#they agree with your bend the truth agenda

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[adickaboutspoons]

Put your tiny hand in mine

So about the "father figure Izzy."

"You're my only family" landed like a sucker-punch with me when 2x8 first aired, leaving me bewildered, disgusted, and more than a little angry. Izzy as Ed's family? Since. Fucking. WHEN??? At BEST, Izzy was a shitty, insubordinate employee whose absence bothered Ed not one jot or tittle, and whose entitled possessiveness led him to think he could control Ed through threats of escalating, and eventually state-backed violence.

But more bewildering and alienating than that one, infuriating line has been seeing the fandom discourse embrace that idea, first with some people claiming that it's what they've been saying all along (I don't want to call them liars, but I have been in the fandom since April 2022, and it was not a take that I saw before the end of s2. But perhaps it was something said on a Discord I'm not privy to, or on twitter or something; I do most of my fandoming right here, and my feed is heavily curated, so there's a non-zero chance that it was a popular take that just never floated into my orbit), then slowly but insidiously becoming the predominant take, with its adopters going so far as to say that the dynamic has been there all along, that it was clearly always the intention of the writers that we read Ed's relation to Izzy that way, and that anyone who denies the dynamic is clearly willfully reading against the text. And all of this in the wake of a pull quote from ONE Djenks interview where he said the words "father figure." *sigh*

So the last time I looked to DJenks interviews for insight into his and the other writer's thought process I got taken to task for poor media literacy and not understanding that quotes can be misconstrued or taken out of context and that reporters have agendas to which they bend the narrative of their articles, and that when creative are giving interviews, their job is to sell the product, not necessarily convey their deepest, heart-felt truths. Which? Didn't love, but fair enough - it really is important to hold one another to account and make sure we’re not just seeing what we want to see, and context IS important. But I also hope that we can agree that if one uses similar or identical verbiage in more than one interview, across venues, with different interviewers, and across time, then it’s reasonable to assume that really IS a what the person thinks, or, at the v. least, a decided Talking Point that one is comfortable being the Official Narrative regarding the creative process. So with that in mind, y���all are aware that DJenks has some v. specific insight about exactly when the idea of “father figure Izzy” came into the writing process, right? (In the interest of not being accused of taking things out of context again, I am providing the date and the venue so you can look it up yourself if you like, the question immediately proceeding the quote, and DJenks' response. The only alteration I have made is bolding the relevant text)

Oct 26, 2023, EW: A lot of these characters have evolved over two seasons, but it seems like Izzy has gone through one of the biggest evolutions. He went from being so dismissive of the others to being a key part of the crew. What interested you most about his arc? Jenkins: You know, I didn't expect him to become kind of a father figure to Ed. I think we hit on that while we were breaking the [final] episode. He's in such a weird position: He's like a jilted lover, and then he's a middle manager who has to work for a terrible boss. He gets thrown away, and then he comes back. He really develops, and he becomes a part of this family. I think the biggest surprise was the extent that he was a mentor to Ed. They were both Blackbeard. They both made Blackbeard happen. Oct 26, 2023, Paste: Speaking of that funeral, Con O’Neill played Izzy’s journey across two seasons so beautifully. When did it come to you that his last words to Ed about just being himself were going to have such an impact? Jenkins: It’s kind of a strange arc in that I knew we were going to put him through all these things, and I knew he would ultimately die. But I think him becoming a father figure to Ed in the last episode didn’t really dawn on us until we were breaking the last episode. Asking what would this man say to Ed at the end because they’ve been together through everything? He went from a troubled and downtrodden employee to a jilted lover to a discarded employee, to someone that is just trying to find his footing again—no pun intended—to actually becoming this guy’s parental figure on some level. And he’s one person who kind of raised Ed right, because Blackbeard usually kills his parental figures. So, it felt right and it felt like that’s how the mentor dies. The mentor in a story usually dies in the second act and then our hero has to go on and try to do it without them. It felt like the right journey for Izzy and a gratifying one for Con Oct 26, 2023 Vulture: It seems like it took being almost at death’s door for [Izzy] to be vulnerable enough to receive and understand that kindness without reflexively telling them to fuck off. Jenkins: Both Izzy and Blackbeard have ego deaths this season. And on the other side of the ego deaths, weirdly, Izzy is a father figure to Ed. It’s such an unusual journey. The character is kind of a jilted lover who then becomes a maimed and discarded employee and emerges from that into being a father figure who says as he’s dying, “You’re all right. Just be you.” Oct 26, 2023, Variety: “To kill a character is such a big thing, even in a world that is this violent,” Jenkins says. “We had to do justice to Izzy, and to that relationship between he and Ed. There is a nice parallel to have Ed treat him so badly at the beginning of the season and then come all the way around to where Izzy is this sort of father figure he doesn’t want to lose — because Ed usually kills his father figures.”

So. I think it's more than clear that the writers stumbled into the idea of Izzy being Ed’s father-figure while writing nearly the very last part of the very last episode. It was never the intention that the character be read that way in the first season, and, as far as I can tell, they didn't even bother retconning what they'd already written in the second season to organically lead to that conclusion.

But, oh my v. dears! Take my hand. Close your eyes. Make a wish. Count to three. I’m here to tell you that NONE OF WHAT DJENKS SAID MATTERS when it comes to analyzing the text of the show as it exists in the wild. You can and SHOULD be just as dismissive of what he had to say about the intentions of the writers as, no doubt, a number of you have already decided to be dismissive about what I have to say. The author is dead! Long live the interpreter! Because, just because it wasn't intended doesn't mean it's not there in the text. After all, Alex Sherman also once said the writers didn't intentionally write Izzy to be racist, and if you're following me (which, lbr, is the only way anyone is going to see this), I think we can all agree that is v. much Not The Case. If you find significance in the idea that Izzy was always a father-figure to Ed all along, and find compelling in-text arguments to support that position, that's fantastic. I love that for you! I disagree, but that doesn't make you bad or wrong - but neither does it make me, or the others like me who were gobsmacked by "you're my only family" and for whom the "father figure Izzy" take holds no water wrong; it just means I have different criteria by which I qualify the term “father figure” than you do, and find the relationship between Ed and Izzy falls short of those metrics. So maybe cool it with the "rip to everyone who's mad about Izzy the father figure" rhetoric? I promise that not everyone who finds the way Izzy's arc was handled in S2 less than satisfactory is a canyonite making bad faith arguments to justify why they're mad they lost their blorbo.

[blonde-and-cat-suc]

choose violence ask game: 3, 12 and 22?

p.s. love your blog, please keep spreading the truth!

And I love blogging <3!!! I do it for the girls and the gays.

>>>><<<<

Answers under the cut . . . This is gonna be a long one.

3) Screenshot or description of the worse take you've seen on tumblr?

Okay, so, the only problem with this one is that I've literally seen too many to count. But the one that I'd often seen and had the most visceral reaction to were definitely the longer, well articulated analysis posts from stans that did SO MUCH bending and twisting to claim Adora being equally toxic/(and or abusive) to Catra. Which, obviously, I also spent time analyzing. Trying my best to understand what was going on. And you know what? I get it. I don't agree. But I get it. Adora and Catra grew up under the same circumstances, so yeah, they wouldn't be entirely innocent of picking up bad habits from their childhood. Realistically. Fine.

But implying that Adora is worse? Worse than Catra?

...

Anyway, I've suffered from my own self-inflicted torture in the past. I wish I hadn't spent so much time reading stan analysis the way I did, but... Here we are.

And that's just on Tumblr. I don't believe that other social media/forum sites are better or worse about c//a and SPOP, but I have seen worse in The Wilds. (At least on Tumblr there's the filtering options. Everywhere else, good luck).

12) The unpopular character that you actually like, and why more people should like them?

Guys. I LOVE SWIFT WIND. I FUCKING LOVE SWIFT WIND I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S ANNOYING THEY'RE ALL FUCKING ANNOYING!!!

First of all, yes, yes, yes, Swift Wind is horrendous wasted potential (surprise, surprise), and yes, of course, I'm still pissed over it. Those scenes where he's so loyal and kind to Adora, and she, having no other point of reference for a friend, much less a resourceful friend... Like, awwhh. Plus, he makes it very clear that he has his own will and isn't just mindlessly following Adora around like a god-honest horse would. He has his own agenda. He doesn't have to go into battle with Adora, and doesn't gain too much from risking his life to help her and her friends in the short term, but Swift Wind does it anyway. He's interested and invested in Adora, personally, anyway. He wants to be there for her and support her growth as a person.

And Adora deserves all of those amazing, raw, sappy, fairytale friendships!

I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S LITERALLY A HORSE HE IS STILL FUNCTIONALLY A HUMAN BEING. THEY ARE BESTIES. THEY LITERALLY HAVE A MY LITTLE PONY FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC LINK GOING ON. THEY SHOULD HAVE CONSIDERED SWIFTIE TO BE APART OF THE BEST FRIENDS SQUAD, I ACTUALLY DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY HE ISN'T.

MORE LOVE FOR SWIFT WIND!!!

22) Favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores?

In my experience, this is the type of fandom that cultivates, um, extreme niches, for lack of a better term. As in, literally what my blog is compared to a "stan's" blog. They're like. Different SPOP fans everywhere, so I don't truly believe that there's a portion of this show that is genuinely ignored... There's someone out there that liked even the tiniest, unimportant fraction of this show. Just got to go find them. (Hell, I know people that love, like, Tall Star specifically, out of all the other characters. Nothing has gone totally unnoticed, which is something I really love about the fanbase as a whole, despite everything).

Anyway, to keep it short, my favorite "underappreciated" parts are hm... Maybe the parts where Adora gets to explore the world around her? And not in a super plot related way. I know that the BFS goofing off so much isn't totally ignored. But I like to see that Adora especially was still learning new things everyday in canon, just like, randomly. Nothing to do with the Horde or the Rebellion. Just. She should be excited for the new world around her, dude. Those are pretty rare moments in the show, actually. Wish there were more.

[cosmicjoke]

Hi! I hope your doing great.🧡

It is sad to see yet another anon trying to force thier opinion and trying to get you to change mind about your truthful and honest analysis and opinion.

These kind of people are so toxic and the fact they are clearly masking thier efforts to get you to agree eruri is canon as friendly and respectful. I don't get why people are so obsessed with shipping and stuff, and why would they want to enforce Erwin and Levi to have a romantic kind of relationship. As if they can't be anything else.

It doesn't matter how many times we speak out on toxic shipping culture, these kind of people will believe what they do, try to bend facts and misuse and mis translate Isayama's interviews and stuff.

Alas, even I am getting tired with all these toxic and annoying shippers bullsh!t.

Thanks for always calling them out and writing out the truth.

Anyways, I hope you have a great and happy Christmas and winters, don't let these people ruin the happy vibes ❤💚😊

Haha, thank you. Yeah, they're absolutely insane. They just sent me the same, endlessly long ask using three separate accounts after I blocked them the first time. As if I needed any kind of proof that they're just trying to force me to accept their stupid ass, deluded view, well, they handed it to me on a silver platter.

It's exhausting. It honestly is. These people target me because they think I have some sort of agenda against shippers, particularly Eruri shippers, when I have no such thing. I'm simply interested in being able to have an objective and canonically based discussion about Levi, and about Attack on Titan in general, without the idiocy of the speculation and assumption that the shipping communities are drowning in.

Eh, whatever. They always do this. I give them my answers. They don't like my answers, so they keep pushing, trying to find new ways to trip me up and force me to accept their views, and when I don't, they get all butthurt about it and accuse me of being biased myself. Biased toward what? Canon?

Anyway, thank you as always for your kind words and support, and I hope you also have a great Christmas and New Years!

[theredpharaoah]

“Princess Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I will speak the truth we both know. You should have been Queen. The Iron Throne was yours by blood and by temperament.” Alicent Hightower says to Rhaenys Targaryen as she’s in the process of usurping the throne from Rhaenys’ daughter-in-law, Rhaenyra Targaryen. Lmao does she realize how absolutely ridiculous she looks/sounds here?

And then Otto this most recent episode: “Your father was right about you”, *derisive laugh* ”is that what you think?”. So Viserys was right about Aegon but not about Rhaenyra - his chosen heir. The girl and later woman, who sat at the foot of the Iron Throne and in small council meetings to learn from him and you?

“Do you never think of your father? His…forbearance. His….judiciousness. His…his dignity”. -Otto Hightower, Season 2, Ep 2. 27:15 mins(remaining).

Forbearance: patient self-control; restraint and tolerance

Judiciousness: having, exercising, or characterized by good or discriminating judgment; wise, sensible, or well-advised

Dignity: 1. the state or quality of being worthy of honor or respect. 2. a composed or serious manner or style. 3. a sense of pride in oneself; self-respect.

Forbearance. Hmmm. So that would be like; offering your siblings forgiveness after they usurped your throne. Only asking that they come to you and bend the knee. Not sending assassins after them even though she knew they would say no, and knows The Red Keep better than they do. Or like not burning KL to the ground as soon as it came to War. Or not immediately seeking revenge for the death of her son and burning KL to the ground. Not rushing into a war of dragons even though it would give her the win.

Judiciousness. So like actually considering the enemy’s terms. Respecting and listening to her council. So not bringing her toddlers to meetings so they can disrupt. Not forcing the esteemed members to give said toddlers piggyback rides. Not firing members of her council the minute they question or don’t agree with her. Not losing her temper. Not killing prisoners, and then killing every person of a specific occupation as a result, this because you lost your temper and killed the prisoners before asking him to identify his accomplice. And you know, not even thinking to ask your sister who also would recognize the accomplice’s face. Not naming someone to your council who would indulge your worst desires and getting rid of those who challenged you.

