#think of was being blindfolded last night and feeling his hair and then his jaw . i remember saying hello and hugging him .

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

Sorry for the long hiatus. New full-time job was kicking my ass, and I also realized there were a lot of changes I wanted to make to what I'd already written. That said, new chapter of my Feyd Rautha/Reader arranged marriage!AU is up.

Link to full AO3 fic here

Tags and CW for this chapter: switching; riding; body worship; come-eating; knifeplay; nipple play; oral sex (M+receiving); mentions of past self-harm; masochism; orgasm delay; teasing; subspace!Feyd; pregnancy discussions; dom!Feyd as well as sub!Feyd; both dom! and sub!reader; subspace and subdrop; collars; leashes; blindfolds; face-fucking; implied/referenced past child abuse; implied/referenced past incest; the Reader being an unreliable narrator/having way too much trust in the Bene Gesserit; mentions of Feyd's mommy issues

This takes place seconds after the previous chapter so if you need a refresher I also have the previous tumblr chapter here. Even with the tags up above this is definitely the softest and most romantic chapter I've put up so far. Like, by a significant margin.

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

For a few minutes all you do is kiss, lazily, trying not to move your hips too much as you lay atop him and his hands pass over your ribcage, your sides, your hips, before curling into your hair.

You're sweet like this, you almost say.  Never thought I'd be able to say that about you.

You drop your head and bring your mouth just below his ear, at the juncture of his jaw and neck.  Past experiences dating even prior to him taught you that this is a weak spot for you, and it appears to be the case for him as well as he gasps.  You remember the knife beside you, think about how he always enjoys a bit of pain to heighten his pleasure, and curl your fingers around the hilt.

You’re almost stunned at your own confidence as you do it, your bone-deep certainty that Feyd will enjoy this, as you lean upwards, taking the knife, and just barely pressing it against his chest, drawing a thin red line that ends just above his left nipple.  The cut’s shallow and the knife’s sharp so it probably doesn’t hurt much,  even as Feyd shifts and arches his hips, browline furrowing and mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  And then you lean down and lap up the blood welling up in slow, deliberate licks.

His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp as it starts to fill out–slower than before, but awakening all the same.  He gives a rattling breath as you close your teeth around the nipple and tug lightly.  His hand curls around the back of your head but applies no pressure, as if he isn’t sure if he wants you to keep going or pull back, groaning and filling out more as you gently roll your hips and set the knife down  beside you.  You smirk around his bare skin, clench around his finally-stiff cock, and think, Alright.  I think it’s safe to say you’re ready for round two .

You sit up all the way, then, fanning your fingertips over his chest at first, fingertips of your right hand catching the last tear-droplets of blood that you bring to your mouth, sucking on your fingertips as you roll your hips properly.  Will he wear his favorite collar next time he lets you use him like this?  Will he still lie docile, waiting for you to command him?  

You picture it, and groan at the idea: him with his hands tied–wrists bound above his head, or maybe, oh, Great Mother, tied to the bedposts.  Is that why he has hooks on each of his bedposts?  You laugh, the heat already building up your spine, coming swiftly for you as you bear down on him, head falling back as the laughter turns into a moan as you shift your hips in just the right angle.  Incredible .  You can’t help it as the words spill out of you.  “I could do this all night,” you tell him.  “I– oh, fuck– I could ride your fat cock all night.  Would you like that, Feyd?” 

He groans an affirmative, and you feel all the hotter for it, stunned at how quickly the heat builds again, at the obscene squelch of your slick around him.  You move his hands from your hips to your breasts and he immediately understands your instructions, squeezing and fondling them as you topple effortlessly into your third orgasm, leaning back at just the right angle, both hands braced on his thighs.  

Thing is, you meant it when you said you could keep going, if nothing else than sheer force of will. You keep moving, desperate to come again, desperate to keep him inside of you for just a little longer, searching for the moment where you hit your threshold.

“Don’t come yet,” you tell him, panting.  “Not until I come again.”

Feyd groans under you and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s not out of protest, but arousal.  You try to make sense of it as you finally understand the phrase ‘ drunk with power ’ because the hold you have over him right now is utterly intoxicating.

