#the more I’m determined to enjoy it out of spite

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 15TH ★ MUTUAL MASTURBATION - tobio kageyama .ᐟ

[CHAPTER FIFTEEN CINDERELLA] once upon a time, a soon-to-be crowned princess, once down on her luck, says fuck it and settles on consummating her marriage with the crown prince before they’re actually due to be married ( 9.2K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, cinderella!au, royal wedding, mutual masturbation, cherry chasing, clothed sex, soft sex, oral sex, cum play, fingering, jerking off, cinderella + fem!reader, prince charming!tobio kageyama.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yurrr three for three ! i really enjoyed writing this one and i hope you like it as much as i enjoyed it at the time !! ily guys see you in the next one :D - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“it’s a perfect fit…”

luck has never been on your side. up until now — it was almost like the universe had turned its back on you. your mother’s spirit had faded before you’d even opened your eyes to the colours of the world and not long after, your father passed away… leaving you with his wicked wife and scornful step-sisters. 

for years, all you’ve known are the painful wounds of cruelty inflicted by their hands. nights of tending sore arms and legs and joints after tending to their every incredulous need. you hardly remember the feeling of love — its warm embrace and tender touch, love to you is an emotion that died with your father when you laid him to rest as a young girl. you’ve been down on your luck ever since then, never knowing if you’d ever be able to experience the same feeling ever again. 

for one night only, you’d managed to get a taste. the sweet sensation of love and affection bursting across your tongue on the night that you’d danced at the royal ball where the king and queen’s only son sought out a beautiful bride. out of all the girls, ladies and princesses there — kageyama had chosen you. danced with you non-stop. laughed with you all night. looked at you as if you were the only girl in the entire world for hours on end. for one night, you felt whole again, happy once more, whether that was down to fairy godmother’s magic or your own subtle charm.

but now, with the crown prince of your kingdom on his knee before you, you can see that your dance meant more than just a fleeting moment.

tobio kageyama of royal blood had practically searched the ends of the earth for a foot that fit perfectly into the glass slipper you’d left behind. by his own will and determination he’d wanted to find you, to love you and make you his — this very reasoning causes your stomach to swim with hope and newfound excitement. this could be it.

the change you’ve been looking for and the love you’ve been seeking all your life. “the shoe…it fits,” kageyama repeats breathily, the prince’s usual stoic expression quickly replaced with an adoring and charming smile that sends a pang straight through your beating heart and directly into your longing soul. “it’s you, you’re the one i’ve been looking for.” 

with a twist of his wrist and his lips dangerously close to your knee — the prince wriggles the glass slipper ( now cleaned of any blood and bits left from your spiteful step siblings cutting off their own toes ) onto your foot, his chest a little lighter and his deep ocean eyes a lot brighter when it slides on without resistance.

“it’s me,” you beam, much to the bitter dismay of the only family you’d known throughout your years. the family that never truly loved you. “you’ve found me…” 

leaning up to grasp your hands, stained black with the cinders from the fire you usually prod and poke at to keep alive, kageyama lets out an airy laugh robust with his own joy and excitement. “and i’m never letting you go, never losing you again. marry me, would you?” one of his thumbs moves to brush tenderly over your ring finger and any sunlight filtering into the room refracts off of your glass slipper — perfectly illuminating the mysterious azure swirling in the prince’s eyes. 

he cocks his head to the side; innocent and pleading like a puppy — and you know right then and there that you’d be a fool to let a great love like this pass you by after all that you’ve been through. “oh kageyama,” you coo shyly, basking in the way that the prince shudders as his name peers from between your precious lips. “of course i’ll marry you!”

and just like that, your fate and newfound happiness are sealed. the crown prince leaps to his feet to twirl you in his arms, lips pressing to yours and acting as a signature to sign off on your new life and love. you’re wanted, you’re loved and by a prince no less.

but even then, you remain unsure if you even deserve it all. 

these doubts are only exacerbated after your first few days at the palace, which pass in an overwhelming blur. 

despite the cruelty in which they’d treated you with, you don’t get to say goodbye to your step-family, nor pick out and see your belongings as they’re packed up for your new home in the king’s castle. in the same day that you’re moved into the towering palace, full of high ceilings and art deco so expensive you can feel your worth drop at every piece you admire — wedding preparations swiftly begin and you’re once more bombarded with all sorts of questions. how do you like your cake? your wedding colours? what style do you want your hair? how many guests? the royal servants mean well, you know, but they give you no room to breathe — as someone not accustomed to a lifestyle where your every need is met in a millisecond and you, yourself are not expected to wait hand and foot on someone else. 

anxiety replaces the traces of elation that had once flushed its way through your system, beginning in the four chambers of your heart. how do you know that you’re cut out for this? going from poverty to a princess? there are no classes to teach you how to step up and rule a kingdom after having notably nothing for your entire life. you’re in desperate need of guidance, the gentle direction of the one man relying on you to help create a beautiful, powerful kingdom now and for the many years to come, you have just that, you have the ring of a crown prince on your finger but…

but, you hardly see tobio as the days go by. the very first night he was whisked off by the many men and royal guard to celebrate his engagement. one moment, he appears by your side — frustratingly handsome, with darkened sapphire eyes that rival the countless Crown Jewels you’ve been shown during your stay, a jaw hard set and angular that makes your knees weak while he explains his demands for your wedding to any staff who may question your choices and a smile so rare that your entire world flips on its axis to disorientate you and like you’re drowning in the palace kitchen’s fresh batch of hot sugar whenever he sends it your way. you consider yourself lucky to be betrothed to such a man, all because of a slipper. 

in those far and few moments where the dark haired prince has time to put aside for you — tobio cannot keep his hands off of you. either settling them on your waist or keeping them interlocked with his. you shudder at the sensation of his nose brushing over your hairline or his lips on the very ring he’d given you — a moonlight silver band with a sapphire gem just like his eyes, all for you. ever since you slipped between his fingers at the royal ball he’s been terrified to let you go, as though you might disappear for good. he doesn’t say it, you can hardly read past his stony expression and stern voice ( used only around others, never when you’re alone together ), but you can feel it when he squeezes your hand in passing and hidden away in the intensity of his stare.

you’d be lying if you said you don’t feel the same, frightful that your Prince Charming will be ripped away along with the happiness that you now have. like when your father died and left you with that wicked woman. but before you have a chance to treasure your prince and seek his reassurances, tobio is off again, leaving you surrounded by an ocean of doubts and fears that you’ll never live up to yet another family’s expectations. 

a pauper to a princess, and next, a queen. 

is your love for each other enough to qualm your unease? 

even if the queen finds you pleasant and the king finds you beautifully perfect for his son upon introduction — none of them phased by their son’s choice in bride. a commoner of no noble blood but thoughts of being out of place eat at you all day, even with kageyama so subtly affectionate by your side.

you’ve come from nothing, by no means cut out to be a royal, and still… everyone wants you here. including kageyama.

and you just can’t help but feel like an imposter.

by nightfall, a week later, the maids have settled into a regular routine of drawing you a buttermilk bath with honey and rose petals.

scrub brushes and soft cotton cloths work at the stubborn grit on your skin — washing away the memories of the turbulent life you once lived. the cinders from under your nails add a darkness to the milky water like a drop of ink on a blank white canvas, a reminder of the commonness you exuded before moving  into the  palace to be with your prince. the sight makes you press your lips into a thin line, your wet tongue gliding over the chapped skin nervously. if the maids notice yet more remaining dirt from your past, they fail to comment on it. 

now with soft scented skin and a dampness to the back of your neck — they aid in dressing you, baby blue silks and cotton white tule is draped over your frame under the dazzling moonlight as they help prepare you for bed. a time that you dread, where you’re left alone with your insecurities once more. 

with your wedding to the crown prince but a week away, the royal staff have kept proper tradition in making sure the two of you remain apart until the wedding night. that, coupled with the fact that you hardly see kageyama during the day, only add to the sting of loneliness and self doubt filtering through your veins. like lemon juice on an open wound. 

“we’ll be back to dress you in the morning, your highness,” your lady in waiting tells you, a tone of patience cushioning the fall of her voice as the group of maide leave you the mirror to admire your solemn reflection. parting your lips, they move around the syllables of your name — debating on correcting her and telling her to use it in place of ill-fitting titles. you decide on the latter, shaking your head ‘yes’ while offering up a timid smile in response. it’s far too early to start speaking out of turn; treating your staff as your step-mother would have treated you. “should you need anything, please ring for us m’lady.”

your head bobs shyly once again and the maids take their leave. “thank you, i will.” 

despite the quiet of the night, where every soul lays sleeping soundly under the stars and watchful eye of the silver moon, your mind and heart are restless — wide awake. you’re alone and you should be excited. you’re about to marry a prince and become a royal and all you can think about is the bed that’s too soft beneath your back and the clothes that are too fancy to be worn as they itch and scratch at your freshly scrubbed skin. the ceilings of your private quarters are way too high, providing a wide space for your panic to fill — constantly reminding you of the fact that you don’t belong. 

leaving you with the sinking feeling that you still have to leave by midnight.

before long, the hours tick by and sleep continues to escape you — every insecurity and doubt you have weighs heavy on your mind like a winter blanket instead of a peaceful slumber that you crave… periodically interrupted by the hoot of an owl and… knocking? 

abruptly sitting straight up in bed, you toss the covers to the side all too quickly — blinking the sadness and sleep deprivation away. “c-come… come in!” you call to the culprit, swallowing down your nerves as your lady in waiting from earlier enters with a small curtesy. you scramble out of bed clumsily to return the gesture, still not used to the royal treatment. “is something wrong?”

the maid smiles fondly, taking a liking to how jumpy you are. “the prince has requested your presence in his chambers tonight.”

“o-oh!” while relief and nervousness floods through all four limbs of your body and anticipation crackles over your brain like a thunderstorm kicking into gear — you can’t help but to question the  crown prince’s motives. why would kageyama want to see you so late at night? was he having doubts too? was he worried sick? isn’t this.. improper? 

observing how you fiddle with the silver band of your engagement ring — your maid must sense your thoughts as they pollute the air with scents of unsureness or nervousness because she takes a tentative step into the room, grasping your attention, to provide a reassuring explanation. “he thinks you might be lonely… i think he misses you too, my dear.”

to hear that you’ve not been the only one craving affection from your lover has you perking up — your shoulders a little lighter and the burden of assimilation relieved. slightly. it proves to you that kageyama is still as caring and thoughtful as he was that night at the ball, your heart leaps to know that he’s thinking of you also. “do i…do i need to bring anything?” 

“no, just yourself your highness,” coos your maid in amusement, offering her arm as you pull yourself from bed — eager to meet with your future husband once more. 

after a short walk from your room to his, guided by candlelight, you’re pushed into the crown prince’s quarters without warning, flinching as large oak double doors creak shut behind your back. leaving you locked and enveloped in the darkness of four foreign walls. your breath hitches once you meet a pair of ocean eyes and a midnight dark gaze, your own adjusting to the dark veil cloaking the room’s lighting. once your vision has settled, you take note of tobio’s figure sitting on the edge of his bed, as if he’s been waiting for you with muted eagerness all this time.

for a moment, or what feels like eternity, neither of you say anything — your baited breaths tickle the cool night air, neither of you can will yourself to move and reach for one another’s embrace despite how much you’ve truly missed each other. it’s almost as if you’re seeing him for the first time and he’s seeing you all over again. recounting the night at the ball, where tobio was forcibly stopped in his tracks by your beauty and your grace. where he felt the beat of his heart slow so much he thought he might have died and gone to heaven. it’s only then that he remembers just how real you are, that he pushes himself off of the bed and takes longing, timid steps towards you at the far end of his room. 

almost as though he’s about to ask you for another midnight dance.

“tobio i—“ you rasp, swallowing down the yearning tone acting as a blockade for your words in the base of your throat. there’s so much that you want to tell him and reassurances that you want to ask of the dark haired prince, words that never come and only die prematurely on your tongue. everything with tobio is brand new and rushed, you would hate to ruin the connection with your insecurities. but you need him, right now, you need him to reach out to you and console you — craving his warmth and the beat of his heart you’re sure only syncs up with your own. 

you need him and he knows that you do. 

tobio kageyama has never been the best at comforting others. growing up an only child and in his own kind of privileged solitude, he’d never had the need to provide sympathetic symphonies or kind hearted whispers — he was a prince. it had never and would never be his purpose in life. born to serve a kingdom left in his name, tobio was to be only one thing. a charming, strong willed ruler. at least, until he'd met you. until he saw you just inches away from the centre of his room, swimming for words and while your doe eyes searched desperately for a solace in him. in your future king, husband and lover. a solace he now felt he absolutely, instinctually needed to provide. 

as long as you were with him, you’d only feel safety and serenity, that was the new mantle tobio kageyama would take up. 

in three short strides he’s across the room, tobio’s smooth large hands cupping the apples of your cheeks as he guides you into looking up at him. “i missed you,” he says the words for you, azure eyes dancing across your face as though to commit every detail to memory. the way your brows creasing the centre of your forehead and the way your lips droop into a needy pout. he kisses you next, unexpected, but slow and gentle — coaxing a sigh of content from your warm mouth. he feels your lashes flutter shut against his pale toned cheeks, and your body melt into his sturdy frame like butter. like you’re being welcomed home — your dainty fingers grip his wrist to keep yourself there. “i thought you might be lonesome… we haven’t been together all week.” 

nodding, your eyes remain shut because you fear if you open them — you’ll wake up from a dream. but tobio’s free hand on your waist, squeezing, grounds you and reminds you that your engagement to the prince is a reality. “the palace has been overwhelming without you,” you admit, feeling the dark haired prince’s fingers slip into your own. 

with a keening whine, you lean into the now empty space where your lover’s hand once was. kageyama grins subtly, wisps of fondness pulling the corners of his lips upwards into a crooked smile. “you seem tense. come lay with me, my princess.” comes his delicate whisper, quiet so that the night remains undisturbed, almost afraid that he's speaking too loud will cause you to shatter into a million tiny pieces. you know that the crown prince will hold you together if you fall apart and allow yourself ushered towards his king sized bed positioned where he stood just minutes ago.

kageyama’s hold on your waist is firm, reassuring — his large palm covering a wide expanse on the small of your back. you’d be a fool to say you didn’t enjoy the sweltering sensation of his touch burning through your thinly veiled night clothes. a liar to say you weren’t imagining his touch going any further. there’s a brief moment where the dark haired prince twirls you in his arms, much like a swift movement from the ballroom, before the backs your knees hit the edge of his bed and you fall into its plush swan-feather mattress.

flustered and bewildered, your once heavy eyelids shoot open to look up at your prince while you scoot backwards onto the bed by the force of your elbows — your breathing grows uneven and mismatched, throat bobbing as you swallow the delightful anticipation brewing within from watching tobio expertly crawl up the bed to pin you against it. athletic and rugged arms that have wielded many a weapon cage you against luxury silken sheets — a pair of wild admiral blue eyes drink you in as ig you’re the last glass of water on earth while pale, milky cheeks glow fiery rose above you.

kageyama’s breath fans warmly over your face, his expression stubbornly contorting to reveal his late night desire for one thing. 

you.

his vulnerable dame who looks oh so pretty under the glinting moonlight.

“tell me,” he murmurs to you hoarsely, the bend of his index finger brushing over your cheeks which turns into his hand when he moves his feather light touch the plains of your unmarked neck. possessively. “why is it that you cannot sleep?”

at first, you’re taken aback by your lover’s question. there are many reasons you could list, starting with the abrupt change to your lifestyle. your home sickness and even, the fact that you miss him…but as kageyama’s gentle hand cascades like the calm flow of a river over your shoulders, collarbone and even dangerously close to your heaving chest — you lose the answer in the hazy fog of your mind. “m-many things, my prince,” you stutter out breathlessly, smaller-than-his fingers lunging at his wrist to hold his hand in place above your heartbeat. “right now… it’s your touch. i hadn’t realised how much i…needed it. how it makes my heart race.” heated tension in the air mounts like a stack of bricks, cemented together by a neediness neither of you have felt before. 

the desire for human touch and closeness, the temperate buzz of love that’s new to the both of you.

it clings to every molecule of air in the room, weighing you both down with a contagious cloying cloudiness. both of you sick with a scorching proclivity that has you feverish all over. you need to touch him, you need to kiss him, to be with your tobio kageyama or you have no idea what will happen. will the world end if you don’t feel your skin against his? will the two of you go up in flames if you don’t get any closer? 

the sounds of sheets shifting in the night bring your attention back to the real world. your lover adjusts, the entirety of his lean frame, keeping you trapped against cotton peaks. “i’m afraid i feel the same, i find it hard to keep myself from touching you,” your browns furrow cutely at tobio’s strangled words, throat running dry as you note the prince’s seemingly internal struggle to stay sane above you. to make sure he doesn’t do something you might both regret. “i find it hard to believe that you’re mine...” 

“tobio, please i—“

whatever you had planned on saying dies on the tip of your tongue the moment tobio kageyama kisses you for the second time that night. this one is different from the first, fuelled by delirious passion instead of the need to comfort — his tongue laps at the small part between your ruby lips from where you’ve gasped in surprise. kageyama tastes you and tastes you, lapping up whatever flavour lies in your mouth — sweet enough to make moan darkly from the depths of his princely soul as he breathes hungrily into your mouth. almost relieved to finally have his pressed against your own after holding himself back. you take it, you taste it, you let your back arch itself into the broad width of his chest and wolf down everything he gives you. the first drops of his saliva as it oozes onto the palette of your tongue, his eager huffs that clouded your mind and make you feel as if you’ve been poisoned.

the world slows and the night turns silent for the two of you. wet smacks of your lips slotting together perfectly echo to the highest point of the ceiling in the prince’s chambers — heat rises in the room as well, kageyama’s touch turning to veiny hands pinning you beneath him using a brutish grip on your waist. not that you’re complaining.

but in an instant, tobio is pulling off of you — breaking away from the kiss like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice cold water from the kitchens. “i’m… i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—“ the dark haired prince’s nose turns to nudge against your youthful cheek, hot and wet lips now running down to the junction between your neck and shoulders like a tamed stream of warm water. “s-sorry, i’m not sure what came over me.”

compared to his usual stoic expressions and tones, the kageyama before you now looks as though he’s fallen ill, the tips of his ears, nose and apples of his cheeks are all tinged with a rose blush and his chest rises and falls at a rapid, uncomfortable pace. confusion intertwines itself with the beat of your heart and must show on the details of your face, for your lover’s mouth moves to form the question ‘are you alright?’ that is quickly interrupted by your own hazy actions. you pull tobio back onto you by the roots of his dark hair with one hand, the other tilting his chin down towards you. each of his kisses, growing sloppier and sloppier; feel real — not like the fever dream you’ve been walking through since moving into the palace. 

“i can’t…i can’t believe that you’re mine either,” you hum between the pattern of mismatched kisses against swollen lips, letting out a tune of innocent moans like the finest music to your lover’s ears. your shaky fingers curl in kageyama’s soft baby hairs — keeping him close, although the force of your lip locks cause your head to tilt back into the plush array of pillows. 

everything is so hot and passionate and brand new to you, you must be losing your mind. with your eyes fluttering open, you realise that you’ve never seen kageyama look at you so darkly, his own eyes till of sensuality and mirth. you can tell from just a brief glance the depth of his desire for you, he’s waited far too long to have you like this. and now, the sexual tension is obvious.

his rough tongue slips from your mouth to the corner of your lips, dragging a loving trail of wetness down to your prominent collarbones — the prince dares to leave a dark mark in a colour that rivals the midnight skies outside, basking in the cute bleats you let out periodically and the way your nose scrunched up adorably at the pleasure he gives you. using the pointed edge of his teach, kageyama moves to pull down the baby blue, tule bolero the maids had dressed you in — hungrily inching it off of your shoulders while a free hand slides down to play with the doughy, smooth skin of your thighs. almost filling beneath the hem of your nightdress. 

gasping in surprise, you resist the urge to bolt upwards — tentatively tugging tobio by the hair away from you to garner his attention.

“w-wait! what about our wedding night?”

a touch of condescending laughter lays wetly on kageyama’s kiss swollen lips, pulling them back just enough to see toothy smirk and pearly white teeth. “what about it?” without missing another beat he swoops down to steal another salacious smooch from you, tongue edging past the weak seal of your mouth to roll around and toy with your own. he can practically taste the nervous desire on you as he steadies a hand above your head to ground himself. “we’re set to be married shortly. surely i can indulge in my future wife before then…” 

judging by his movements, such as his tightened grip on the headboard above your head and the bounce of his lips between his perfect teeth, you can tell that tobio remains intent on kissing you. not that you can blame him; it’s the most you’ve tasted of one another since your arrival at the palace. but you will yourself to speak and for once, to voice your concern — knowing that your partner will still love you at the other end of your words. “my prince i…i-i haven’t,” inhaling deeply through your nose, you steal your nerves and fight the sweet mewls that brew like a storm at the back of your throat — a natural response to kageyama who now insists on peppering kisses at the base of your neck (since he could not have your lips). “i have not experienced this before. a-and i want you, i do! i’d just… i’d like for our wedding night to be…” 

the crown prince pauses his actions, his dizzy and lustful stare darting up to meet yours whilst his dark, midnight hair no longer tickles your neck. “special?”

“special.” you repeat with a wavering nod of your head. 

a beat passes where neither of you speak and the silence is filled by your ragged panting. for a second, just a split second, you’re afraid that tobio might not understand or may even reject you but just as he were earlier — he lets a tender smile tug in the corners of his soft lips (reserved only for you) as a thread of adoration weaves itself between the jet black flecks in his darkened eyes. “i don’t want to do anything you might regret or that you wouldn’t ask me for…” he murmurs huskily, leaning down so that the words press against the shell of your ear and cause you to arch your back desperately.

“i have no regrets… not right now i just,” you whine into the night, gripping kageyama’s for some kind of the to reality. “want to go slower, not all the way…”

“not all the way…” the prince muses hungrily, smoothing over your inner calf. you feel his teeth tug at your earlobes as tobio’s tone dips into low and sexy territory — setting the butterflies in your tummy alight with newfound lust. “then it’s alright with you…i’d still like to ease you, to touch you. it might help you sleep.” he reaches down, lips ghosting over the faint adam’s apple in your throat, grinning as it bobs beneath his touch. “i promise to be gentle.” 

“promise?” 

“you have my sworn word.” 

you blink up at the crown prince with big doe eyes, willing him to see the trust laced within them. “okay…i’m okay with more.”

kageyama makes haste in his next movements — undoing the poorly tied ribbon holding your bolero together and pushing your nightgown all the way off of your shoulders. a hand squeezes yours reassuringly the more fabric he peels away from your trembling frame. endearing praises, hushed whispers of ‘good girl,’ and ‘you’re so beautiful’, are written across your marked flesh in tobio’s signature too — all the while he remains careful, considerate of your wish as he presses wet, sloppy kisses onto the surface of your newly exposed skin. an almost pained gasp tears through your throat, stealing all of the air from your lungs, when your prince removed enough of your clothing to expose your breasts to the icy night air. a little more, and your soft, supple stomach is revealed too. 

apprehension tingles below your surface. you’ve never been naked in front of someone before, much less a person that you love. the feeling makes you instinctively cover up  — grip retreating from your loved one’s hair to wrap around the curve of your breasts. effectively shielding them from kageyama’s insatiable view. 

“don’t hide from me, my sweet love,” kageyama coos. “you’re so beautiful. i want to see and have all of you.” pulling your arms down until they rest at your sides, he’s quick to sooth you, an eager mouth immediately encapsulating your hardening nipples, tongue rolling over the circumference of your areola wetly. you can’t help but whimper, fingers jumping up like a twitch and tightening in his midnight locks whilst neither of you dare to look away — gazes locked with a key that’s been long thrown away.

the prince’s face flashes with heat while he languidly flicks at your nipples with the searing hot tip of his tongue, a dazed expression etched across the gentle slope of his handsome features, making him appear as a man who’s stumbled across an oasis — dying for water. his very face right now sets your core alight.

it would be distortion of the truth to say the look painted upon your own features didn’t rival tobio’s. there’s got to be tears somewhere or a glossy pout to match the light sheen of sweat dousing your body. either way, you know that you look a swivel-eyed mess — every touch, kiss, bite and pinch you receive from the crown prince accompanied by the unfamiliar twinge of lust you feel for your future husband currently smothering you into satiny sheets, drives you up a wall that was once many feet high. your blood boils hot, buzzing beneath your skin, so hot you might as well have a fever. it’s all so new for you, so overwhelmingly good that you could die here and be happy, slick and cherished. 

somewhere in the mess of your blistering hot limbs and lusty laments, kageyama bunches the skirts of your night dress at your middle and makes his veiny, large hand comfortable between the apexes of your thighs. you quiver violently and even make a darling noise as tobio goes on to prod a knuckle against the seat of your fresh underwear — chuckling almost mutely at the dampness that soils them in response. “oh princess,” kageyama swallows thickly, amused. “you’re soaking right through these already. poor thing.” 

the way in which the prince purrs down at you, eyes murky and hooded, tone superlicious with notes of superiority only serves to drag you further away from the light above. dragging you under the surface of a desire oh so sinful. 

you realise then that you’d be happy to drown in tobio kageyama.

whether you meant to let it out or not, a pathetic sniffle breaks free from the barriers of your pouty lips and clenched teeth — eliciting a sick and prideful sort of expression on the prince’s handsome face. a face that hardly ever moves or shows any emotion for the people of his kingdom. another secret to be kept between the two of you. this version of the charming prince revels in the way that you squirm against his knuckles and finger tips as they bully your swelling clit relentlessly. basks in the juices that darken your underwear despite the innocent gleam to the tears in your eyes. tears that have yet to fall.