Dignity. So like freeing a prisoner even if you don’t believe it’s the best idea. Solely because your husband gave his word and you mean to honor that. So like not spreading lies about your enemy to serve your agenda. Not thinking to give one citizen something and thinking to hide it from all others because you want to be well-liked. Not pouting at council meetings when you can’t just throw fire at your enemies. Not blatantly disrespecting your father’s wishes and usurping the throne. And the list goes on.

Otto’s perfect ruler is the one he usurped and he knows that. But he wants his blood on the throne so bad he’s willing to let the entire kingdom fall to ruin. He could always take his ass to Dragonstone, pledge himself to Rhaenyra, and attempt to bargain for the safety of his daughter and grandchildren. He could then assist in steering this disaster to a better end.

[kuroki---kaze]

⋆୨𖤓୧⋆ If this man is going to continue to wear that charm around his neck and stand at the side of his Other, then he needed to know if he was in his eyes. It's a simple question - is it not? But yet the human doesn't seem to know how to answer.

Of all the Amestrians that has shown up in these lands, this was the only one that White Cloud wasn't proceeding to play games with. This was the only one White Cloud wasn't stringing along with false smiles and wicked intentions of blanket statements and a truth as veiled as the battlefield covered in his Mist.

The Misterican didn't even need to spit it for the Windarian to see the thick haze he was keeping them all trapped in. Yet this human got away, found the center and seemed to be the only one that the Cloud simply held out his hand to as a reward.

So now he wanted to know why.

What was so special about the life before him? What in Bahamut's name would make the swordsman agree to mix mist with him when they all knew the truth in that action wasn't even possible?

What was different about this human from the rest?

What would make his Other be willing to cross the linear with the spiral?

From what he could gather, they were all wicked little liars, spinning webs of false sincerities that only held self interest at their cores but could he really blame them for putting themselves first in a land such as this?

Yes.

Yes he could and did because worrying about themselves individually wasn't going to solve any of their problems collectively. If they focused on their problems as a whole and stopped running around like chicken with their heads cut off maybe they would have accomplished a bit more by now.

Maybe they would have accomplished more than approximately nothing but the murder of his Other and riding on White Cloud's Cape tails if they were worried about helping each other as a whole instead of tending to their own agendas. Humans seemed to prove even more foolish than the Mistericans were. More Foolish and twice as helpless.

But not this one. Not this man. Not this soldier. Not this Human. Not this one who has come to know parts of the Cloud's heart that even he couldn't claim to have unlocked.

So icy cold eyes fixate on him as he speaks, claiming to not understand the Wind's words and it seems to a bit more blunt with this one. Perhaps that's part of it. The Cloud's understanding always faulted when it came to anything that turned a corner or rounded a bend.

"White Cloud. I see you in his eyes. Is he in yours?"

Kaze has always been pretty weird. It seems like this interaction will only follow the gunman's pattern of odd behaviors.

It's a cold stare and a question with some deeper meaning that Kain isn't quite grasping. The friendly demeanor slips away as quickly as it had appeared, receding so that he can instead focus on tossing the question around in his brain. It doesn't matter how hard he thinks on it though. This is just too tough of a nut to crack.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. No one is ever in mind when I'm handling weapons that can harm or kill. Is this... some sort of allusion to Kumo? I'd be happy to answer the question if you could elaborate."

He's never been one to wax poetic. His firearm feels heavier now, though, than it did before Black Wind had come in. Something about the air has shifted, and he can't really make sense of it yet.

[captnjacksparrow]

When I say "Sasuke was right", I don’t wanna say "Sasuke should have killed everyone and burned Konoha with his Amaterasu." What I wanna say is "It was legitimate for Sasuke to hate Konoha’s gouvernement."

And it’s the same thing when I say "I’m an anti-Konoha", I don’t wanna say "Konoha’s habitants should have died". What I wanna say is "Konoha, and shinobi system in general are full of failures. This system should be changed"

So???

What's your point now???

Should I be a telepathic person to know what you think inside your mind is not what you say outloud???

Do one thing.

Paste all these lines in your blog description so that it's transparent for everyone as to what you mean vs what you say. Just like how I did in my blog description.

What I wanna say is "It was legitimate for Sasuke to hate Konoha’s government."

But whatever you say is only half of Sasuke's Characterization though. Did you forget it conveniently or Did you cleverly bury it somewhere hoping that no one would read the Manga to find out the truth?

He hated Konoha. Agreed. I never denied it.

But he also verified his resolve to destroy Konoha over and over before he was about to actually going ahead with that plan.

I never saw Nagato verified his resolve.

I never saw Madara did it either despite he was the one who helped create it.

I never saw Obito did it as well, despite he wanted to become an Hokage of that said Village.

But only Sasuke.

He also came to term with his hateful feelings for Konoha, the moment he said this.

This.

And This.

His only concern was to not let Itachi who fought for that place to be drenched with Darkness anymore. Which is in and of itself is a big proof that he didn't hate that place anymore.

But Somehow, you guys just bury this huuuge pumpkin inside your Salad and keep on saying, "This Salad doesn't have a trace of Pumpkin".

You are acting just like SS and NH peeps who take what's convenient for them and spin theories out of a Single Panel.

What I wanna say is "Konoha, and shinobi system in general are full of failures. This system should be changed"

And What do you propose on your Sasuke-kun's behalf to change the System??? I want to know your learned opinion.

Oh Wait!!! Never Mind.

I know what you'll say.

You'll bring some Utopian Idealistic Manifesto which says, "Everyone should stop being a Shinobi and go to school, learn STEM or Arts, wear spectacles and be happy".

Or you'll say, "Leave it to Sasuke-kun, he will take care of everything".

Or you might bring some copy pasted Communist Propaganda which is nothing but a fictional North Korea Version 2.0.

Sorry to say, Sasuke along with Naruto changed the system for the better. Hint : Read Chapter 648, Chapter 458, Chapter 700 in this particular order. Pick up the similarities and you'll notice the Change. 

When Sasuke said he wanted to become an Hokage, he never said anything about Revealing UCM or that Utopian Agenda you guys keep saying under the name of ‘Changing the System’ or that ‘Communist Propaganda’ your sect leader spouts often. Sasuke simply said, he wanted to keep the 5 villages together with pure Hatred and in Contrast, Naruto said he wanted to go with Understanding and Love.  

Meaning, they both wanted the same result (uniting 5 villages) but had different methods. 

My point is simple. Hate Konoha all you want. I don’t care. But why are you claiming that Sasuke still (after chapter 627) hated that place when in canon it’s totally opposite? Why are you saying that he didn’t change the system when in reality, he did already?  

Not Sorry, but I like and accept Sasuke as a Whole (from Chapter 3 to Chapter 700)... Not the bits and piece, bastardized version of Sasuke you guys use to project yourself. 

[funkymbtifiction]

I can't exactly change my thinking overnight but I have developed some techniques I would love to share.

First, 9w1s usually go along with other people. Offer helps to readily, or agreed to go along to quickly. Then we will feel resentful because we actually don't want to do it, or physically can't do it. Maybe it's because it goes against our agenda or because we have too much on our hands. But we will feel like we have to do it because it's our 'duty' or 'obligation'. Then we'll feel stressful and end up being passive aggressive.

So, instead of readily replying 'of course!' I ask 'what kind of help?' or 'where to?' that will force us to slow down. It'll also force them to not gloss over us as well. Then if what they demand clash with ours, refuse and don't bend. People will lean on you to make you cave or throw tantrum. But you have to dig in your heels and stand firm. Although make sure that it is something worthwhile. Not like 'I don't feel like it, leave me alone' but with logical reason 'I can't add this job on my list, otherwise I won't get anything done'. This way people will hound you less.

I did this and it worked surprisingly well. Even with my 8w9 boss.

When you feel like you don't want to exert any energy, just get your butt up and do it. It's gonna be hard but you'll feel better when you actually do it. We tend to think of something as taking too much effort/energy/hassle but in reality, it's not. My friend told me to come visit him. My first thought was 'no, too far' then I remembered that it's like 30 minutes from my home at best. Possibly even less. So, why not? When I work on a job too. I feel anxiety about the task (It's too big for me!) but when I do it, it's not a big deal.

When someone demands you to answer something, just tell them the truth. Unfiltered truth. My aunt is another 8w9 so she is intense. She asks me why do I go to the office (we are wfh at the moment). I wanted to push it to my boss telling me to come, but reality is I came here on my own volition. So I told her that, even if she will get mad. It's a way to take up space. People won't hate you for just asserting yourself. But they will hate you if you are being passive aggressive. They will hate you if you doorslam them for no reasons. So I try to do this. I still fear the resultant dramas, a lot. But it doesn't really happen. Like, with my boss. He just said, "ok, cool" with my aunt, she just "well, in that case don't bring Covid home" 

It's a good thing I have lots of 8s around me. I just adopt some of their tactics (stand their ground and pressure) and it works. I'm also pretty lucky that most 8s around me are actually pretty healthy or have integrated to be healthy. (My boss, my aunt and mother all have strong 2-integration). Otherwise, my life is gonna be much tougher.

----------------------------------------

I just realize that ESFJ 8w7 sp/so is possible combination. My mother is one (in the past she struggles with aggression and overreaction) but she has mellowed down a lot and shows 2-integration. Instead of the very reactive, selfish and unstable she became a lot more like healthy 2. At least to her people. 

[footyleclerc]

So sorry for you having asshole in your inbox. As a new follower I agree everything you said in the last month (idk any posts older and I’m factual so I can’t say everything lmao). Luv you out there during truth XOXO.

Anyway (idk if it’s sensitive. Hope it doesn’t trouble you. Dun reply if you dun want) but Charles’ tweet saying he’s not into politics (that sometimes ppl cite to claim he’s racist and ignorant) is abt Salvini tweeting sth that may promote racism using his image. He’s literally publicly speaking against a rightist politician. How abt taking this into acc too? (Pissed)

Tbh idk much abt Max side tho. If you dun mind can you say abt him?

Salvini’s tweet: https://twitter.com/matteosalvinimi/status/1279807459096436737?s=21

Charles’ tweet: https://twitter.com/charles_leclerc/status/1291399038697459712?s=21

Charles confirming his tweet’s meaning: https://twitter.com/charles_leclerc/status/1291403685751398400?s=21

Poor boi dk how to express himself.

hey sweet anon, thank you for all your kind words! any fan of Charles is a friend of mine :)

you've asked a very interesting question and since it's a sensitive issue I'm going to try to explain it in as non offensive a manner as I can soo bare with me! personally, I don't believe Charles and Max are racist. if you think I'm going to shit on them and say that they are racist, this ISN'T for you. DO NOT click on keep reading then.

okie, if you've made it here let's start!

CHARLES LECLERC

Matteo Salvini is an Italian politician, who was once the deputy Prime Minister of Italy. he stands for elections with a party called Lega Nord (Northern League), which is a right wing, federalist, conservative party. (tbh the party is pretty confusing cause their policies have kept swinging but they are right-wing under Salvini)

This is the tweet he posted: google translated - Never give up and never bend, always forward with your head held high!

Charles hadn't been taking the knee. Salvini used him as a forefront for his (anti-kneeling) agenda which Charles didn't like and on twitter he clarified:

but obviously people weren't happy with the response. almost all the replies to his tweet are branding him a racist because he didn't take the knee and his tweet was mistaken as him calling the BLM movement a 'political movement'.

luckily a fan could help him out:

still people remained unconvinced and have deemed him to be racist. in my opinion, kneeling is a show of solidarity with the cause but unless you actually want to learn, understand and make a difference, nothing will happen. you could kneel to please the world and still be a racist towards those in your personal lives.

with these professionals, you can rarely ever tell. unless it's individuals and organisations that are very open with their activism like Lewis, Seb, McLaren, Aston etc.

I don't think not kneeling makes Charles a racist. he has his reasons for doing so, and they are quite legitimate imo. he's a young guy who is constantly learning. he has said he likes to educate himself about matters before speaking out and honestly, I think that's very responsible!

MAX VERSTAPPEN

now, moving onto Max. this is where things get a bit messy and you can definitely disagree with me here.

so the reason why people accuse Max of being racist is due to an incident with Lance Stroll during FP2 of the 2020 Portuguese GP. they collided and in the heat of the moment Max said this (team radio):

"Is this f*cking guy blind? What the f*ck is wrong with him? Jesus Christ. What a r*tard. I have damage. What a mongol. I swear." (source)

this was definitely ableist and racist. no excuses, whatsoever. the article also shows how he said it, "wasn't his problem" which was also wrong but RB said they don't condone his words. it's a lil odd but very few on twitter spoke against him.

however, he apologized to Lance after the team had a talk with him. he admitted he made a mistake and while he didn't mean to offend, he certainly did. i am not excusing his actions, they were wrong and he should be held accountable, instead I'm appreciating his response.

you can scoff at that, but remember, not everyone has the awareness that certain language is wrong and offensive. not everyone has grown up in such an environment. cultural or language barriers, what you've been taught at home etc. also play a huge role in what you may think is right to say. don't want to get too into it but his father isn't so innocent in all this. what you hear and experience growing up impacts you massively and THIS is a great article on their relationship. well written and not too biased.

as an Asian and POC myself, I was upset when I heard his words and his apology also didn't make me happy. but seeing that he realised why it was wrong and not repeating it is something I am glad about (it's a small thing but if we want people to learn, you need to be patient).

we all make mistakes, it's how we respond to them that makes us who we are. Max hasn't repeated his errors, he's learned to be better and I think that's the most important thing. he has been so much more careful on his team radios and that's improvement.

