out from your stupor. more tears rolled in your cheeks, dripping down in the screen of your phone after you've read the message.

suguru: see you later.

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