It makes sense; one of Feyd’s strongest qualities is his discipline.  You venture further, trying your luck.  “If you want to come then make yourself useful, Feyd,” you tell him, and he gets to work, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to your bud, as if you’d need the extra lubrication when you can feel his previous spend leaking out of you.

You reach down and pinch both nipples, twisting.  His hips jolt up, nearly knocking the wind out of you as it feels like his cock is all the way up in your ribcage, but he doesn’t come, even as he gives an agonized groan and the cords of muscle in his neck bulge.  He arches his back, jaw clenched, eyes shut.

Oh, that won’t do .

“Look at me, Feyd,” you tell him.  You want him to see your face when you come, and it’s so close you’re about to lose your mind.  Four times in one night .  You didn’t think such a thing was possible.

He obeys you with a low groan, working your bud faster, managing to meet your frantic pace, his pupils blown wide, beautiful and pitiful and vulnerable and entirely at your mercy.  His cock has never felt so good , you think, one final roll of your hips hitting just at the right angle inside of you.

You come with a guttural wail, head falling back, trembling and feeling utterly possessed, hips still moving but quickly losing rhythm, just frantic grinding on top of him to wring every last drop of pleasure you can get out of him.

Feyd gives out a pained growl of his own but you don’t feel the tell-tale sensation of him spilling within you.  You open your eyes as you pant and stare down at his slack face.

Please.  Please tell me I can come, Y/N, he seems to be pleading with you .  I need your permission to come.  Have I not been good for you? he seems to ask.  And he has been good, hasn’t he?  So good and obedient, laying there and taking it, letting you use him.  The grip he has on your hips is going to leave bruises and you’ll prod at them later with fondness.

“That’s it, come for me, Feyd,” you tell him, and he does, spasming, hips bucking up into you as he groans, still sounding like he’s either in paradise or agony and that he loves it either way.  The moment lasts for another moment, him spurting inside of you as every muscle seems locked, and then on an exhale he sinks back down, his grip on your hips and thighs loosening.  

He shuts his eyes as he gathers his breath and his face starts to relax.

“Hey,” you say, voice gentler this time, waiting for him to absorb the words.  “Look at me,” you tell him as you stroke his cheek.  He does, eyes opening wide and bright, full lips parted.  You smile down at him, thinking, you’re so beautiful .  And he is beautiful, in the way that a briefly-tamed beast is beautiful.  For a moment you remain still, sitting on him, feeling him softening inside of you, wondering what he’s seeing when he stares up at you.  If it’s as stunning to him as he is to you right now.  Then you finally dismount, panting, looking at the pallor of his face as close to flushed as he’s ever going to get.  

You wonder–while he’s like this, open and vulnerable, if maybe he’d–?  Even still in a near-euphoric haze, you pay close attention to the way he breathes when you lean down and kiss his neck, when you nip at his pulse point again.  He gives a soft sigh and you slide down further and scrape your teeth across one of his nipples.  This time he gasps, hands leaving your sides to clutch at the sheets.

“Yes, that’s good,” you murmur.  “Keep them there.”  

He does, and you watch the corded muscles of his forearms clench and shift to obey you.  You smile again, feeling strangely fond, as you go lower.

His pants are still around his knees and it doesn’t take much effort to tug them down and toss them over the edge of the bed.  His cock is utterly coated in both of you, and a thought occurs that’s so obscene it surprises you, but piques your curiosity.

After half a second of hesitation, you lick the spend off of his cock and go lower, to where it’s drizzled down one testicle, and then the other.  He’s never let you do this before, never let you taste and touch him on your own terms rather than feeding his cock into the cavern of your mouth, and the idea of continuing to play with him is too tempting to ignore.

His breath hitches and his stomach clenches, and for a moment you pause, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t.  He trembles under you, spreading his legs a little more, and you look up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a wet gasp.

“Do you like this, husband?” you ask him.  You keep your voice quiet, as if any volume above your near-whisper would penetrate the fog that’s settled over you.  He jerks a nod.

It should probably feel subservient, licking him clean like this.  It doesn’t.  You’ve never felt more powerful in your life.  You kiss the top of one thigh, wanting to bring your mouth to his scars, but refraining. He’s being so pliant, so patient for you–you don’t want to risk ruining it, uncertain if such an intimate touch there would. Instead you finally bring them up.  “These scars don’t match.”