I don't think those one or two moments define him as a person. he's much more than that. he's also a young person, learning about the world as he grows just like most of us, except he has the spotlight shining on him 24x7. instead of giving him a chance at redemption and learning, people are quick to attack him and I REALLY hate that. you can't expect people to improve if you're going to villianise them instead of help them learn why they are wrong.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I don't think Charles and Max are racist. one has his reasons for not doing a symbolic gesture and one made a mistake from which he has learned. I am NOT excusing their behaviour though and will NOT defend or justify their mistakes. just cause they're celebrities doesn't mean they can't do wrong. it's an expectation we have of all drivers to be like current day Seb and Lewis but that's not possible!

at the end of the day, they're still young and may make a few more mistakes along the way that people will criticize, and that's okay. they will learn, improve and come out as better humans.

it's easy to bring up incidents from the past to hate on any driver, and I'm not expecting anyone to deem Charles and Max completely innocent. you can still not like them for whatever reasons but calling them 'racists' isn't right in my opinion. there are many things you can not like them for, as drivers or humans, but terming them something that serious due to an error, isn't right. you're judging a person's entire character on one choice, one mistake, and both these guys are sooo much more than that. they've learned to be better than that.

this doesn't mean I'm disregarding the racism that is existent in this sport, towards Lewis and Yuki especially. it is a valid problem, one that isn't getting any smaller. from the casual racism from the commentators to f1 media to even the teams being provocative, it's a legitimate issue that needs sorting out. my only point is, those that say racism and racists exist in the sport cause of guys like Max and Charles aren't being the most logical.

if you've made it this far, I hope you agree with me! I don't mean to have offended anyone, and if I unknowingly have, I am very sorry. that was not my intention. if you don't agree with me, feel free to have a polite discourse!

thank you for the question anon! and I hope I made my point clear :)

huge thank yous to @formulino27 and @fcb-mv33 for getting me through the writing of this <3

[shig-a-shig-ah]

ASSISTANCE

» pairing: shigaraki tomura x afab!reader » word count: 3.5k » contains: noncon, choking, rough sex, ass play. 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

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"This is a waste of my time," Shigaraki says in a bored voice. "I thought you needed me for something important."

Re-Destro's smile doesn't falter at the white-haired man's display of impertinence, but yours does. You attend all his meetings, since you are his assistant, after all - your entire job is to manage his schedule and take down meticulous notes and complete any other menial tasks needed of you. This meeting, however, is not going according to plan.

You'd carefully crafted an agenda on Re-Destro's behalf for this one-on-one with the Grand Commander of the newly-branded Paranormal Liberation Front, and now it was ending only ten minutes in with Shigaraki's abrupt dismissal. Re-Destro, of course, doesn't protest, only offers his characteristic proclamation that he and all his resources are at Shigaraki's disposal. Shigaraki rolls his eyes, clenching and releasing the fingers of his newly-healed hands, one of them bearing a gloved prosthetic to compensate for his missing fingers.

And then those red eyes settle on you.

"What about them?" he asks with a smirk, and while Re-Destro doesn't catch his meaning at first, you certainly do. You can see how his eyes skim your curves, sending a shudder down your spine at the openly lascivious look. Your boss, oblivious, only prattles on about your skills as an assistant even as Shigaraki is rising, walking over to you and raising one hand to tug at your tie, ignoring every word from the man behind the desk.

Shigaraki snorts - a sharp, dismissive sound. "I don't need some little secretary following me around." He's loosening the red silk knotted at your collar now. "Do you make them dress like this, or do they do that all on their own?"

Even that comment on your uniform, a perfectly professional grey suit and white blouse, plus the tie, doesn't give Re-Destro any pause. His sycophantic smile only finally starts to fade when Shigaraki offers an undeniably lewd reply to the orange-haired man's suggestion that your uniform could be changed, should Shigaraki desire it.

"Nah," the pale-haired man says. "I like it. They looks like the most attainable option in some office eroge. And I'm sure it's cute when you bend 'em over the desk for a little stress relief, right?" He laughs mockingly at Re-Destro's shocked expression, waving a dismissive hand. "Or do you not do that? Too busy storing up all that stress for battle? You know, for when you go picking fights you can't win?"

You try to shove Shigaraki away when deft fingers move to unbutton your suit jacket, but he only catches your wrists with a chuckle, holding you firm with one hand.

"Shigaraki," Re-Destro says - and quite lamely, you notice with bitterness, "if you are in need of...companionship, I'm sure I can arrange for-"

"Oh, I think this is just fine. So if you really want to do something for me, why don't you get the fuck out of here?" He raises a sparse brow in Re-Destro's direction. "Unless watching is your thing." A tiny squeak of fear escapes you at the implicit threat in Shigaraki's words, the promise that he has something more in store than this little game of harassment. 

And Re-Destro, the man who has employed you for years, who supposedly counts you among his most loyal and valuable associates, simply leans back to watch.

"Huh," Shigaraki muses to you as he notes Re-Destro's unmoving form. "I wouldn't have taken him for the type."

You wouldn’t have either. Your throat tightens as Shigaraki undoes the buttons on your shirt too, wrestling it off your shoulders even as you struggle feebly against him. Your eyes are fixed on Re-Destro, pleading wordlessly for him to intervene, but his lip only twitches slightly.

"Rikiya," you whine, tears pricking at your eyes, and Re-Destro drops his gaze from yours.

"If Shigaraki is in need of assistance," he says flatly, "then I think you should do your job."

You let out a choked little sob at his words, and another whimper when Shigaraki lifts his hand to grope at your breast through your bra, fingers seeking out the firm nub of your nipple and pinching it harshly. It stiffens under the attention, sending an uncomfortable, unwanted stirring between your thighs.

"Please don't." You address your pleas to Shigaraki now, the words coming out small and pathetic, but of course Shigaraki pays your suffering no mind.

"Aw, come on now," he coos, releasing your nipple so he can reach behind you to undo the clasp on your bra. "Even as tightly wound as baldie over there is, I bet this won't be the first time you've been fucked by your Grand Commander, right?"

Your cheeks burn at the comment, and the truth in it. You would swear to anyone who asked that your and Re-Destro's relationship was strictly professional, and you truly believed it. But your job was to assist him, and if that meant offering yourself up on the rare occasion he chose to release some of that stored-up stress without using his Quirk, then you were more than happy to include that among your many duties.

Or at least, you had been.

You look to your boss again, still begging with your eyes for him to intervene as Shigaraki peels off your bra, swatting away your hands when you try once more to shove him away. Re-Destro's face has gone tight with what you first think is anger or shame, at least until you notice the way he's palming himself through his trousers. Your stomach twists in disgust.

Shigaraki laughs when your gaze drops, leaning close so that he can whisper in your ear. "To think, all these years as his assistant and he's really going to let this happen, just like that."

The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shudder down your spine, the discomfort makes your squirm involuntarily. Your hands lift to shove against his shoulders, but pale fingers wrap tightly around your wrists as he ruts his hips into you, and your struggling accomplishes little except making you unintentionally grind back against him.

"Mm, do that again," he taunts breathily, his tongue running along the outer shell of your ear, and despite your revulsion you force yourself to go still, the only protest you can manage.

"Come on now, if you can be a good little slut for him" - Shigaraki tilts his head towards Re-Destro - "then you can do the same for me." There's a dangerous edge in his voice that wasn't there a moment ago, but you only shake your head. Re-Destro had always asked, never forced himself on you like Shigaraki is doing, and you at least respect him. Or, you had. It had already been lessening with each day that passed since he abdicated his position and took on the role of Shigaraki's fawning subordinate, and now this...well, you don't think you'll even be able to look your boss in the face after this, for so, so many reasons.

Shigaraki lets out a low growl at your continued obstinance and leans back to study you, his red eyes narrowed. After a moment the corner of his cracked lips curve up into a sadistic grin that sends your stomach dropping, and his hands move again to your tie, the one piece of clothing still adorning your torso. The red silk fabric hangs obscenely between your bare breasts, and Shigaraki toys with the knot for a moment before his other hand grips the dangling fabric, yanking downward.

The thin loop of fabric constricts roughly around your throat, and you begin to struggle almost immediately, gasping futilely for air while your hands claw at his own, trying desperately to free yourself. A malicious giggle escapes the man before you as you fight against his strength, and he pins you harder against the table you'd been leaning against when all this started. Somewhere beyond the dark spots starting to cloud your vision and the desperate, burning need for air, you're vaguely aware of his rutting into you, his cock twitching with every strained whine that manages to escape your strangled throat.

"It doesn't seem like you like this," Shigaraki says, eyes brightening as the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally start to stream down your face. "Maybe you'd rather choke on my cock instead?"

You don't truly register what he's saying, only know that his words hold the promise of relief if you agree, and so you nod frantically, desperate to escape the unbearable ache growing in your lungs. Even though you've sobbed your acceptance of his demands, he waits another few second before loosening the fabric and pulling back from you with a throaty growl.

He doesn't give you any time to recover. You're still gasping for air when white-hot pain flashes across your scalp, and then you're being dragged across the carpet by your hair, friction burns stinging your knees as you stumble from the unexpected assault. Shigaraki shoves you sprawling to the floor in front of Re-Destro's expansive desk, flopping himself down in one of the chairs there, nimble fingers already undoing his belt. He makes quick work of his pants, freeing his straining erection. Your vision is blurred with tears, but you still whimper at the sight of him stroking himself lazily as he stares down at you.

"Well? Get on with it," he orders.

Once again, you find yourself looking between Shigaraki and Re-Destro, as though the man who's simply sat watching this assault might suddenly be moved to intervene. Instead, he's shifting uncomfortably in his large leather chair, hand still massaging his length through his pants as he watches, while Shigaraki pays him no attention at all.

You let out a choked sob as you shuffle forward on hands and knees, one fist lifting tentatively to wrap around his length. Shigaraki draws a sharp breath, hips bucking as you stroke him lightly, and then his hand tangles in your hair again, tugging cruelly at your locks.

"I said suck it," he hisses and, sniffling, you extend your tongue to run over his cock, small-kitten licks along his tip and down his shaft. He groans when you brush against that sensitive spot on the underside of his member, and with no warning at all he impatiently forces you all the way down his length, burying himself in your throat.

The sudden intrusion makes you gag. You do your best to breath through your nose, but it's hard - you're snotty from the tears that won't stop coming, such a mess that you can't imagine what he finds appealing about the sight, but he doesn't seem to mind it if the way he's panting raggedly and grinding his hips into your face is any indication.

He holds your head firmly in place as he fucks your mouth, never pulling out more than halfway, so that you're choking and gagging the entire time, barely able to suck in enough air to stay conscious. Desperate for the torment to be over, you do the only thing you can think to do, hollowing your cheeks and sucking sloppily, circling his substantial girth with your tongue and grimacing at the slightly salty taste of his skin and precum. The sooner you make him cum though, the sooner he'll stop, right?

"Fuck, that's a good pet." He humps into your mouth with greater fervor until finally he forces his way past the tight ring of your throat one final time and holds himself there, cock twitching and you doing your best not to gag even more at the bitter taste of his cum on the back of your tongue.

The moment he releases you, you scramble away, wiping at your damp face with the back of your arm. It's ineffective - you're still blubbering, trembling slightly at the unexpected violation you're being forced to endure.

"Can I go now?" you ask meekly, whatever small amount of fight and indignation that you'd had before now entirely gone. You just want to get dressed, to rinse the acrid taste out of your mouth and go home where you can pretend this never happened. And, in a few days, you can start looking for another job. Maybe leave Deika City entirely if it will get you away from the two men in this room with you now.

"Already?" Shigaraki mock-pouts. "But we're having so much fun."

He reaches down and hauls you to your feet, bending you over Re-Destro's desk before you can so much as utter a surprised cry. Your face is shoved flat against the gleaming mahogany, and the disgusting sound of your boss's labored breathing is audible mere feet away from you. Shigaraki is still ignoring the other man completely, as though he isn't stroking himself off on the other side of the desk, and you nearly forget about Re-Destro too when Shigaraki starts shoving your skirt up over your hips.

"Is this part of the uniform too?" He hooks a finger into the lace top of your thigh-high stockings, snapping it against your skin a couple times before moving his attention upward. His palms run over your supple ass, squeezing at the curves, and you can feel his spit-slicked cock already growing firm against your backside.

Despite everything, you have to bite back a whine when his fingers dip to stroke over your clothed sex. Your hands clutch tightly at the edge of the desk, willing your hips not to buck shamefully at the sudden pressure against your clit; the same fear and shame that have left you so on edge have also made you more sensitive, every nerve in your body alight with heightened awareness.

"I'm surprised a little slut like you even bothered with these," he says as he pushes your underwear aside, running his thumb over your slit. "Fuck, and you're already nice and wet."

He pinches your clit, rolling that sensitive nub between two fingers, and you bury your teeth in your arm to muffle the sound it draws from you. It's unbearable that you can't suppress those noises, that you're responding to him so wantonly. As though you want this.

Shigaraki clicks his tongue in disapproval, and suddenly your arm is being twisted behind you, pinned uncomfortably at the small of your back. "None of that. I want to hear all those sweet little noises." He plunges two fingers into your cunt for emphasis, and you cry out at the sudden stretch. "That's better," he pants. You feel sick, your stomach knotted, but even so the feel of his fingers inside you and his thumb rubbing circles against your clit has you writhing in response, lewd squelching noises cutting through the silence every time he thrusts those two digits deeper into your tight pussy.

"Now the next question," he rasps, his fingers leaving your cunt to prod at the puckered entrance above it, "is which of these cute little holes I should fuck, hmm?"

Just the thought of his substantial girth invading your virgin ass is enough to make the blood rush from your face, your tears resuming anew at the humiliating though. "Mm-mm," you whimper, shaking your head protest as one finger slides past that tight outer ring, and Shigaraki leans over you, letting out a cold chuckle.

"If you have a preference you better speak up," he purrs in your ear. "Ask nicely enough and maybe I'll listen."