“i can smell just how wet you are, princess,” 

shame begins to curl around your organs, but hardly wins the war against your brewing sexual appetite for the dark haired male licking a withering pathway from the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and over your belly button to the point just above your pelvis. “i-i’m sorry, my prince.” 

while tobio battles between torturing you and nurturing you, a hoarse groan loaded with desire vibrates around the cavity of his chest — vibrating through the bed and shooting to your spasaminf centre.  “don’t be, i take pride in knowing that i have this effect on you.” now settled between your shaky legs, your betrothed blows a bout of warm air against your sex, rubbing at you faster and harder until your thighs instinctively spread wide enough for his dirty-minded gaze. “so pretty, mmph.”

“y-you should…you should see the way you look…down there, my love.” bravely, you somehow manage to talk through your pockets of dulcet whimpers and poor attempts to fill your air with lungs. it’s hard to speak and difficult to breathe when kageyama is busy pressing two fingers to your clothed entrance, fucking the slight resistance of your treacly hole as streams of your premature arousal ruins your panties further. azure eyes loose their vibrant shade at the sight, gaze honed in on the newly defined shape of your puffy folds. 

you’re quick to throw an arm over your face in embarrassment afterwards, however, too afraid that you’ve spoken out of turn with the royal despite your improper predicament.

“oh? what a mouth you have there, sweetheart. how… endearing.” tobio smirks zealously, gaze momentarily flickering up towards your angelic face as it twists with uncharted bliss — all the while, he never stops pinching and rolling your clit, ensuring that you’re soaked through and trembling.  “i thought i told you not to hide, that i wanted to see you while i made you feel good,” he continues on, warning you whilst briefly stopping his assault on your slippery sex to push past the lace trimming on your underwear and teasingly pat the entirety of the treasure hidden behind it.

screwing your eyes shut and scrunching up your nose, your head flies back into the pillows while your thighs instinctively snapping closed around your betrothed’s hand — keeping him trapped against your cunt. “o-oh my gods, tobio!” you cry out loud enough to shake the earth down to its core. even with you whinging and writhing, he doesn’t stop touching you, further building on the pleasure at the base of your spine that threatens to explode. stroking you more and more, the more that you ooze. 

“sorry,” tobio laughs airly and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, using your moment of weakness to pull your limp arm away from your pinched, sweaty face. “such a pretty sound, when you cry out my name,” his kisses move higher, ghosting over your drenched underwear and pulsating pussy. “can you do me a favour, my love?” 

blinking slowly, you attempt to catch a breath in the moment of respite kageyama has given you. you’re hardly there as he tugs your panties off all the way, barely able to register the cool hair now hitting your sticky mound. “hmm?” 

“give me your hand,” he commands. you oblige, reaching for his own hand with the one that once covered your face. you let the crown prince manoeuvre you as he pleases — nearly jolting out of your skin when you feel your own rough padded fingertips brush over your clit. “touch yourself for me.” 

“w-what?” your teary eyes, nearly overcome with sleep, fly wide open in shock. you struggle to sit up where kageyama keeps you pinned. 

he smiles. one of those smiles saved only for you.  “touch yourself for me, i’d like to know how my future wife likes it.” he repeats simply, guiding three of your fingers to gingerly circle your throbbing pleasure bud. “like you would if you were alone. i know that you’ve indulged before, i can see it on your face…”

now is no time to be nervous, after all, for the last thirty minutes your crown prince has had you spread wide open and a mess beneath his skillful fingers — scenting him with the slick from your cunt. although you’ve hardly had the time to touch yourself in the past, between the dizzying demands of your cruel step-mother and her petulant children, you’re able to remember what your body likes. what you like. what gets you there the fastest — and now that you have your own prince to fuel your desires, you no longer need to imagine what it’s like to be claimed. owned. fucked.

free from kageyama’s restraint, you shuffle into a sitting position and timidly circle your clit as it pulses with the rapid beat of your heart. you hiss involuntarily and the dark haired male lets out a surprising, withering whimper — laser focused on how you ooze like a tap with running water. 

“thank you for indulging me,” with pools of marina trench blue engrossed by the way you start to move, the soft jut of your hips into your fingers and the way you bite down on your plump shiny lips to keep the whines in — kageyama presses a wet chaste kiss to the back of your arousal soaked hand and then shuffles to sit back on his haunches. kicking off his briefs and other clothes, he knees on his bed — fighting the urge to blush as you watch his cock spring free.  

he stands tall, erect. tan tip flushed against his creamy pale skin as he leaks a fresh wave of precum all over his tense tummy. just as tobio takes a hold of himself, you push two fingers past the tight ring of your unused entrance — immediately curling them to find the familiar pleasure spots clinging to your sluice walls. like a biological instinct, his hips buck upwards, looking for friction to ease the burn in his erection — blood carrying lusty hormones straight to his leaky tip, keeping him hard.

he’s begging to be touched and you need some motivation. 

scissoring your dainty digits, you work yourself open — fucking your cunt silly, faster and faster the less nervous you become in front of your lover. “t-tobio!” you slur, lashes fluttering against your cheeks while you drench yourself in your own slick. your juices begin to splash against the insides of your supple thighs, wetting them like your tongue wets your lips as you lick them — hungrily waiting for kageyama to do something. anything. “tobi…please! n-need to see you…d-do it too…”

“well since you asked so nicely, my love,” the prince finally takes to palming himself, rolling the pad of his thumb over his blazing mushroomed tip — tapping at the string of precum gathering in its centre. he uses it as lube, squeezing himself to the ruthless rhythm of your cunt spasming around your fingers. matching your pace as if to mimic the way he’s going to fuck you. he looks so pretty and flushed — it pulls whistle tone bleats from between your trembling lips. his midnight blue and stormy eyes cloud with desire at every sound you and your slick hole make, those very sounds thick like molasses as they run through his ears. rotting kageyama from the inside out.  

a house of pleasure built by bricks of bliss builds up at the base of your spine — cemented together and supported by tobio’s constant praise and encouragement. a little faster love. such a good girl. ride those pretty little fingers for me. you’re driven by the sight of his dick in his hand, jerking on it cor dear life and spreading webs of white up and down his shaft with each flick of his wrist. his balls are heavy; loaded with cum that he’s saved all for you; it’s predecessor smeared thickly over his thighs and sheets. maybe you stare for a little too long, locking eyes with the prince carnally, because he laughs over the erotic sounds of your squelching sexes and unified moans.

“it’s fair in size, i know,” he says gruffly, gritting his perfect white teeth — stopping his mouth from watering at your body jerking and your fingers that pull out of your tight heat to trace the length of your juicy slit. “but i’ll make it fit on our wedding night,” kageyama thrusts upwards just as your two of your digits sink back into your creamy clenching cunt. “that’s a promise…fuuuck…”

tears tiptoe over the edge of your waterline in response to the filth pouring from tobio’s mouth, streaking a hot part down the apples of your cheeks that now glisten under the high moon. “that’s what i want; for you to fill me… like no one else,” you sour over the saliva pooling in your mouth — no better than the man himself as you tease your thoroughly fucked cunt, bearing down on your own g-spot. “w-would you… will you cum inside?” you ask over the lewd sounds echoing from your squishy insides as they ring out into the sex tainted air. they form the perfect melody with kageyama’s rough groans and laments, increasing in octave the deeper your digits reach into your pussy. 

your elbows threaten to give out and kageyama can tell that you’re trying so hard to sit up and watch him. pride swells in his chest at your vision, a hand between your pudgy thighs and your salacious curves all on display just for him. your skin; marked with beautiful scars and stretch marks glimmering with a light layer of perspiration. you’re perfect, like an angel sent from heaven to watch over him. and he’s so lucky to have found you. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you. if i creamed that princess cunt of yours, filled you with my seed. bred you until you were carrying an heir. all. for. me.” punctuating his horny rambling, the prince bucks his hips into his soiled fist — stuttering as he goes. “got s-such a filthy mouth on you love, you’ll ruin me with it.”

he’s close. the both of you are. if tobio kageyama falls from grace now, you’ll be right there with him.

you nod rapidly, holding back a choked sob as the bedding below your shaking legs darkens from how your juices spill everywhere. “i want your heir, i want your seed, i want your…oh gods!” tipping your head back, the tail end of your words die in a high pitched squeal that dances in the buzzing air between you. everything burns with how close your release is. you drag your forehand up to your bare chest to you with your nipples — tugging on them harshly. anything to impress your lover, get him close too. 

“want my what?” the dark haired prince howls, squeezing the base of his girth. “so greedy and you’re not even a princess yet. punish yourself for me, love. smack that pretty pussy for me — s’pecially if you won’t finish your words.” tobio’s words waft over your mind like a fog over a swamp, pulling a veil of impurity over any remaining thoughts you might have had. dopamine crackles around in your emptied skull, twirling around the ring of your fluttering hole. you gush and gush and gush, pouring the royal family’s future riches out onto the bed like an endless stream of erotica when you pull out from your selfish heat. “come on, love, keep movin’ for me… slap that pretty princess cunt. make your prince proud.” 

“tobio!” you mewl for the millionth time under the midnight moon and bring your hand down against your mound in a harsh slap, kageyama’s entire body shuddering at the loud wail you let out. like a songbird chirping for him in the morning. a stream of your juices fly up your arm, glaze the apex of your thighs like icing on a cake as a result. some even reaching the prince himself — drawing a languid lament from him. “s-so close…think i’m going to…”

you cut yourself off, spanking your pussy again and again and again until the prince’s head is heavy with the sound of your broken whines and pap of your sex replaying repeatedly in his mind. “oh you’re so good, so perfect for me love,” his cock twitches, an incredulous amount of his seed waiting for you. his lucky love, his beautiful betrothed, his princess to be. “me too, love. me too, me too, me too,” he’s right behind you, tobio trying to keep his cool and his movements steady but lasciviousness coagulates in the tone of his unsteady voice while he fucks his hand like a mock up of your pussy. “c’mere, beautiful. come here.” 

despite commanding you, kageyama reaches you first — his lean frame collapsing over you as if to shield your sins from the world. the seedy tip of his cock presses hotly against the length of your slit, right over your fingers still moving swiftly over your throbbing cunt. you feel everything, overwhelmed by the humid air between your sweaty bodies — the prince’s lips as they capture yours and the pulsing veins twisting around his cock decoratively. 

the dark haired heir to the thrown continues to gist the base of his erection  — freehand grasping desperately onto the headboard to steady himself as his high quickly approaches. your own freehand finds purchase on the bag of his neck, toying with the damp baby hairs there while the two of you exchange loving, lasting lip-locks. tasting the affection and sweat on one another’s Cupid’s bows. 

it’s this way that the two of you reach your climaxes. it hits you like a thunderstorm over an ocean, dragging you under the surface of white hot bliss. the bricks that were building high walls of pleasure in your lower tummy come crashing down with your orgasm — and you know then that they were either never steady or that tobio kageyama was the only one strong enough to break them down. you cum hard, juices splashing out onto the sheets, painting your lover’s shaft and expelling a musky sent into the heavy air. you scream as it washes over you — souring the man above you on.

“gods…fuck, my love. i love you, love you, love you.” tobio makes the fall not long after you, finishing himself off right over your clit — nudging his cockhead against your abused mound until viscous droplets of milky white cover it, seeping between your fat pussy lips. he cant help but look as he floods your slit with seed, choking on a moan at the sight and releasing the poor headboard from his clutches. “you’re so perfect,” he peppers your face with smooches, all of them gentle and carefully placed to soothe you. even as they cascade down your neck, sternum and eventually hover over your sensitive sex. “i c-can’t stop now, have to taste you.”

not a drop of cum, from you or from tobio, will be wasted tonight.

securing his grip on the globes of your ass, kageyama pulls you into his impatient and eager tongue. he starts by opening wide, slotting his mouth against the entirety of your ruined folds — immediately sucking all of the cum and juices from them and moaning as if they’re the first flavours to hit his tongue after being starved for a millennia. the vibrations make you spiral and arch from the bed, reaching for the high heavens. the tip of his tongue wriggles past your slick entrance, the movement eased by how your fingers stretched you out. it flickers in an upward motion, making you see stars like those of the Milky Way between sloppy and uncoordinated kisses.

he’s eating you out for not just your pleasure, but his own, hungry and rabid — filling you up as you cry and cry at the overstimulation. you taste so good, the prince will drink you dry if he has to. tobio slurps what you leak, pushing his saliva in and out of your messy hole while you keenly rut into his face — effectively covering his puffy lips and chin in liquid gold. your own face feels tight and hot, throat raw from moaning so loud. 

your betrothed can't help but moan with you in tandem, whimpering pathetically at every roll of your cunt onto his tongue — forcing him to eat his cum out of you. “tobi, it feels… it feels—!” you pant and grasp at his sweaty hair — tugging him further into your cunt, making him wriggle deeper inside, against pleasure points you had no idea existed along your own ribbed walls. he latches onto your clit and rolls it between his teeth mercilessly until your nails are clawing at his scalp and the air in your throat escapes you. 

rapture tears you apart and pieces you back together all in one — evident in the way your cunt gushes into his mouth like a fruitful stream. there’s no room to breathe or cope between kageyama’s tongue pinned to your clit and the content gripes he lets out between your soaked thighs. by now he’s probably cleaned his release from you, yours too but he doesn’t dare stop until he’s replaced the mess with a new orgasm from you.

briefly, the prince pulls away from your pussy — tied to you by a rope of cloudy elixir leaked from your hole. a mix of him and you. a visual representation of your union to one. “such a good girl,” he snarls so deep you hardly recognise, but it makes you clench around nothing — pushing cum you didn’t know was there out of your entrance. “chase that feeling, don’t let it go, love.” he goads, spreading your thighs apart even more just to watch the webs of your arousal form and break apart. “so messy… are you close for me, princess?” 

you nod rapidly, tearily, and kageyama sighs dreamily, licking your lips at the sight of your mound glistening under the night’s natural light. he licks you up and down with fever and newfound video — focused on pushing you over the edge once more. the crown prince hooks his strong arms around your thighs and anchors you to his hot, hardworking mouth because he knows that you’re so shaky from the euphoria pulsing in your bloodstream that you’re too weak to do it on your own.  

your betrothed tongues his words wetly into your overstimulated sex. “show me how messy you can get, princess. make my face wet with it. so sticky. so good.” 

“c-cumming! tobio…please!” with a high pitched squeal, your release hits you just as the world around you fades to white and tobio is with you right the way through. his pink tongue flicks at your sluice sex hungrily, brushing over your g-spot to guide you to the other side of your high. it shoots out of you in clear streams, dousing the man between your legs in everything that belongs to you. like some form of ownership. 

you screw your eyes shut to stop the static buzzing behind them. your jaw goes slack and your body falls limp, you tremble so hard that kageyama has to reach up and scoop you into his arms to calm you down. a soft grip tilts your chin towards him as he kisses you once again, allowing you to suck your own flavour from his tongue and eventually settles between your legs. hugging you close to him. 

“i love you,” you bleat gently, finally coming to. how could you not. he’s your prince charming and he’s shown you that he feels the same. 

kageyama shifts, expression melting into one of those special smiles for you. “i love you…” 

for some reason, you feel the need to return the favour — reaching down between your bodies and intertwined limbs for his cock which you know is hardening again. but the dark haired prince is quick to grab your wrist, bringing it up to his swollen lips for a gentle kiss against your pulse point. “don’t,” he mutters against the skin there, tasting your sweat with a teasing lick. “sleep, my princess. we’ll have plenty of time to learn the rest later. on our wedding night, remember.” 

the prince wriggles his eyebrows, eliciting sleepy and heartfelt laughter from you. “but—“

“an eternity, remember.” he reaches for your other hand and laces your fingers firmly. a reminder that he’s never leaving you. not now. not ever. “you are to be my wife, in my arms where you belong and away from your cruel past. i want you as you are and will teach you whatever you want to know. just rest, for now. sleep my love.”

you remain silent for just a moment, mind racing with a million things to say. though, for tonight, you settle on but one thing — despite having said it a million times tonight. “i love you, my prince.” you whisper tiredly, cupping his handsome face with adoration.

“and i, you. forever more, my princess.” your lover, tobio kageyama, parrots back to you tenderly. the clock strikes for once for an hour past midnight — indicating your new chance at life, that you’ve stayed at the ball beyond the twelfth stroke of the clock  and you feel your eyes getting heavy, drifting off in your prince charming’s arms.

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 9

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 8 | Series Masterlist | Part 10

Chapter Summary: Bucky takes you home, but will he keep his hands to himself?

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought you heard the men wish you well once more when Bucky led you out of the office. You weren’t completely sure since you tried to block everything out, but attempting to disassociate wouldn’t exactly do you any good. The night wasn’t over yet and you had to stay sharp. You didn’t know what Bucky had planned for when he got you home. Were you prepared at all?

Not in the least.

You half expected to walk back through the front of the club to leave, but Ray directed you to a door near the back once he gave Bucky a nod. The car was waiting in the alley and you took a moment to glance up at the sky. You could only make out one star and you wished in that moment you could grow wings and fly away. But when did wishing upon a star do you any good?

“Let’s get you back to your place,” Bucky said, helping you into the car.

You had to give him credit for trying to keep up his end of the bargain by getting you home on time. Your body refused to relax though once he sat beside you and took your hand. Was he trying to get you accustomed to his touch? Make you crave him? It bothered you that in spite of your determination he drew you in to a certain degree. But you wouldn’t let him take you to bed tonight. You weren’t ready to cross that inevitable line.

Maybe, just maybe, if your performance in bed disappointed him, he’d get bored and walk away. The thought almost made you laugh. That wasn’t happening. If anything, he’d probably love teaching you how to be his perfect lover.

“I think tonight went well,” Bucky smiled.

“Which part exactly?” You mumbled, pulling your hand away. The part where he forced you to go, how his men all but admitted they knew Bucky stalked you, or how they beat the hell out of a man?

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

“Fighting. You guys seem to excel in that arena,” you said, remembering how they all took turns beating up John. “But I guess Steve does have a bit of that ‘big brother’ vibe, helping you take total control of my life and whatnot.”

“Not total control. I’m still letting you work, but maybe I can buy the shop.” He chuckled at your thunderous expression. The light threat had you seeing red. “I probably shouldn't joke about that, should I?”

“Letting me work? Like it’s your decision? And don’t you dare buy the shop.” You pushed at him to keep from slapping him when he chuckled again. Not with enough force to get him far away from you, but you needed some sort of space in the vehicle. He also needed a good hit over the head. “You’re a bully, do you know that? So are your friends.”

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin.

“Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end.

“Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a person, not a possession, Kotyonok. And not just a person, a good person who gives so much of herself to others. And probably one of the only people who rightfully calls me out on my shit.” His response drew you up short. “Outside of my friends, no one else does that.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of you and what you can do,” you said after a moment. Fear could make anyone say what they thought people wanted to hear. “Either that or they want your approval,” you added, which you could also understand to a point. People wanted a sense of belonging, especially with those who had influence and power.

“Maybe they are afraid,” he agreed, brushing his lips against your palm again with a sigh. “What is it about me that scares you most?”

“I’m not really sure exactly,” you admitted. There was so much about the situation that terrified you. What he was capable of. How he inserted himself into various aspects of your life and so quickly. How far he was willing to go to keep you. “But I think it’s your conviction. That you’re so sure that I’m your other half and no one can convince you otherwise, not even me.”

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

Those steel blue eyes of his met yours and mesmerized you for a heartbeat before you looked away. “Love is scary. It’s natural to be afraid of it.” His lips brushed your ear, making you shiver. “But giving someone the most fragile parts of yourself is one of the bravest things a person can do.”

There was truth in his words, but it felt like he moved another chess piece into place. He was trying to disarm you and you couldn’t let him. “Who painted that black dahlia in your office?” You asked suddenly, feeling him move back enough that you could turn your head toward him. “And why display that flower?” You didn’t believe for a second that he chose it for aesthetic purposes.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Steve painted it,” he replied with an odd mixture of affection and bitterness. “It’s for my parents.”

“Steve is a gifted artist.” You hoped your voice stayed even enough that Bucky wouldn’t get jealous of you complimenting another man’s talent. “I don't know if the symbolism of flowers mean anything to you, but the black dahlia-”

“Betrayal. Sadness. Darkness,” he ticked off, his voice cold enough that another shiver moved through your body. “It was the last flower my dad ever got my mom and it serves as a reminder.”

You swallowed as warning bells sounded in your mind to tread carefully. “And what's that?”

He moved close, your eyes shutting as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck. “That I'll never do to you what he did to her.”

There was suppressed rage within him. Sorrow. It rolled off him in waves strong enough that they could drown you. He said earlier that his dad got what he deserved. What had he done to his mom?

“You’re in pain,” you whispered. He was hurting and you logically shouldn’t care. So why did you want to know the cause of that hurt? “You have to tell me why.”

It wasn’t for you to use to your advantage. You weren’t sure if you could manipulate someone else. If you knew what happened though, it would at least give you more answers to who Bucky was and why he was the way he was. It could help you gain some sort of understanding.

“I’m not in pain when I’m with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand on his chest. Was he relying on you to chase away whatever haunted him? “Later. I’ve overwhelmed you enough for one evening.”

You let out a breath. You swore he was doing this on purpose, giving you just enough information that you’d wait around until he gave you more. “I can’t argue with you there,” you said, his heart racing under your touch. “Just answer one thing for me, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Marc from the bookstore,” you began, the man’s kind face shimmering in your mind. “Did anything happen to him?”

“I’d question another man being on your mind, but I know you’re just concerned about his well-being.” An easy smile crossed Bucky’s face as you bit your tongue. You could think about anyone you wanted to. “I can’t speak for him right this second, but he was perfectly fine when you and I left. He was just having a chat with one of my associates.”

You exhaled, thankful Marc wasn't hurt. “What kind of chat?” You asked. He was a nice guy, though he did seem to know a bit about Bucky. What exactly was he involved in?

“He just got a warning to be careful about what he does or doesn’t say to his customers.” You tensed before he kissed your forehead. Did he know about the conversation you two had? “And I don’t think the two of you should be alone with each other in the bookstore going forward.”

Just when Bucky had you feeling some sort of sympathy for him moments ago he shocked you right out of it. “Another decision that isn’t yours to make,” you stated, the car coming to a stop. “And you really don’t have to walk me up. I think we’ve had enough of each other’s company tonight.”

“I said I’m tucking you into bed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” The smile he gave you was nothing short of cocky when he added, “And you owe me a photo. I’m going to get it.”

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car.

“Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

“Let’s go, please.”

You said nothing else as you went into the building, your anxiety mounting by the second. The slow rise of the elevator didn’t help, Bucky’s hip pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand to have space between you. You figure he’d shove you against the wall and claim your mouth, but he didn’t make a move. It impressed you that he behaved until you got to your floor. It didn’t stop your hand from shaking when you got your keys out.

“Still don’t want to say good night now?”

“I don’t want to say good night at all,” he answered, following you into the apartment and turning on the light. The welcoming feeling you expected when you got home wasn't there. There was a chill in the usual warmth.

“Well, you’ll have to sooner or later,” you said, swallowing when you faced Bucky. He shut the door and watched intently as you set your keys and bag down. You were quiet as you stared back, tension thick as you tried to predict what he was going to do. Once again, he managed to hold all the power in your home.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, heat and hunger in his stare as he slowly advanced.

Your throat went dry as you stepped back. “You have.”

“So beautiful and so good.” You made another move to retreat when he stepped forward, his manner confident and compelling as he reached out and prevented you from moving back further. “It’s driving me crazy not having you yet.”

“Please, you don’t…” you trailed off when he sank to his knees, unexpected heat flowing from your core. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder to brace yourself, his eyes soft as he helped remove one of your shoes. You found it difficult to breathe as he removed the other, his hand brushing your ankle with infinite tenderness. Like it was an honor to touch and be on his knees for you.

“I know the first time I taste you I’ll never want to stop. I’ll have to wake up every day between your thighs. Fall asleep that way, too.” His hand slid up your calf and his eyes darkened when your other hand found its way to his thick locks. Wetness gathered between your legs when his touch moved to your thigh. “Your pussy is hungry for me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll feed her well.”

His voice was like velvet. Seductive. Aching. “Bucky…” Your breath rushed out swiftly when he kissed your mound through your clothes, tormenting you with arousal you didn’t ask for. It frightened you.

“I can smell you,” he murmured, nosing along where his lips had been before he sat back. “Smell so fucking good.”

Moving your shoes out of the way, he rose to his full height again as you willed your legs not to shake. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you, let alone speak to you, the way he did. Stark desire. Possessiveness. His form of love. Your heart pounded and you refused to answer him or glance down. If you looked at the front of his pants…

He took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom. Your heart pounded with mounting speed, your heels digging into the floor. “You still haven't kissed me,” you blurted out, hoping it would prevent him from taking you to bed. Or would he take that as an invitation to kiss your lips?

“No, I haven't.” You tried to keep some distance between you as he went to your bed, his hand moving along the blanket. You couldn't breathe. “It scares you how much your body wants mine, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, forcing air back into your lungs. It did scare you. It also scared you that you didn’t push him away or scream when he dropped to his knees to remove your shoes. Where was your fighting instinct?

“It is what I think.” The ease in which he moved away from the bed to your dresser to find your pajamas frightened you, too. Like he belonged in your room. You thought back to the night he broke in and left your gift on your bed. How much time did he take to look around? “Like love, giving your body to someone can be scary. You have to trust that you won't get hurt when you’re physically vulnerable.”

“You swore you wouldn't hurt me,” you reminded him.

“And I won't. But you know what else I think?” His magnetic gaze stayed on you as he brought a nightgown over. “That no guy has ever really taken care of you and you’re apprehensive to let me try.”

If you were apprehensive, it was because he was a walking red flag. “What makes you…” Your words stopped when he grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up. Your arms instinctively went up before you realized what you were doing. Removing your shirt, you didn’t get a chance to cover your breasts before he slipped the nightgown on you.

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.”

The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?”