Feyd makes a noise like he’s only starting to come back to his senses, but still foggy.  Still lost.  

“The scars on your legs.  One of the legs has different cuts from the other.”  You stroke his hip and outer thigh as you stay propped up above him.  “How’d you get them?”  You don’t think they came from the Baron.

“Left leg, seventeen.  A woman did it to me,” Feyd says.  “I asked her to.”  Asked .  Not commanded.   Interesting.  “Right leg, a few weeks later.  Did it to myself, wanted to replicate the feeling.”  

You glance back down between his thighs as he’s still obediently laid out before you.  The scars on his right thigh look deeper and angrier with shorter strokes.  “Did it work?”

“Not really.  It’s not the same if you do it to yourself,” he says.  “I just ended up losing a lot of blood and passing out.”  

You give a soft hum and nuzzle your cheek against his inner right thigh before turning your head and licking along the scars.  His breath hitches, and you sink your teeth in.  It’s more of a playful bite, not hard enough to even try to break skin, before coming back up, face to face with him.

Feyd kisses you languidly, accepting the taste of you, of him, on his tongue, and burying both hands in your hair.  He sighs into it, closing his eyes, relaxing into it and letting you control the pace until you break away, coming down from the peaks you’ve reached.  

You’re an utter mess between your legs, you think as you set the knife on your nightstand and the two of you pull up the covers that had been kicked down around both of your ankles earlier.

How did they end up that way, again?  Oh, right, my husband ambushed me in bed while I was asleep and rewarded me by letting me use his body as my personal playground .

“You know,” he says, still seeming somewhat out of it–and no wonder, you are, too– “there are devices, something I can wear next time you ride me.  It would delay things even further, making you able to come five times for every time I come once.  You’d be able to ride me for hours, if you wanted.” 

Part of you would prefer to test his self-control to its furthest limits without the use of an aid, but his suggestion makes you smile as you settle in with him.  “That so?” you ask.

“You took to it like nothing I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” he says, as you settle back, turning off the lights once more.

He turns to lay on top of you; you feel him squeeze his eyes shut as he rests his head against your shoulder.  You can’t help but smile to yourself as you gently stroke the back of his head and neck and wrap your other arm around his back.

It’s something wonderful and powerful he’s given you, and you’re certain that he wouldn’t have unless he felt you earned it.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around you, as he moves his body down lower and lays his head on your stomach.

“Is this what you need, husband?” you ask.  There’s probably proper terminology for this sort of thing, but you don’t know it.

He nods.

“In a couple of days we’ll find out if life’s growing in there,” you say idly as he nuzzles against the soft skin of your belly.

“There is.  A boy,” he tells you and you laugh.  Wishful thinking.  How could he possibly know?

“I saw him,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts.  “Dreamt about you giving birth to him.”

“A dream doesn’t predict the future, though,” you tell him as you absently run your fingers over the back of his head and neck.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of something that came true, faces I’d never seen before but met later on,” he says.

“Oh?” you ask, and he gives a grunt in the affirmative, but says nothing else.  His breathing grows slower and his muscles slack.  You lay there in silence with him as he drifts off, still nestled against your stomach.

It's not the most comfortable position to try and fall asleep in, but you'll give him this.  You laugh quietly to yourself as you look up at the ceiling.

You have to remind yourself that your husband of one month just pretended to be an assassin to test your training and reflexes, and it’s somehow brought the two of you closer together than ever before.

.

You wake hours later to an empty bed.  There’s enough gray light streaming in to tell you before you’ve even looked at the timepiece on your nightstand that you’ve slept in.  You rub the sleep out of your eyes as the events from the previous night–into the early morning–trickle back into your consciousness.  For a moment you could almost believe that last night had been a dream, but the knife’s still on the bedside table and you feel a delicious soreness in your legs and abdomen and the less-enjoyable feeling of flakes of dried come on your lower lips and inner thighs.  You can’t help but smile remembering Feyd slack-jawed and moaning underneath you, how good he felt inside of you from that angle, how insatiable you were.

There’s a knock at the door and you instinctively pull your sheets up to cover your breasts.  “Who is it?” you call out, to hear Idrisa’s voice muffled from the other side assuring you that it’s just her with some morning refreshments.