Your face is burning with embarrassment, but your fear at the thought of just how badly his girthy cock could wreck you outweighs your sense of shame. "M-my p-pussy," you mumble.

A second finger invades your rear entrance, and you whine at the burning ache that accompanies it. "What's that? I couldn't hear you."

"My pussy," you manage to choke out a little louder. "Fuck my pussy. Please." Your shame has you remembering once again that you and Shigaraki aren't alone, your eyes flicking up to Re-Destro. There's a faint sheen of sweat along his brow and he sits hunched in his chair, pants unbuttoned and one hand tucked into his underwear, jerking himself off with quick strokes. The sight makes your stomach clench.

"Ohhhh," Shigaraki hums. His fingers withdraw, but apparently you haven't been humiliated enough, because the flat of his palm cracks down against your asscheek once, then twice, making you writhe as you try to escape the sting. "I think you can do better than that though," he says. "Why don't you beg for my cock like the good little whore that you are? Tell me how badly you want me to fill you up."

He shoves his fingers roughly back into you, uncomfortably deep and nowhere near slick enough, and you let out a sob. "Please, Shigaraki, fuck my pussy," you cry out, loudly enough that anyone waiting outside the office could certainly hear you. You hope there's no one there, but you can't be sure as you continue to beg for him like he wants. "Stretch out my cunt, fill it up with your cock, please. I need it."

The words are hollow, but they seem to appease him. You can feel his length running along your folds, coating itself with your slick, and then he's aligning himself with your entrance. "Well," he says, still panting in your ear, the flat of one hand stroking along the outside of your thigh, "since you asked so nicely."

He buries himself to the hilt in one single thrust, stretching your cunt painfully wide and bottoming out against your cervix with bruising force. You gasp in pain, gripping more tightly to the edge of the desk as Shigaraki sets a punishing pace, working himself feverishly in and out of your heated core. When he reaches to roll your clit between two fingers again you keen, a strangled moan that's half agony, half pleasure, your cunt fluttering shamefully around his length.

"This is what you wanted, right?" he taunts. "For me to pound your tight little cunt? Fill you up with my cum like the worthless fucktoy you are?"

You can only nod, too overwhelmed to think or speak. The only thing you're aware of is sensation: his cock inside you, the way it brushes against that tender, spongy spot deep inside with each thrust, and the sharp ache of his fingers gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you. There are still tears streaming down your face, but even as you cry your traitorous cunt is tightening, a tension building in your abdomen that's threatening to snap as he continues to play with your puffy clit. You're still trying to suppress your moans, your teeth sinking in to your lower lip, but it does little to mute the sounds each thrust brings forth from deep in your throat.

"Is the whore going to cum for me?" he growls, nipping at the back of your neck. "It's okay, I knew you would. Knew you wouldn't be able to resist squirting all over like a needy little slut. Go on then," he says, "cum on my cock."

You're still whimpering, shaking your head no no no because you want desperately to deny the effect his ministrations are having, but when he presses more tightly against your clit, rubbing in frenzied circles, the coil that's been tightening finally snaps. You can feel your inner walls clamping down around him as you keen loudly, your toes curling and back arching, helpless against the involuntary pulses of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," Shigaraki groans, his pace increasing until he's railing you with rhythmless fervor. With one final, rough thrust he slams himself as deep as possible, his cock twitching as he cums nestled against your cervix, staying buried deep inside you until you can feel him starting to soften.

You don't move when he finally withdraws, keeping your head bowed against the desk and sniffling pathetically to yourself. His cum and your juices dribble uncomfortably down your thighs, and you feel Shigaraki dip his fingers into the mess he's made, letting out a single satisfied laugh before moving away from you. There's a faint rustling as he tucks himself back into his pants, and you wait with bated breath until you hear the sound of the office door opening and closing before starting to push yourself up off the desk.

Something stops you from moving, a large hand on the back of your neck preventing your escape and forcing you back down. You whimper, your eyes darting around frantically as as a surge of panic rises in your chest. He was supposed to be gone, you'd thought it was over, you...

Your eyes land on Re-Destro. In the humiliating wake of cumming from Shigaraki's vicious assault, you'd almost forgotten that the two of you weren't alone. But your dark-eyed boss is staring down at you from across the desk, his chest heaving and the sizeable bulge still visible in his pants as he keeps you pinned down against his desk.

You feel a jolt of confusion when his hand continues to press firmly into your neck as he rises, walking around the desk to stand behind you in the spot Shigaraki has only recently abandoned. Horrible understanding dawns, and you start to whimper and trash against him, but strong hands continue to hold you in place.

"I think," Re-Destro says, "I have one more job for you to do before you go."

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - ii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: Just as everything began to settle, you discover a bit of truth to the rumors you feared. 

Warnings: Nothing much just really bad writing. Steve’s less bipolar so that’s great. 

Word Count: 3.3k

I finally know where the direction of where I want to take Bring Him Light to. 

Bring Him Light Masterlist

I hope you guys enjoy!

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

A week has passed since your first meeting with the king. He grew more pleasant the more you two spent time together – perhaps his sour mood was indeed due to the king being overworked. Nevertheless, you still refused to grow attached to the man. There were rumors of his cruelty for a reason. But as the days wore on, your stubbornness was soon relenting, allowing yourself to enjoy his presence despite his mood swings that swayed like a pendulum.

And with your wedding on the horizon, perhaps the bond growing steadily between you and King Steven was a good thing.

The arrow whizzed through the air and landed centimeters away from the red center. You let out a groan as your arms slack in defeat. “I swear I’m much better,” you muttered. You were normally a great shot with your own bow – the bow that the huntsman broke when you fought against him.

The king chuckled as he took the bow from your hands. “I’m sure you are,” he teased. He drew an arrow and aimed for less than a second. When he let it go, it landed right into the center – much to your dismay. “My, I do think I’ve won.”

“You’re so humble.” He chuckled at your words. Your sarcasm was as crisp as the morning air. “But I do believe I have a redemption shot.”

Steven quirked up an eyebrow. “Of course, your highness,” he gave you a cocky smile as you grabbed the bow from him. “If you think you can beat a perfect shot.”

You hummed as you lined up your shot. You took a deep breath as you stared into the target. Your breathing was steady as you aimed. He doubted you could best him. His arrow lodged in the exact center of the target. It was a guaranteed win. Surely –

You let the arrow go and with an audible snap, Steven’s eyes widened in surprise. It was hard to tell from the distance, but it became clear as you both approached the target. “You’ve split my arrow,” he said in disbelief.

“I told you I was great a shot. Did you not believe me?” He sputtered excuses and you felt a rush of pride as a smirk found its way onto your face. “My, I do believe that I have won, your grace.”

“I concur,” he chuckled. “Took you some time to adjust to the bow, though. Perhaps, we should’ve played at even stakes from the beginning. Shall we ask a servant to fetch for your bow?”

You gave him a sad smile and shook your head. “I’m afraid I did not travel with my bow.”

“Why not?”

“Thor, the huntsman, who gave me these,” you lifted your wrists as you alluded to the cuts that were now mostly healed, “snapped my bow.”

“You never did tell me why you were fighting with Thor.”

“Perhaps it’s a story that should be told another day,” a voice called out. Lord Alexander Pierce, one of the lords of Steven’s council, bowed to you and his king. You quickly noticed Steven’s sudden change in demeanor. His smile had been abandoned as his brows furrowed and his stare hardened. You weren’t a fool. You knew that the Lords Pierce and Rumlow were almost always the cause of his aggravation. “Your grace, I’ve come to collect you. Lord Rumlow and I request a meeting with the council.”

“Has Lord Barnes and Lord Wilson been informed?”

“Yes, your grace. We are all waiting on you.”

“Can’t it wait,” you frowned. Steven glanced over at you in surprise. Ladies normally hold their tongue in the presence of the nobles. Some would’ve called your outburst impolite, but King Steven found it amusing. “The king and I were enjoying our time together before you arrived.”

“I’m afraid it cannot.” Lord Pierce simply stared through you. How dare a woman speak in that tone to me, he thought though he knew better than to snipe at his future queen – especially in front of the king.

Steven let out a sigh through his nose as his jaw clenched up in frustration. What the hell did Rumlow and Pierce want now? “I will join you later for a rematch.” He told you but you shook your head.

“I will be at one of the eastern villages later today,” you said. “I was told there was a fire last night and I wanted to provide any aid I could.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. “When I’m released, I will join you.”

“I would love that, your grace,” you nodded and curtseyed to him and walked off.

Lord Pierce sent a glare your way and as soon as you were out of earshot he said, “is everyone in that family horrendously outspoken?”

“Amusingly so, Lord Pierce.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I do not see the problem,” Steven said, squinting his eyes the two men. Lord Rumlow let out a sigh of frustration as he looked to Lord Pierce to further the argument.

“We have reason to believe that your future bride may be conspiring against you. How simpler can it get?” Lord Pierce snapped. The older man was visibly annoyed. The wrinkles around his brows and forehead visible with his frown. The king didn’t appreciate the man’s tone. “She has you galivanting in your gardens with her, playing a game with arrows. She’s keeping you from your duties.”

“Was it not you who said that the wedding should be postponed?” James scoffed.  

“Besides… she is not a distraction. We’re simply getting acquainted with one another. I do not want to marry a stranger. Not again.” The king said. He looked at the painting that hung near the door. He remembered painting that portrait of Queen Margaret, his first wife.

“The Starks cannot be trusted.” Lord Pierce added. “Not long ago, we were at war with them! Now, you trust that Anthony Stark has sent over his own daughter willingly?”

“I trust Tony.” Steven nodded. He did. Despite the disarray that plagued the north three years ago, he did trust the other king. “And his daughter has not given me any reason to doubt the Starks. She’s lovely company. Perhaps, you’re just upset that she doesn’t scare easily.” Lord Wilson and Barnes chuckled at this. Alexander Pierce took pride in his ability to bend others to his will by striking fear in their hearts – something you seemed impervious to.

“I believe we can save ourselves from King Thanos entirely.” Lord Pierce suggested. The five men fell into silence as Lord Pierce smirked, knowing he finally had their attention. “Marrying the Stark girl may unite the North, but why should we stop at just the north. Of course, but what if you marry King Thanos’s eldest daughter – the Princess Gamora. You would spare Brooken from Thanos’s wrath.”

“But that would not mean that Brooken is free from the Mad King’s tyranny! He would want Brooken as his own.” James interjected.

Steven agreed. “His daughter would slit my throat in my sleep so that my kingdom falls in her father’s hands. I will not have it.”

“Cousin, I ask that you entertain the idea,” Brock spoke. The King narrowed his eyes at his cousin as if to say as if you aren’t entertaining that idea yourself. “Acknowledge the threat and align yourself with Thanos.”

“I will not hear of this ever again.” Steven snapped. “Do you understand – all of you?” A chorus of agreement – though Brock and Alexander’s tones were not happy. “I will marry (Y/N) Stark in a week. Our marriage will unite the northern kingdoms. Unity is what we all need. Standing together with York – with the Starks – that union will help us prevail in any war.”

Alexander Pierce had been a friend to King Steven’s father. Though, Steven did not know why his father befriended the man. He found Pierce rather insufferable – always pushing an agenda that he says will “better” Brooken but in truth, only benefits himself.

It was Alexander Pierce who set up the betrothal between Queen Sharon and the king. The two had known each other for less than a day before they were wed. The marriage had not been successful for many reasons. Wanting to avoid another failed marriage – and already distrusting Alexander Pierce’s judgement – the king chose his own bride: you.

The brief meeting was adjourned. The king and his two friends hurried off to meet with you and your ladies in the village, leaving Brock and Alexander murmuring to themselves.

“That was our one opportunity. He will not hear of if again. I know my cousin. His mind is already made.” Brock muttered. “I do not see how he was made king. He’s boneless, the self-righteous arse.”

Alexander chuckled. “Oh, Rumlow, your cousin has indeed made a fine king. He’s lead Brooken to victory on the battlefield so many times. Smart one, too. He’s evaded our attempts too many times now. He’s even decided to choose his own bride instead of listening to my council. His intuition has always been on his side.”

“We cannot turn him against Stark. We cannot get him to ally with Thanos.”

“Indeed… but perhaps, we can turn his own queen against him. She must’ve already heard the rumors if not in York but here. She just needs a push.”

“»————-　⚜　————-««

When the king arrived, he had not expected the damage. The building had been burnt down. The burnt scent still hung in the air. The crowds that gathered welcomed him, bowing to their monarch.

“Your grace,” Lord Barnes muttered, getting his attention. Though the king searched for you in the crowds, he nodded to Lord Barnes to show his friend that he was listening. “This may be the first time the people see you and their future queen interact. It’s imperative to give a good impression.”

“Of course,” Steven nodded. He spotted a fiery haired woman cut through the crowds and recognizing her immediately. “Lady Natasha!” The woman stopped in her tracks as the king stalked towards her. She bowed to him and threw Lord Barnes a small smile, one he gladly returned. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Before the red head could respond, your voice rang out throughout the crowd. Steven’s head snapped in its direction to catch a glimpse of you surrounded by villagers. You were handing out various food items to his people. They were the leftovers from the feast the castle had a few nights ago.

He cracked a smile at the sight. Lord Barnes clasped his shoulder. “She will make a fine queen to your people, Steve,” he muttered under his breath.

“Indeed.” Steve felt a sense of pride in seeing you. All you were missing was a crown on your head. His heart raced at the thought. It’s only been a week and you’ve already had such an effect on the man. He stalked towards you with a smile. “Your highness, may I be of assistance?”

You smiled at him as you glanced over to the cart of food behind you. He nodded and stood with you as the both of you gave out the food to the poor. It was safe to assume his people loved you.