“I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Exhaling slowly, relief flooded you. Though you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t trying to take what he wanted. “You won’t?”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head even as his fingers moved along your waist. “Like I said, I’ve overwhelmed you enough. Sleeping with you might really put you over the edge.”

“Thanks.” He desired you, but continued to hold it at bay for your sake. How long would that last? “I appreciate that.”

“And we both know the moment I take you to bed, you’ll be begging for more.” His voice dropped as he toyed with the soft fabric. “And as much as I want to stay in bed with you all night and morning and give us what we both crave, I still need to get things in place at the penthouse and you need rest. You understand.”

You tried not to smile and failed. He acted as if he was doing you a favor. Cocky bastard. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer until then.” Sarcasm continued to be a good way to deflect.

He exhaled at your light teasing, his body still a bit tense. Being close to you and not having you was probably driving him mad. “Maybe we'll have to have another private call and finish what we started. Give us both some relief.” He turned you toward the door and gave you a light swat on your ass. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth before I change my mind.”

You made it to the bathroom in record time, not having to be told twice. You didn’t want to risk staying there in case he lost his resolve. Looking in the mirror as you went through the rest of your nighttime routine, you expected to look more exhausted from the whirlwind of the day. You somehow looked wide awake. Was the experience giving you thicker skin? Or did his desire for you somehow give you a bit of a twisted spark? You’d still be billing him for your future therapy bills either way.

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?”

“I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?”

He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

You stiffened as you stared up at his face, your heart simultaneously racing and breaking for him. Love was something that provided a sense of connection, fulfillment. It was a way to show you that you weren’t alone in the world. You wanted to believe you were worthy of love, that you could build a life with someone. Bucky believed he was that someone.

Why?

You weren’t sure if it was his yearning gaze or if you were ready for the night to end, but your expression softened as you imagined meeting him in another life. Going on fun dates, talking about books, making each other laugh as you cooked together, snuggling under a blanket as you talked about your future. You found yourself smiling at the images that went through your mind. What could’ve been. What could be if he lessened his hold a bit on you.

He audibly exhaled when he snapped a photo on his phone, making you blink. “Thank you. Now I can look at this whenever I’m not near you and need to feel your love.”

Words escaped you, the invisible collar around your throat getting tighter. You could only nod and wonder how you kept throwing fuel on the fire of his want for you. Which one of you would burn first?

“Get some sleep. Dream sweet dreams.” You felt featherlight kisses on each eyelid when you shut them. “You know, I’ll sleep a lot easier once you’re in my bed.”

“If you get me into your bed,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“Stubborn kitten.” He chuckled and gave each eyelid one more kiss. Why were his lips so soft? “Maybe I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow so I can take you to lunch. You can tell Addison all about it.”

“Maybe.” You yawned and snuggled more into your pillows. “Good night, Bucky.”

A finger moved along your cheek before it stopped abruptly. “Good night, Kotyonok.”

Bucky still hadn't kissed your mouth.

You didn’t open your eyes as he left, but you didn’t fall asleep right away either. Your body was too wound up. Too many questions went through your mind. Like what happened with his parents and how exactly he’d move you out of your place.

The man was a step ahead in everything. You’d be in his penthouse before the month was over. He’d get his way, but maybe it didn't have to be his way completely. He could give you an area in the place for you and you alone. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, he did say he’d make it up to you by dragging you out tonight.

And if he cared the way he said he did, he could give you that one small thing.

Is our poor Kotyonok starting to accept the inevitable? Will Bucky stop by the shop? And how much longer until he really takes you to bed?Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 18: Aphrodisiac + Oral Fixation + Body Hair

Eddie Brock | Venom x Ex!Younger!F!Reader

Summary: Venom uses honey from your purse to whip up some tea for you and Eddie while helping you study. Little did he know, that honey has some…interesting side effects.

Warnings: dub con elements, exes to friends to lovers, accidental aphrodisiac, sub!eddie x horny!reader, consumption, teratophillia, not lore accurate, oral fixation (licking, biting), some scratching, oral through underwear, premature ejaculation, body hair kink, some hair pulling, threeway kiss, venom and reader are in cahoots, french kissing, some dry humping, age gap +18 reader, bimbo!reader, basically whole lot of tongue action

To this day, 7 months later, Venom still curses Eddie for letting you go. Blah, blah…she’s young and going to university…blah blah…new experiences. If long distance is really that hard, why is it that it only took Eddie 3 hours to drive to your dorm? If he was committed to your throupling, he’d make the commute everyday to see you.

But Ole Venom supposes he shouldn’t be too hard on Eddie. After all, he’s attentive enough to Venom where he notices his changes in mood. Especially when Venom’s in one of those depressive states where he desperately misses you; with the occasional breaking of items to cope with his pained feelings. Whenever he’d get this way, Eddie would take them up go a trip to you and you’d be the three musketeers.

This weekend being a three-day weekend excited Venom for things he had in store. He’s determined to win you back even in spite of what Eddie says because sometimes he just needs a push in the right direction.

Venom likes to think he’s become that of an expert at romance, having read enough gossip magazines and advice columns to say as such. He knows the love languages and he’ll be sure to use his tongue precisely for speaking them to you.

Yeah, he knows Eddie’s been suspicious of his saint behavior since their arrival—the rules were clear not to make any plans of winning you back—but Venom’s entitled to a little bit of rule-breaking. He hovers around, content as he watches Eddie and you laughing during your study session. If he sets the mood just right, things would get more intimate.

He then recalls a fact he’d gotten from an issue of Chic Heat Magazine that explains how tea can make people more susceptible to suggestion because it calms you. If you’re relaxed enough, you might take them back.

So he excuses himself to the kitchen, preparing some rose tea for you all to enjoy. You’d just run out of honey but you had some packets he’d noticed in your bag earlier, hopefully you don’t mind.

Once he returns to the circle, you beam at his gesture. “V…you are such a cutie. Thank you so much.”

“I wouldn’t say that too soon,” Eddie says in a tone that is both jest and serious. “We’ll check the state of the kitchen in a minute.”

You shrug. “No worse than the state I left it in.”

“You’ve gotta be more responsible, babygirl.” He frustratedly sighs.

“I’m studying. That’s pretty big for me,” You defend. “Usually I’d just flirt with the T.A. for the test answers or cram the day of. But I’ve been trying because you said I could do it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Really proud of you, buddy.” He says, patting your knee and earning a smile from you.

Then, you’re taking a sip of your tea wanting to give Venom the praise he deserves. Your eyes brighten soon as the first sip stains your tongue and goes down your throat . “This is really good, V. Seriously. I couldn’t have done this better myself. What’d you put in it?”

“Honey…” He begins.

“Oh, I could’ve sworn I ran out—”

“…the ones in your purse.” He finishes.

Your eyes nearly leave your skull. “H-how many?”

“5,” He answers proudly. “Wanted to make it extra special for you.”

“Oh, it’s extra special alright.” You say with a nervous laugh.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks in concern.

“Mhm,” You hum between a strained toothless smile. “L-let’s go back to studying, yeah?”

“What’s in those things?” Eddie questions, his investigative nature getting the better of him.

“Nothing to be concerned about…” Your words escape you when you see that Venom has already retrieved the emptied packet for Eddie to review.

“Sweet Honey Rush? You said you wouldn’t intern with these guys,” Eddie says. “Didn’t you read my story on them secretly being behind these campaigns for increasing the national birth rate. I sent you a link on Facebook. We’re like breeding stock to them.”

“No person younger than 35 uses facebook anymore, Eddie,” You argue. “And besides they were offering some really good benefits if I interned with them.”

“Like getting free honey packets?”

“They aren’t for me…they’re for me to give out to some college students. It’s the new craze. Everyone’s talking about. There’s even a challenge of it on TikTok. You wanna see?” You’re about to pull out your phone but he stops you.

“Don’t you see that they’re purposely targeting the younger population?” Eddie scoffs.

“No, I think I gave one to my pervy old maintenance man,” You justify but Eddie shakes his head in disbelief at you. “Oh come on. It’s not like they’re as good as you think them to be. Venom said he’s added five and you don’t see me on all fours with my tongue out, do you?”

“I guess you’re right.” He says.

“Good. Now pretty please read me the next chapter.”

He smiles. “Of course.”

Venom is stumped. This is not at all going the way he’d planned. Instead of relaxing, it’s only made things more tense between the two of you. He was going to need to intervene internally.

“It’s taking effect.” Venom says from within.

“How are you so sure?” Eddie answers back into the mindscape.

“Come on, Eddie, I know it’s been months. But tell me you haven’t forgotten the way she looks when she really, really wants you,” Venom purrs. “Look at those eyes glossing over, darkening when she rakes them over you. She’s biting her lip—ha! She isn’t paying attention to your words.”

“You’re wrong. It’s nothing like that.” Eddie says trying to maintain focus by reading to you.

“I’ve been inside her once,” Venom continues. “I can sense the changes in her body even long after we’ve separated.”

“She’s just fine.” Eddie says in clear denial.

“Then ask her if she heard what you just said. Better yet ask her anything, she’ll probably say ‘yes’ to it all if it meant having our cock inside her.” Venom chuckles wickedly.

He’s reluctant, not wanting to embarrass you, but Eddie tests Venom’s theory anyway in hopes to quell his curiosity. Why on Earth would you want them back when you had so many different options at college? The sooner Eddie could disprove his claims, the sooner they can put aside that hopeful part of them that thinks the relationship could work.

“Hey, um, by any chance do you wanna share a jar of olives together?” He asks.

“Yes.” You sigh dreamily.

He perplexedly blinks at your reply to his absurd question. You hated olives.

“Babygirl, are you paying attention?” He asks.

“Mhm.” You nod still looking at him as if he hung up the stars. And now that Venom pointed it out, Eddie, too, could see your telltale sign in just the way you clenched your thighs together alone.

“Oh, really,” He asks, cupping a hand under your chin; his fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “What did I just read to you?”

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell?”

“We’re studying American History, angel.” He smirks.

“Sorry, daddy,” You say, taking them completely off guard. Eddie hates how he instantly hardens at thought as if he’d taken the aphrodisiac, too. “Can I make it up to you? Taste you.”

“Yes!” Venom says.

“No,” Eddie protests. “You’re not in the right state of mind, missy. You’re going to bed, if you decide to take care of yourself on your own that’s your choice. In the morning if you still feel like you want to, then we can—”

“It’s only an aphrodisiac, dude. Not a drug. I’m not out of my mind for wanting you inside me. Both of you.”

“We’re in!” Venom says ready to reach out for you but Eddie smacks his dark tendril from your reach.

“No, we’re—” Eddie’s cut off by your lips on his. Somehow, Venom was able to sneak his mischievous tentacles around and bring your heads together.

You immediately get to work french kissing him passionately and tugging the hair on the back of his neck. His beard burns your face from the rough friction of the make-out session but it doesn’t deter you from being more forceful.

Venom’s tongue joins into the entanglement flicking and gliding between you and Eddie’s tongues, gathering a mixture of your salivas.

When Eddie breaks the kiss, you’re at his thick neck licking and biting away while Venom’s eager tongue, slithered and constricted around your body like vines.

“Stop. You don’t…” Eddie’s interrupted by yet another one of your lingering wanton kisses, finishing his sentence once you break apart. “…want this.”

“I’ve never stopped wanting you,” You suck on the space connect jaw and his neck before dragging your teeth along the vein. “Please fuck me.”

Eddie’s still too afraid to answer, cradling the back of your head while your lips and tongue continue their assault on his body.

“Fuck, babygirl,” He groans, missing this feeling of you devouring him as if he were a buffet. You and Venom were always big tongue enthusiasts wanting to put your mouths around anything that attracted you including Eddie.

His eyes flutter shut and you crawl into his lap, grinding your hips down while you tasted what you could. You pay special attention to his plump lips, licking and biting them.

“Can I go further?” You ask him.

“You heard Venom—”

“What do you want?”

“I want you.”

At his admission you moan, not being able to take it anymore. You and Venom work in sync. He begins to remove Eddie’s clothes while each sink that’s exposed you go over it with your tongue.

Eddie’s really hairy so occasionally your tongue would run over a patch of hair and you’d give it special attention.

“Fuck, I think I might actually cum from this alone,” He laughs bashfully, surprising himself. “I’m so sensitive for some reason.”

You dip your tongue into his belly-button, swirling it around before your tongue finally trails down to his throbbing bulge. It jumps in his khaki shorts the moment you place your tongue’s pressure directly on it. He shudders, his fingers through your hair.

The feverish heat of the effects take over you just as you pass the first barrier, bringing his pants down around his ankles. Venom lifts you by the waist for a moment, adding a pillow underneath for your knees. You run your fingers along the underside of his tentacles—where it’s most sensitive for him—as a thank you.

You’re not gentle at all once you spot the wet spot on Eddie’s underwear. He’d cum already and had been too ashamed to speak up. He could already see you making an old man joke about him needing the honey packet more than you but instead you went for his soul.

Immediately, you clamp your mouth around the clothed tip to suck at the sticky essence. It’s so sensitive he could cry, it’s as if the aphrodisiac is giving him a contact high.

He tries to pull your hungry mouth from him but is thwarted when Venom wraps a snaky limb around his wrists, pinning him down.

“Oh god, fuck. Baby…please.” Eddie whimpers.

You drag your nails along his little belly, gripping and pulling the tiny hairs of his happy trail while you sucked him off. Another one of Venom’s tendrils finds their way between your legs, teasing your little nub. You let out a shuddery gasp, your warm breath skirting over his now exposed veiny length.

You trace your tongue on the lightning-patterned cock, tasting the addictive earthiness of him. You’re gushing wet and ready to take their cock and Venom could very well slip a wriggling tendril inside of you this instant…

…but he’d rather Eddie get first dibs.

[earthtooz]

x : SLEEPY FAVOUR :*+ﾟ

in which: you've unwillingly become jing yuan's cuddle buddy for his afternoon naps.

warnings: fluff, 700 wc, bad writing lul, established relationship, dialogue-heavy, gn!reader teases a clingy!jing yuan.

a/n: two fics in two days. wow. who am i. enjoy. (i posted an itoshi rin fic yesterday pls feel free to check it out!)

“you cannot keep doing this, jing yuan.”

sitting up to look at the man, your complaint is hushed quickly by the general, who places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you back down into his arms. he wraps himself around you like a vine and you groan at the suffocating sensation. still, jing yuan does not let up, not giving in to your complaints and grumbles as he draws circles on your arm.

“when you messaged me earlier about paying you a visit, i did not anticipate for it to be because you were simply feeling lonely. and clingy,” you sigh and the white-haired laughs.

“then what else?”

“something of value? something that will contribute to the wellness of the luofu?”

“is this not of value?” 

“calling me as your cuddle buddy for your afternoon nap is hardly of value.”

“i object. in fact, i would beg to differ. is the wellbeing of the luofu’s general something to take lightly?”

you huff, turning around in his arms to face him. jing yuan looks at you through half-lidded eyes, fatigue evident in them as he smiles softly. instinctively, your hand reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind of ears and at the graze of your touch, he shuts his eyes, seemingly peaceful and content. 

“flaunting your title, are you?” you ask. “what happened to your humility?”

he’s quick to reply. “gone if it will prevent you from leaving.” 

a smooth talker. your lover, jing yuan, has always had a way with words, laced with carelessness yet drenched in honey, there’s little of him you can resist. even now, you feel your frustration subsiding with one simple comment.

“and why should the general have a few hours of the day just to slack off?” you ask. “your afternoon naps can wait, luofu’s safety shouldn’t.”

“you say that, yet how many centuries of peace have we lived through?”

“why is everything i’m saying only inflating your ego?” then, just to spite him, you pull your hand away and his eyes open at the lack of contact that grounds him to a realm of peace and comfort. immediately missing your warmth, jing yuan finds your wrist and moves it to rest on his face once more. 

you don’t give him the satisfaction, hoping to give him a piece of your mind by once again, retracting your hand out of his hold and his sleepy gaze darkens into something akin to displeasure.

“won’t you indulge in me?” questions the cloud-knight. “i have worked so hard today already, i have been looking forward to taking an afternoon nap.”

“and is that not possible without me?”

he shakes his head with the temperament of a child and a pout to match. what will the court think when they see this side of your feared and revered lover? “ever since you rest with me that day, no, and i will never go back.”

where did his perseverance go?

“you suggest these things as if i am not busy myself. i cannot listen to your every request and demand when i have mountains of work to complete too!”

“i have requested that they be pushed back until later. your schedule has been cleared out for the next few hours.”

“jing yuan!” you exclaim, pushing him away lightly. “you cannot do that!”

“i can, and i have.”

before you can even utter another word, jing yuan has rolled over to lie on top of you, placing half of his weight on you to act as an anchor, effectively preventing you from moving anywhere.

the press of his muscles against you and the tightening of his arms around your torso are like cannonballs against your determination, and considering that he discarded his armour the moment you stepped through the door, it’s only fair if you do the same.

“come on, my love, do you not care for your general?” he asks, borderlining a whine. 

“fine.” you surrender, finally wrapping your arms around him as well. “only because i want him to be at top performance.”

“what about your lover? don’t you wish for any benefits for him too?” 

“he is of lesser importance,” you tease. “in fact, he should suffer for what he puts me through.”

jing yuan chuckles and his laugh reverberates into your heart. “i would hate to be him, then."

"watch yourself, jing yuan."

"of course, anything for you," murmurs the white-haired before he finds purchase in the bend of your neck. surrounded by you, he wordlessly dozes off without a care in the world.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[bellaxgiornata]

On Your Knees, Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 6k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Role Reversal

Warnings/tags: 18+; pure filthy smut, dom!Reader/sub!Devil, smidge of roughness (very slight), fingering, f!oral receiving, cocky Matt and mouthy Devil (they definitely need a warning)

Summary: You've never been one to take control in the bedroom–until tonight, when you're determined to draw out the Devil and make him submit to you.

a/n: I was unhinged the week when I wrote this, and I'll admit, it's a bit different from my usual smut. Enjoy the filth. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Now you're just being cocky.”

Matt smirked at you from his place on the leather couch, sinking deeper back into the cushions as he spread his legs further apart. “I'm just being honest with you, sweetheart,” he replied, casually tossing an arm over the backrest. “You couldn't handle the Devil, and you certainly wouldn't be able to bend him to your will.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you arched a brow at Matt from across the coffee table. You could feel your frustration rising the more he kept dismissing you.

“How would you know?” you questioned. “You've never been with anyone as the Devil before, Matt. Because none of your previous flings ever knew your big secret like I do.”

“Sweetheart,” Matt began, his smirk growing wider, “you're far too soft spoken in the bedroom. Loud in other ways but–and I don't want you to take this wrong–you just…would not be able to handle that side of me. Especially not with you being the one in control.”

“You don’t know that,” you scoffed.

He shot you a pointed look, his head tilting to the side. Your jaw clenched at the sight of it.

“You’ve never been in that role before, sweetheart,” he said. “If you want to play out whatever’s in your head with me, then I’m all for it. But we’re not bringing that side of me into this. Certainly not like that.”

“Why not?” you demanded.

Matt sighed, leaning back into the leather of the couch. “It’s just not that simple. You don’t have any experience and you want to just immediately go straight to controlling the Devil? That’s…a little out of your league, sweetheart.”

Your eyes narrowed back at him, your spine straightening as his words only further increased your determination. Matt was clearly picking up on the subtle shifts in your body, and each one only seemed to grow that arrogant smirk on his face. A smirk you wanted to wipe from his lips with each passing second.

“What’s the harm in letting me try?” you asked, voice darkening.

The corners of Matt’s lips twitched at your tone, clearly catching your growing irritation. “The harm, sweetheart,” he began, his response already grating on your nerves, “is that if you don’t know what you’re doing, this could all go down in a way that we both regret. The Devil isn’t…he’s not just some costume I throw on. He’s–he’s a part of me. A darker part of me.”

“I know, Matt,” you told him. “I’ve been with you for almost a year. I’ve met the Devil. On many occasions and in many different moods. I know exactly who the Devil is and I've always wanted that side of you just as much as this one.”

Over on the couch, Matt expelled a long sigh. “I know we’ve been together for awhile, and yes, you’ve seen that side of me. And I love that you still love me despite that–”

“In spite of it,” you muttered. “I love all of you.”

Matt grinned at your comment before he continued, “But you still don’t have any experience in this area. And I just–just don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to ‘let the Devil out’ as you called it.”

For a moment you stood there, eyeing Matt so casually sprawled out on the leather couch. He couldn’t look any more smug with the way he was practically taking up the whole piece of furniture, his lips still quirked into an arrogant smirk. As you stood there staring at him, an idea gradually began to form in your mind.

“So you won’t just let the Devil out,” you began slowly, studying him closely, “but would you be opposed to me drawing him out myself?”

Matt’s lips twisted into something like a smile before he regained his composure, almost as if he was about to laugh at the idea. A heat flamed within you at the sight, your resolve to tame the Devil only growing by the second.

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, amused. “Are you going to rob a bank to lure him out? Mug someone on the street, sweetheart?”

He chuckled at the thought, a deep rumbling sound. The noise had your hands curling into fists where they were crossed over your chest but you fought back your annoyance. You knew he wouldn’t be laughing for long.

“I asked you a question and I expect an answer,” you demanded.

Matt’s amusement quickly subsided at the seriousness in your tone, his own eyes narrowing back at you. A muscle jumped in his cheek before he spoke.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Matt replied. “If you can manage to draw the Devil out, I'll let you. You think you can handle the situation? Then by all means, you can go ahead and try.”

Arching a brow at Matt, you uncrossed your arms, sensually sliding one hand down your body to the waistband of your sleep shorts. Two fingers toyed with the edge of it, your focus on Matt. 

“You think I can't?” you challenged back. 

Matt's eyes darkened, his unseeing gaze seemingly following the path of your hand as it had traveled down your body. You had his attention now, at least.

“You think that's going to draw out the Devil?” he goaded. “You think that's enough to do it?”

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, your fingers gently running back and forth along your cunt over your panties. Your breath hitched just before you caught the slight flare of Matt's nostrils–exactly what you were looking for. 

“I think I know more than you realize,” you told him.

Matt's eyes further narrowed back at you, his arm lowering from the back of the couch as he leaned forward, his smirk gradually shrinking. You definitely had his attention now. 

“And just what do you think you know, sweetheart?” he shot back.

Squaring your shoulders, aware of the dampness that had begun to soak through your panties, your fingers continued running along yourself. “I know the scent of me makes you lose your mind,” you stated.

Matt's lip twitched at the corners, his nostrils flaring even more sharply at your words. You were right and he damn well knew it.

“And I know you can hear how wet I'm becoming right now,” you continued. “I can see how it's affecting you. You can’t hide that from me.”

“You're going to need to do a hell of a lot more than that if you want the Devil,” he countered. 

Slipping your fingers into your panties, you grinned back at Matt as you ran them between your damp folds. “Oh, I know.”

Judging by the way he was shifting on the couch, his nostrils repeatedly flaring as his hands gripped the cushions, you could tell he was inhaling the scent of you. You'd been with Matt plenty of times to know exactly what your arousal did to him, but there was one thing that had never happened before, one thing you had never done. 

Matt had never been denied a taste or a simple touch before. Until now.

“I told you earlier–I want the Devil tonight Matt,” you reminded him. “On his knees and at my feet.”

Matt huffed out a laugh, his gaze briefly flickering to the floor in front of you before it returned to where your fingers were still running back and forth delicately through your damp folds. You knew he could hear the wet sounds they were making and you knew the scent of your arousal in the air was only increasing with every pass of your fingers.

“You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” Matt warned you. 

“I know what I'm doing,” you replied.

“Do you?” he asked.

You slid your fingers towards your soaked entrance, your other hand sliding up beneath your shirt. The tips of your fingers barely grazed the underside of your breast and you saw Matt's grip tighten on the couch.

“If you want a taste,” you told him slowly, enunciating each word, “or a touch, Matt, you'll do what you're told. Otherwise you get nothing tonight. You hear me? Nothing.”

Matt’s lip curled back into a partial sneer at your words, his gaze somehow darkening even more at the thought. He clearly didn’t like the idea of you denying him the opportunity to pleasure you, let alone denying him a simple taste–something you’d already guessed he’d be exceptionally unhappy to hear. 

“You wouldn’t,” he ground out.

“You can listen to me take care of myself, I’ll let you do that,” you continued, your hand snaking its way up to tweak a nipple as Matt’s lip tugged further back into a snarl. “But when I’m done and I fall asleep in bed afterwards, I know you'll still be awake smelling the scent of me lingering all over the apartment. And while I’m contentedly dreaming, you'll be laying there in bed as the sounds I made–that you love so much–replay over and over in your mind.”

Matt sat stiff on the couch, his elbows now resting along his knees as he leaned forward towards you. His head was cocked even further to the side, his lips still drawn back into a snarl that was bordering on animalistic at your words. His control over the Devil was slipping, that much you could see already. Though it wasn’t Matt that would be your biggest fight, you knew that, but you were certainly thrilled at the sight of him like this. The challenge of bringing the Devil to his knees next was only increasing the dampness pooling between your thighs.

“Really trying to push me over the edge, aren’t you?” he gritted between his teeth.

Slipping two fingers finally into yourself, you loosed a soft sigh at the sensation. On the couch, Matt struggled to contain himself as you slowly pumped your fingers into yourself, your hand on your breast tugging at your nipple. Matt’s knuckles almost turned white as he gripped the cushions tighter.

“Give me the Devil, Matt,” you demanded. “Stop holding back already.”

Visibly teetering on the edge of entirely losing his composure, Matt’s lip began to repeatedly twitch. A deep rumble vibrated in his chest at your words and you knew he was close to losing his control. 

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he warned.

Pressing the heel of your hand against your clit, a jolt of pleasure shot through you as you sunk your fingers deeper inside. Matt lurched to the edge of the couch cushion now, his body tensed and ready to pounce. He needed a nudge, just a little one, and then you’d have him.