“The Na-Baron wanted to let you sleep in, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she comes in and sets down a tray.  

“Oh?” you ask, reaching for your robe to put on as you swing your legs to the side of the bed and sit on its edge.

“He said you could take the morning off, Na-Baroness,” she tells you.  “He said you had an eventful evening and you’re going to have a busy day.  He said he wanted you well-rested.”

Last time he'd given you the morning off, it'd been because he was furious with you.  You can't imagine that being the case today, but you’re also not entirely sure, and that makes you nervous.  His birthday is two days from now; you can't afford to be on poor terms with him right now, between the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow and Feyd 's arena showing the day after that.

“How did he seem?” you ask, trying to process everything and imagining that a little caffeine will help. 

“I did not see him, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says.  “I’d received word from a Fortress guard what his instructions had been.  I heard nothing to suggest that he was in a foul mood, though.”

“Alright,” you say, still thinking, still wondering what the shift last night started will mean for you, in and out of the bedroom, going forward.

At breakfast there’s of course no acknowledgement of what transpired last night; neither of you would ever have that conversation in front of Feyd’s uncle anyway, but there’s a cool detachment in how Feyd treats you that feels tangible.

“Your brother sent word that he will not be attending your birthday festivities,” the Baron tells his nephew as soon as you’re seated, presumably continuing the conversation they were having before you came in.

“Best idea he’s had in months; it’ll save him the embarrassment of showing his face here,” Feyd says, wordlessly passing you a tray of fruit.  The Baron narrows his eyes for a moment, looking between the two of you, as if there’s something conspicuous about a man passing a plate of food to his wife during breakfast.  You look away, accepting the plate with a mouthed ‘ thank you ’ and pretending that you didn’t notice.

The conversation goes back to Feyd’s arena performance, with a brief discussion of the new Mentat, a man named Kalevi Itkonen.  It’s a name you realize is familiar because he was one of the first faces you saw landing on Geidi Prime, and one that made another appearance at your wedding; a lean man who had greeted you and your family with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes.  Affable, certainly compared to other Harkonnens, but seemingly amused at your dread and discomfort.

“May I ask what happened to the previous Mentat?” you ask.

The Baron sighs.  “An unfortunate casualty during the fall of Atreides.  It’s a shame; he was good.  Of course, Itkonen’s fit for the job as well, if only Rabban was willing to listen to his statistics.”

If Rabban’s this bad at his job then why not reassign him to something else?  Something where he isn’t in charge of Harkonnen lives? you want to ask, but instead offer your condolences.  It’s thankfully the most you and the Baron interact but you don’t get any private time with Feyd to set him aside and ask if he’s alright.  

Not long after breakfast Idrisa escorts you to the Dressmaker’s atelier, and the Dressmaker curtsies low and deep at your arrival.

“As requested, your gown for the Na-Baron’s birthday,” she says, stepping aside to show you the gown she made out of your measurements.

The dress is all black; common but not a requirement, you’ve noticed, for Harkonnen fashion.  Shades of charcoal and gray are also in vogue, even tinted with navy or forest green.  This, however, is as utterly devoid of color as Geidi Prime’s sun.  That’s not what makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s revealing,” you say after a moment.  The top half has thin straps, and you’re pretty sure the leather-like bands around the ribcage were added to make sure to not completely reveal your breasts, because it has a plunging neckline and no real back to speak of, you realize as you slowly walk around the mannequin.  It’s fitted tight from the ribcage to the hips, only flowing once the hourglass shape ends.  There’s a slit in the skirt that will reveal the curve of your thigh every time you walk.  On the floor beneath it are a pair of black boots with a reasonably high heel and around the mannequin’s neck a necklace that looks almost like one of the collars Feyd-Rautha has used on you.

The Dressmaker’s face falls.  “Does the Na-Baroness not like it?” she asks.  “The Na-Baron specifically requested a gown that would show off his wife’s assets.”

“Thank you,” you say, realizing that you won’t be able to wear anything underneath to protect your nipples.  “If that’s what he asked for then that’s certainly what he’s getting.  I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It also sends quite a message.  Look at the fecundity of the Na-Baroness’s body.  Look at what the Na-Baron gets to take for himself whenever he wants .   Look at how he owns her.