“We shall thank Princess (Y/N) of York for her generosity!” the king announced to the people who cheered in response. “Thank you for feeding my people, my love.” Your heart fluttered at hearing those words. You scolded yourself for the feeling. You were not to fall so quickly for the king you barely just met. In turn, Steven wasn’t sure if his words were just for show or genuine, but he was certain that you at his side would be a great addition to his reign – not to mention, he liked having you around altogether.

He snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, inhaling your scent. The smell of rose petals strong in your hair. You laughed as your hand rested on his chest as the people cheered for you both. You have definitely made a wonderful impression.

His loving stare did not go unnoticed by his friends, your ladies, and the people. This was their feature. This was Brooken’s future.

And it seemed bright.

“»————-　⚜　————-««

“I told you he’s not as bad as the rumors made him out to be,” Wanda remarked as she brushed through your hair. The water from your bath left your hair damp while your lady tried to unravel the knots.

“You two have become quite close in our short time here.” Natasha added. “It’s the early morning excursions about the property, isn’t it?”

“He’s different than I assumed, yes,” you agreed with a smile. “However, he does have his moments. I think he’s restrained himself because of our first meeting.”

“Your wounds have healed quite well.” Natasha said, taking your wrist and examining it. The wrist that Steven had grabbed was still scabbing over. The other had healed almost completely, leaving light pink scars around your wrist. “I’m sure King Steven has shown his apologies for this.”

“He’s quite cocky,” you thought aloud. “Though what man isn’t. He is a king after all. His confidence is well placed. He nearly beat me this morning in archery. Though, I split his arrow, winning the game.”

“I’ve never heard of a split arrow?” Wanda asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“It’s quite rare, I believe.” Natasha explained. “Your shot must’ve been well aimed, your highness.”

“It was.” You smirked.

“Perhaps cockiness is just a trait that all monarchs eventually develop,” Wanda chided. You three laughed. “I cannot wait until the wedding. The dress you wear will be divine.”

“I wish we could push back the wedding even further,” you confessed. You rubbed at the healing wrist nervously as you remembered about the wedding. It would occur in less than a week. You would be queen of Brooken in less than a week – Steven’s wife in less than a week. “The king and I… We may get along now, but we are still strangers. I’m afraid that this may all be an act – his kindness and his charm. He may still be the monster that I fear the rumors make him out to be.”

Natasha tsked at you as she took your hands in hers. She remembered the stare he had on you when he saw you in the village. His eyes had shined – something the portraits never showed. The glint of a promising future – a loving husband and a great king. “He looks as if he was already in love with you.” Wanda nodded in agreement. You groaned, pulling your wrists from hers. “Why am I the only one concerned about our safety?”

“Because he has not given you any reason to be concerned.” Natasha said. You lifted your scabbed wrist with your brows raised.

Before she could rebut, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” You called.

Ser Pietro opened the door and Lord Barnes walked in. Natasha suddenly stood and straightened out her dress. He bowed to you and nodded to your ladies. His stare lingered on Natasha for a few seconds longer before turning to you.

“King Steven has asked me to deliver a gift,” he smiled. He handed you a box and you cautiously took.

Was this someone’s head? No… There was no one that you could think that the king would have reason to behead. You laid the box on your bed and slowly lifted the lid. A surprised gasp left your lips as you stared at the bow. It was strikingly similar to your own.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. A note had been placed inside.

Dearest (Y/N),

Upon hearing of your broken bow this morning and reached out to the huntsman. He has a remarkable memory and gave me a detailed description of it. I had one of my talented men in the weaponry recreate it from what the huntsman could recall. It may not perfect or even what you expected, but I do hope that you will enjoy your new bow as I have enjoyed our time together.  

With much love,

Steven.

“Give the king my gratitude, my lord,” you smiled at Lord Barnes who nodded.

“Your presence at court has brought much joy to my king, to my friend.” He said. James glanced over at Natasha once more before leaving. You made a note to ask her about it later.

Wanda took the box as the ladies helped you into bed. Natasha smirked at you as if to say see? Nothing to worry about.

That night, you tossed and turned but was unable to lull yourself to sleep. You kept thinking about the bow and about the kind words in his letter. Perhaps he wasn’t as horrible after all?

Frustrated, you decided to wander about the castle in an effort to tire yourself out. With a candlestand in one hand and your robe wrapped tightly around you, you went off on your adventure.

The castle was different at night. The moonlight illuminated the corridors and left an eerie feeling in your gut. The shadows that casted upon the walls looked as if they were creatures of the night and every turn you made had you jolt in fear.

You heard faint whispers near a staircase that only went down. From your tour, you vaguely remember that this was the pathway to the dungeons underneath the grounds. You had no intention of walking down those steps until you heard a familiar voice riddled with anger. You felt goosebumps rise on your skin upon realization. It was Steven’s voice.

You crept down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Since Brooken did many things differently than York, you weren’t sure what would condemn someone to the prison. Theft? Perhaps, murder?

“Admit it,” Steven’s voice grew louder the closer you approached. You kept yourself hidden, diminishing your candle’s fire so that you would not be seen. There was a groan in response. There were several groans throughout the prison.

“Water… Please, sire,” someone begged. “We know nothing.”

“Do not lie to your king!” Another voice snapped. It was James’s.

Steven sighed. “We know the truth, but we need a confession. I will grant you freedom if you confess.” You frowned. In York, those sent to prison were given a trial before the king and the nobles of the court. It would be made known what the offense was, and the council would decide the punishment accordingly. But it seemed as if Brooken dealt with their legal affairs privately.

“I will not speak out.” The hoarse voice responded. “I will be loyal until my last dying breath.”

You heard shuffling as King Steven approached the prisoner. “Death I can arrange.” His tone was even but his threat was a promise. His rage radiated and you felt it from your hidden position. “But if you confess now, I can grant you freedom.”

“No.”

An exasperated sigh left the king. “Very well. Pull out each and every one of his teeth until he confesses.” You weren’t sure who the order was for – Lord Barnes? Was there another man there? “If he doesn’t, stretch him until his joints dislocate. Pop them into place then repeat until he confesses because I will have a confession.”

“And if he dies, your grace?”

“Turn his body to ash.” There was no remorse in his voice. There were groans of protest and begging, but the king had already made up his mind.

There were murmurs between the two men – Lord Barnes and the king – but you didn’t pay it much mind. You heard all you needed to. You rushed up the staircase and ran to your room, not caring about the maids and knights who saw you.

You slammed the door shut and ran your hand through your hair. What the hell did you just hear?

The king slowly made his way out of the prison, but suddenly stopped. He stared at the spot you were standing at minutes ago. There was a scent – one that was very different from the putrid smells of the dungeons.

A woman’s scent.

Roses.  

[krreader]

seven sins | chapter five.

pairing: bts x reader (min yoongi x reader) fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; historical!au ; princes!bts ; concubine!reader ; sex ; oral sex ; dirty talk ; spanking genre: smut word count: 2.2k+ previous: 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4

summary: even in times such as yours, you still led a privileged life with nothing to ask for. that is until first your father, then your mother died and you were left to care for your two younger sisters. the position for royal physician seemed to be open and with your father having been a general and your mother having been a maid for the queen, you thought you might be able to get it.. little did you know that your visit to the palace would put a completely different offer on the table.

a/n: this story is genuinely so easy to write, like wtf, I’m so excited with each chapter. I haven’t felt like this in a while so I truly hope you all are enjoying it

You had just taken your herbs when somebody entered your room. Thankfully, you had hid them quickly enough as to no questions being asked.

“The queen wants to see you,” the maid said with a little bow.

The queen, huh? The one person you hadn't seen at all during your stay here.

Your mother had always told you stories about her, how her bitterness had consumed her life, having to live with seven sons that were not hers. Nobody officially knew that. Your mother obviously did, because she had seen the pretend baby belly all these times, but in truth, it were consorts like you who had born the seven boys.

And, let's be real, they all did look like they had different mothers.

But why did she want to see you? As far as you knew, she didn’t mingle around consorts like you..

While you had seen the king a couple of times throughout your childhood, the queen not so much. So the chances of her remembering you were almost zero.

So what was this about?

You immediately bowed when you stood in front of her a couple minutes later, “Your Royal Highness.”

“I don't think you and I have officially met,” she smiled, yet it wasn't a genuine one, “Usually, my husband and I pick the Royal Noble Consorts for our sons together, but you, I have not had the pleasure to talk to yet.”

“It was.. a very rushed decision, your majesty.”

“Yes.. I heard. My sons were all very eager,” she got up from her throne and walked the few steps down to be face to face with you.

She grabbed your chin, turned your face from side to side and then looked you up and down.

It was as if she was mustering you.

Like you were a cow.

Disgusting, actually.

“With how many of them have you had sex yet?” she asked.

Very.. straightforward. But you could play that game too.

“Three, your majesty.”

“Three,” she repeated, “Yet, you don't seem to be with child, yet.”

“Your husband, the king, has decided that only Prince Seokjin may get me with child,” you needed an excuse and, thank you Jimin, for giving you the perfect one, “I unfortunately did not have that pleasure yet.”

“My dear Seokjin,” she sounded almost sad, but then her expression hardened again when she looked back into your eyes, “Let me ask you a question my dear. Do you think that men are fools?”

What.. question was that?

And what was this about? Her husband? Her sons? Men in general?

You had to be careful with your answer.

“I would not necessarily say that, your majesty, but I do believe us women are a lot smarter than what men take us for.”

That made her smile, “I agree. Wholeheartedly,” she turned around and walked back to her throne, “Which is why you might be able to fool my husband and sons, but me.. not so easily,” she sat back down and looked at you with her nose high in the air, “I will keep my eye on you, little one.”

This wasn't meant as an encouragement or as a caring statement.

This was a warning, or maybe even a threat.

Like she knew you were hiding something, she just wasn't sure what it was yet.

And you understood why. Other girls only slept with one Prince and got pregnant so quickly, yet you had slept with three so far and you weren't. Yes, your statement about Prince Seokjin was correct, but, again, his mother wasn't stupid. She knew that not all of the boys would care about this ‘rule’ and would just do whatever they pleased.

Then there was also the fact that you had come here within a day, skipped several consort ranks and were now one of the top ones. How? How did you do that? What was your agenda?

She might think you were an assassin, when the reality was a lot less cruel.

Yes, you were an impostor, but only because you needed to convince the king of your medical talents. This wasn't a plot to kill him, this was – if everything went according to plan – a plot to benefit him.

If the queen was already on your trail, then maybe it was time you finally catch the king and talk to him about this. Maybe dragging this out for much longer wasn't a good idea.

And so as soon as the queen dismissed you, you made your way towards the king's quarters. With the guards all knowing you by now, they let you in.. or maybe it was because the king wasn't even there.

However, there was someone there.

Someone that made you gasp.

“I don't think these are your quarters,” Prince Yoongi smiled a little, a book in his hand as he was standing in front of you, but not facing you.

You had seen him from afar a couple of times, but he had never spoken to you before. He seemed to be one of the reserved princes. Something that made him mysterious and interesting.

“I.. am looking for someone, your majesty.”

“I thought you were supposed to be here for us.. I think you might be a bit too young for my father.”

“No!” you quickly said, shaking your head, “I'm not..- that's not..-”

Yoongi chuckled and closed the book, turning around to face you, “I wasn't serious,” now that he was so close for the first time, you could really see his features. His perfect skin and hair, his smile, his eyes.. if anyone had asked you, you would have described him as a young god.

“Oh..”

“So.. what are you really doing here?”

Well, good question, wasn't it? You couldn't exactly tell him, you didn't know him enough. If you came clean to him or any of the other princes, there was no way to know what they would do with this information, neither of them knew your father like the king had known him.

So he knew you weren't here to sleep with the king, but why else could you be here then?

You straightened your back a little, then you bowed.

“I am here for you, your majesty,” smooth. Very smooth, (Y/N).

“Me? My, my,” Yoongi put away the book, then slowly approached you, “How come?”

“I was tasked with giving all seven of you pleasure, yet I've not been able to achieve that task. I would..-” you gulped down hard when his fingertips ran over your cheek, “Like to be with you.”

Yoongi couldn't help but chuckle, “You know, love, usually we ask for the concubines to come to us, not the other way around. But.. I have to say I like your forwardness. Makes you unique from the others. But then again, that's what all of my brothers have said so far. Just how unique you actually are.”

He, just like Hoseok, intimidated you in a good way. They stood tall and made you feel like you were completely theirs in that moment and you liked that.

You liked the way Yoongi's hand came up at the back of your head and pulled you close until he could kiss you. You liked the way he dominated you with something so simple.

But you had to remind yourself that you were still standing in his father's quarters and while doing it in a bed would be a nice change for once, this bed was probably a bad choice. Because while his father might scold him, he would definitely kill you for it.

Yoongi seemed to notice your hesitation and began to laugh.

“Alright. I see. Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?”

You would have assumed that like with Jeongguk, you'd just go into the nearest available – semi-quiet – room, but Yoongi took you to his room instead.

“Some of my brothers have already enjoyed their time with you.. but today,” he stood behind you, opened up your hanbok and then immediately pulled off the undergarments, “You are all mine.. understood?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

And while the rest of the princes wanted to be called by their name, Yoongi actually seemed to like it when you called him by his title.

“Bend over for me,” he whispered into your ear, shivers running down your spine, but you did so without hesitation.

You walked to his bed, bending down until your upper body was lying on his satin sheets. The coldness and softness of them against your nipples alone made you want to moan.