“Let the Devil out, Matt,” you pressed.

The look on his face in conjunction with what you were already doing to yourself had the quietest little moan slip out of your lips. And that was all it took. 

Matt’s demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes darkened to something predatory and dangerous before he launched himself off of the leather couch. An excited thrill shot through your body as he took just three brief strides to close the distance between you. And then he was standing before you, one hand darting out lightning quick before his fingers were tightly gripping you by the chin and tilting your face up towards his.

“You wanted the Devil, sweetheart?” he growled out in that familiar gravely tone. “You got him.”

“I said no touching,” you reminded him, your fingers pausing their movements as you stared back at him.

“Do you think I care about your rules?” he challenged. “Your body is begging for me right now. I can hear it.”

“No, it's not,” you disagreed, shaking your head in his hold. “And I know you'll follow my rules because I know you'd never do anything that I don’t consent to.  And right now, I didn't say you could touch me, Devil.”

Frustration and annoyance flashed in his eyes as they focused on your mouth while you spoke. His teeth noticeably ground together, his fingers still gripping your chin. You arched an eyebrow at him, knowing full well no matter the situation, Matt would never pass one of your boundaries–even as the Devil. Another moment passed before the Devil growled in aggravation, his fingers abruptly releasing you before his hand dropped back to his side. A shudder of pride burned in you as he did. He wasn’t on his knees yet, but you were positive you'd get him there.

“Fine,” he spat. “I won’t touch you. But don’t think for a second you’re the one in control here.”

With a pleased grin on your lips, you slid your two fingers out from inside of yourself before removing them from your panties. The Devil’s head snapped down towards your hand, tracking its movement as you held up the two glistening fingers in the space between you both. He was almost immobile now, completely fixated on your fingers.

“Every time we’ve been together,” you began in a hushed tone, reveling in the way he was locked on to your fingers, “you always like to call me yours. ‘My good girl,’” you repeated. “So tonight, I want you to be my good little Devil.”

“Think I’m some pet to tame?” he ground out between his teeth. “Think you can control me?”

“Oh, I know exactly how you operate,” you assured him, watching the way he was still focused on your fingers. You knew the scent of your arousal so close to his face was taking every bit of his willpower to hold back from sucking your digits into his mouth. “Those senses of yours can get overwhelmed, and you’ve never been the most patient. Doesn’t help that I can see how much the scent of me is affecting you. You want a taste don’t you, Devil?”

A low growl reverberated through his chest in response. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his gaze never wavered. Satisfied at his answer, you drew the fingers up to your mouth and slipped them inside, your tongue lapping over them instead of his. You grinned when another deep, irritated rumble vibrated in his chest. You knew you were beginning to do more than frustrate him now.

Slowly you slid the fingers back out of your mouth, enjoying the irritation evident on his face. His body was tense with his restraint, struggling to resist the urge to just tear your clothing off and have you. The thought that he knew he couldn't was incredibly exhilarating. 

“Think you can keep teasing and taunting me without any consequences?” he questioned sharply. “You're pushing me, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, I think,” you hummed out as you turned towards the bedroom, “that you're all bark and no bite. You've got absolutely nothing to use against me tonight because there's only one thing I want.”

You gradually began to make your way to the bedroom, grinning when you heard his soft footsteps following after you. He was honed in on you now, his attention fixed. You just had to outlast his stubbornness and you'd have him.

“You really think you've got the upper hand here,” he asked, voice dark and low. 

Pausing halfway to the bed, you glanced over your shoulder and saw him stop directly in the doorway. His expression was almost pained beneath his scowl.

“Well you're already following me like a dog,” you teasingly pointed out. “Leaves me to wonder what you think you could possibly tempt me with?”

The Devil's face darkened at your question, a devious smirk curling his lips upwards. “I can give you an entire evening of pleasure like you've never experienced before, sweetheart,” he promised. “Stop this little game now and I'll push your body past its limits until you can hardly feel it anymore. I can make you forget your own name for a few hours. You know I can.”

Walking the rest of the way to the bed, you felt a rush of warmth flood you at his words. You'd never slept with Matt when he was like this before, but you'd always been tempted. You were curious to know what the Devil would be like in the bedroom after all the times you'd seen him come home worked up from patrol, but despite how enticing his offer was, it still wasn’t what you wanted.

“The only thing I want,” you repeated carefully as you sat down on the end of the bed and faced him, “is you right here on your knees doing what I tell you to. And I know you can hear the truth in my words.”

You pointed at the ground in front of your feet, accentuating what you'd said. Another flash of frustration shone back at you in his eyes as his smirk entirely disappeared. His jaw tightened once more, determination to fight you still written across his face. Despite his rigid posture and the way he remained in the doorway, you noticed how he'd gone temporarily quiet. The knowledge that he had no leverage, no way to tease you and distract you, had him closer to breaking. You could feel it.

“Still need more encouragement?” you asked coyly.

Hands grabbing onto both your shorts and your underwear, you gradually pushed them down your legs before tossing them carelessly off to the side of the bed. The Devil’s hands began to clench and unclench at his sides but he didn't move from his place in the threshold. With your lower half now exposed, the unobstructed scent of your arousal was likely driving him mad. Lightly resting your hand along your stomach, the tips of your fingers just barely brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves as you settled in to give him the last few pushes over the edge.

“You have two options, Devil,” you told him, watching his nostrils sharply flaring back at you. “You can stand there and keep fighting me and I'll happily get off on my own just watching you. Or you can tell me that you'll be my good little Devil and I'll let you help me.”

A dangerous snarl tore out of his chest at your second option. The sound sent a delicious wave of arousal through your body, your skin practically humming in response. But he still didn't answer, continuing to remain silent. His lack of response had you grinning, especially when you caught the bulge now poking through his gray sweatpants.

“That your choice then?” you asked.

Fingers moving down a fraction, you began to gently draw circles over your clit. A soft, pleased sigh slipped out of your lips as you lowered back onto the bed, resting on one elbow. Eyes falling shut, you focused on pleasuring yourself, enjoying the fact that he was still standing in the doorway focused on you while you did. 

“You're not going to get off right in front of me,” he snapped.

You opened your eyes, attention returning to him by the door. He'd taken a single step into the bedroom now, that pained expression becoming further visible on his face. That one step said more than he realized.

“I'll finish without you,” you warned him with a sly grin. “Show you how little I need you.”

Back arching along the bed, you caught the second step he took towards you as a feral snarl tore through the bedroom. Your finger began to move a little quicker as you added a bit more pressure along your clit, your breath coming in sharper.

“I'm not going to make this easy for you,” he growled.

Laughing lightly, your eyes fell shut once more as a shudder raced up your spine. It was an empty threat and you both knew it.

“Not a damn thing you can do, Devil,” you told him, breath coming in quick pants as another surge of pleasure raced through you. “You're not allowed to touch. Not until you–” 

Your sentence broke off on a soft moan, the noise loud in the otherwise silent bedroom. With your eyes still closed, you could almost feel his senses raking over you, taking in the racing of your heart, the scent of your arousal, the blood rushing through your body, the flush in your cheeks. 

“Not until you agree to be my good little Devil,” you finished, eyelids fluttering back open.

He’d taken another step closer now, standing barely two feet away from you. His jaw was tensed, his teeth grinding back and forth as the muscle repeatedly jumped in his cheek. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his shoulders drawn up to his neck. You could hear his sharp breaths each time his nostrils flared now. Biting your lip, you tilted your head to the side as you once more slid your fingers through your damp folds, teasing your entrance. The sensation had your eyes almost closing, but you fought to keep them open, watching as he almost took another step closer.

“Last chance, Devil,” you told him. “Come here or I'll finish without you.”

A dark, almost guttural growl tore straight out of his chest in sheer frustration. Removing your hand from yourself, you sat up on the edge of the bed. His unseeing gaze once more snapped directly down towards your damp fingers, his tongue yet again darting out along his lips hungrily. 

“Come here, Devil,” you ordered. 

An almost imperceptible whine slipped out of his lips before he grudgingly closed the remaining distance between you both. You smiled at the sight, realizing he was on the cusp of submitting–even if reluctantly. Leaning closer towards him, you reached your hand up to his face. His sightless eyes managed to track the movement almost perfectly until you’d gripped him by the chin, your fingers intentionally near his mouth but not remotely touching it. A rough grunt fell out of him at your touch, his eyes narrowing back at you.

“You’re going to regret this later,” he warned. “I can promise you that, sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that, Devil,” you murmured, still holding his chin. “But for now, you need to do what you’re told.”

His lip twitched in response, his eyes glaring darkly at you. Biting your lip, you gave a little tug downwards on his chin.

“On your knees, Devil,” you ordered.

A deep, rumbling snarl slipped out of his lips at your order and the way you’d tugged his chin, but you held your ground as you sat on the edge of the bed. Seconds passed as he stood there towering over you, a fire burning in his eyes that was a mix of desire, need, and sheer agitation. But then gradually, ever so slowly, you saw him finally and reluctantly sink down to his knees before you, his lips still curled back into a frustrated sneer. A slow, triumphant smile spread across your mouth as you continued to hold his chin firmly between your wet fingers.

“Are you going to be my good little Devil?” you asked.

“Enjoy this moment while you can,” he growled up at you. “Because it’s never happening again, sweetheart. I’ll have you on your knees–”

“Are you going to be my good little Devil?” you questioned more firmly, cutting him off mid sentence.

An irate growl rumbled in his throat. “Is it necessary to call me that?”

“Answer the question,” you ordered.

His eyes narrowed further back at you, his hands slowly coming up to rest along the bed on either side of your hips. A shudder ran through you as he gripped the mattress tight, your cunt clenching around air at the sight of him like this before you. His attention immediately snapped down to the space between your thighs, an almost choked noise getting caught in his throat.

“Yes,” he ground out.

Releasing his chin, you slowly set both of your legs over his shoulders before leaning back and resting your elbows along the bed. You stared down at him, comfortable on the bed as he sat gnawing on his bottom lip just before you, his sightless eyes staring longingly at one part of your body in particular. 

“That’s my good little Devil,” you praised.

A sharp grunt met your words and you grinned. He might’ve been irritated, but he was technically still obeying. 

“Do you want to get me off?” you asked him. “Is that what you want?”

“I want to make you feel so good you can’t do anything but scream,” he snarled back. “Want to hear that pretty little mouth crying up there. Show you how much you do need me, sweetheart.”

“Watch yourself, Devil,” you warned. “You’re getting a little too feisty down there.”

“What did you expect?” he snapped. “This is the closest thing you’re going to get to what you want with me. You can’t tame me. Can’t control me.”

Your eyes narrowed at his challenge. “Yeah? Take one taste, Devil. Go on.”

With his hands gripping the bed tighter on either side of your hips, he leaned in and swiped the flat of his tongue entirely up the length of you, as if trying to taste as much of you as he could. Your eyes snapped shut the second he’d touched you, the sound of his throaty groan cutting straight through the bedroom. Opening your eyes a second later, you saw his own eyes had closed, his face contorted into a mix of pleasure and pain before he released a long, low growl.

“You want more?” you whispered down to him.

His eyes snapped open at your voice, their focus finding your chin. He blinked a few times, his expression wavering between bliss and frustration.

“Yes,” he ground out.

“You’re going to be my good little Devil then, do you understand?” you asked.

“Yes,” he grunted.

“That’s a good little Devil,” you replied. “Fingers first. Prove you can behave, then maybe I’ll let you use your mouth.”

A frustrated noise rumbled in his chest in response, but he didn’t argue back this time. Instead, one of his hands released his tight grip along the bed before he lifted it over your leg and left it hovering in front of your soaked entrance. His lips twitched again before his tongue slipped out, gliding along the length of his bottom lip. A jolt of excitement raced through you at the sight, anticipation of what was about to happen taking hold of you as you held your breath, awaiting his touch.

Two of his thick fingers finally began to slide back and forth delicately along your entrance, teasing you just a little as your arousal gathered along his fingertips. Then slowly he slid them up through your folds towards your clit with a faint groan of pleasure. With the slightest pressure, he began lightly tracing the exact patterns to immediately cause your hips to squirm along the bed. A satisfied rumble met your ears as your eyes fell shut and your breath came in faster.

His other hand released the bed, grabbing the thigh resting along his shoulder in a tight vice as he yanked you further towards him. A surprised gasp flew out of you as you slid forward on the bed, your eyes reopening at the movement. You’d been about to chastise him for what he’d just done, but the sight of the devilish grin on his lips had your mouth momentarily going dry. As much as you wanted to appear confident in this situation, you couldn’t deny that the Devil was certainly a challenge, even if he was mostly obeying you now.

After a moment, his fingers traveled back down towards your entrance, the sensitive bundle of nerves above still desperate for his attention. But instead he slipped a single digit inside of you, sinking it in as far as it could go. Your breath hitched in response, your hips raising just a fraction off of the bed. The Devil immediately pushed you back down with the hand gripping your thigh, holding you still on the mattress.

“I want more,” he growled.

His eyes darted up to you as his finger began to pump in and out of you, the wet squelch with each thrust loud even to you. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your body begging to reach your climax after everything that had been leading up to this moment.

“And I can tell you do, too,” he said. “Don’t deny it.”

“Bit–bit mouthy for one who’s supposed to be behaving,” you stammered out, the continued waves of pleasure causing your mind to cloud. 

“I want a taste,” he shot back, his finger pumping a bit more roughly into you as he said it. “I’m doing what you want, sweetheart. Now give me what I want.”

Your eyelids fluttered as he stuck a second finger inside, his pace moving agonizingly slow on purpose. Struggling to focus, you tried to formulate a coherent thought, but it was difficult to do with his hot breath washing over you as he worked.

“That sounded more like a command, Devil,” you replied, trying your best to stay focused. “Try that again.”

A frustrated rumble sounded in the room, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you. Your breath was coming in shallower now, your body getting closer and closer to your climax. You knew he could tell, and you knew he’d do what you wanted before you came. Because you knew he’d want his mouth on you when you did.

His eyes closed as his head snapped to the side. A look of distaste crossed his features before he spoke. “Let me use my mouth…please.”

Your cunt tightened around his fingers when you heard the Devil actually beg you. The power you felt at that one word alone almost had you toppling over the edge, but you fisted the sheets in your hands and tried to hold on a bit longer.

“That’s–that’s my good little Devil,” you breathed out. “You ask, you don’t–don’t demand.”

The sound of his irritated growl broke on a whine this time and your eyes darted straight to him. His fingers were still sinking into you repeatedly, but it seemed as if his composure was breaking the wetter you were becoming.

“Please,” he ground out. “Let me get you there. The way I know your body is begging for it.”

Your breath hitched at his unexpected and sincere plea, but you found yourself wanting a little more. “Ask again,” you demanded, trying to keep your voice even.

“Let me taste you,” he began, his usually husky, dark tone laced with growing desperation. “Please, let me–let me take care of you how I know you need it. Please.”

Struggling to keep your orgasm from crashing into you, you nodded quickly. “Yes, use–use your mouth,” you whispered back.

The Devil didn’t even wait for you to finish your sentence before his face had lunged forward, his plush lips sucking your sensitive clit right into his mouth. The sensation had a sharp cry flying out of you, your head falling back over your shoulders. He began frantically sucking on your clit, his teeth lightly grazing it at one point. The sensation caused you to hiss in pleasure, your hips fighting against his hold on you. But as his fingers inside of you never ceased their movements, relentlessly fucking into you over and over, his other hand had slid up your thigh and over your stomach. His thick, single muscular arm was holding you firm to the mattress as he brought you even closer to the brink. 

Your body felt like it was on fire with sheer pleasure, your back fighting his hold to arch along the mattress as your eyes had begun to roll back. You were close, so incredibly close. And that’s when you caught the sound of his hungry, vexed growls against your clit turning into high-pitched whines. Struggling to keep your focus, your breath repeatedly catching in your throat as you fisted the bed sheets tighter in your holder, you glanced down at the Devil. From your angle you couldn’t see much, but it almost looked as if he was struggling from rutting against the bed. The sight had a curse slipping out of your lips at just how desperate and aroused he was himself.

“Doing–alright–down there?” you panted out.

You were growing dizzy at the sensations his tongue and his fingers were giving you, your entire body feeling like it was vibrating. The Devil only responded with something like a choked moan, the sound muffled against you as he continued to diligently and determinedly get you off. That needy, desperate sound coming from the Devil–the same one criminals feared in Hell’s Kitchen’s streets–as he fought the urge to rut against the bed just from the taste of you, from the sounds your body was making in his ears, had you immediately hitting your peak.

One hand releasing the bed sheets, you reached out and gripped his forearm so tight your nails dug into his skin. He hissed against you just as your head fell limp over your shoulders, your eyes closing as your mouth went slack. A long, low moan gradually tore out of you just as you reached your climax. You felt the Devil slip his fingers out, instead using those against your clit as he worked you through your release. His mouth had latched onto your cunt, lapping at your release like a starved man. The bedroom around you filled with his strangled moans of pleasure and the wet, hungry licks of his tongue against you. 

Body suddenly heavy, you sunk down into the mattress, your eyes blinking blankly up at the ceiling. Below you, the Devil’s movements had gradually begun to take an obvious shift. You felt soft, gentle laps at your entrance before his wet mouth was gently kissing and nuzzling at your inner thighs. Struggling to sit upright on the bed, you glanced down to see Matt’s half-lidded eyes as he continued nuzzling against your leg. Reaching a hand out, you gently began to card your fingers through his hair as you tried to catch your breath.

“Matty? You good?” you asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed out, planting another kiss against your skin. “Yes. You–you taste so good.”

You smiled softly down at him, your hand coming to lightly tap the arm he still had resting along your stomach. “Hey, come up here,” you whispered.

He gently kissed your thigh once more before he sluggishly rose to his feet. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the damp patch soaking the front of his sweatpants, your eyebrows rising. 

“Matty, did you…?”

Sinking into the mattress beside you, Matt wrapped his arms around your waist and drew you towards himself with a huff. He buried his face into your shoulder, his eyes closing.

“I…guess I underestimated you,” he murmured into your skin. “That was–” he paused, teeth lightly nipping your shoulder. “I like you like that.”

“Oh you do, do you?” you teased back.

“Mhmm,” he hummed.

You grinned, resting your cheek against the top of his head as you tried to catch your breath. “We should probably get cleaned up, though,” you whispered.

Matt burrowed closer to your neck, releasing a soft sigh. “Mmm, in a minute, sweetheart,” he replied. “Let me just–just recover first.”

You laughed lightly, one hand gently resting along his thigh that was nestled beside your bare one. “Alright, my good little Devil,” you teased. 

Matt’s lips pulled into a smile against your shoulder at the praise, a soft, contented hum vibrating in his throat. You had a feeling that after tonight he wouldn’t fight you so much the next time you asked for the Devil.

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler

[katebishopsbow]

YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD • MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x sister!reader

summary: nobody enjoys being booed, and even the toughest of fighters like max verstappen would get disheartened from it. looking right through his act on camera, you decided to give your brother a call to tell him how proud of him you were. what you didn’t expect though, was to hear max cry.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, reader being a good sister

word count: 1.4k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──��────

“And Max Verstappen wins the US Grand Prix!”

Your brother had done it again – proving to those who had ever doubted him that he was born a champion by getting his 50th race win. You watched the race from the living room of your family home, grinning at the TV screen with the biggest smile on your face as the camera panned over the Redbull racecar. 

When Max came on screen during the post-race interview, his eyes crinkling from how hard he was smiling, your heart swelled with so much pride because you knew he was living out his childhood dream. You could still remember him telling you as a kid with the most determined look on his face that he was going to be a world champion one day, and you had never doubted him for a second.

That was when you could the faint sounds of people booing in the background, just barely masked by the voices of your brother and the interviewer. There was no doubt that the jeers were directed at your Max as he was the only one being broadcasted on the big screens, and the joy you were feeling moments ago had twisted into a sour, unpleasant feeling.

Max had worked so hard to be in his position right now. He didn’t have it easier than anyone else – he dedicated blood, sweat, and tears to his work and sacrificed everything to accomplish the achievements he had today just like all the other drivers on the grid, so why was he the only one being subjected to such unjust hostility?

Having been involved in the sport ever since childhood because of your father and Max, you had always known that people could be cruel. “The higher you rise, the sharper the knives,” couldn’t be more true, and people would do anything to tear you down. They would never acknowledge the effort and hard work you had given, because in their eyes you’d always be undeserving and overrated.

“Does the booing annoy you?” The interviewer asked the driver before him, addressing the unignorable sound of the crowd. Max chuckled lightheartedly at the question, shrugging his shoulder as he answered in good humor, “In the end, I’m the one taking the trophy home, so it’s fine with me!” 

“So next week when it’s ten times worse and you win –” “Then I’ll still go home with the trophy, so it’s all good.”

The interviewer smiled at his graceful answer, glad that he approached the question with nonchalance instead of being spiteful and throwing a fit for the underserved hate. Max’s smile never faltered during the rest of the interview, appearing to be completely unaffected as he answered the questions all the while the crowd continued to boo him.

To the rest of the world, his act seemed totally convincing. It did look like he didn’t give two shits about the haters, laughing at some jokes the interviewer cracked as he talked about his performances during the race and areas of improvement. But you were his little sister, and you knew him well enough to know that the spectator’s reaction had undoubtedly affected him.

You noticed the way his lips twitched ever-so-slightly whenever the crowd taunted him louder, and how his eyes no longer had that gleam of genuine joy that was there when he first appeared on screen for the post-race interview. Max was such a great actor in front of the camera, always knowing how to put on the bravest face and the most convincing front when the world was watching him – but he could never fool you.

The interview concluded fairly quickly, with the interviewer congratulating Max on his 50th win and Max thanking him for his time. You watched as he gave a thumbs-up to the camera before walking off, and it’s times like this that made you wish more than anything to be there for your brother and let him know how proud you were.

So you waited for him to finish all of his media duties and obligatory team meetings that day, and dialed his phone number when you knew he had already settled down for the night in his hotel room.

In the dimly lit hotel suite, Max’s phone rang and he watched as the name “baby sis” and that terrible candid photo he took of you during a family vacation which he set as your contact photo appeared on his screen. He couldn’t help but laugh whenever he saw that picture – your face scrunched up in pure horror and disgust as a wasp flew toward your face.

He picked up the call and his face brightened up almost instantly the second he heard your voice. “Max, hey…” you said on the phone, your lips pulling up into the biggest grin the same way as your brother. “Hey kid, what’s up?” The nickname made you roll your eyes in feigned annoyance – even though you were all grown up and definitely not a kid anymore, he still called you that. 

“Nothing much, just staying in for the night. You feeling okay?” You didn’t have to say anything more, Max already knew what you were talking about – the crowd booing at him this afternoon. He could pretend to not know what you had meant, diverting the topic to something unimportant, but he knew he would never get past you. 

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” he hummed nonchalantly, hoping his curt answer could somehow fool you that he was not at all affected. The line went momentarily silent as you two said nothing to each other – you knew that he was lying, and he knew that you knew he was lying. “Max,” you broke the quietness and called out his name, “You know that I’m so proud of you, right?”

Max didn’t respond to your question, so you continued on with what you wanted to say to him. “We can all see your efforts… you are the smartest, strongest, most dedicated person I know and I am always so grateful to have you as my brother. Even when the world is trying its hardest to paint you as the bad guy and portray you as the villain, I know you have the kindest heart. I will always be by your side, Max. Always.”

You had to check your phone to see if the call had accidentally ended because the other side of the line was completely silent. “Max?” you called out your brother’s name again, and your heart ached with pity when you heard your brother’s soft sniffles over the phone.

Growing up, Max had rarely cried in front of you – it was always you who cried over the tiniest inconveniences and needed your brother to comfort you as you soaked through his t-shirt with your tears. You could still remember how his hands would glide down your back comfortingly, feeling like nothing could ever harm you again as he wrapped you delicately in his arms. 

Max was always there when you needed him the most, and now you wished you could be there for him the same way he had done for you. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Max. I always got your back.” Hearing you say that you were proud of him and that you knew he had a kind heart was more than enough for Max. The world could say whatever it wanted about him, but as long as you were by his side, all is well.

“Thank you for saying that,” he said in a hushed whisper, voice wavering with emotions threatening to spill over. You wanted so badly to give him a big hug, to let him know that this was never his fault and he should never be punished by the world for his success. “It’s you and me against the world, Max, just like when we were kids,” you said with a smile, and for the first time since that afternoon, Max found himself genuinely smiling with you.

When the call ended that night, Max felt like a heavy weight was being lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t have to face the world alone, he had you by his side supporting every decision of his. The world could be so cruel, you both knew that, but everything seemed to be less nerve-wracking when you had each other’s back. 

[missfrustration]

thirty-six pushups (serirei mp100 nsfw fic)

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

pairing: serizawa katsuya x reigen arataka

tags: pwp, smut, anal sex, fingering, top serizawa, bottom reigen, sweet/hot, hand jobs, boss/employee, office sex, desk sex, first time, loss of virginity, spit as lube, whimpering, old men yaoi, and yes pushups.

A/n: as soon as the pushup challenge on tiktok started popping off, I knew I had to make this. guys IFKYK. on ao3 here!

word count: 4.9k

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“I’m telling you, Serizawa! If Mob can do it, I can too!” 

Reigen stands before Serizawa in the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, looking childishly proud.

This conversation sparked after Serizawa and Reigen finished up with their last job of the day. A gym owner claimed their dumbbells would randomly fall on the toes of guests. After briefly searching the facility, they exorcised the spirit of a washed-out bodybuilder who was spiteful of anyone more buff than him. The owner promptly thanked them with a lifetime membership, even inviting them to compete in a push-up challenge. 

Although caring, Reigen decided to turn them down. Serizawa asked why Reigen didn’t participate. 

“Ah, you see, Serizawa. I have been creating my secret training regime where I have reaped better benefits than going to some sweaty gym.”