But that's the image you're meant to play.  After his birthday will come the news of his upcoming fatherhood, and depending on how you play your hand, either the birth or Feyd 's coronation will come next.

.

You spend the afternoon practicing Harkonnen pleasantries and as such don’t see Feyd until dinnertime; he doesn’t say much, not to you or to the Baron, who reminds both of you about the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow.

“I trust you’ll have the results that they want,” he says, leaving the implications hanging open in the uncomfortable air between the three of you like wet laundry.

“We’ve done our part,” Feyd says, voice curt, tearing his bread in half with a little more force than usual.  You’d not blame him for his irritation with his uncle but for the fact that you’re stuck here, too, sitting in uncomfortable silence, supposing you ought to be grateful that the Baron’s little jabs at your potential childbearing abilities aren’t out of any interest in you.  But of course that’s due to the possibility that even though he probably hasn’t forced himself on his nephew in nearly a decade, he may still get some secondhand voyeuristic satisfaction thinking about how he performs in bed and the thought of that puts you off the rest of your dinner.

After the fact, while you’re getting ready to leave Feyd places a hand on your arm.

“Meet me in my room tonight,” he says quietly.  You nod, glancing back at him, hoping for some sort of barometer for tonight and getting nothing.

.

Feyd’s naked, as he typically is during your night-time rendezvous, and you’ve matched him coming into his chambers.  He stares at you for a moment without a word, cock not-yet awakened, his expression inscrutable.

You finally ask the question that’s been bothering you all day, hoping the honorific at the end will appease him.  “Are you upset with me, husband?” 

Feyd tilts his head ever so slightly.  “Why would I be upset with you?” he asks, probably knowing the answer and pulling it out of you anyway.  You fidget and twist your hands, trying to look him in the eye.  Right now they give nothing away.

“Last night…we did something different.  I liked it.  It seemed like you liked it.  But now I don’t know how you feel about me seeing you…like that.”

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you. 

“Yes,” you manage, blinking, looking down, forcing yourself to look back up.  Feyd’s gaze is dark, and for a moment cruel in the brief seconds of silence that drag on and make your heartbeat speed up.

“I do like it that way sometimes,” he says finally.  “And I enjoyed it last night.  So no, I’m not angry with you; you passed more than one test.  If I’d known what you were capable of sooner, I’d have allowed you to take control sooner, but I wanted to wait to make sure you’d be equipped.”

“ Equipped? ” you repeat, raising your eyebrows.  “Why?”

“Because in the past I’ve killed people who put me in that role but didn’t do it correctly,” he says.  He sounds so casual and detached as he says it.  “You know me well enough at this point that it won’t be an issue.  My trust is not something I give out easily, so don’t take it for granted.”

“I won’t, husband,” you say quickly.  “I assure you that I,” you take a breath, “I appreciate the…the trust and patience you showed me.  But may I ask, why did you seem withdrawn earlier?  It seemed like you regretted last night.”

A faint hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth.  “Because it made me wonder if I could have the same effect on you.”

“I don’t think I understand,” you say.  When have I not been at least to some extent obedient in bed with you?  I’ve almost always been submissive.  

“Don’t be naive, pet.  It doesn’t suit you anymore.  You saw how I got when you were on top of me, like I was almost delirious.  Seemed at times like you were, last night, too.  I wanna see if I can get you to that place where I’d gone last night.  You’ve gotten close, but never quite there.”

You try to think.  Yes, you suppose there have been times where you’ve felt a level of catharsis, exhaustion and relief, when he’s pushed your boundaries and tested how much you could take, what you enjoyed despite yourself.  Thinking about it, though, he’s right.  You never felt quite so dazed as Feyd looked, like he’d disappeared within himself.

Could you get there?  Maybe.  “So how do you want to go about it?” you ask.

“I want to see how much of it’s natural for you, see how much you trust me.”

“What makes you think you haven’t earned my trust?” you ask.