“We used to never talk about concubines, you know? A comment here or there, maybe, but we never had a real conversation about it,” Yoongis fingertips ran over your ass, then his hand slapped the soft skin hard, “But my younger brothers can not stop talking about you.. about how soft you felt and how warm you were. How good you felt around them.. god, I got hard just thinking about my cock being buried so deep inside of you. But I'm a good older brother, you know? I thought I'd let the younger ones enjoy themselves first,” you could hear him undress himself and the more he talked dirty like that, the more anticipation started building within you, “But you coming to me like that.. how am I supposed to refuse?”

“Please, your majesty,” you whined.

The room was silent for a moment, then Yoongi let out a dark chuckle, “Oh, you are a special one..” and with one swift move, he buried himself inside of you with absolutely zero warning, until all of his shaft disappeared.

You thought he might let you adjust to his thickness, but Yoongi was eager to feel every inch of you. His thrusts were fast and hard, his hand continuously coming down hard on your ass cheek.

You didn't even try to hide your moans this time, mostly because it was obvious that he fully enjoyed it when you screamed for him.

“How are you so tight,” he bit down on his lower lip, grabbed one of your legs and pushed it up the bed so he had a different angle he could pound into you.

And god, that angle.. that angle did it for you.

The only one you had reached your height with so far was Jimin, but now Yoongi managed to make you come within the first five minutes and you knew that you would come again since he didn't stop there.

He didn't even give you time to come down from your first height, the only two seconds of rest you got was when he turned you around and pushed you a little further up the bed so he was now looking at you while fucking you into oblivion.

He was holding up your legs, never once looking anywhere other than your eyes and while holding his gaze wasn't easy, you didn't look away either.

His eyes were dark, filled with nothing but lust and he was practically eating you up with them.

“You're a good little slut for us, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, making Yoongi chuckle.

He wasn't used to concubines talking back, but it spurred him on even more. It made him go even harder on you, it made him want to take this even further.

And there was always one thing he had wanted to try, but never dared to ask anyone.. even though the concubines were there to make him happy.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered as he pulled out of you.

While you did so without hesitation, even if confused, he continued to stroke himself.

He grinned down at you, gently brushing through your hair, before he grabbed it all and tilted your head back, “Open your mouth for me, beautiful.”

Have you done this before? No. Did your instincts kind of tell you what to do? Absolutely.

And you weren't stupid, you knew what was about to happen.

And.. you didn't hate it.

He shoved his cock inside of your mouth, letting out the longest and most pleasurable sounding moan you had ever heard in your life.

It was clear that you weren't experienced, but he didn't seem to be either. This was new for both of you, so you just experimented a little. You listened to his moans that got louder each time you sucked a little harder, each time your tongue slid over the base of his cock and each time you kissed his balls.

A part of him wanted to drag this out longer just because the feeling was so new and exciting, but soon he couldn't control himself anymore.

The sensation he was feeling, the power he felt in that moment.. it was all too overwhelming.

“I'm..- I'm going to..-” he tried to warn you, but you didn't even pull back, despite knowing what was about to happen.

And fuck, that turned him on even more.

He came so hard, spilled himself fully inside of your mouth and even though the taste was bitter and it felt weird, you just.. gulped it down. Part of you thought it would be rude to spit his.. royal seed out. That sounded weird, but it was true.

And Yoongi loved that.

It made him feel like you fully were his, even if just for a moment.

His chest was heaving heavily, his face completely flushed, but he pulled you back up and gently wiped over your mouth with his thumb.

“Stay with me.. the entire day,” he whispered, “I want you again.. and again.. and again,” he grinned, pushing you back onto his bed.

And then all that could be heard from within his rooms were your giggles, mixed with the occasional moans. 

[annaofthenorthernlights]

It´s your life

Chapter 4 Thrill

A short drop of a sweet Kristanna surprising trip (Modern AU)

Rating for this chapter: M (some little sexual occasion for the start)

Word counting: 2070

Previous chapters (on AO3)

Note: This chapter was so much fun to write - hope you enjoy! 😊

Summary: This trip turns out to be the surprise of the century to Anna – and Kristoff´s as well… He hadn´t thought in his dreams of the outcome but plays along for Anna. Wouldn´t he do anything for her…? 😊

Anna woke up early, unusual for her – but then, she had been so excited and had swayed between waking and sleeping. There was still time to nap. So, she would snug her blankets cosily around her, ravishing in the realisation of where she was, where they were! Kristoff had turned towards her, still asleep, so relaxed, so peaceful.

Ah, he had been such a charm last night. They had cuddled and started to watch some comedy movie (yes, the pioneer-room did accommodate a TV!), but then had fallen asleep, tired from the drive and all.

Anna thought of how lucky she was and how blessed she felt to found herself with a boyfriend of such integrate and truthful character. He deserved all the best in the world. If only she could prove to be the perfect match just for that reason. At least, she could try to return her love and gratefulness the best she could. And a flick of thought crossed her mind, sending a warm feeling down her body. She knew, what good deed she could offer.

Anna huddled herself a bit closer to Kristoff, and softly kissed his cheek, all the while running a tender hand along his neck and shoulder, and down his upper arm. He had his eyes closed, but his arm would reach out and over her waist. Anna shifted herself comfortably, just to move her hand along his ribcage beneath the blanket and down to his hips. She squeezed the muscular sides of his upper thighs and then moved along to give her beloved a tender stroke along his still relaxed manhood. The young woman smiled when her man opened lazily eyes and responded with a grin, “good morning beautiful. Up to some mischief already?”

“Sorry for waking you up,” she whispered.

“No, you´re not.” He remarked drowsy, but pulled her closer, while Anna increased her massage, the result of a hardening cock within her palm pleasing her, giving her some thrills in return. She would pull at the hem band of Kristoff´s pyjama shorts to free him of the fabric, just to continue her morning greeting.

By now, Kristoff was fully awake, getting active himself. He caressed her breast, tenderly encircling her nipple with his thumb, while he moved his other hand around her neck into her hair. He leaned in to kiss her tentatively first, just to increase the pressure of his lips.

Anna loved those passionate moments, even if they couldn´t get coital as she had hoped for. But the gift of loving hands was a thrill that must be cherished just as it was. A moment of close intimacy, being there for each other. So, she happily continued her loving stroke, sensing the pulsating excitement within his hard and throbbing cock, while Kristoff caressed her breast. And it would never fail to fascinate them both that they moved in the same rhythm, like a fine-tuned duet, right up to the moment of his release. And for some even more fascinating reason, feeling his relief would send a shiver down to her centre, like she was sensing an orgasm herself.

***

When they left their room for breakfast, Anna was that excited, she nearly skipped along the way.

Kristoff decided to share her enthusiasm like a new experience. She had shown so much interest for his stuff, he could afford a day of illusional and fictive characters hopping and dancing around him, and occasionally being asked to hug an oversized bunny, bear, mouse, or even that crazy snowman, who loved hugs above all since that famous Disney movie was out a few months ago… what was it called again?

They had nearly finished their breakfast, when a man came up to their table and asked if he could talk to them for a moment. He introduced himself as Mathias, head of the artistic program. Kristoff and Anna exchanged a puzzled look, shrugging and then turning to wait for Mathias to continue. The waitress brought a coffee for the man and he would tell them his concern.

“You remember Honeymaren, your waitress last night?” They nodded.

“Well, I was glad she rang me up. You two seem the perfect couple I was desperately looking for.” Another puzzled look. Mathias would explain.

“I guess, you know that there will be a parade at midday, and then againg to bid the guests farewell before closing time early evening?” They nodded.

“Now, there is my problem. We have a scheduled cast for this part of program. There are the “active” show-people, like dancers and artists, and there are the “passive” participants, like the characters driving the carts or standing on the platforms. There is this one cart, where my scheduled couple for this weekend is prevented of attending. She had an accident and remains in the hospital till next week, while he got a call and had to leave for some family urgency. I can´t reach the other staff that´s on the list and then last night, Honeymaren called me up to have the perfect people at her table. The amazing thing is. You two don´t even need any wigs or great make up – you guys look like dropped right out of the movie.”

Another puzzled look.

“I ask you to join in for today and tomorrow. All you must do, is to sit on that sled and smile, wave to the people and act friendly with each other. If you agree, I will see to it that you get this whole weekend for free and a little honorary would be paid as well. So, what you say?”

Kristoff and Anna exchanged another bewildered look. Kristoff narrowed his eyes, while Anna´s eyes widened with excitement. He could literally read her mind… So, he just had to make sure one thing.

“And you say, we only have to sit on whatsoever and smile and wave at people?”

Mathias nodded enthusiastically, “yes – and “act friendly” with each other.”

Ah well then… Even if he had been asked, he couldn´t have thought of a better surprise for her than such a… surprise…

So, what movie would they be part of?

“Frozen”

***

He felt silly, but he wouldn´t admit it aloud, because he didn´t want to ruin it for Anna.

Gosh, she looked so pretty in that blue dress, black bodice and purple cape and ear warmers, and then those blue mittens. Genuinely like that snow queen’s princessherself!

Anna had stood mouth agape when she had spotted Kristoff. He looked stunning in that northern mountain man outfit. Simply hot!

They got seated on this oversized sledge, that would move on hidden wheels, with this gigantic reindeer placed in the front. Behind them there sat an over dimensional snowman, Olaf, grinning broadly down on them. Right before their sled there was another waggon, with a huge sort of ice castle on top of it. On its platform there stood the ice queen herself. Right now, she stood facing them, laughing, and waving, with a mischievous grin on her face. Honeymaren! She was casted for that role for the midday parade, while in the evening she worked in the Casino. Anna had bounced like a child around the Christmas tree when they got introduced to their queen.

Then the parade´s trail started to move. They were somewhere in the middle of the row, so there was still some time to observe the ongoing in front of them.

Kristoff couldn´t help but admit, that the moment was prickling with all the people cheering at them. For sure, no one would believe him. The excitement lay within the air. Anna was so happy. She beamed and giggled, bounced on her seat next to him, all close and her arm in his. She was completely lavishing in the moment of this dream. When Kristoff looked at her, he couldn´t help but smile and lay his arm around her. Mathias had said that they should act friendly with each other. No problem, he could do this. He wouldn´t care about people watching and bend down to pull her close into a passionate kiss. The public roared with cheers for the beloved princess and her ice master hero of the latest movie hit!

Little did they know that today´s celebration was recorded by TV channels because of the opening of the newest resort´s section.

****

While Elsa sat with Runeard Rendelle over the agenda of upcoming meetings, Rosa, their housemaid, came running into the library. “Miss Rendelle! Please, you must come and see!”

Rosa had put on the TV in the kitchen and had stumbled over the news of reopening Disneyland´s newest section. The parade was just on and when she had spotted some special cart, she had not trusted her eyes.

Elsa stared at the screen and meanwhile had fumbled for a chair to sit down.

It could not be. Dear God, no, that could not be. That must be some people with an outstanding masking, hairstylist or whatsoever. But when the princess smiled into the just zooming in camera, all unknowing of being filmed, Elsa recognised her sister´s smiling eyes. It hit the elder sister, that the younger looked so genuinely happy. The sight was of short durance, when the camera zoomed back in further distance and at the same time, the blond man sitting next to her bend down to kiss Anna full heartedly.

Rosa gasped aloud, exclaiming excitedly, “Oh mi, que romantico!”

Elsa still stared at the screen, then at Rosa, and back at the screen. Meanwhile the camera had taken focus on Rapunzel and Eugene, who walked happily together, hopping to the people standing close by along the alley.

“What was that?”

Elsa startled at the voice behind her and turned sharply around to see her grandfather standing in the doorway. He had followed her and had seen it all, though not understanding where and what this scene meant to be.

***

The evening before she had tried to explain to Runeard Rendelle about Anna´s whereabout without being to specific of where Kristoff had taken her. Her grandfather still disliked the idea of his granddaughter befriending a less fortunate, like this man.

He would not hear anymore of it and said that Elsa would not need to defend her sister. He would deal with her in his ways. For the time being of the dinner´s event, they would tell their guests that Anna was “mentally” absorbed and didn´t feel well, all exaggerated before exams. She would be fit to show herself to them after the turmoil of passing with merit. That, he was convinced, everyone would understand.

Now, he was just furious. He could have dealt with Anna´s silliness of running around with a good-looking young man, that treated her like a princess. But acting and dressing up like a fairy tale girl within a bunch of fantasy characters… Who did she think she was?

Elsa tried to calm him down and remark that there must for sure be some reasonable explanation.

Again, he wouldn´t hear any of it and demanded Elsa to leave him alone. He then picked up the phone and started dialling a number. Elsa was still standing there, when her grandfather motioned her with a snack of his head that she should leave the room now.

Elsa turned to go and when she closed the door behind her she just overheard him calling his friend´s name. The family solicitor.

***

The parade would take about an hour to last for the whole tour. There would still be plenty of time to explore the parc once they had peeled themselves out of the costumes in the staff sector. Honeymaren had come up to them before, apologising for her “secret attack”. Anna had laughed and joked that next time, she would bring her sister along and then, she could join Honeymaren on the cart!

Mathias had shown up, congratulating, and thanking them once more for their jumping in. Everything was arranged and they´d be handed a pay-check at the reception of their hotel.

Anna was still exaggerated with the adrenalin running through her when they moved on towards the public alleys.

Kristoff grinned and stretched, feeling a great relief for having redressed in his jeans and comfy shirt.

“So then, my princess, what´s next on your plan?”

Anna grinned up at him, flinging her arms around his neck for a brief and sheepish kiss.

“Splash Mountain!”

[siremasterlawrence]

Harem’s Tale’s # 1: The Teacher’s Ghost.

Part 1

This is the moment of truth when it all came to fruition, all I have to do is wait for my puppet slave, and I am a graduate student in absolute love and it’s my Professor. My final exams for my graduation program with my favorite kind professor in hand. “Here it is Professor Kindler check it out, and listen to vibrational sounds of my mind wiper.” I suggest to him.