On the way back to the office, Reigen revealed the details of his secret training regime: the Remote Psychic Muscle Activation Technique. Reigen uses his psychic powers to target each muscle in his body, producing his "current muscular physique." Thus, he was confident he would win that competition and didn’t want to hurt those gym bros' egos. However, the more Serizawa asked questions, the more Reigen shifted around to find answers. 

Once arriving at the office, Reigen had beads of sweat dripping down him, which he immediately wiped off with a towel when he reached his desk. Serizawa enjoyed hearing about his boss’s stories; it was another side of Reigen he didn’t experience in the office. It was refreshing to Serizawa to hear Reigen talk about whatever he wanted just for him to listen. 

After Reigen wiped himself off, he continued with the discussion on push-ups. They mentioned Mob’s recent accomplishment of doing 35 push-ups in a row, which both men were amazed by. 

Thus comes the current conversation. Serizawa stands in awe of Reigen, smiling back at his boss, “I think you can too, Reigen. You could do anything if you put your mind to it.”

Reigen face warms up, swatting his hand as to dismiss him. He bashfully shakes his head, saying, “Come, Serizawa, that is too nice of you. Alright, I have made up my mind. Watch me as I perform the most pushups humanity has known!” 

Serizawa is pleasantly surprised that his boss would want to demonstrate something like this in front of him, “Oh, I believe in you. You can do it!” He quietly claps as he sits down. 

In a flash, Reigen swiftly slips off his suit jacket and undoes the buttons on his dress shirt before tossing it, revealing the white T-shirt hiding underneath. Reigen hits the floor and gets in position.

In reality, Reigen doesn’t have a plan. Hell, the last time he worked out was the last time he jogged with Mob for his marathon, and even then, he tapped out after 10 minutes! 

He looks back at Serizawa, debating if he should smooth talk his way out of this or not. Serizawa looks back with awe and determination in his eyes, ready to see his boss ace this challenge. The twinkle of excitement in the hues of his pupils strikes a chord in Reigen. How could he possibly turn down a face like Serizawa’s?! 

He sighs in self-defeat, now knowing he has to do it. He can’t flake right now, not after all that talking up! He probably could pull it off if he did those modified pushups… no, but girls usually do that.

“Okay, here goes,” Reigen is unprepared for what the next few minutes will bring him. Nevertheless, he inhales deeply and starts.

“One! Two! Three! Hey, this is easier than I thought!” Reigen says pleasantly. “Piece of cake already.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, sir.” Serizawa says, “Keep going!”

Reigen feels warmth on his cheeks from the compliment Serizawa gives him. A boost of motivation hits him immediately, and he keeps his arms pushing like a hot knife on butter.

“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine-”

Reigen immediately recognizes that his mouth feels dryer. His arms are starting to shake. There's a slight tremble in his voice after counting each rep. 

This is not a good sign for Reigen. 

“Ten.” He stammers. Reigen feels weak already. “Hahaha, man. Eleven.” Maintaining his previous swagger in front of Serizawa is getting more challenging now. Screw it. He will just have to keep going until he can’t anymore. 

“Twelve. Hahh.” A now-winded Reigen pauses to catch his breath before continuing to push out more in hurried intervals rather than the past cadence he started. He manages to push out 3 or 4 reps each time before needing a few moments to recuperate. Slowly, though, Reigen finds it more challenging to keep a strong voice. 

“Twenty-two. T-twenty-three.” Reigen accidentally whimpers but doesn’t give up hope. Sure, he sounds like a total weakling, but as long as he shows he can do enough, maybe Reigen can squeeze away with all the panting by his ad-libbing. He can’t bear to see Serizawa’s face in the middle of this; he is way too embarrassed.

Serizawa quickly notices this but doesn’t think much about it.

“Twenty-four.”

Of course, that is the best way for Serizawa to help his boss create a positive work environment! Supporting others is always necessary.

“Twenty-f-five.”

There is nothing more than professional work going on, after all.

“Hahh. Hah, twenty-six.”

A disciple should support their boss just as much as Reigen helps him.

“Twenty-seven.”

So why does Serizawa feel weird? Why is his face so hot and his chest tight?

“Twenty-eight.” Reigen whimpers again as his arms begin to shake.

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s feeling. It’s an overwhelming feeling he hasn’t ever had to this degree. Not with anyone but… 

“Twenty-nine.”

Serizawa knows. He’s felt this way about Reigen dozens of times since they met. Whether it was the first act of kindness when Reigen offered to hire him, the times they would eat lunch on break together, or how much it meant to him when he smiled. He’s felt this way about Reigen before, but not to this degree.

Thirty.

Serizawa knows what this is now. Reigen’s noises are starting to make him feel very unforgiving thoughts.

Thirty-one.

Serizawa can’t help but imagine Reigen moans like that for different reasons. He can’t help but think of Reigen moaning because of him . He’s been holding it back since he first realized what he was thinking, but the need got increasingly hungry.

Thirty-two.

Serizawa can’t keep his erection down. He has never needed to handle himself this hard in public, much less in the office--only in his private time. He feels the pulse in his groin, straining increasingly against his tight suit pants. He has an animalistic desire to touch it, palm it, do anything to take care of it. But Serizawa is in the worst position for this. 

Thirty-three.

Serizawa looks at Reigen, panic in his eyes. He can tell Reigen might stop any moment. Oh god, Serizawa can’t stop thinking about the most degenerate things. The thought of Reigen’s face of pleasure, his body, the feel of his skin, the panic of how fast he needs to get together, the sound of Reigen’s whimpers right now. 

Thirty-four.

This is too much pressure. Reigen’s pushups are starting to slow down between each repetition. Serizawa is panicking about what to do next. He rips his eyes off Reigen, trying to curl his body in on himself. If he could do anything else– think of anything else–then there has to be a way he can come back from this.

Thirty-five.

Anything will help right now. Anything!

“Thirty, thirty-six. Uf!” Reigen stops, panting and falling back onto the ground to collect his breath. “Hah. Hahahahhh, see?! I’m not just a smooth talker, after all. Heh, alright!”

Reigen catches his breath, feeling very confident in himself. He overlooks Serizawa’s minor life crisis as he kneels on the floor.

“Well then, Serizawa, I showed you how it’s done, didn’t I?” Reigen fixated his eyes on the carpet, focusing on evening his breath. “Hey, hah, hand me a towel from the cabinet over there, will ya?”

Silence fills the room, save for Reigen’s pants. “Serizawa?” Reigen raises his head to see if Serizawa heard him. 

He pauses to see Serizawa’s body practically curled into the chair, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Reigen. 

Immediately, insecurity washed over Reigen at why Serizawa was acting like this. Oh crap, is he disgusted by my struggle to do pushups? Did I need to do more to impress him? Is he trying not to laugh? 

Reigen swallows his insecurities and adjusts his tie.

“Hey, Serizawa? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sir,” Serizawa whispers. Though, it’s obvious to both men that this is a lie. Around the two, things start to float up and down in the office. Reigen is the first to see it, however. 

“Hey, now. I can tell when you are not like yourself. More than anyone. Especially with this,” Reigen gestures around, which Serizawa notices and immediately places down all the objects, “Please, Serizawa. What can I do to help you?” Reigen asks.

“I'm sorry, but,” Serizawa uncurls himself, now turning away from Reigen by swiveling around the chair. “You can’t help with this.”

“Of course, I can. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t come to the aid of my employees?” 

Reigen steps in front of Serizawa before he can curl himself up again. Serizawa is too late to cover up the large tent in his pants that Reigen just saw.

“Ah, Reigen! It’s not, ah, well, it is, but- wait, no!” Serizawa stammers, scrambling for anything to save this. Under all this pressure, he cannot lie anymore. “I’m so sorry! I have been thinking… horrible thoughts about you. When you were pushing up, you were making noises. I turned to dirty thoughts, and I–” Serizawa eyes wide, realizing how quickly the words slipped from his mouth. In times like these, lying is impossible for him. This is it for him. He’s going to get fired for sure!

“Serizawa…” Reigen is stunned, but things are now starting to click for him. His hand goes to his tie to try to fidget with it, immediately adjusting it until it rests flush with his collar. He clears his throat from any frog before opening his mouth.

“I can… take care of that too, you know.” The statement and his voice cracking at the end sounded like it didn’t even come out of the always-confident conman’s mouth. What escaped him was more meek, as quiet as a church mouse that Serizawa almost didn’t hear.

Serizawa sits straight up and meets Reigen’s eyes with his bewildered expression. Reigen looks back at him with a pink blush blooming across his face. The eye contact between the two men is electric when they realize what is slowly unraveling.

The air goes silent before Serizawa breaks it. “Reigen, what do you mean? Did… did I hear you right?” Serizawa’s Adam's Apple bobbed up and down in disbelief. It feels unreal. He needs to snap out of it, but Serizawa wants this to be real. It's so bad he needs proof that he is dreaming or living in this moment.

“Ahem. Well, as your boss, I- no… it’s more than that now. I want to help you with this because I,” Reigen leans forward, gently placing his hand on his shoulder before looking down at Serizawa, “We’ve been working together so well, and I’ve started to feel things. Unprofessional things.”

Reigens hand softly sweeps off the tall man's shoulder, now moving to the middle of his thigh. He softly laughs, “And this? Seems right up my alley.” 

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s hearing. Something in him snaps. All the days of suppression, all the days he’s cared for Reigen, all the days after work that he couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was enough to spring him up and unintentionally jump Reigen, causing his back to push against the wall in surprise.

“Woah, big guy! Hah~,” Before Reigen can speak, Serizawa’s arms slam on either side of Reigen, caging him between the wall and the tall man. 

“Reigen, I can’t hold these feelings back anymore.” Serizawa leans forward and rests his head against the wall right above Reigen. His eyes knit together, trying desperately not to go any farther or even say anymore. But it’s too late. 

Reigen raises his head high enough to see the agony on Serizawa’s face, fully understanding what is happening. His hand reaches up to caress Serizawa’s cheek. “I get what you mean. Please, just for me, you don’t have to hold back anymore.” 

God, I hope I can do this right. Serizawa thinks.

Immediately, he raises his head from the wall and smashes his lips onto Reigen’s in a hungry lust. Serizawa can’t control himself, pressing himself intensely into Reigen, practically smushing the shorter man into the wall. 

The passion is unleashed on Reigen, making him groan on the lips of Serizawa. They part lips and dance their tongues together in a rather clunky manner. It feels right before them, though, even with the minor teeth clashes. 

Reigen meets the man’s face with his hands, deepening the kiss. Serizawa awkwardly grabs Reigen’s shoulders with an immense grip, making him grunt. The noise Reigen makes goes straight to Serizawa’s pants, making him want the kiss even harder. He can’t control his wants any longer. 

Breaking the kiss, Reigen and Serizawa’s saliva connects to each other’s lips in a thick line. Both men gasp for air as they look at each other.

“How do we… what do we do with this then?” Serizawa's mind is dizzying, having no clue how to handle the peak in his suit pants.

“Well, the best way we can.” Reigen handed Serizawa’s pants, earning a long sigh and twitch from his member. 

“Reigen, I-I can’t stop holding back if you do that.”

“You don’t have to anymore. Plus, it feels good, right?” Reigen addresses Serizawa’s uneasiness, “Tell me how you feel. Should I keep going?”

“You don’t understand. I want you to sound like earlier when you were doing those pushups. I want that to be because of me . I don’t know what I’ll do if you keep going.”

“I think we can find something to help that.” Reigen sighs, trying to figure out exactly how he wants to take this. He looks at Serizawa, who seems seconds away from bursting, then at the desk just inches away from the two, and an idea creeps into the forefront of his mind. If he wants to do it, though, Reigen must prepare both.

“Let me show you.”

Per Reigen’s instructions, Serizawa flushes as he helps Reigen against the desk. Reigen sighs when his backside reaches the chill wood of the desk. They quickly use their nimble fingers to remove his suit pants and boxers gingerly. Serizawa thinks he’s going to pass out on cloud nine. His hand grips the small of Reigen’s back, making him instinctively arch himself, giving Serizawa a generous view of Reigen’s erect penis twitching against his stomach.

 “Hah… Do you like what you see?” Reigen neck leans forward to meet gaze with the man over him, entirely in awe of the sight.

“Absolutely.” 

“Go ahead then. I’ll be patient.” Reigen gasps when Serizawa places his shaking hand on the exposed skin, palming his ass with rough desperation.

The only time Serizawa has touched someone in any sexual way is himself. He seldom has watched porn, much less gay porn. His head spirals in confusion, but Reigen sees this quickly; he knows what to do next. 

“I know what to do. I can help lead you.”

“Okay. W-what should I do now?”

“You can use your finger to start. Put it in your mouth–make sure you coat it, and,” Reigen paused, looking away to hide his face from Serizawa’s gaze. “It will warm me up for the next steps.”

Serizawa does what he’s told. He looks at Reigen inquisitively with his digit still in his mouth, “What do fingers have to do with this?”

Reigen grunts, “...You know,” Serizawa’s face tells him he doesn’t know. Reigen continues, “You need to warm me up with fingers before that . I think…” He nods to Serizawa’s hard tent, “I need you to put your fingers in my ass. It has to be wet first for it to work.”

“R-right. I can do that.” He turns around and watches Serizawa coat his forefinger and middle with his saliva. His finger comes out with a string connecting him to his mouth. He awkwardly holds his fingers out, looking almost innocent as he waits for Reigen’s following instructions.

“Just know, I’ve never done this before. So just go easy on me.” Reigen says, looking away. Serizawa nods before not so subtly pulling into Reigen’s desperate lips with his tie. Reigen's face tells of nothing but timidness, yet still with needy lust. His body shivers with want as he reaches to find the hands of his employee, still covered with spit. He moves Serizawa’s fingers down, and down, and down. Serizawa can feel Reigen’s hands tremble when he touches something warm. 

Reigen guides Serizawa’s fingers to his hole. At first, it takes Serizawa a moment to process what he’s being guided to while he gently kisses Reigen’s face, still held close to him by his tie. Reigen’s other hand fumbles Serizawa’s hand around, trying to find the spot he needs Serizawa to fill while also hiding his face during their kisses. 

When Serizawa feels his fingertips protrude Reigen’s entrance, he knows what to do. 

As soon as he feels pressure on his asshole, Reigen’s death grip on Serizawa's tie pulls him closer into the kiss. He can’t bear to look at Serizawa’s face, who he’s adored so long. He can’t bear to see those eyes like it will wake him up from his remarkable dream. 

Serizawa’s hand presses gently inside, and soon, the pads of his two fingers are warmed by the inside of his boss. He can feel Reigen shift into the kiss.

Reigen grabs his arm, slowly pulling him into one knuckle deep, then two, to the fullest extent. Reigen completely freezes his mouth on Serizawa’s tongue, breathing quickly through his nose.

Reigen pushes Serizawa’s arm, awkwardly stopping at his fingertips before Reigen guides him back. Serizawa feels extreme pressure around his fingers when they are thrust inside. Reigen makes a slight squeak against his lips before hastily making Serizawa thrust into him again.

Reigen fully guides each thrust of Serizawa’s fingers as they continue, slowly loosening himself up in the process. Soon, however, the gentle pace changes. 

Reigen’s hands are gripping Serizawa’s arm and tie, giving him erratic and fast pushes into himself. Reigen’s voice fails on him, slowly humming into each sharp exhale he provides. He tries desperately to keep himself from sounding like a dog, but when he feels Serizawa’s fingers take the lead without his guidance, he can’t help but pant. 

Serizawa knows what to do for now. As Reigen showed him, he pulled his fingers out before sloppily pushing back in. He feels the walls of Reigen slowly lower themselves.

“Okay, Serizawa. You can curl y-your fingers now.” Reigen meekly whispers against his lips. 

Serizawa isn’t confident about what he means but tries to enact what Reigen asks in a wordless agreement. He slowly bends his fingers. 

Reigen let go of his tie, leaning against the table with his palms as the sensation felt too much. 

“You can’t do this to me, Serizawa. The way you’re looking at me, I– Ah!” Reigen arches into the desk when Serizawa’s fingers reach a delicious spot in him. 

Serizawa twitching cock is reaching its limit. There’s only so much the man can take before he crumbles under pressure. 

Suddenly, Reigen feels two firm hands placed at both sides of his face that causes him to snap out of his twitches. 

“Reigen, please let me push this further.” Serizawa’s face is stone; besides the sweat on his face, you would think he is back in his first job interview with Reigen.

“Idiot, I was gonna say yes to that.” Reigen scoffs, grabbing Serizawa’s tie. He solidifies his want by kissing Serizawa deeply. Their tongues touch again, causing Serizawa to huff and press his hard tent against the conman. 

“Please, for the love of god, take it out, Serizawa.” Reigen whimpers against his mouth. 

Serizawa didn’t need to think twice. It's a surprise to him when he knew exactly what Reigen was referring to in the first place. In a flash, his cock was free from his clothes, pinkened and twitching. Nobody had ever seen this part of him before, but Reigen looked at it like it was the sexiest thing he’d laid eyes on. The way his eyes lingered, the way he bit his lip, and the way he seemed to sweat a little more made Serizawa groan. 

Maybe Reigen let his eyes stay on Serizawa a little too long out of anxiety because, damn , his employee was fucking packing. This entire time Serizawa was carrying a fucking package on him? Reigen swallowed. Even if he’s never seen another man's dick in real life, he wouldn't have known they could have that many veins on them, even in porn. 

“I need you to go slow, okay?” Reigen says, now shifting his legs apart, gingerly holding them against the desk as he leans back. 

Reigen doesn’t know if his words reach Serizawa at this point. Serizawa practically jumps at him like he’s never seen a tastier meal. Serizawa’s thick cock presses down Reigen’s crack, making him tremble on standby. 

He can feel his breath quicken when he helps Serizawa line him up to the hole. 

“P-please, go-ah!” Reigen gags out as Serizawa begins to push in unceremoniously and can already feel pain searing into his asshole. 

“Sorry, I will go slow, but it just, you feel so,” Serizawa’s cockhead slips into Reigen’s body, now pausing to adjust Reigen before inching in more. “So good.” 

Reigen practically whimpers in Serizawa’s hold, but tries to play it off as a clearing of his throat. He grips onto the hands that hold his small hips, letting himself relax for the man who keeps sinking deeper. 

It takes a hot minute until Serizawa’s girth is fully inside, many times Reigen needed to stop and pause to take a breather, whimpering like a dog in heat. Once it was in, Reigen felt his cock twitch up in excitement. The pain subsided as the pleasure started to rear its head.

“Please, Serizawa, start moving your hips,” Reigen pleads, tapping his foot against Serizawa for some friction. 

Serizawa breaks loose, immediately thrusting out before putting his whole cock back inside. Reigen can’t keep the noise he makes down as his voice chokes from the pressure. He sputters on Serizawa’s cock as it keeps moving, slowly making his rational spiral into something unintelligible. 

“Reigen,” Serizawa groans out. “God, I’ve never felt anything like this. You’re so warm.”

He continues his tirade, practically thrusting his hips into Reigen as fast as his heartbeat. 

Reigen tries to collect himself to complain to Serizawa, to say that he can’t possibly keep up that pace if he has anything to say about it. The neighboring offices can only ignore so much noise before they file complaints, even worse, Reigen’s moaning louder than a train station. But he can’t get himself to spit the words out. His tight ass starts to loosen in Serizawa’s rugged strokes, now replacing the searing pain with white, hot pleasure. It’s a feeling he cannot help but ride. He pants out, only mumbling small obscenities and panting like a dog. 

Serizawa sees Reigen huff into the air, practically growing hearts in his pupils from the sight. 

This is the exact picture he wants to frame. Reigen’s legs hang in the air, constantly thumping to and fro from each jerk of Serizawa’s hips. His hands do little in gripping onto his legs, and his face is so blissed it’s driving Serizawa crazy. His eyes are dilated, Reigen rolls his eyes into the back of his skull every few seconds before trying to focus on the man in front of him, only to be hit into a particularly delicious spot, hypnotizing his sight and causing his vision to blur. Again. His pretty tongue that once led the kiss now peaked out of his mouth, lips plumped from kissing and agape, huffing and moaning every single octave his voice could possibly ring out. This same kind of face was what Serizawa wanted to give Reigen. It’s what he wanted to recreate. 

He wanted to ruin that pretty little face of his boss, and he was going to do more of just that. 

“Reigen, please look at me.”

Reigen's pretty legs dangled in the air as he tried to come to his senses, now trying to fully focus on Serizawa but blurring out every now and then. It wasn’t until Serizawa grabbed his chin and leaned in close that Reigen sharply looked at him. 

Serizawa was closer, angling his thrusts into Reigen just right that he practically yelps into the taller mans mouth when he was pulled in a sloppy kiss. God, it felt so satisfying, Serizawa almost drools at the way Reigens face deliciously contorts. And it’s all because of him . 

“Please, don’t stop,” Reigen whimpers.

“Never, darling.” Despite his sweet words, Serizawa continues his impossibly fast pace inside Reigen’s tight ass. 

Reigen’s pretty cock was rock fucking solid, and it gave Serizawa the perfect idea. He wraps his big hand around Reigen’s shaft and begins to stroke it languidly.

Reigen’s eyes practically bulged; the sensation was so delirious that he couldn’t speak. He tries to hold the same contact with Serizawa, but the stimulation causes his eyelids to flutter each time.

He unintentionally jerks his hips anywhere near Serizawa, and his teeth are gritting together. His weak hands grab into the hands that grip his ass, pulsing his hold the way his asshole puckered. 

“That feels so good, and please don't stop. Please don’t stop.” The constant whimpering from Reigen now turns into moans, until moans become begging that Serizawa keep going, over and over and over again, until Reigen is an uncontrollable, overstimulated mess. Serizawa keeps a relentless pace of pumps on his cock, as well as in his ass. It’s all so much that Reigen’s overbearing core is starting to bubble over. 

In between Reigen’s range of noises, he squeezes out, “Seri, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum for you.” He rasps. 

“Please, Reigen. Let everyone know how I make you feel.” Serizawa grunts. He relinquished his grip on Reigen’s hips before latching onto his trim waist. Reigen’s delicate waist could perfectly fit inside Serizawa's large hands, practically made to fit like puzzle pieces. Serizawa hunches over and starts to thrust into Reigen like never before. The thick girth that Reigen was once nervous about now makes his frame convulse in pleasure.

Reigen screamed out, tightening his asshole so much that Serizawa’s cock completely halted inside of him. The tightness clamps down on Serizawa, and he can only watch Reigen orgasm, spouting white, warm cum all over Serizawa’s suit and his skin. His dick just bobbed up and down, his pretty pink cockhead looking so inviting to Serizawa. 

What Serizawa needed to do now was so clear to him. Before Reigen could finish his ecstasy, Serizawa hungrily took his twitching cock in his lips, sucking out the rest of the cum from his head. The warm, salty, thick cum massages down his throat while Reigen’s finger clamored to Serizawa's soft brown hair, practically drumming his hands all over his head and shoulders, seizing any sort of bodily function. 

Serizawa’s desperate mouth milks out any more seed he possibly could out of Reigen until his writhing ceases. He only needed to thrust in Reigen’s sodden hole a little bit more before he released himself in Reigen’s ass, pulling out to reveal a mouthwatering cream pie. 

Reigen’s face relaxed from his orgasm, relaxing his spread legs, giving a generous view of his chest, nipples still hard and face still red. 

“Jesus, Serizawa, I didn’t know you were packing a fucking snake in your pants,” Reigen said, throwing his head back. “If I had known this would happen, I would’ve stretched myself better. You… liked that, right?”

“Reigen, that was wonderful. I didn’t know that something would feel that good,” Serizawa’s blush was the cutest thing, but what Seri said was more concerning. 

“Hold on, was that…?” Reigen couldn’t believe it when Serizawa confirmed his suspicions, internally freaking out, but calmly sighed. “Well, I'm glad you feel that way.”

Serizawa couldn’t keep his love in any longer; he grabbed the face he always thought was beautiful, one that he saw every day as his boss, and now one that he could call…

“Reigen, would you do me the honor of calling me yours?”

“You think you need to ask that at this point? Jeez…” Reigen could barely contain his excitement, grabbing his hand and kissing it gently. “Of course I will.”

The two men embraced in a way they never thought would be possible. If this wasn’t the best outcome of a set of pushups, they didn’t know what would be.

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

Please, elaborate more on these Hazbin Hotel headcanons. I’m very interested in hearing about them.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

Since you didn't ask about anything specific, I'll just give some headcanons on Vs since I think about them the most.

> Vs are not a polycule, it's VoxVal + Velvette because she would never touch any of these losers. What's more, Vox and Val are extremely sexist (I mean it's kinda canon, we heard how they speak about women) so if she had sex with any (or both) of them, she would no longer be one of the boys and become one of the bitches.

> Vox has NPD, Val has BPD, Vel has APD.

> Vox is continuously overstimulated because he's constantly connected to his web. That's why snaps so easily and sometimes goes through 5 stages of grief in 5 seconds. He could disconnect (and sometimes he does) but he's too much of a control freak to not lurk constantly.

> During his life on earth, Valentino had a terrible, toxic father. Very much machismo who abused him relentlessly for being queer. (Not that I want to make him sympathetic, I just think that evil people are often miserable before they become evil.) Because Val is very queer, not just "man occasionally fucking other men", he's always been loud and proud pansexual and gender non-conforming. He wasn't some kind of activist, very concerned about queer issues, he just refused to stay in the closet out of spite, and because it made men around him uncomfortable. He just enjoyed being perceived as a deviant. It was one of the things that eventually got him killed.

> Vox is like a hardcore sadist. He cuts people open just to feel powerful.

> During his life on Earth, Vox used to be extremely homophobic because his bisexuality was threatening to his masculinity. He's also the embodiment of toxic white masculinity from the 50's. He actually did some personal growth in Hell, eg. He gave up racism, homophobia, transphobia, and most other -phobias, and now he despites everyone rather equally. He just bullies women more because misogynistic violence is a low-hanging fruit.