He looks at you and you can tell that if he had eyebrows, they’d be raised right now.  “Because I still frighten you,” he says.  “Not that I blame you; you know who and what I am, but even when you’ve enjoyed submitting to me, you’ve never quite let go and allowed me to possess you the way you did with me last night.”  He crosses over to his armoire and opens a compartment in the lower drawers.  “What’s been bothering me isn’t what happened last night.  It’s that all day I’ve been wondering if I can really do the same to you.”

He pulls out a blindfold.  You stare at it as you think about the collars, the leashes, the floggers, the clamps, the ropes and chains–the moments of shame for being subjugated replaced with shame for enjoying the sensations of it and his hungry gaze on you.  

“So,” Feyd says, seeming to watch for any potential signal on your face.  “Will you allow me to try?”

You’d gotten so wet last time he’d put you on a leash and collar that you’d been able to feel it trickling down the inside of your thigh.  The only humiliation you’d felt then was knowing what your friends and family would think if they knew you were learning to get off to things like this.  But they’re not here; it’s just you and Feyd.

You look at the blindfold for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Yes,” you tell him.

.

Feyd sets out his favorite collar for you alongside the blindfold on his dresser. After he grabs a length of silver chain he takes a step back and looks over at you as if to ask, Think you can handle it?

You simply brush your hair to the side so he can get the collar around your neck and he grins.

“Comfortable?” he asks as he fixes it around you.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him, and he gives a soft hum as he takes the blindfold and wraps it around your head.  It's soft; your eyes flutter closed at the silk.  His touch feels somehow more intimate with one of your senses gone.  

“Good?” he asks again, and you nod.  “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, husband,” you answer, meaning it.  You can feel your nipples stiffening as the faint gust of his breath against the shell of your ear, hear the clink and swallow at the sudden weight of the chain being clipped to your collar.  If you concentrate you think you can hear him breathing.

“Kneel,” he says, and you do, taking a deep breath, your hands at your sides.  The chain starts to have more give, being tossed to you in increments as he seems to be walking way, to another spot in the room.

“Crawl over to me,” he says.  “Follow the sound of my voice.”

You think you manage the right direction, moving slowly, until you hear him speak again. 

“Stop right there, stay where you are,” he says, and you do, staying on your hands and knees, waiting for the next instructions.  Several seconds tick by, and for a moment you drop your head, wondering what the next signal will be, what Feyd wants from you next.  It doesn’t sound like he’s moved, but he can be utterly silent sometimes, so hard to detect.  He’s still here, at least; you can feel the chain being held upright.

Please say something, do something.   You wait, suppressing a whine, trying not to get agitated as the silence grows. You breathe in, breathe out, and try to focus on what’s grounding you–the marble floor below you, the leather of the collar and the weight of the chain.  The certainty that there’s someone on the other end of it, holding it for you.

“I’m here, pet,” you suddenly hear above you.  “Get on your haunches.”

You exhale.  It occurs to you that a month ago you wouldn’t have imagined being relieved at the sound of a voice as rough as his, but warmth floods your belly as you do, sitting back on your heels and settling your palms on the tops of your thighs, waiting for more.  Give me more.  Push me.  Show me what I’ve been missing and the place you went to last night while I was on top of you .

He leads you up to your knees and without thinking you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.  He’s only gotten you in this position before for one purpose, so the gesture comes naturally.  There’s nothing to it, you realize. 

Feyd laughs quietly above you.  “That’s it.  You know what to do,” he says as he pushes his cock inside.  “My pretty, perfect cockslut.  You love this, don’t you?”

You feel yourself flush, heat flooding your face and licking up your spine.  No one’s ever called you a slut before; you’d bristle at the term were it not for the fondness in Feyd’s voice, the warmth of his palm cupping your face and traveling into your hair.  Without letting yourself question it you moan an assent, hands at your sides, focusing on breathing through your nose.

“Sometimes I think about claiming you in the arena,” he says, one hand secured on the chain, the other clutching the back of your head as he presses in deeper.  “Showing my people how breedable you are.  But I’d kill anyone else who’d ever see you like this.”

You whimper around him, trying to swallow down, trying not to gag, feeling all the wetter for it even as tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and dampen the fabric of your blindfold.