The device in my hand is place gently on the tip of table, and presented as mind mapping unit to enhance ones mental capabilities. It in a sense it can do that as long as I seem to do so, but in reality it unleashes the inner identity of any human. Unfortunately, or fortunately for most people inner desires can sometimes be so outlandish.

“That is right you are a Professional, a young Professor at a noteworthy university, and you are about to take a taste of forbidden fruit a student.” I begin guiding him from his office to his home where he takes off his shirt laying on in his bed. His thoughts drift off to the events of the night, should he dare go where he is told not too.

Part 2

His thoughts are soon vacate at the sound of his cellphone vibrating, he leans a bit a soft yank to pick it up. He clicks his cell the text comes straight through brighter the laptop lit in the corner. He sighs annoyed with himself yet he so hot, he rises to his feet stretch his body. He yawns grabbing his laptop he ponder to himself a bit.

“ A student, a professor, kinky, and forbidden fruit.” Is all he can say thinking of texts over again running through his mind, he strips naked heading in to the bathroom, and the games begin. A hour later the bathroom door opens blowing out steam, he enters his bed room with a one track mind, and quickly gets lost staring in the mirror.

“I want this so bad, I want this so much, I need you, and I want you.” The words flood out of his mouth as he cries hard, his feet give out falling to the ground, and he lays there with no agenda in sight. His eyes close as he slips in to a dream world, a smile crept on his face as he rises mindless, and his subconscious cleans up nicely. He crack a smile one more time then he is off to the unknown.

Part 3

“I can’t believe I am doing this with you my.... my student. You are the love my life everything to me.” He says rubbing his hands together he winks at me, his hand touches my knees rubs them hard, and then he leans in to kiss me on the lips. We begins to make out his arm drape over my shoulder. He loves me more then all the things in the world.

The waiter walks over with our orders for the night laying on the table, I kiss him again one more with so much love on me, and he sits back down. We eat our dinner slowly keeping our eyes one each other, our eyes connect in more than one way, and we fall deeper in love than anything. The night goes on, we pay our bill, and he drives off home.

“ I am truly, absolutely in love with you, and leg me consume myself in you forever.” He says laying in utter happiness.” I hear him say as I get up walking behind his mindless state of power, and I begin to give him a massage on his shoulder. I bend a bit over his shoulders inhaling his scent, I lick his neck tasting the sweetness of his neck, and I nipple down.

Part 4

“Ok professor Jack Kindle wake up to being the new man you are, I am the love of your life, and I am always the man you wanted.” I take a time whispering in his ears, I like them letting his taste settle on my tongue, and I watch him sigh in happiness with the bliss covering all of his face. “Are you ok Professor Jack Kindle? Wake up come on time to release yourself back to the reality.” I jiggle him back.

“Yeah! I am fine babe this is an easy A you don’t have to worry about it, come here babe let me give you a kiss, and let’s dance a bit my love.” He says wiggling his fingers for me to get over to his side as we dance a bit more, and more swigging to the side of the room. I pin him to the wall hard kissing him, I drop his pants beginning to impale my dick in to his ass hard.

We lose it in our lust demanding him to write my grade in, quickly rush to get dress so we can head out, and we jump in his car driving of in to the sunset. “Will you let me serve only you?” He lets the word slip leaving the major question in the air, I smile agreeing to it with such excitement.

The end.

[wellhellsbelles]

hey! i love everything you write and can't wait for the next chapter of ttroywh. i saw you're taking prompts and i was wondering if you could write one i saw in @rickibowen saying that riley and maya go to the bachelor and riley's supposed to fall in love with lucas but falls in love w/ farkle who is the camera man/editor of the show and she always tries to make him laugh by making faces during one on one interviews and so, while lucas and maya fall in love w/ each other

hope you don’t mind me cutting it short! i don’t know much about the bachelor and would’ve liked to expand more but the internet is not good at gleaning info on the process 😅 so here’s my take on as much of that au as i could!

enjoy!

Farkle took the dumb job by chance.

 Well, he did apply for it, but he never thought he’d actually get the job. In all honesty, he figured his small degree in video production wouldn’t end up fruitful, that it was only really a backburner type of deal. He still did believe that—he was going to pursue something in science, that he was adamant of. He just needed . . . a break from it (“Even geniuses need to take care of their mental health,” his mother had told him.) So he pursued videography, something that had become a sort of hobby to him, and when the summer arrived and he needed cash, he figured he’d apply for this job just for kicks.

Farkle never believed he’d end himself up on the set of The Bachelor, not in a million years.

It was sort of surreal, the whole atmosphere that followed such an illustrious television show. Farkle never bought into the appeal of the show, especially since it seemed silly to drag all these girls along just for some pretty boy to tell them they weren’t “the one”. It just seemed cruel, but then again, who was he to judge? He was earning money off of taping their dreams getting crushed, after all.

The first day on set was a barrage of sensory overload—so many voices, faces he needed to commit to memory, an itinerary of equipment he’d be handling . . . there was just so much. He was halfway tempted to run when he started becoming overwhelmed, but he remembered himself, breathing in and out until he’d maintained a sense of calm.

Farkle could do it. He would do it. There was no way he was backing out now.

The preparation for the show was massive, but then the first day of filming arrived right under his nose. Profiles he’d studied of both the bachelor and the ladies he would be choosing from were going to quickly turn to reality, no longer just faces on a page. He knew he wouldn’t be making friends or anything of that ilk, but he did want to at least talk to people, especially since he’d be the one on the other side of the camera for most of the shooting.

Farkle was going to be the main guy they all report to when it’s time to film their confessions, maybe secrets that would be aired on television but no one else on set would know until later. No one but him, which he was well aware was a heavy burden to carry. But then again, it was reality television—who said anything anyone reveal was actually real? The contestants weren’t getting paid for anything, so truth was muddied at best.

But somehow, despite all of this mess being, well, a mess, Farkle could still say he was excited at the prospect of taking part of something big. This was his shot at obtaining a glimpse a slice of a life he’d never experienced before, and he couldn’t wait to see how it all turned out.

 //

 “I can’t believe you talked me into this dumb mess. This is your fault,” Maya groaned from beside Riley as the other girls with them in the limo talked animatedly.

“My fault? How was I supposed to know they’d pick both of us for this show? Besides, you’re the one who submitted your application while we were drunk! You could’ve backed out at anytime and you know it, Hart,” Riley said accusingly. “Besides, we’ll have fun! You need some in your life.”

“I feel like I’m being pimped out by a bunch of white guys to another white guy. I hate this,” Maya slumped down further in her seat. “And they took my phone, too! How am I supposed to entertain myself?”

“Don’t you draw? Just do that. I know you brought your sketchbook,” Riley suggested. Maya shook her head.

“Nope. Not going to happen. I am not advertising my art for the world to see. One of those dumb cameramen are going to sneak up on me and do it without my permission, I just know it.”

“Suit yourself,” Riley shrugged, turning her attention to the rest of the girls in the car. She knew there was a camera in the car with them and that the producers would prefer it if she engaged in conversation about the bachelor, but she’d rather just lay low. She’d try and play it up for them later after she’d seen him up close and personal.

But Maya did have a point. Why was she doing this again? It really was a decision she made on a whim, but unlike Maya, her decision was made completely sober.

The Bachelor had been one of her favorite guilty pleasure shows that she watched over the years, but she had never once entertained the idea of actually becoming a contestant. Perhaps it was when her long-term boyfriend broke up with her that spurred her interest, maybe she just needed something new and this was it. Whatever the case, she had been picked along with her best friend, and wherever Riley went, Maya followed.

She couldn’t be too mad, anyhow—the bachelor they had picked was incredibly handsome.

His name was Lucas Friar, born and raised in Texas. Everything about him sounded like a dream come true, but she kept a smidgeon of skepticism about him just in case the show had encouraged a little truth bending for the sake of appeal. Still, she couldn’t deny that his extensive list of positive qualities all seemed a little too good to be true.

He sounded like a true, southern gentleman, the kind that would meet you at the door and talk to your parents before escorting you out on a date. A lionhearted and loyal friend, the testimonies in his profile had mentioned. A guy who is just so down to earth you can’t help but fall for him. Loves animals of all kinds and is working hard to become a veterinarian. His experience of being raised on a farm spawned his interest in animal care.

If Riley could swoon, she would. She still might, after meeting him.

For the rest of the ride, Riley tried her best to pitch in with the “bachelor talk” the other girls were participating in. She wasn’t too terrible at it, but getting Maya to participate was another thing entirely. Despite making it onto the show and agreeing to be there (Riley told her she didn’t need to say yes to being a contestant! At this point, she’s almost certain Maya agreed for her own personal agenda that Riley’s not privy to), she refuses to play along.

After what felt like an eternity of a car ride, they made it to the mansion they’d be staying at for the duration of their stint on the show. They asked Riley to be the first one out of the limo, something that floored Riley.

First limo, first out—they had a good feeling about Riley, was what that meant. She’d watched enough of The Bachelor to know that the first person to meet the bachelor was important; it was his first impression, the real start of the show, and it meant the producers were rooting for her.

So, no pressure.

Her meeting with Lucas passed by her in a flash, but she had a good feeling about it. He found her slight awkwardness endearing and by just interacting with him, she felt as though there was a certain energy between them. Of course, she’d never been the best at reading situations, but something told her that it was right for her to be on The Bachelor.

After meeting him, she waited in the main room as the other girls got to have their own interaction with Lucas, trying to not feel nervous as they all piled in together. They chatted amongst each other, but Riley couldn’t help but notice Maya hadn’t joined her yet.

Must be the producers, she admonished in her mind.

She wasn’t allowed to keep wondering, however, as a distraction was sent her way. One of the producers walked in, announcing that they were going to start filming confessionals and called Riley up to be the first.

“We just need you to talk about Lucas a little, maybe your experience so far,” he explained as he ushered her off to another room. “Be yourself, but also realize this is television, yeah?”

“So be myself but not really myself?” Riley blurted. The producer nodded.

“Bingo, you’ve got it. Now go in there and kill it.”

With a slight push, Riley entered the confession room, the door closing shut behind her. There was a guy already in there scrawling down notes onto a clipboard, his focus undeterred until the door closing alerted him to her presence.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he muttered, setting the clipboard down. He turned toward her with a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Riley couldn’t help but feel bad for him. It seemed less like he was trying to be a professional and more like he didn’t want to be there at all.

“Hey, I know this is a weird request, but what’s your name? I’d like to get to know everyone around here, even if I just last a day,” Riley said. The cameraman’s stormy blue eyes lit up in surprise.

“You want to know my name? No one wants to know my name,” he told her. Now it was Riley’s turn to frown.

No one here wanted to know his name? But he was helping make the show. Was the whole production team for The Bachelor really that callous?

“Well, I do. Here, I’ll start—I’m Riley Matthews,” she beamed, sticking her hand out towards him. He hesitated a moment before enveloping her dainty hand with his, the warmth comforting.

“Farkle Minkus. I’ll be your cameraman for a lot of this run, but mostly just the confessional stuff.”

“Glad to have met you, Farkle.”

After breaking the handshake, it still took Farkle a moment to gain his footing and Riley couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, so you’ll sit at that seat right there,” he gestured in front of him to the empty chair, “And you’ll have to give me a moment to set the lighting right on you and then make sure sound is good.”

Riley did as she was told, waiting patiently in her seat as he shuffled about the room. She observed him scrambling about, heart warming at the awkward way he appeared to be moving. It reminded her of herself when she was anxious.

After a few minutes, Farkle was ready, giving her a countdown to begin.

“Just start talking about your first impression of Lucas, okay?” he instructed.

“Okay,” Riley nodded. She watched in silence as he started the countdown audibly, switching to counting with his fingers when they reached three. Then two, followed by one.

Showtime, she said to herself.

 //

 At the end of the first night, Maya was the first to get a rose. Riley wasn’t surprised one bit—Maya had a sort of charm about her and people couldn’t help but be drawn to her. It always surprised her when that happened, and that night was no exception to the rule. As someone who was also competing, Riley couldn’t help but feel a touch jealous, but more than anything, she was proud of her friend.

Despite Maya receiving the first rose, though, Riley did get quite a bit of time to spend with Lucas. He was shy and reserved, yet cheerful and inviting, and they got along quite well. If Riley was a spectator, she’d bet good money on herself.

But her time outside of filming scenes was spent hanging around Farkle. He didn’t really believe her when she said she wanted to get to know the people working on the show, so she was determined to prove him wrong, especially since she just kept being picked by Lucas. Each day, she’d greet Farkle when she’d spot him by the refreshments table set up for the crew, she’d ask how he was when he was there to film her confessions, and just do her best to cheer him up since he always looked down.

“You know you’re going to get me fired, right?” he asked her one day after they filmed a scene. “You keep making faces at me and I’m trying so hard to not laugh but I swear, Riley.”

“Is it making you laugh?” she said, curious.

“Yes, oh my god! They’re going to have to cut so much of that out not just for your dumb faces, but me interrupting their audio,” he groaned. Riley smiled.

“Good. Then I won’t stop!”

“Relentless, Riley Matthews, that’s what you are. And a pain in my ass.”

Riley liked getting to film The Bachelor, but as the days passed by, she had a feeling it was less because of her wanting to be on the actual show and vying for Lucas’ attention, and more due to the fact that Farkle was there.

And if halfway through the filming process Lucas ended it because he’d picked Maya (and she picked him too, shockingly), Riley couldn’t find it in her to be sad.

She had found Farkle, after all, so really she was the true winner of the game.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Private Chat Log - 11/30

Follow-up to the argument that Alastor and Valera started a few days ago at movie night. TL;DR: they don't hate each other, but Alastor's not as keen on going out of his way to make friends with Valera as he was before.