> So with Velvette I had some fun because she manifested in Hell not so long ago and happened to be as powerful as other Vs, who had much more experience and souls collected. So I assumed she must be completely deranged. I came up with the idea that she used to be a toxic influencer who built a cult-like following around her. She weaponized it against multiple people, ruining lives, and manipulating kids into committing crimes or even suicides. Her methods are very fine, Vox and Val have nothing on her when it comes to cruelty.

> Velvette is not misogynistic per se but she despises weak women who can't fight for themselves. That's why other Vs behavior don't bother her, she doesn't feel threatened by their aggression.

> Angel Dust has BPD and an eating disorder. That's why he fell for Valentino so terribly, to trust him with his soul. He used to think that Valentino is the only person fucked up enough to truly love him as damaged as he'd been. (More hc about Val and Angel here). Actually Val has a very similar backstory to him - a queer, gender non-conforming man in a very masculine environment (I'm not sure how canonic is Angel working for the Italian Mafia at this point but I stick to it until proven otherwise).

Other headcanos about Vox and Val ❤️🩵

[son-of-a-top-gun]

Sky's the Limit (part 2)

hello everyone, so glad you all enjoyed part one so much - thought you deserved a little treat in the form of the next chapter and some juicy lore..

warning: some evidence to the canon that Bob fucks, mention of infinite jest, Jake flirting with anything that moves, the usual

Sky's the Limit part 2

part one

Part of the deal of getting to stay with Penny for free was occasionally helping behind the bar when she was short-staffed, or more importantly, when she had a hot date with Pete.

You had to borrow one of her old Hard Deck t-shirts, which was a little bit too snug for your liking, but you had to make do. Besides, it was a welcome break from the blank screen you had spent the last week looking at. Talking to real people, maybe that’s where inspiration will come from.

****

When Jake walks into the bar, he is determined. He is absolutely exhausted and he needs to get back into his groove, when he immediately notices it. Behind the bar there is a girl wiping down the far end, with her back turned to him. She’s in a pair of pretty short shorts and a quite snug Hard Deck t-shirt, and she’s clearly new. This should be easy.

“Could I get a drink? I’m terribly thirsty over here.” He says in the deepest, sultry Southern tone he can get.

The girl turns around, and Jake’s face drops.

It’s you, with your hair down and you’re not wearing your glasses. He swallows and subtly readjusts himself. 

“Really Bagman? That’s the best you’ve got?”

He puffs his chest a little. “I’m surprised you can even tell it’s me from over there. I’m pretty sure that’s a safety hazard.”

“I’ve got contacts in, dumbass. Although I don’t need my glasses to know a sore loser when I see one.”

“And I would have thought that bar work is below such a worthy scholar like yourself.”

“I’m helping Aunt Penny. She’s got a date with Pete. Or wait, you guys call him Maverick.” Jake nods. You look at his hands. “Corona right?”

Jake is taken slightly aback. “Yeah, that’s right.” You pull out a bottle and open it.

He takes a swig, before yawning. “Hot date, eh? That’s good for some.”

“Tell me about it.” You say without thinking, before correcting yourself. “I can’t believe the great Bagman isn’t constantly inundated with women throwing themselves at him.” He looks at you in a way that makes you feel very exposed all of a sudden. “I mean, in spite of your terrible pick up lines.”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to waste my good ones on you am I?” Jake regrets it a little the moment he says it, but you carry on wiping glasses, seemingly unaffected.

“I’m just saying they could probably do with an edit or two.”

“You’re going to give me tips, are you? Thanks but no thanks.” He leans over the bar. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.” He catches a whiff of whatever perfume you’re wearing. Damn, if it doesn’t smell good.

You lean back and raise your hands up. “Alright, good luck then. I need to get back to work.” 

Jake wants to think of a witty retort but you’re already gone. He picks up his beer and walks over to the pool table where the other pilots are waiting. He doesn’t know why he feels hot, but he hopes it will go away. It has to go away, right?

***

“Earth to Hangman?” Tash waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s your turn.” She’s still holding the darts.

“Oh right, sure.” He tries to focus on the board, throwing his darts even quicker than usual.

“It’s annoying you’re still good at that when you’re clearly not even paying attention.” Tash huffs.

Jake looks over to you as you serve one of the older gentlemen.

“So what do we know about this ‘Ladybug’?” He asks, still not prising his eyes away.

“Great, Hangman has a crush.” Tash swats his arm. “I like this one Jake, I’m not letting you drive her away.” 

“I’m not going to. Besides, she’s Penny’s niece so she’s not going anywhere.” He turns to her and Bob, who is looking at his phone. “But there’s something odd about her right?”

“You’re just saying that because she doesn’t immediately want to jump your bones, Bagman.”

Bob keeps looking at his phone. He had in fact looked her up after your last conversation. He did find it odd that you had clearly already finished your pHD because he had already read your thesis, which had already been published. However, it was rare he had something over Jake, and he liked you, so he decided to say nothing. He wasn’t sure what you were working on, but whatever it was, he was sure it was your business.

Jake needed to work for this one.

Bob looks at Jake, who is intently watching as a skinny guy in glasses and some faded band t-shirt leans over, talking to you. You lean in, your arms slightly squeezing your chest towards him. Unbeknownst to anyone, Jake feels himself getting hot again all of a sudden. This scrawny little rat? Really? He downs his beer.

“Anyone want another drink?”

****

You return to the bar and look around. Cute Glasses Guy is nowhere to be seen.

“Bagman, did you see where that guy went?”

“What guy?” Jake twiddles with his toothpick, desperately avoiding eye contact. You look him over.

“You know exactly which guy. Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are a terrible liar.” You cross your arms. “What did you say to him?”

Jake finally turns to look at you.

“Look, you’re better off without him. He was about two minutes away from telling you how much he loved Infinite Jest. “

“Well at least he could probably read it, unlike you. I’m surprised you even know who David Foster Wallace is.”

“I’m full of surprises. Unlike him. You do not want a guy who dresses like he got lost in a vintage store in Portland, and wants you to invest in his startup to help buy polaroids for orphans.”

You cross your arms.

“So what guys do I want exactly? Big hunky pilots who think they are God’s gift to women? I’m fine, thank you.” You get back to cleaning the bar.

“You think I’m hunky.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, what’s wrong with me anyway? Most girls would kill for this.”

You couldn’t help but grin. It really did irk him that you weren’t falling for his act.

“Sorry babe, but you’re not my type.”

“Then tell me, who is?”

You scan the bar. You looked over at the pilots clustered around the pool table. 

“Oh my god, it’s not Rooster is it?”

“As much as I would love to say that, him and my sister have history.” You clap your hands over your mouth. “Wait, I’m not supposed to say that.” You turn to him. “How good are you at keeping secrets?” He seems to mull it over.

“Hangman, I’m being serious.”

He rolls his eyes before miming zipping his lips shut. “I am a gentleman of my word. I promise I won’t, even if it will kill me. Besides, I don’t even know who your sister is.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Do you honestly think I just sleep with every single woman I lay my eyes on?”

“Yes. Especially if they are more beautiful, successful, glamorous versions of me.”

“I doubt that.” You tilt your head at him. He looks curiously soft, until he realises your look, and he looks away, taking a sip of his beer. “But let me know when she’s in town.” You whip him with the dish cloth you’re holding.

“Gross, Jake.” Jake’s eyebrow perked up. You used his real name. He wanted to celebrate but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So who is your type then?”

You looked back at the table.

All the pilots were ridiculously good looking, it was like a casting director had chosen every single one of them to make you nervous. But as you swept through, you could see one particular pilot looking at his phone smiling.

“Bob.”

“Bob? Are you kidding?”

“No? He’s tall, handsome, smart and a real gentleman.” You lean forward. “And he fucks.”

“Ew, what, gross. Where are you even getting that from?”

“Women’s intuition.” You tap your nose. Jake looks at you disbelievingly. “Also he has a hickey right at the bottom of his neck, just poking out of his collar, and what looks like” You take another look over. “Bruises and nail marks on his arms.” 

“How the hell can you see that from over there?” 

“I’ve got good observation skills.”

“Does that come in handy with your thesis?”

“Sometimes.” 

Jake leans forward.

“So if you’ve come to this conclusion, why don’t you ask him out then?” Jake huffs.

“He is also definitely seeing someone Jake, don’t be stupid.”

“Okay, now you are having me on.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe someone like Bob could have a girlfriend? Do you think because someone wears glasses and likes books they are doomed to be unfuckable losers? That they should be grateful for any single morsel of attention they receive because who knows what will turn up?”

“That’s not what I meant Ladybug-”

You point at him.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“Look, I’m -”

“Hey Hangman!” Javy waves a cue, “you promised us a game remember?”

Jake turns back to you, but you are gone, serving someone else at the bar.

***

Jake walks back to the pool table, where Bob is still looking at his phone smiling.

“Who are you messaging?”

Bob’s head snaps up, and he puts his phone behind his back.

“Er-what, no, I mean no one. Just looking at a - a - a- meme, that’s all.”

“Goddammit.” He turns back to you at the bar where you are talking to another customer.

“Jake-”

“Look Bob, remember we share any good memes on the chat. That’s what good squad members do.” He sees Bob’s shoulders visibly relax. At this point Nat sidles up to him.

“Hey, I realised where her name sounds familiar.”

“Oh really?”

“Her dad is Admiral Y/N.” Jake’s eyebrows raised so far they almost flew off his forehead. 

“That guy? The one who -”

“Yeah. That one.”

Your dad was famous throughout the entirety of Top Gun for being perhaps the biggest hard ass there was. He was known to give recruits 200 pushups for just looking at him wrong. He even scared Jake’s dad. Jake couldn’t imagine what he would do if anyone dared to touch his daughter. But something still didn’t make sense. Usually he could tell Navy brats a mile off but Jake knew this was different. You hadn’t even given the slightest hint who you were. This game had just gotten a little more dangerous, and a lot more interesting.

part three

----

@burningwitchprincess

@cornishkat

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers: 1x06 Swish (Part 5)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Alright, let's wrap this episode up ;)

Letters

I want to know what book she's not actually reading. Also, picture of me every evening, if we're being honest...

She looks so cute in her fake sickness, I wanna just take all the screencaps!

So. Portia. She comes in going on about some dinner invitation that she's happy to have. Portia just thrives on being in society, and now that Colin and Marina's engagement has hit the ton, people are asking her to dinner all over the place. And, apparently Portia enjoys having spite invitations just so she can laugh in the host's face.

Penelope has other things to do. And she's got a very short amount of time to do it. So she fakes being sick to get out of social obligations so she can get some work done.

The timeline on this is interesting, though... The Featheringtons had dinner with the Bridgertons -- Colin told Marina give him a day. So, this is the next day/evening? So the end of this episode actually takes place on the morning after this one? So, Colin needed over a day for his plans to work out? Idk, time in this world is a little wonky sometimes, and I don't always feel like I know when I am.

I kind of love Pen's nervous determination. I love that she's sneaking around in her own home. She isn't sure exactly what she's looking for -- but she's gotta find something that'll stop this wedding.

Penelope is an adorable, yet terrible snoop. She goes through all of Marina's shit hoping to find.... something? I don't think she even knows. What she does find is Marina's suitcase packed and ready to go. And Penelope gets it -- she gets that Marina is going to run away with Colin, which makes her even more frantic. But girl... you gotta clean up your mess when you're going through people's stuff. She leaves everything everywhere -- Marina will definitely know something's happened in her room.

Anyway... what Penelope also finds is a bunch of letters stuffed in the back of her drawer, and upon looking at them, figures out that the one final letter sent by George is a forgery. I mean, I give this girl some credit, because that's some serious detective shit being able to figure that out based on one signature that's slightly off. But she is a writer, and there's a chance she's savvy enough to notice the content of the letter isn't in character, either.

Alright, so by the time Marina returns (from dinner?) Penelope has put Marina's stuff back in place. Good girl. Also, how long has she been sitting there waiting?

Anyway, so Marina is a little wtf about Penelope being in there and going through her stuff, but Penelope is so excited, she doesn't even wait for Marina to get done scolding her. She blurts out that the signatures don't match, and that she found a letter in her mother's handwriting to compare, to show that Portia was the one who did the forgery of George's letter.

Penelope is so excited about this development, she's practically bouncing. There is a way out of this mess without anyone getting too hurt! (I mean, technically, Colin's getting hurt but this would be less hurtful than what is going to happen, and way less than what would happen if he married Marina.)

And here's where the story really takes a turn. Penelope is excited, because she's found a way to save Colin, but also... she loves romance. And this proves that George never turned Marina away, that there's a possibility that George still loves her, that Marina can also get her happy ending with someone she actually does love. This development is important because it plays into what Penelope greatly desires herself - a great love story.

Marina is in shock, and really not accepting of all of this. She's skeptical of Penelope's claims, most likely because she's been coming to terms that George broke her heart, and has accepted that he isn't coming for her. And the practical side of her is winning out. George hasn't continued to write (though - would she know if Portia was keeping letters from her?) and Colin is a sure thing. And she just can't take that gamble. She won't take the chance on the possibility of love when she has security in her grasp.

And this just perplexes Penelope. She may be young and naive herself, but love is one of the most important things to her. Why would you not do everything you can to be with the one you love? Why would you not fight for your love? Why would you push it away?

Marina doesn't care. She still feels abandoned, and won't give up her one chance for a safe life. So, she burns the evidence, a symbolic gesture to the ending of that story.

And this is just too much for Penelope. Not only is Marina discarding her last ditch effort to stall the marriage, she's turning her back on love, and Penelope can't with that -- especially when she's in the process of trying to protect her own love from an unhappy life.

So, Penelope just blurts out that she knows Marina has a bag packed and assumes she's on her way to Gretna Green for an elopement, and for the first time, really starts to push back against Marina. What will she do when Colin finds out about the baby? How are you going to deal with the fact that you're really going to hurt him when he figures it all out?

Marina isn't necessarily concerned about that. She knows Colin will care for the baby, and won't kick her to the street, and that ultimately is what matters to her.

Penelope, rather emotional now, digs in. What of Colin? What of him and his feelings -- because they do matter, too.

Cause here's the thing about Pen. If this had been a sincere love match, I do believe she wouldn't have loved watching it go down, but she would have accepted it. She wouldn't have meddled. She's always felt that Colin would never pay her any real attention in the romantic sense, and she's come to terms with that. But this isn't a love match. And Colin is being actively hurt in all of this. And Pen can't help but stick on that point.

And... I kind of love this next beat. Marina stands in silence at Penelope's emotional outburst. The score comes in with its omniums score. Penelope's just showed her heart in a way that she hasn't before. Her love for Colin is a very sacred thing, but one that she tries her best to keep to herself, and it's finally burst through to someone.

(Granted, I'll argue they're all dumb for not noticing it sooner, but this makes for a lovely dramatic moment.)

All the pieces fit together for Marina, and she finally gets it, and says the quiet part out loud -- Penelope is in love with Colin.

The look of shock on Pen's face, though... She tries to reign it in, downplay it, be confused by the accusation. But Marina calls her out on exactly what it is. But this is going to be Marina's ultimate downfall.

Marina does not give Penelope an ounce of sympathy here. She calls Penelope's feelings a "childish infatuation" and an "unrequited fantasy". And believes, most likely because of the situation she's in, that she's more understanding of the world because she's lived more in it.

This conversation is so dense and complex. Do I think Penelope is young and in love with the idea of love? Yes. Do I think Pen's feelings should be dismissed? No. And this is where I think Marina doesn't get it. Because Penelope's feelings aren't entirely ungrounded. Not only has she lived with and managed her feelings for a long, long time, not only has she been realistic about her chances, her feelings aren't entirely unrequited.

Colin might be in his own fantasy land with Marina, but he and Pen have a very real friendship and a very real mutual caring for one another. It might not be in the same way, but it's dismissive not to acknowledge that.

And in a way Marina does, but how she does is actually somewhat cruel. She throws at Pen that Colin thinks of her no more than he thinks of Eloise... but she doesn't stop, she adds not even Eloise, but 'little' Hyacinth. Marina is throwing at her that Colin doesn't just think of her as a sister, but as a little girl who follows him around.

And to add salt to the wound, Marina says that Colin thinks of her as a woman -- as a sexual being as well as a partner, something that Penelope will never have (ha!). And it's just mean.

I get what Marina's doing -- it's part of the self preservation that she's being doing all along, because Marina feels utterly alone and if she can't save herself, no one else will. So she's being purposeful in her confrontation to Penelope. She wants to break Pen's heart. She wants Pen to feel defeated and give up.

And I have to wonder if some of this is self reflection on Marina's part. She feels so jaded and cold from what the world has thrown at her, she almost can't help but dish it out in the same way. It doesn't make it right, but you can understand why she feels the need to do this.

Well, Marina, you just fucked with Lady Whistledown and the man she loves, so you're going to get what's coming to you (which, i'll argue, is the better outcome for her, so it's not really that bad).

And here's where I'll stand up for Pen a bit. Because up until this point she's tried :

Encouraging Marina to keep up her correspondence with George

Appealing to Marina on an empathetic level

Helping Marina find another man who would still be a worthy choice

Going to her mother to try to persuade other options.

Going to Colin and attempting honesty about Marina's feelings for another man, but not spilling the actual pregnancy secret

Trying to prove to Marina that she shouldn't lose hope that the man she loves is actually still out there.

She has tried every avenue, and as I've said before, if Marina had had genuine feelings she would have stepped aside. But Marina has just been somewhat cruel in her actions. And yes, Penelope may be doing this out of her own feelings, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't care about Marina or her well being. Or that she hasn't been trying to help everyone in the situation.

So, Penelope flees, and goes off to write one damning Whistledown article. As Whistledown will say in season three -- when one loses hope, one becomes reckless.

Whistledown

The two plotlines of the episode -- Daphne and Simon's issues and the Marina story are going to collide thematically, and are tied together, rather brilliantly, in the Lady Whistledown voice over, that speaks to both situations.

The narration speaks of love and war and how the human heart is the most fragile of things. And I think, while it's definitely reflecting the intensity of the Daphne and Simon stuff, it hits differently when you know it's Pen. Marina did get to her. Her heart is really broken. But she's going to do what she feels, ultimately, is the right choice -- and reveal Marina's secret.

She knows what it's going to do to Marina, to her family, to Colin, and to the Bridgertons - whom she adores very much. The narration is unsure if it's the right choice, but it feels like the only choice.

This little moment of Pen and Eloise, it's always made me curious. Penelope and Eloise haven't had any kind of contact since their tiff a few episodes earlier, but that's the thing about best friends, is that they'll always be there when you really need them. And Eloise is there to console an utterly broken Pen. I do wonder what she said when Eloise inevitably asks what's wrong because. I wonder if she ends up telling Eloise the truth about Marina's pregnancy and the plans of elopement. Because at this point, that secret doesn't matter, Pen's already told the world.

I have to say, it's a nice little touch of acting that Penelope looks so young, really like a child, as she breaks down.

The Whistledown narration goes on to reveal Marina's secret -- letting the world know she was pregnant not only before she was engaged, but upon arrival to Mayfair.

And i love LOVE the composition of these scenes with the reveal. Colin is ready for his Romeo and Juliet moment, ready to go off and have this romantic adventure, live out his fantasy dreams. And the real world is going to come crashing in.

I kind of love the way Violet and Portia are just standing there, each waiting, each with their own complex looks on their faces as they've both read Whistledown and know. Violet is sad for him, but also frustrated and also a little of... I knew something felt off about this. Portia is just, disappointed and angered.

(Also the contrast of colors in the two scenes -- the Bridgerton blues vs the Featherington yellow/pinks, the lighting is so devastatingly gorgeous in both scenes, it really just amplifies the atmosphere of the moment.)

Colin's world is shattered. Marina looks resigned to her defeat.

And Penelope calls herself out in the narration (even if it's talking about Marina and Daphne as well) -- she knows that she crossed a line with this one. Knows that her actions may be seen as inexcusable. Was what she did worth it? Perhaps time will...

[angelmichelangelo]

the dad diaries for @turrondeluxe ❤️

if anybody doesn’t know, the peepaw and babies au has TOTALLY taken over my brain like. in the best way possible so of course i just had to write a lil fic for it <3 i hope u like this, amigo! i have other little ideas floating around in my head if you’d ever want more fic version of your au :) anyway enough rambling ENJOY!! everybody go check out the au i’m fairly certain everything is archived on @peepawronin for your enjoyment :-)

His coffee, as strong as it may, didn’t deter the headache that was blossoming behind his tired, weary eyes from expanding; creeping across the front of his skull with each steady pulse of his heartbeat.

He takes another sip, steels himself to see if perhaps the magic he knows does not truly exist has worked and…

“Papa!”

There’s the sound of his youngest, voice thick with babyish chub still, carrying across the lair with determination, tallying around inside his squeezing head like a brash drum cymbal.

Before he can push himself up off his stool, it goes off again, shrill and impatient,

“Papa! Papa! I’m telling!”

That was nothing new for Michelangelo these days, that familiar old phrase, minced with saccharine dramatics, he’s blinking his eyes hard to starve off the rest of the headache that threatens him; the kind that travels down the back of his skull and towards his shell and over his spine and makes him feel about a million years old.

He heaves a sigh. He already feels a million years old these days, what with the trophies of his days gone by evident across his aging body, like his trick knee and the ache he gets in his elbow when it perhaps rains a little too hard. It’s one thing to feel it physically, but the added bonus of it being emotional as well weighs just a touch too heavy for his liking.

He comes to a stop in the pit where the sounds are louder and more pitchier, and there’s two little turtles to accompany them, faces all pinched into varying degrees of annoyance.

It’s Odyn who reaches him first, as it often is, he’s a daddy’s boy at heart, little tiny legs carrying him the small distance that separates them, he goes barrelling into the larger, older turtle, face first into his pant leg. He’s gripping the edges of the fabric with three little fingers, giving it a sharp tug when he says with a rush of air,

“Papa, Uno is being mean again!” He whines, pressing his snout into Mikey’s leg. “He keeps calling me names!”

Uno has since joined their fray now, chest heaving with each stuttered breath as if the idea of being accused of such a thing is stunting each draw of air into his lungs.

“No I didn’t!” He retorts, voice all pitchy and nasally. Michelangelo groans softly to himself. “He’s just being a baby! Like he always is!”

Such a spiteful word directed towards their youngest is enough to erupt a hurtful sob from the smaller turtle. He buries his face further into his fathers leg, his voice warbled and muffled from both the tears the the mouth full of pant he has right now, but Mikey is able to carefully decipher it of something along the lines of, (in true irony),

“See! He keeps calling me a baby!”

He pries his son’s iron grip off from his leg, forcing him to look upwards with a tap of his finger beneath his damp chin. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, framing his face almost perfectly, he looks at his child sternly.

“You know not to take it to heart, hm? Do you eat baby food and wear diapers?”

Odyn sniffles, bringing a fist up to scrub away at the snot collected beneath his snout.

“No?”

Mikey hums. “And do you chew on furniture and need papa’s help to feed yourself?”

Odyn shakes his head. “No, papa.”

Michelangelo grins softly. “Then you’re not a baby. You know that, I know that.” He looks pointedly at his other son who is unmovable under his gaze. “Uno knows that. He only says it to get a rise out of you, right?”

Odyn’s bottom lip wobbles dangerously. “Yes,” he says in a rush, “but—”

Michelangelo is swift to cut in. “But I will deal with your brother. Okay?”

Odyn doesn’t seem entirely swayed; Michelangelo thinks that maybe he wanted some sort of permission to perhaps say a bad word directed at his brother, or maybe to have it out in a short scrap and there as kind of emotional compensation that only siblings would believe to be a reliable source of insurance against name calling.

But the smaller turtle eventually heaves a heavy, wet sigh, and nods his head solemnly.

“Good. Go play with your sisters,” Michelangelo instructs him, tapping him gently against the ridge of his shell. “I think they’re coloring. Will you make me something pretty?”

That gets his spirits up, the smile beaming across his face so bright, it might as well evaporate his previous tears left behind on his cheeks.

“Okay!” He calls out with delight as he toddles off to join his other, much quieter siblings on the far side of the room. Mikey watches them as they scoot aside and make space for him, offering up a fresh slice of paper, he’s already making grabby hands for the brightest crayons they own.

“He’s always getting me into trouble.”

That’s Uno’s low, forbidding voice, all full of that way too early angst that he recognises from himself and his brothers in their adolescent years, and when Mikey turns to face him, he’s sullen.

He doesn’t wait to hear whatever wisdom his father might be able to offer, instead, his bottom lip is trembling like it’s heavy with the weight of all the words he wishes to say; all the woes and the hurt that comes with having little brothers, and suddenly, with his face drawn in such an expression and his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight, Michelangelo sees a glimpse of Raphael in this child.

“You know, I was the youngest of my brothers,” Michelangelo explains to him. He motions for him to follow as they leave the pit, letting the soft voices of the other children behind them as they walk back towards the kitchen from which he came. “I pulled the same tricks he pulls from time to time.”

Uno pauses his end of conversation to clamber on top of the barstool that wobbles slightly under his swaying weight. Michelangelo steadies it with a hand until his son is fully situated, and once he is, he’s swiveling around to face the older turtle, still sporting the same, sour expression across his younger face.

“Then why’d you let him get away with it?” He says, words barbed, like this was somehow his fault now. “It’s not fair, papa.”

And Michelangelo chuckles softly. There are the glimpses of Donatello that shine through, like bright sunshine filtering through curtains in the early morning in hues of gold – that sharp intellect that constantly comes with its millions of almost unanswerable questions.

“Because I also know what my older brothers were capable of,” he tells him gently. “They did all they could to push my buttons, to get me in trouble. They knew how to play the game without getting themselves a foul.”