Valera

Ah, how incredibly comforting to be back in the familiar territory of not quite knowing where one stands with the local radio demon. And by comforting, one of course means, not remotely comforting in the slightest. But that's hopefully going to change today, if things go well. Stepping into the agreed on location, Valera plasters a smile on their face and offers a friendly fin waggle.

"Alastor."

Alastor

Alastor stands the moment Valera enters—same room as last time, seemed easiest that way. What’s one room compared to another in an empty hotel, anyway? “Valera.”

Valera

They step closer. Not close enough to be within the zone of offering the dreaded handshake, but better than shouting across the room at each other. "So, shall we stand here in front of all these chairs and exchange pleasantries, or get right to it then? I believe I was meant to pelt you with questions, as I put it."

Alastor

Alastor holds up a hand. “Before you start,” he says somberly—as somberly as he can, at any rate, with that smile—“I have something I need to tell you.”

Valera

"Oh? Alright then, I'm listening." Their interest is piqued. What could Alastor have to say that was so important?

Alastor

Alastor straightens himself, adjusts his monocle, clears his throat, and begins with the tone of a consummate professional reading the news on air:

“The leading political story out of England in the year 1910 was the death of King Edward VII and his succession by his son King George V on May 6th—although perhaps of greater historical importance was the introduction of the House of Commons’ bill to remove the House of Lords’ legislative veto, which the next year would culminate in the Commons gaining supremacy over the Lords. There were several strikes of note, the largest being a coal miners’ strike beginning in November—it resulted in several days of rioting and lasted ten months, and the strike only ended when the government enacted a minimum wage. Among the suffragist movement—the part you’ve been waiting for, I know!—after seven years of increasingly violent protests and demonstrations, the Women’s Social and Political Union saw hope in the introduction of an act that would allow a million women to vote—only for it to get stuck in political limbo due to budget issues resulting from that tiff between the Commons and Lords. When the WSPU attempted to march on Parliament in protest on what would come to be known as Black Friday, the courageous ladies were met with violence, from both civilians and police, that frankly is unfit to repeat on air. Some three hundred suffragettes were arrested and two died. In the future, the WSPU would shift back to airing their grievances in a more hit-and-run manner, such as via bricks through windows. And finally, in a subject near and dear to my own heart, the very first arrest was made on the basis of orders sent via wireless telegraphy, another step on the road toward the full maturation of radio.”

He waits with his hands clasped behind his back, smirking.

Valera

It takes a moment for them to even remember why he was suddenly rattling off 1910 news, and another few to process the information because, damn it all, they *were* still curious despite themselves.

Several seconds of silence follow Alastor's monologue, Valera quietly staring at him as their face remains carefully neutral. Followed by a slow, deep inhale, and exhale. Another few moments of quiet pondering.

Then their lip twitches, and all Hell breaks loose as they start CACKLING hard enough to nearly fall over, hands clutching their stomach as they bend over double. Oh, no, there they go actually. 300 some pounds of fish struggling to land on a couch before their limbs give out. Congratulations, Alastor, you've downed the Autocrat of Okkylk.

Alastor

Right now he’s the envy of who-knows-how-many ambitious alien politicians.

He’d been worried how that one was going to end. That, he knew, could have very well ended the discussion before it had a chance to start. But he thought the bit was so funny it was worth taking the risk. A performer to the end.

He’s lucky Valera agreed. He half bows—thank you, thank you—then takes a seat across from Valera to wait for them to recover.

Valera

A few weak coughs, a rattling breath, and Valera sits up to scrub at their face. Alright, alright. They're good. It's fine. Or maybe not, the second they lay eyes on him they start giggling all over again.

"Alastor you *smug little know it all*. That was beautifully done."

Alastor

Another half bow from his seat. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

Valera

"I'm sure you will be, considering you live here." They pause. "DO you live here? I've actually got no idea if you stole one of the hotel rooms the way Penny did or if you commute over here from some secret house of yours."

Alastor

“Oh, goodness, no! Wouldn’t that be sad, to live in a *hotel* of all places.” He quickly makes a placating gesture. “Exceptions made for temporary residences while repairing a damaged home, of course. No, I only work here, just like Husk and Niffty.”

Valera

"Is that sad? I wouldn't know. I've only ever lived in either a nursery in a military compound on the moon, or an assortment of palaces that I inherited from dead people." If they had any tea, they'd be politely sipping it. Unfortunately, they have to settle for shrugging their shoulders like some savage. "I figured Niffty had a nest of towels in a cupboard somewhere that she crawled into at night. Maybe with a Live Laugh Love sign tacked to the backboard."

Alastor

“It is for humans.” He pauses. “Americans, at any rate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she does, truth be told, but I’ve hardly had a reason to check!”

Valera

"Huh! You'd think it'd be a luxury. Shows what I know." But who has time to worry about how sad it may or may not be to live in a hotel? That's not what they were there for. "Regardless! Thank you for the history lesson. I do appreciate it, genuinely. I'd completely forgotten the initial question."

Alastor

“Of course! Always happy to educate.” He sobers up a bit. “But I’m sure that’s not one of the questions you wanted to ask me.”

Valera

"No, but before I get into the questions, there *are* a few things I want to say." They sigh, tucking themselves against the arm of the couch and pulling their legs up. A coil of their tail, and Alastor is sitting across from a neat little bundle of fish.

"Pentious keeps me up to date on your conversations. Not *specifics*, of course, but anything significant tends to come up. And with that in mind, I want to thank you. You've been a good friend to him. I know you don't need my thanks of all things, but I've seen the way your influence has helped him, and I'm grateful regardless."

Alastor

Oh, damn, now he’s self conscious. Awkward smile. Which things are they alluding to? And is the praise about to be followed up by a *However...*? “Of course. After all, it’s what he deserves! That, and... so much more besides.”

Valera

They hold up a hand. "You're right! And before your mind goes racing anywhere, there's no hidden agenda here, I'm not about to follow up with scolding or demand that anything change. I'm just grateful that my spouse has a friend in you. Your conversation last night, for example. It got him to open up more. Which, frankly speaking, is incredible. Three months ago he'd have never."

Alastor

Three months ago, Alastor would never have either. "Ah, well, you know, I do have a way with people." Deflect that praise. What else is he supposed to do with it, say "thank you" again? (He didn't say "thank you" the first time either, but he sort of feels like he implied it.)

Valera

"That you do." Now now Alastor, what did we learn about assuming and implications? But no matter, Valera seems content to leave that conversation where it is. "Now, as far as questions go, I don't have as many as you may think. Most were answered a few minutes into our conversation, luckily for both of us. Before I completely dominate the conversation, did you have anything to say or ask aside from a summary of 1910 English politics?"

Alastor

"Not at the moment." Maybe later, depending on how this went; but that was conclusion stuff, not introduction stuff.

Valera

"Good! In that case, I'll be as direct as possible. Some of these questions will be obvious, try not to be insulted. I'm taking not assuming things literally until I've got confidence in my baseline." Valera shifts, still wrapped in their own tail but leaning in towards Alastor. "Assuming this conversation goes well, would you like to try being friends again, or would you prefer to avoid each other in a civilized fashion?"

Alastor

Alastor makes a thoughtful clicking sound. Well, there's the bulk of what he'd planned to address himself. "At this point? Neither, per se. I don't see any reason to avoid you—but I can't say that I'm currently thrilled by the thought of *trying* to be friends. The whole putting in effort part." A wan smile. "I haven't gotten very good returns on my investments, you see."

Valera

They raise an eyebrow. "That's fair. I wouldn't expect you to go pay to get thrown down the stairs again. What would you have us do then?"

Alastor

"Oh... The same as we've been doing, I suppose. If we're going to end up friends, we'll get there eventually."

Valera

Hum.. "That seems like the most reasonable approach. Alright, next up. Do you plan on ever telling Pentious about your feelings, or is this going to be one of those 'to your grave' scenarios?"

Alastor

Alastor suppresses a grimace. Is that *relevant* to this conversation?

But fine. It's not like he's never thought about it. "If there's ever a point where it will do more good than harm, I'll tell him then. I don't know how it works on your world, but here among us humans, friendships don't tend to last when unequal emotions get exposed. I *want* him to know—but then we'll both be short one friend. And he doesn't have room to lose any."

He shrugs, his gaze on some piece of boring generic hotel wall art. "Fifty-fifty odds it won't be relevant for long anyway—so why ruin what little time we've got left? If everything goes right, I'll be gone and the person that will replace me will be just as happy to be his friend without the uneven attachment. He'll *find out* then," Alastor laughs wryly, "but it won't be aimed at *him* anymore."

Valera

They bite their tongue before they can start pointing out their ongoing friendship with at least three people with feelings for them, it always sounds too self congratulatory when it gets brought up. Instead, how about they just nod along and let Alastor explain his side of things? That's *much* more helpful.

"You've got a point. Though I suppose part of me is still worried that the replacement you that comes to be wont be as good a friend to him as the you he knows now. Perhaps that's irrational. This isn't me trying to get out of it, mind you, this is me asking for reassurance. Do you truly believe this alternate path of yourself will be as good a fit for my beau?"

Alastor

And that's a question he's been trying *not* to think about. He's quiet longer this time as he considers it.

"Your fiancé will be my second priority. And I won't be able to directly empathize with his lowest lows. But, I won't have had half a century to get used to *seeing* him so low—so the biggest risk is that as soon as I find out the story, I'll go eviscerate my duplicate." He huffs. "And I'll be a less wretched person myself. That should help." He hopes.

"I'll be leaving a message for myself to receive after everything's changed. If I can't trust advice from my own self, then who can I trust advice from? But—I can't give a 100% guarantee. The person I was fifty-four years ago would be his friend, but I can only make educated guesses about what I'll be like after fifty-four years to grow in a completely different direction."

Valera

It wasn't the reassuring, resounding yes they were hoping for, but life is rarely so comfortably absolute. Valera frowns, a hand wrapping around one of their barbels to gently worry at the scales. Sorry Alastor, Valera's out here ready to ask questions they really shouldn't.

"... Alright. I suppose that will have to do. It isn't ideal, but it's the best either of us could do in that set of circumstances. Though the idea of you hearing yourself out and then immediately ready to go engage in some fisticuffs with yourself is funny. You're one of the people I see *avoiding* getting involved in fights when possible."

Alastor

"To be frank, the only thing that kept me from trying to exterminate him when I heard the story is the fact that I did the same thing."

He would have liked to offer a resounding yes. Under the circumstances, Alastor thought honesty would be the more courteous option. "Just don't be careless with your half in hopes of sparing your fiancé the disappointment. Remember who's the one who suffers if this fails—and I don't mean me."

Valera

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you. If anyone betrayed Penny now that I'm involved, I'm pretty sure I'd try to smite the bastard two steps in."

They shake their head, waving their hand reassuringly. "I've got no intentions of throwing our deal, Alastor. It's a fifty fifty shot, but I'm going to do my best to help you fix things. Hopefully it all works out, everyone walks away happy, and we all talk very nicely about how great our respective snakes are while they preen in the background."

Alastor

The possibility sounds unreal. "Hopefully." Trying to think about it too hard fills him with a vague sense of dread—the better it sounds, the less he feels like they have the slightest chance of achieving it.

So don't think about it too hard. "You had other questions?"

Valera

"Ah, yes. Lets not linger too much on that. Lest the universe listen in and brace itself." They shift, stretching a single leg out until it shakes before curling back into their little ball. Yes, very good.

"Alright. Let me see... Those teacups. Did you make those? Buy them? They're very nice."

Alastor

"Oh! The ones with the fingers and eyeballs?" This is a weird-ass interrogation. "No, I stole them! Aren't they lovely? Very lifelike!"

Valera

"Oho! Magnificent. Have you animated any of them to skitter around yet? It seems like it'd be great for a laugh."

... Wait, they were supposed to be asking *serious* questions, weren't they? Ahem. "... I don't think I have any more burning questions relevant to our current discussion. Or if I do, they've escaped me. I think I understand things more clearly now than I did before."

Alastor

"Not yet! Don't tell anyone else this, but truth be told, I enjoy everyone's fear from knowing I *could* but not if I *have.* As soon as they see the teacups moving, they know they can. But *until* then... there's always that uncertainty. A delicious, lingering dread." Welcome to Alastor's twisted mind.

"Then I suppose we're just about done here?"

Valera

Alastor's twisted mind happens to be, unfortunately, hilarious. But no time to sit here and praise his penchant for mischief. "I believe we are, yes. Quick and.. Mostly painless. Though I'm sure some of those questions were fairly unpleasant."

Alastor

"If 'fairly' means 'for all of ten seconds.' You're too concerned about other people's minor, fleeting discomforts."

Valera

They give him a quizzical look. "Of course it wouldn't be a lasting feeling, I'm not holding you at gunpoint. I'm not sure why my comment seems to bother you."

Alastor

"I'm simply worried about your preoccupation with how uncomfortable you're sure I must be! You do seem inclined toward micromanaging my mood when we talk like this." A shrug. "I did mention last time, didn't I, how eagerly you pour the compassion out. Perhaps that's related?"

Valera

"Perhaps so." Valera uncurls her coils, feet hitting the floor as she gets ready to stand.

"I'm not interested in keeping a steadying hand on your mood, Alastor. I was acknowledging that my questions delved into personal territory, nothing more. You answered them, so _clearly_ it wasn't _that_ bad."

Alastor

"Then that makes the both of us!" He stands to get the door, all gentleman-like. "Shall we?"

Valera

"Of course." Oh, how very polite of him. They'd planned on just vanishing like usual, but they'll indulge him this time.

Two steps into the hall seems far enough to be polite. A quick glance around, and the fish is gone in the blink of an eye.

Alastor

Hm. He needn't have bothered.

He shuts the door and heads off. Back to work, he supposes.