Uno heaves a loaded sigh, his plastron rising and falling, his hardened glare seems to melt away a little as he allows his father’s words to soak in.

“I just hate him,” he says suddenly, words dark and low. “He’s so annoying.”

Michelangelo stiffens at that. And at his father’s physical reaction, Uno shrinks a little, aware of what he’d just said; how loaded his words were.

“You don’t hate him.” Michelangelo tells him, Uno’s gaze gingerly lifts to meet his. “You are annoyed by him, yes, but hate is such a strong word, musko-san.”

Uno’s dark eyes flicker across the room with nerves, caught out, he wrings his hands together, as if trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that this conversation was building within him.

“I’m sorry chichi,” he says in a small voice. “That was mean. I don’t hate Uno.”

Michelangelo hums. “I know.” Then, “You know how I know?”

Uno shakes his head.

“The time you taught him kanji,” he begins to list. “Or when he lost a tooth and you soothed him because he was hurt.” He watches with pride as a small smile ghosts across his child’s face. “Or whenever you read to him before bed, even when it’s the stories you have already heard before.”

Uno rubs tiredly at his eyes; all of these emotions are a lot to bear for such a small boy.

“I know you love your brother, Uno,” Michelangelo tells him, tapping a green finger beneath his chin to gather his focus. “I know because I see so much of your oji in your soul.” He smiles warmly at his son. “Each one of them,” he adds, moving his finger down from his face to rest across his plastron, right over where his heart lies. “Right here, hm?”

Uno shifts in his seat, the old, worn barstool groans under his growing weight, he pitches himself as far forward as he can go without toppling off, looking up at his father with big, round curious eyes.

“Really?” He says, voice clinging to an awed whisper.

“Really.” Mikey tells him with a stern nod. “Now go play,” he says quickly, flapping him away with a dismissive hand.

“Papa hasn’t had enough coffee this morning,” he mutters, pinching his eyes narrowly to try and avoid the impending headache that’s crawling back across his skull. “Try not to have anymore arguments until at least late afternoon, yes?”

Uno hops off his seat, almost tripping in the process, he stands tall when he tells him,

“That’s okay!” He’s smiling now. A sight Mikey is sure he’ll never truly tire of, no matter how many headaches life brings. “Maybe I can ask the others if I can draw too, and we’ll make you something nice to make you feel better, hm?”

Michelangelo reaches across the countertops for his discarded beverage from earlier. Curling his fingers around the mug, he finds with welcomed surprise that it’s still warm. “You better,” he tells him with an entirely serious tone surrounding his words, raising one brow ridge for emphasis. “I didn’t spend hours scavenging those crayons for nothing.”

And with that, Uno is padding off in the direction of where his other children are gathered; straining an ear he can hear their excitable chatter and babble as they continue to work together.

And when their eldest sibling joins in, there doesn’t seem to be any lasting animosity; Odyn shows off what he’s already made, pride and excitement swelling over whatever leftover hurt from their spat, and Michelangelo chuckles to himself as he listens to Uno’s gentle encouragement that floats through front the other room.

He brings the coffee mug to his lips, steam curls itself around his snout, and a smile touches at his face, the slightest of turns. He awards himself with another mouthful, and whilst it doesn’t do much to quell his migraine, it does feel deserved.

And later that night, when he has all four of his children growing heavy in his arms, fighting a battle against fatigue that they are bound to lose against, as it is most nights, he watches his as Uno shuffles in closer to his brother, his pudgy little arm draped across the slope of his shell, and Odyn, his jaw slack, drool dried across his chin, his soft snores only just about disturbing the silence that falls across the room, he seems to curl into his brother’s offered warmth and Michelangelo smiles softly to himself.

Here in his lap are his children – the little turtles that call him papa and rush to him to settle disputes and disagreements, and to kiss scraped knees and to devote each of their wobbly crayon drawings to him that end up covering the fridge and the kitchen walls in a decoration of color and love and he knows that even with coffee, even with the best coffee in the world, all of this is worth a thousand bad headaches. Tomorrow might bring peace and tranquility and ease, or perhaps it shall be Yi and Moja that decide to scrap and fight or maybe all four will fall out of love momentarily, as siblings often do.

Michelangelo should know, he’s been one his entire life, even if his brothers are no longer here to push his buttons or fight him or argue over petty, useless things, he knows with great ease, that despite it all, they always found their way back together, whether it was over something big or small – that was the love between brothers and family.

He presses his sleeping turtles closer to him, curling his arms around them, they melt around his warmth and he knows that much like his group of siblings, these four here, were no exception to the same rules.

He closes his eyes and basks in the moment, acutely aware in the moment of quiet, of the headache that has finally shrunk itself away.

[undercoveravenger]

Motivators

Pairing: Isaac Lahey x Scientist!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “okay for the spooky request could you write Isaac lahey x scientist reader who doesn’t believe in the supernatural but they are hunting a ghost and reader and Isaac make a bet where if they do find the ghost reader owes Isaac a kiss or something”

A/N: This is the third fic in the 2023 Spooky Month event! The next post will release on Tuesday, October 24th. Hope you enjoy!

-----

While your best friend Scott McCall and his pack were no strangers to your lab, you still found yourself a bit on edge with Scott’s beta, Isaac. You had known of him before he was turned, and he had seemed nice enough the few times you had interacted with him, but there had always seemed to be something off, even after Scott had told you the truth about his friends. You weren’t sure exactly why Isaac made you so uneasy, but the weight of his eyes, whether glowing their infamous werewolf gold or his pretty every-day blue, was ever present and unreadable. 

Even now, with the rest of the pack off investigating the most recent victim of a vengeful spirit, Isaac lingered, perched on one of the spare lab tables pushed against the wall and watching you intently. 

“You didn’t have to wait here,” you say, ardently refusing to look at him, studying the strange glowing sample they’d brought you through the viewing lens of your microscope. “You heard Scott- He thinks he’s got a lead. You could’ve gone with him to check it out.”

A soft huff escapes Isaac and you can hear him shift behind you, moving from his seat on the opposite table to come lean against the one you’re working at. “No,” he says quietly, “I needed to be here.” He’s silent for a minute and you almost think to press him further when he continues, “I know you don’t need me to be here, but I need to be.” He clears his throat awkwardly when you look up at him, but he presses on, in spite of the thick blush clouding his cheeks. “I worry about you a lot when I’m not around you, y’know? Not just that you’re just a human, but that you’re you.”

You studied Isaac for a long moment, a sort of self-satisfied amusement creeping through you as he fidgets under your gaze, clearly having said more than he meant to and exposing his emotions in the process. 

“You really think that you’re going to catch this ghost?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him. 

He nodded, grinning shyly, “Yeah. With you and Scott working together to find it? No way we don’t.”

Whenever you’d caught Isaac looking at you in the past, the look in his eyes was always intense, but he was unreadable in the same way that the old Latin tombs that Allison had swiped from her family’s archives for you had been. But in the same way you had learned to decipher those ancient books, you were starting to see the meaning behind those lingering stares and Isaac’s looming presence. He’d never seemed malicious to you, not even before he’d joined Scott’s pack, but now you could see that determined distance for what it was.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your sample, but couldn’t stop the edge of your lips from quirking up as you spoke. “You find it and I owe you a kiss.”

While you were no longer looking at him, you could pick out the exact moment Isaac realized what you’d said since you could hear his sneakers squeak against the floor as he struggled to catch himself from falling. “I- I, uh, I-” he stammered and you could practically hear how flustered he was. “I’m- I’m gonna go call Scott and see if his lead panned out. Y’know, we uh, we really need to get rid of this ghost thing before it hurts someone else. We should- We should really do everything we can to catch it as soon as possible, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he hurried out of the room, and you laughed even harder when you were able to pick up the excited whoops echoing in from outside of your lab from Isaac and Scott over the phone line.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

@luna-loveboop I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a while and wasn’t sure when to publish it, but since you’re not feeling well I figured I’d share it so you have something to read/distract you ❤️ I hope you feel better soon, lovely ❤️ Enjoy Link and Hemisi somewhere around ten years after the Imprisoning War dealing with a crisis in the Gerudo Desert .

Link wasn’t sure he’d ever been this mortified in his life. And, given his life experiences, that truly was saying something.

“Oh come on,” Hemisi said while rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell me you can’t.”

“I can’t!” Link insisted, voice nearly cracking like it used to when he was a young teenager. “I can only take the form of someone I know pretty well.”

“You’ve never even tried?” The Gerudo chief questioned, disbelief heavy in her tone.

“I haven’t really used this spell in a long time, Misi.”

“You haven’t used it to sneak out of that castle?” Hemisi laughed. “Come on, now!”

Link’s flustered energy died down a little, and he waved a dismissive hand. “No. I haven’t.”

“Why not?” His dear friend asked, cheeks flushed with mischief and cheer just like when they were kids. “I know you’re not that straight-laced. Remember all the times we snuck out and around the castle?”

Link mirrored her smile, though his was smaller. “I remember. I remember that one time when it was raining and we almost died climbing the slippery stone walls.”

Hemisi barked out an even more delighted laugh, clapping her hands. “That was the best! But see, there’s no way you’ve never done it since you got married! You told me when I first found out you could use shapeshifting magic that you did it sometimes to sneak around Castle Town.”

Link’s smile began to fade. “That was a long time ago, Hemisi. The spell requires a lot of energy.”

“Oh, don’t even start by saying you’re old!” Hemisi snorted.

“Even when I used it to sneak around the city, I didn’t do it often because it took a lot of energy,” Link insisted.

“Okay, but usage and practice makes that easier,” Hemisi noted.

“Not by much.”

“You used it during the war to sneak into an enemy camp and assassinate the general,” Hemisi pointed out. “At which point you had to outrun an entire legion of Gerudo soldiers. Don’t tell me you can’t do it because it takes too much energy.”

Link was floundering trying to avoid the issue, and it was starting to irritate him. “I was younger back then, Hemisi. I’m telling you, I haven’t had that kind of energy since the war.”

Hemisi’s smile finally fell from her face, and it made Link’s chest clench. Her amber eyes pierced his, searching, and he squirmed.

“What the hell did they do to you?” She whispered, brow furrowing in genuine concern. “What did she do to you?”

Link sighed tiredly, not wanting to discuss this. “This isn’t Zelda’s fault.”

“You always defend her,” his friend snapped.

“She’s my wife!” Link fired back, agitated. “She is my wife, the mother to my children whom I adore, and my queen. And at one point she was my friend too.”

“If she’s your friend then why the hell didn’t she see what was happening to you?!” Hemisi argued.

“Because I wouldn’t let her!” Link yelled.

The tent filled with thick tension, both combatants breathing heavily. Hemisi’s dark expression shifted a little, fear and concern glittering in her eyes.

Link shook his head, trying to reel himself in. “You keep trying to direct your hurt and anger at her when it doesn’t belong there. I’m the one you should hate. I’m the one who was engaged to you and said yes to her proposal anyway.”

“Link,” Hemisi spoke his name surprisingly quietly, in spite of how her eyes hardened in determination. “I don’t hate Zelda. I haven’t for ages. You know that from your visit to me all those years ago. And you keep trying to make all of this your fault when it isn’t. But I—you can’t expect me not to worry, the way you talk, the way you act sometimes—”

“I’m doing better,” Link cut in gently, putting a hand to her cheek and stroking it tenderly. “I promise I’m doing better.”

The pair was silent a moment, Link trying to will all his love and reassurance into her through his eyes and gentle touch. Hemisi cupped his hand with her own, holding it to her face a moment longer, not breaking eye contact. Then she sighed, gently pulling it away from her.

Trying to get back to the original dilemma and close this painful subject, Link said, “This still doesn’t solve your current problem, though. I can’t sneak into that camp with my magic—”

Hemisi bounced back into her mischief easily, graciously taking the olive branch Link had offered. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Hold on, now, you said you cannot use your magic to take a made up form, but what about tweaking one you know well?”

Link bit his cheek, the tidal wave of emotions from earlier disappearing in lieu of sheer, utter desperation. “I… I might…”

Hemisi’s eyebrow rose even higher as mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Might be able to?”

Link groaned. “Misi, this is humiliating, don’t make me do this!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic!” Hemisi cackled. “Look, I need that intel and they know what me and my officers look like!”

“Then let me sneak in as a shadow, like a true Sheikah!” Link insisted exasperatedly. “I don’t have to disguise myself as a Gerudo!”

“You did it during the last war!”

“As Merovar.” Link threw his hands in the air, cheeks flushed, flustered. “I didn’t disguise myself as a woman!”

Hemisi snapped her fingers. “I got it. Zelda. Make yourself look like her, just make her look Gerudo.”

Link sighed heavily, running out of excuses. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said it drains him; he’d had stamina elixirs during the war to help him maintain the spell for long periods. But… he’d try. Reluctantly.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated, letting magic warm his muscles, feeling it spread through his entire body. He focused on the image of Zelda, hair red instead of brown, skin baked in the sun, golden brown and glowing, clothes mirroring Hemisi’s war attire from when they were teenagers. And then he snapped his palms together, feeling the magic intensify in a rush.

The pull of magical fatigue hit him immediately, but he could feel the effect of the spell as well. He felt different.

Scrunching his face, he slowly opened his eyes to see Hemisi looking ecstatic.

“I take it that it worked,” he grumbled. Oh Hylia above, his voice.

His friend burst out laughing. “Honestly I’m kinda jealous, you’re hot!”

“Just kill me,” he groaned, making the Gerudo chief wheeze even more. Curious, he looked down. Well. He certainly got the anatomy right.

A thought popped in his head, an ingrained curiosity, and, well, he had to….

Hemisi nearly doubled over. “Quit copping a feel on yourself, Link!”

“What?” He fired back, cheeks flushing as he started to laugh too. “I had to at least touch them once!”

“I don’t believe for one second that you’ve never felt Zelda’s breasts.”

“Of course I have!” He said, heart rate skyrocketing as he crossed his arms defensively.

Oh. That felt weird. They got in the way!

“Oh my goddesses,” Hemisi wheezed. “You know what, we’re going through with this mission, just for entertainment purposes.”

Link finally released the spell, sagging in relief and exhaustion, glaring at her grumpily. “I hate you.”

[grippingbeskar]

unearthed

chapter one - matched

warnings— canon typical violence, mentions of death, loss, injury, maybe a lil trauma

a/n— and we’re back! just over a year of having this account, and the end of season three, and i’m back where i started. thirsting after the mandalorian. i’m super excited about this one, and even though i think there will be a bit of a wait between chapters i promise its because they are going to be higher quality. also, obviously there will be smut further on (come on, it’s me. of course we are going to fuck him.) so no minors please!! hope you enjoy! big thank-you to @kyberblade for beta reading and saving me from my typos i love u.

also a psa. disregard season three for this fic. it fucked up my timeline so i’m changing it. things might be a bit all over the place, but it’s just going to be what i wanna do with it HAHAH no rhyme or reason :)

[series masterlist] [next chapter] [tag list sign up]

You stared out into the never ending darkness, interspersed by twinkling hints of far away planets, all of them seeming more and more out of reach as you were shuffled out into the hall. Flanked by guards, the view from your room disappeared from sight, replaced by the familiar, safe walls of your palace. This was your life now— being shoved towards the known and away from those giant stretches of sky you longed so much for. Your duty, you say to yourself. This was the way you had to live, destined to the confines of your pre-determined universe. It is what you were born to do.

You knew this day would come. You were, as you were constantly, incessantly reminded, the last of the royal bloodline. After your parents early death, it left you as heir and sole survivor to the throne. All of your life, you had been trained for this moment, but it was something that was always so...distant. 

You used to look forward to this time in your life, where you’d get to travel the galaxy, finally earning some of that coveted freedom all the other girls in the palace talked about. You dreamed of seeing the galaxy, being unknown on an Outer Rim planet, going wherever your heart takes you. You thought you’d have time to live. But then, within the blink of an eye, you were rushed through your coronation and left to carry the burden of commanding an entire planet. It was like a rug was ripped out from underneath you, all while someone dropped a fifty pound weight over your head, all the while chiding you for stumbling over. 

In the wake of the Empire finally falling around the galaxy, planets all around the suns were scrambling— resources were scarce, trade routes were un-secure and stability was out of reach. This was the same for you, because the future of your planet was now in your hands, and you had no idea what to make of it. 

Unfortunately for you, stability in a woman’s world came in the form of a contract. Most usually, a marriage contract.

This meant, much to your dismay, an entourage of young, hopeful (and practically brainless) men arriving on your doorstep, all popping the question in hopes of securing the new Queen's hand in marriage. Your hand. You knew your planet was important and appealing, with its natural resources, expanding economy in spite of the Empire’s devastation, and an abundance of funds for all the newest technologies with the death of two of the greatest ruling minds of the time. Any leader of even a remotely nearby planet would strike on this opportunity— you know you would, if it were someone else.

The whole idea wasn’t new, but it still made your gut twist. Your parents were lucky they had something more– real love, and a home filled with the stuff of fairytales. While you knew this was rare, it made you long for that. Knowing it was real, that a connection like that could be somewhere out there for you, but you’d never reach it because you never got the chance to try... you knew you were lucky, but it didn’t stop your heart from longing for more.  You wanted someone to show you the stars, to let you be you, and not just try to win you like a prize or a notch in their belt. 

Everyone around you said this was the smart thing to do. Choose someone— anyone who would bring you what you wanted. Your planet, as fertile as it is, is not famous for its army. That was clear during the reign of the Empire, and now the New Republic was thinning their guard posts after the war, you needed manpower. You knew it was a necessity, and you wanted to keep your people safe, but to offer yourself up like a prized mare? You were a Queen, and you were planning to be a good one, with or without a husband.

As you sat on the throne, dismissing yet another suitor with a shake of your head, the collective group of your father’s– now your own Advisors groaned, and one walked up the steps, approaching you with a slightly bowed head.

“Your Majesty, if I may…” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, only because you knew the watchful gaze of neighbouring planet leaders were on you.

“I have a feeling you will anyway.” He shook his head, quickly coming up the stairs to your side. He sighs, and you shrug at him. “What? He wasn’t my type, okay? If I’m going to sleep with the man, I should at least–”

“Your Majesty, this is the fourteenth potential match you have rejected. We are a coveted planet, but if you do not choose someone, we run the risk of having no options at all.” He says, looking down his nose at where you are strung lazily across your throne. He was still harbouring some of that anger from earlier, where you had refused to change into the giant mess of a gown the styling team had chosen for you. If the colour wasn’t enough– a pale puke green measurable to the blood of a Trandoshaan– the fabric was so expansive you would have drowned in it. You loved a pretty dress, but at least one that didn’t eat you whole.

“Would that be so bad?” You dropped your head back, and he shook his head, sighing again. 

“Yes— it would mean instability. We would be a target for neighbouring planets. We are strong, but not strong enough to be alone. The New Republic has already thinned their guards to a ghost number compared to four years ago. We cannot wait any longer. We are… vulnerable, without a strong army.”

“We can make allies without forcing me to marry one of them.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. We would never force you to do anything.” He says those words, but every syllable is laced with warning. You may be the last living member of your blood line, but no matter how important, and no matter how beloved by your people you are, there were some things that you couldn’t control.

The worst part was he was right. Sure, you could solidify alliances, but a marriage was a lock and key. If you picked the right one, your people would be safe for years to come, long after you were successful. After what you had seen of the Empire, what they had done here, and all over the galaxy, your people deserved safety. Freedom— whatever the cost.

Your love for your people would get you through this. In them, you saw your parents legacy, and the passion to build something greater than yourself. You would never trade this life for anything... but it didn’t mean you couldn’t have preferences. Just as you were going to justify why you rejected the man now sneering at you from the corner of the room, the doors burst open, and your attention is diverted to the messenger rushing in with a strange look on his face.

“Your Majesty, we’ve just received another request.” He calls, breathless. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s… I am not sure how to say this.”

The man is clearly nervous— avoiding your eye and instead staring at his feet. You rise off the throne and move to him, attempting a comforting smile and nodding at him. 

“It’s alright. Start at the beginning.”

“This request… It is unusual.” He swallows, and you laugh lightly.

“What is it this time? Don’t tell me the Hutts have thrown themselves into the mix.” You had nothing against them right now, but they were so… slimy. “Whoever it is, as long as they send a message in peace, they will be well received.”

“Well, that is the thing. They do not ask Your Majesty to receive them. They…”

“They don’t want to come here?” Already, you are breathing a sigh of relief. Anything to stop the constant parade of men flapping their money and stupid hair around.

“No, they ask that… they ask that you come to them.” He finishes, and your advisors are next to him in an instant, all attempting to speak over one another. You raise your eyebrows, surprised, but intrigued.

“That is an insult!” The man who challenged you before, known to you as Advisor Corell, spits at the messenger. “Her Majesty only receives guests— she does not travel unless there is cause.”

“Did they say anything else?” You ask, and the room goes quiet again as you step forward. The messenger looks uncomfortable, knowing there are still foreign diplomats in the room. “Everyone else, please go. You’ll be... informed of my decision later.”

The entire room exits quickly at the sound of your voice, all mumbling to themselves, probably still hurt over your rejection and blatant disinterest, but all you could care about was this new message.

“It’s alright. Go ahead.” You encourage. “What else did they say?”

“They asked for your hand, of course. They have a new King, and think the match would be beneficial to both sides.” A new King. Your mind buzzes, trying to think if you’d heard of any close planets going through a succession besides your own. Nothing comes to mind, but if he was new, at least this one would hopefully be closer to your age.

“A new King?” The messenger nods. “And he asked for me personally?”

“Ah... the message was not from him, Your Majesty. It was a hologram from a member of his court. A… Bo-Katan.” You had never heard the name before, but one of your advisors makes a noise of recognition and you spin to her.

“You know this name?” You ask Advisor Kaylen— probably your favourite member and the closest thing you have to a friend. She nods eagerly. “You’ve met them?”

“I have heard it before, but that would be impossible…” She fades off, and you turn back to the messenger. 

“This is the most interesting person I’ve heard of since this whole thing started. What’s impossible?” You watch the messenger's face twist, so you reach out and touch his shoulder, the contact surprising him and earning a disapproving hum from Advisor Corell. “You can tell me, just ignore him. I do.”

“Well, that’s just the thing. The planet they claim to come from has been long abandoned.” Advisor Kaylen was still muttering to herself, but you couldn’t focus on her anymore when the messenger finally spoke again. “They say they are calling from Mandalore, and that their new King has asked for you to be his Queen.”

“Stop asking me about that.” Din growled, stopping his swift movement through the makeshift repair station he’d been pulling together. “I’m not interested.”

“This isn’t just about you anymore.” The longer he spent with these Mandalorians, the more the thought of taking off with their precious Dark-Saber and leaving seemed appealing. “An alliance like this is exactly what we need. With all the repairs, we’ve run low in funds. We need resources— we need to outsource, and this is the fastest way to do it. She’s all but waving a flag for us.”

He never thought there would be a time when bounty hunting was the normalcy he craved— but standing surrounded by relics of his people long passed, discussing a potential marriage—he started to miss the reliable frame of the Razor Crest a little too much.

“Mandalore was built on the backs of our people. We can do it again, the same way.” Bo-Katan sighs, giving him a glare after removing her helmet. “Would you do this? Was this a part of your plan to re-take Mandalore?”

“They didn’t have a dwindling empire and economic crisis to deal with. If you do this, we can rebuild the way our ancestors wanted us to live. How we used to live. Welcome our family home. Isn’t that what you want?” He spins, taking two slow steps to face Bo-Katan, who stands with her helmet tucked under her arm. “To answer your question— yes. I would have. I was royalty once, and I know what this is like. And I would still do it. You might even make a friend in her, Din.”

“You aren’t suggesting friends.” To her credit, she doesn’t back down, just raises her eyebrows at him. “You are asking me to get married. You know what that means.”

“It’s not like that. Rulers marry for all kinds of reasons— and if she’s looking, it means she wants to take full advantage of this. It’s the smart thing to do. Her planet is powerful, but vulnerable. Their army numbers are small after the Empire’s attacks, and she needs what we can offer now the Rebellion is squaring off. Good, strong fighters. Besides, I’m sure you aren’t exactly all she hoped for, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hardly see her after the first few months.” Rolling her eyes, she turns back to the pile of spare parts they had dragged in from outside. “We’ve already sent a hologram inviting her here. If she accepts, you can discuss a potential alliance like adults. If you are still opposed, we’ll cancel it and try it your way. Until then, we have work to do.”

“Send another message. Say I’m no longer interested.” Din stands impossibly still, waiting for Bo-Katan to agree and leave before he lets out a long breath. Clearly, he’d misjudged how set on this idea she was.

“Just think about it, okay?” She turns and disappears from view, and he feels like he’s going to collapse under the pressure. Things were complicated enough— in the last month, he’d learnt his way of life was not the only way at all, inherited a saber he had little idea how to use, and dropped everything he knew to come back home— to Mandalore. To say he had enough on his plate was an understatement.

Truthfully, he had come back with one thing on his mind. The Way declared one could only truly be forgiven for their misdeeds in the living waters beneath the mines of Mandalore— and Din had a lot to be forgiven for. If there was anywhere he could start fresh, it was here, but before he could do that, he had to find the mines, currently buried under years worth of rubble and debris. The last thing he needed was to disgrace himself in yet another way— which is exactly what Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian’s were suggesting.

He was not ready for this. Not in any way. He was not a ruler— not a born and bred leader, like Bo-Katan, and he’d never wanted to be. It might have made sense to an outsider, maybe. A new, untested ruler of a planet as economic as yours was bound to attract unwanted attention, and about the only thing Mandalore could offer right now was its ability to fight. It was the only thing it was known for.

He didn’t want to marry, though. Not for a political alliance. He didn’t think about it at all— not right now. He’d heard a few things about you by now— how your parents had passed suddenly, and how you were now being squashed into the same situation as he was, forced to play a role which you had no choice in being cast to. He felt as sorry for you as he did for himself, and he found his thoughts drifting to the Child.

Din looked around, exhausted at just the thought of getting this place into any form of working order. Spare parts to old ships scattered on the floor, and the room was painted in a light purple hue thanks to the reflection of the glass roof overhead. He stood, leaving the mess of a garage and walking back out towards the largest building in this city.

There were streets lined with cracked stone, several Mandalorians dragging and pulling equipment to replace the broken ones. They had been working hard— everyone had, including him, and the place was looking less and less like a war zone by the second. The sight made him feel easier. At least his home wouldn’t be rubble forever. Buildings were gaining foundations, others entirely rebuilt by hand. It had only been a month or two, and already this place was looking like he’d been told in the stories. Like home.

As he walked through them, he didn’t miss the stares of those who’d left their helmets behind, but at least that was familiar. Everyone stared, on every planet he went to, and even with the oddly shaped buildings, some spiralling high, others flat and long enough to park a few speeders in the front, he felt settled here. The cities were huge and spanned far into the horizon, too long to walk everywhere, so the Mandalorians had gone straight to work on the speeder parts, using them to zip around not only around this central city, but between other parts of the planet.

Finally, he began the walk up the steps of the castle. It was giant— bulky and boxed, rooms stacked on top of each other with seemingly no purpose. It was the most well conserved building on the planets surface, and it was what constituted as a home for Din. For now, at least. Either way, it was the safest place to keep Grogu during the day, and he would go wherever it was safest for him.

He could hear him before he saw him, loud chirps and gurgles coming from the throne room. One, giant looking chair was elevated by a few steps at the end of the room, and he saw a flip of green zip over Sasha’s unmasked head.

“Get down here, you gremlin.” She barked, but laughed at Grogu’s slightly worried face when he spun to a stop in mid air. It was then he finally noticed him, dropping to the ground and wandering over. “He’s been a little pain in my—“

“Patu!” Grogu chirps, and Din laughs roughly, bending down to pick him up. He holds him in front of his helmet, watching as his tiny hands reach out to grab his gloved wrists.

“Have you been causing trouble, Grogu?” He makes a little gurgle sound, like he always does when Din says his name, and he smiles under the helmet.

“Bo-Katan was looking for you.” Sasha says, putting her helmet back on. Most Mandalorian’s that lived around the capital did that when they spoke to him, now, even ones as high ranking as Sasha. Din doesn’t look up from Grogu’s giant eyes.

“She found me. And my answer is still no.” He hears her laugh, but when he looks up at her, she stops.

“She didn’t tell you?” Din turns to face her, letting the kid fiddle with something on his armour.

“Tell me what?” Unlike Bo-Katan, Sasha is a little afraid of him. Everyone is, especially since they had seen him fight with the DarkSaber when they first arrived on the planet. Since then, there had been a quiet fear, a commanding presence Din didn’t think he had earnt, but regardless it was there. She swallowed, tilting her helmet down to the floor. “Tell me.”

“The Queen replied. She accepted your invitation, and is expected to arrive within the week. She also implied, if the meeting goes well— she…”

“She what? What did she say?” Din had no idea why, but his heart was racing a mile a minute. Had she been insulted by the offer? Was she going to stage an attack?

“She said she would marry you.”

“You said I would what?” You shout at the group of advisors, all of whom look like they are about to scramble and run. And they should. “Who’s bright idea was it to send correspondence, with my name attached, without my go-ahead?! What the hell kind of advisor does that?!”

None of them so much as moved, except for Advisor Kaylen, who caught your eye, making a pointed look at Advisor Corell. You shook your head, and a bitter smile curled the ends of your mouth.

“I should have known. Corell. Get up.” He spluttered, stumbling to his feet as you dragged him up the dais, and forced him to his knees. “Was it you? Did you tell Mandalore I would accept their invitation?!”

He shakes his head. “I only said you would meet with them! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“When I was ready!” You want to scream, but your embarrassment and nerves choke your throat. Yes, you were going to accept. Probably. Maybe a month from now... a few months, if you could stretch it. Not this week.

“This is a good thing! Now you get to go! To— to see the cursed land for yourself. To look upon its new ruler! I was only doing what I thought was best! They would have been insulted if we had rejected…and we’re running out of options.”

“The only one insulted here is me, that you truly believe I would buy any of the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He was on thin ice as it was, but your fathers words played in your head, and you saw the faces of your other Advisors in the corner of your eye.

Your father had selected this team of people because he trusted them, and for some reason, you did too. You didn’t know why, or how they were picked, but they were supposed to be the six people you could rely on. The six people who would challenge you, who wouldn’t blindly accept your decision like the rest of the planet. They were a tradition— to ensure the sanity of a ruler and the safety of a planet. You trusted them; or you would, eventually, but they would not overstep. Or at least, they shouldn’t.

“My father trusted you. It is that reason alone that I will let you continue to work underneath me, and forgive this lapse in judgment. But this is the one chance you will receive. I might not be my father, but you work for me now. If you choose to disobey me or do anything without me specifically telling you again, I will send you to Mandalore in my stead, and the King can have you in my place. We will see how far you make it in the ruins before he cuts you down.” They all scurry from the room, Advisor Corell not glancing back as he heads for the door after you drop him.

All that is left is Kaylen, who doesn’t need a title when it’s just you and her. She was a friend— perhaps your only one, so you only used her title around the other Advisors.

“That was exciting.” She says, and you flop down onto the cushioned throne, golden pillows softening the blow as she comes to lean on the armrest. “It’s been too long since we had some real palace gossip.”

“Well, hold on to that, because you might be shipping me off to marry a fish. He’s like a ghost— I couldn’t find anything on the King, and now I’m supposed to just…go?” You sigh, swinging your feet over the edge of the chair and letting your head fall into her lap. “This is insanity. This entire month has been suitor after suitor, none of them with armies strong enough to keep our planet safe. And now it’s like I don’t even have a... it all just happened so fast.”

“I know. You were right to reject them all. But this one is... it’s different.” You sit up, turning to face her.

“You think I should go?”

“Are you asking me as an Advisor, or as a friend?”

“Both.” The throne is huge, made for the large frame of your father, so she can slide right in next to you.

“Well, as your Advisor, Mandalore is famous for one thing— war. Sure, they have lost a tonne, but when they were at their peak, they were unstoppable. Feared throughout the galaxy. With our help, they could be that again. Even having the name attached to us would scare off any potential threats for a while. They are good fighters, they could teach our people ways we would never learn ourselves, and one day we could even be allies. Especially if this goes well.” She sits up when she speaks, and even though she’s only a few years older than you, she seems light years ahead. You understand why your father chose her.

“And as my friend?” She swings an arm over your shoulder.

“As your friend, I think you need this. I think that you haven’t changed a single thing about the palace since you have been crowned because you know once you do, this is real and your parents are gone. I think you know this is the right thing to do, but you’re scared, and you think that when you do this, you’ll finally be alone, and you hate that.” You’re thankful she’s not looking at you because you almost start crying as soon as she mentions your parents. “I think you know that this is different. That this could be a defining moment for you. For your reign. For the planet to come back after the Empire.”

“Why do you have to be right about everything?” You say tightly, and she helps you stand off the throne, leading you towards your bedroom through the maze of winding corridors.

“Just lucky. And, hey, don’t look so sad. Rumor has it he wears a very pretty beskar suit. All shiny and silver. You love shiny stuff.” She gestures at the hallways, all lined with golden and silver detailing. You nudge her on the shoulder and she laughs, peeling off before you open the door to your bedroom.

It was technically your parents room— the room you grew up in now vacated for your future offspring. You didn’t mind, using the room helped you feel a little bit closer to your parents. You remember all the times you’d climbed into bed with them, buried under the covers because you were afraid of the dark.

Kaylen was right. Corell was right, even if he was an asshole. It was selfish to not accept an offer. You hated that you couldn’t do more for your people, that all you had to offer was your arm, but if that was what you needed to do right now, you should just... suck it up. A Mandalorian, though. That was different. You knew they were feared, although scattered throughout the galaxy, and if their words were true, an entire planet of them would make you virtually impenetrable.

You couldn’t help but think about the King. Mandalorians were a confusing bunch, the few you had met, anyways. Very quiet, lethal as anything, and in your experience, solitary. Your mother had hired one years ago to collect a bounty for her, and he completed the four day job in three hours, arriving and leaving on his own, hardly talking if he didn’t have to. Why would someone like that want to be married?

Shrinking out of your outfit, you decided to try and get some sleep. If tomorrow was going to be anything like today, you’d need all the rest you could get, and for some reason, there was a racing in your heart you couldn’t settle. Maybe just nerves from the incoming visit to Mandalore tomorrow.

That had to be it. The myths, legends surrounding the cursed world— it would make anyone nervous. But it was just that. Nerves. It couldn’t be anything else.

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[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter ii

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), a little bit of blood/gore (at the very end), scars (NOT self inflicted), knives, mention of stitches, mention of masturbation (if i left out any, let me know!)

word count: 2.9k

authors note: thank you guys SO MUCH for all your kindness on chapter i. writing this story thus far has been cathartic and challenging and wonderful. i hope you enjoy this next chapter🤍

series masterlist | masterlist

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you don’t think of the people you worked with before jackson. out of self preservation or self suffocation or some amalgamation of the two, you let the whole of them go, frozen over and pieced off into nothing by the town and your garden and the little house you took up. on your path to the stables, wind curling about your torso and squeezing there, you can admit that you loved them, and this was your greatest concession. still, with trembling fingers you’d let the thing go, out a half-open window somewhere within you, and starved yourself the satisfaction of the remembering. now, though, coming up on the stables and knowing joel waits for you there, you think of the softness of them, which survived in spite of the killing, and suddenly you’re reeling in the line you cast when you hauled the memory of them over. 

you walk through the great doorway of the barn. the line of joel’s back shakes a little as he tightens something on his horse’s saddle, and the hardness of it makes you quiet and hot between your legs, a wanton thing that reaches for him, but you are certain it would be the reaching that scares him from you forever. his hulking figure casts a long shadow, and you feel it grazing your ankles as you saddle your own horse, but still he is as terrified as he was when you first met him, perhaps now more so in the face of his residence here. by his gait and the jerk of his movements you determine the permanence of jackson disquiets him some. it’s your first patrol with him, and so in the early morning light you allow his terror to consume you to make no room for your own.

the patrol is silent, save for the give of snow under your horses, though this is unsurprising to you. you seek out silence, or have sought it, at least, but you find the quiet unbearably difficult with him, what with the warm wood of his eyes and the carving of his silhouette. the fire of him, which he wraps his arms around in a frantic sort of way, catches on you when your horses drift together, and so you mind the gap between your paths and time your glances towards him.

despite yourself and all the rest, the time passes quickly. you return your horses to the stables, again in silence (forever in silence, it seems) and walk together in a staggered sort of synchronization towards the dining hall. 

but he sits with you, here.

surely, he’s no less comfortable with you than the rest of the town, who have filled the tables now, and so you figure he resigns to your company in favor of the unthinking of it. the weight of him next to you presses at your stomach and you constrict with it, your mouth swallowing around your tongue, and your thighs make to wrap around one another because still, you want him to touch you. you do your best, at his shoulder while you both eat, to pull the sweetness of your wanting from around your neck and wrists, but it refuses to extract itself. you suppose if joel can yield to your closeness, you can do as much for the lust, but immediately regret drawing any sort of comparison between you. you think again of the group before jackson, and your heaving of the creature of them into an ocean like blurriness and a faint sort of penitence, but the line of yourself has run out, and so the wanting of joel stays ashore with you.

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you haunt the garden later in the evenings, now that your mornings are spent in the cold, looking silence of joel, and the soil is cooler in your palms then. your strawberry came and went, the vines of it flowering and fruiting into sugar and seed, and perhaps it’s the chilled hands of the twilight along your sides, but you can’t help a selfishness with them. you’d left a basket of them in your kitchen before stalking back to the planter boxes tonight, and even in the dirt that touches you like a baptism you are glad for this sweet little monopoly. all the rest of your garden you’d given, nearly willingly, to the dining hall for eating; a thankless sacrifice you took sated pleasure in, believing only the soft and good could be capable of such a donation. but the strawberries are yours, you decide, to eat or let rot or preserve in resin like flowers.

as you scoop in the last palmful of new soil into the planter box, you sense joel’s little creature, in all her skittishness, contemplating coming into the greenhouse. she watches your fruits in the daytime, you know, with or without you, inspecting how the greens and reds of things come along. like joel she is silent, and like you she measures her distance. you turn your head, and she’s watching her reflection in the door.

“you can come in, ellie, i’m almost done,” you call through the glass, shifting back to your cucumbers. she moves only when you aren’t looking. 

“that one’s fucking ugly.”

your spine stiffens and locks in place. it’s the first full sentence she’s ever given, and the sound grabs right below your collarbone. the profanity of it, and the mundanity, too, unspools something within you. ellie came back to jackson even more vicious than when you’d first met her, though her face was made new with a sort of vacantness now, and the whole of it resembles the youth of you from years ago. but she’s talking to you, suddenly, about the cucumber by your left hand, which hangs hideously misshapen, and your fingers tremble in the dirt with the leadened weight of her effort.

“yeah, yeah,” and you smile a little, but keep your head turned, “it’s pretty grisly.” you hear her swishing responses on her tongue, and from your shoulders down to your forearms drips the yawning need to make her a vegetable and protect her in mulch. the sins of your adolescence, done by and to you, remain a plague to you, and you feel as though ellie is your chance to mend them (a selfish thought, a selfish thought). you know that to indict her as your adolescent self is an accusation too unfair to voice, but all the same you find yourself looking for forgiveness in her in a gasping kind of way. the gasping pushes the words out.

“you can help me in here, if you want. i could show you how i take care of everything.” and you do look at her, now, a leaf standing at your back, but her eyes are probing over the soil along your fingers. it strikes you that she’s smart enough to figure you wear the dirt to be cleansed, and you think it’s in this figuring that she steps closer to you.

“yeah.” but she doesn’t kneel, yet. “but not tonight.”

you nod. “okay, not tonight.”

and you don’t say it with any resemblance of conclusiveness, but nonetheless she takes it like goodbye, backing out the greenhouse doors and absorbing again into the night.

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weeks go by like this. you brave the snow, unprotected and newly fallen, with joel at daybreak, and let him follow you into the dining hall like you don’t think about how his cock would feel. the brutish quiet of him eases none, but in the evenings you help ellie (coarse as anything, but a tender thing) care for the things growing in your garden. this you do in silence, too, but it’s a filling sort of stillness that strikes you as a gift. 

you feel less venomous than you used to. joel, the selfish violence of whom bares itself in his posture, makes you something soft and yielding. even against the rushing water of your wanting of him and his neglect of you, you return to the stables every morning like a pull upstream for the knowing that you aren’t doomed for hell alone. and ellie, now, has become a harbinger of your caring, and you’re reminded of the ease with which you used to love. you loved, once, and to be faced again with this loving is a sanitizing pain you relish in. walking home from the greenhouse in what must’ve been the very early hours of the morning, you brush your dirtied hands down your jeans and drop your brutality to hang loosely at your side.

you’re a few yards from your porch when you see him standing there, hands warming in his pockets and his shoulders strung up by his ears. the night clings to joel, dark accumulating on his shoulders and broadening him further, but he’s scuffing the toe of his boot back and forth against the wood of the deck and you have half a thought to hold him. it’s a horrific thing you slice through immediately.

“can i help you?” and it comes out a little unkind, pained as you are to speak with him, but you find you mean it sincerely.

“uh,” pause, “yeah.” the cold snaps at you, but you know if you see him inside your home you’ll never sleep again, so you do not invite him in. “i was…well,” pause, he’s pausing, “well, i was noticin’ ellie comes by to your greenhouse.”

sometime in the last few seconds you’ve found your way in front of him, the bass and scratch of his voice tugging desperately at you. you nod a little. his eyes will kill you, surely. “mhm. she’s not…” and you let a breath of a laugh out through your nose, “she’s not a natural, really. but i like having her there.” and then, “she seems to enjoy it.”

he nods back at you, the swing of his head cautious while he keeps his eyes tilted down to yours. the moon peeks through his curls in silver pillars. “and she’s been okay?”

there’s a worry in it, in him, that startles you, an unknowing you’re unused to. you hum to comfort the both of you. “yeah, i think so. she doesn’t really speak to me, but i don’t mind it.” 

you know you’ve made a mistake as soon as you say it in the way his eyebrows pull together. you see, through and across his eyeline, his own refusal to speak on your patrol rounds; it stands in the space between you now, and he crosses his arms over his chest to push it further off him. 

“you don’t mind it.” and he’s only parroting you, really, but his question sinks to the ground at your feet. what about my silence? do you mind that?

“no, i guess i don’t.”

a pocket of silence passes through the both of you, rigid, and then he sucks on his front teeth, jerking like he’s made a decision and walking past you, back down your porch steps. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he mumbles out as he goes, but you’re choking on the leathered scent of him, and so you offer nothing in return.

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“why d’you work in the garden?” 

daybreak had come as a surprise to you, the dawn reaching through your curtains to paw at your floorboards. still, the habit of your days lets you float unmindful through the morning, and so you’d mounted your horse and slipped out the gates with joel with little pomp and circumstance. but now you’re squeezing your horse’s reins through the lines of your palms and willing yourself not to tip off the saddle. you’re shuddering, now, because he is talking to you, he is talking to you. and the flames of him, of that voice and of those hands (you aren’t religious but you pray about the hands) are released from the hold he’s kept on them, extending to lick down your spine. and you want him, desperately and unrecognizably. 

“i don’t really know.” your own answer disappoints you, for how much you’re affected by the asking. the squeak of his gloves scratches behind your eyeline. he’s never ridden next to you; the rhythm of his horse stays behind the line of your shoulder, always.

“did you…” and you can hear he’s considering scrapping the whole thing, defaulting again to the quiet, “did you garden? before?”

“i didn’t do much of anything before.” you run your fingers through your horse’s mane. “i was eight on outbreak day.” you don’t know why you add this part.

“jesus.”

you can only nod. “what did you do?”

he considers your question and kicks into his horse a little, finally, mercifully, lining you up side by side so you can see his face. he doesn’t look at you, but the side of him devastates you just as much. “i was a contractor.” he grunts, at you or the memory of it you’re unsure. “y’know, fixin’ houses and la-”

“i know what a contractor is.”

he’s hardening and you’re watching it happen, but you don’t think you can help it. “christ, you were a kid,” and he starts gesturing with his hand now, “i figured…” but you never find out what he figures; he lets the end of the sentence brush away with the wave of his hands. you think of him, last night on your porch, and the way he’d searched so earnestly in you for pieces of his little creature, who might not be as much his as you had thought.

“you’re welcome in the greenhouse, too. you can see how ellie trims the plants and things.” he turns his face fully to you then, examining you, you think for the first time. joel’s eyes bump around and poke at the space you take up, noting where you end and begin, and though he lets you watch him think, he takes great care to tuck the thoughts away from you. even still, it makes your cunt throb beneath you and you look for your own embarrassment, but it slips between your fingers. you grin at him a little, instead. again you cannot help it, you cannot help yourself with him. “you can always help out, too, if you want.” and then, “but if you manhandle any of the plants i won’t let you back.”

he lets out a breath that sounds like amusement, but only just. regardless, it fogs in front of his face. “manhandle?”

and he’s giving you something here, by entertaining your jab at him, but you don’t know what to name it. your little grin grows curious; he’s surprising you. “yeah, they’re delicate. you have to be gentle or i’ll kick you out.”

he turns back from you to the road in front of him, but you make out the slight pull of his cheek into what could almost be the twitch of a smile. it’s gone in an instant. “alright. no manhandlin’.” and then, mostly to himself, “scouts honor.”

“okay then.”

he hums, low and stilted, and that’s the end of it. and, really, it shouldn’t shock you as it does that joel drawls like tommy, but still you bask in how he sips on his words, all honey and southern heat. the rest of your patrol falls into silence again, the elastic of the moment snapped back into place, but you remain tacky with the stick of the accent and the shapes of his voice. 

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everything is muted around you, and you’re halfway shocked to find yourself running. your mark focuses ahead of you. someone is screeching your name behind your head, but you don’t dare look.

the thing you’re chasing is human. it moves like it’s new, but the size of it slugs ahead in the whole expanse of your vision. your father’s knife tethers you to its handle and you ready it in your hand.

and the killing is easy, your body suddenly pressed against the back of this poor creature, who gurgles its life out as you twist your knife in its neck. it should disgust you, and it does not, and there is nothing else to say about it.

the world falls away, then. you’re alone and the knife has been kicked from you. a deep gash traces down your bicep. the wound begins to grow, stretching from your arm to the whole of your chest, and your body is consumed, gone, gone, gone, eaten up by the hurt and the blood and the unseemly edge of skin, and

you’re awake. a bead of sweat drips a line down your neck as you heave in place. you look down, the scar covered by your right hand, which claws at it and holds it still. you go long stretches without thinking of this mark, what with the cold of jackson and the sleeves you wear; the forgetting is blissful, and the remembering nearly reopens it. you unlock the vice grip of your hand on your arm to inspect the stitching, still jagged all these years later, the seam of you raised into something like healed. and yes, the mark of your stitches remembers that someone had attempted to put you back together. but the bulk of the tissue, which healed over by way of pure spite and refusal to die, feels a lot like an indictment. alone in your bed, you clasp your hands together, and plead that god is as cruel as you have been, so she may take pity on you.

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chapter ii !! i KNOW these conversations between our little gardener and joel are tense but she’s trying and he’s trying and it will all come to a head soon i PROMISE ! hope you liked it :)🍓🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog (if anyone wants to be added let me know!!)

[wrenreid]

Off Limits

Part Twenty-Seven

My freshman year of high school, I was put into a junior level government class. I was only in there because it was the only class that fit into my schedule other than ag classes I couldn’t have been less interested in. I didn’t talk much in the class because everyone was older than me, and they thought I was a kiss up because i always made good grades. I didn’t particularly love the class, but of course, I still did my work and did it well.

Toward the end of the year, we did a mock trial. We drew for positions within the trial, mr flynn the judge. I drew attorney.

The case was a business lawsuit, I was the lawyer who was going against the business for their supposed cruel acts.

Mr. Flynn told us that we would receive extra credit if we dressed up, so me, a fourteen year old with a desperate need for academic validation, borrowed one of my mother’s pencil skirts and a suit jacket from my dad. I looked like a mini Aaron Hotchner, even my mom said so.

I remember preparing for the trial for at least a week, being a little excited about the project. I wanted to win the case, especially since I was, as I believed, on the right side of the law.

My opposing attorney was Noah Kincaid. He was a smart but cocky kid who also cared about winning the trial.

I remember standing up from my desk when is was my turn to ask questions to the kid under oath. I felt as though I had stepped into myself for the first time. It was just a mock trial that lasted half an hour, but I felt proud and confident. I was good at it.

Mr. Flynn pulled me aside after class and told me I should consider law school in the future. He said, and I quote, “The way you handled yourself was the most confident and concise I’ve ever seen in a student. You surprised me, Hotchner.”

I didn’t take it to offense that he said my skills surprised him. In his defense, he’d only heard me talk when I turned in a paper or answered a question, which the latter was usually rare since I didn’t particularly like to “show off” in front of juniors who already thought I was a kiss ass.

I did, however, take his first sentence as a compliment. I was confident and my statements and questions were concise.

I smiled, nodded, thanked him, then left. A lawyer was not on my top five career choices at the time. I didn’t want people to think I was doing it because of my father. I was definitely not. But after some research and a few binge watches of crime shows, I knew I actually did want to be an attorney. Not because of my father but almost in spite of him.

My dad quit his job as a lawyer and took the job Agent Gideon offered him at the BAU. I resented him for it, still do, but that’s besides the point. He wasn’t around much in my most influential years, and at fourteen, I decided I would be a lawyer, and if I happened to have a family, I wouldn’t take a new job that prevented me from being there for them.

So now, I’m currently four weeks away from grad school and three years away from the BAR. And I’m going to rock the shit out of them both. Because I can and because I’m determined. It’s also way less about my unresolved daddy issues now than it was in high school and even some of college, it’s a dream of mine.

Spencer has made it his mission to make sure I enjoy the last month of summer as much as I can. He’s taken me out on a million dates like picnics, movies, late night drives around the city and out into the country, and more every chance he gets between cases.

At least now we don’t have to sneak around and lie about our relationship. Though I was prepared to keep this from my dad for however long necessary, I’m pretty glad we accidentally outed ourselves at my graduation dinner.

My dad cooked a big meal for me, some family, friends, and we invited the team too. Spencer and I didn’t even sit near each other. We barely talked the whole dinner just to be safe.

But as love-sick, horny couples do, when we saw an opportunity to take a minute alone, we did just that.

Having your father catch you making out with a guy will never not be awkward, but when the guy happens to be his employee, it’s fucking weird.

Though, I will say, the look on his face was priceless. I’ve hardly seen him have that much emotion on his face.

After a very awkward, flushed-face, and stuttered explanation from Spencer and me, we were able to calm my father down. He was a lot more excepting than I expected; I think he finally realized he can’t dictate my life, and he saw how happy we are together.

The rest of that dinner consisted of a lot of teasing from Derek Morgan, my brother being grossed out by me having a boyfriend, and everyone asking about law school.

I’m excited and anxious to start the rest of my life as a law student. I’ve prepared for this for nearly 8 years now, and I’m getting closer and closer to my dream career. It’s terrifyingly exciting. I’m grateful to have my family and Spencer by my side through all of this.

hey, so this is it for this story! this is also most likely it for my fanfiction in general.

and for a little life update: i started college a month ago, and i’m adjusting to my new life which has been interesting and scary and fun. im also in a healthy relationship and have been for a while which has been pretty amazing. i hope all my mutuals/ readers are doing well. thank you guys for sticking around :)

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