He pulls out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing back in, and he’s in so impossibly deep, down your throat, that you don’t understand how you’re even taking him, but everything feels as if it’s encased in mist.  All you can feel is the marble under your knees, your husband’s hands stabilizing you, his cock so close to cutting off your airflow until it doesn’t, and he releases you again–this time for an even shorter reprieve.  You whimper again around it, holding still as he rocks his hips.

“You’re getting so good at this, pet,” he says.  “Such a smart girl, learning so quickly.”  He stops moving his hips but holds your head still for a moment, as if he’s simply curious to see how long you can take the length and girth of his cock in your mouth and down your throat, how long you can push past the discomfort and keep him there.  And then in one practiced movement unlatches the leash from your collar, letting the chain fall to the floor.  His grip relaxes in your hair, his hold barely more than a touch.  You could pull off if you want, you realize, but he said he wants to see how obedient you can be, so you keep your hands at your sides as you swallow around him, the tears collecting in your lashes as you try to breathe through your nose.  

The next time Feyd applies pressure, it’s to pull you off of him.  You’re not entirely sure how long you had him down your throat, but you can feel the string of saliva connected to his cock as you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering.  Your head swims.  Feyd swipes his thumb over your chin and lips, collecting the saliva that’s pooled around the sides of your mouth.  You’d give anything to see the expression on his face right now, but you also don’t want to take the blindfold off, not until he says so or does it himself.

Without thinking you nudge your head forward, once you’ve regained your breath and you’re certain you can take more–you can take anything he gives you and you gasp as Feyd stops you, your breath close to the head of his cock, you’re certain, but not quite touching it.

Give it to me, Feyd.  Please, I can handle it.  I want to prove it to you .  You say nothing; you wait.

For a moment the tip of his cock brushes against your cheek and you turn your head, lavishing your tongue along his frenulum, wrapping your lips around the tip of him.  You moan, utterly shameless, to try and encourage him to push in deeper.  He just stays that way for a moment, though, not thrusting in, not burying his head in your hair to push your mouth onto him, either.  He simply lets you feel the weight of him on your tongue before he takes a step back, slipping out, and you wait, unmoving, for what comes next, wet and pliant and ready.  It’s only the marble beneath your knees that grounds you.

And then without a word he takes off your blindfold and you blink against the sudden light before you realize Feyd’s staring at you with his pupils blown wide like last night, chest heaving and mouth open.  He cups your chin in one hand, eyes darting across your face.  Does he see in your eyes what he felt last night?  

“Get back on all fours for me, pet,” he says.

For a moment you feel disoriented.  Does he want you on all fours on the bed or…?

“Right here, pet,” he says, knowing what you’re about to ask before you can ask it.  You can’t speak, can’t form coherent words as you lean forward and brace yourself on your forearms, breathing in, then out.  His voice sounds almost like it’s coming from another room or inside your own head, you think as he kneels behind you.

He wordlessly slides his head along the line of your spine, applying only the faintest of pressure, guiding your top half down, down, until you rest your cheek against the floor, your forearms a cage bracketing your head, your ass raised up to expose it and your weeping cunt to him.  The cool marble feels nice against your flushed cheek.

He trails his fingertips along your slit, getting all the verification that he could need of what this is doing to you.

“Greedy, eager thing, aren’t you?” he says softly, and you sense him gripping his cock in his fist to line up against you.  You can’t help the giggle that spills out of you.  You really are, aren’t you? 

He finally pushes in and you arch your back into it, wanting to slide the rest of the way onto him but waiting, knowing that you’ll accept what he gives you because you can.  

“ Oh ,” you manage when he bottoms out inside of you.  He’s still for just a moment, and for that moment you wait in delicious anticipation before he starts thrusting.

He doesn’t hold back, grabs your hips, kneads your ass, knowing you’ll stay face-down because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.  You probably sound needy and pathetic, but you don’t care.  There’s no one here but the two of you as he pulls you onto his cock again and again, taking you on the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts as he changes his angle that hits your insides differently, dragging against a spot within you that has you seeing spots and stars instead of the vantage point you have of the bed only a couple of meters away.  You open your mouth in a silent scream, hips jerking uselessly, stomach clenching.

Feyd, ever so clever, senses your shift immediately and bears down on you from this new angle that’s probably strenuous on him, from the way the muscles in his thighs clench and his grunts become harsher, but he keeps going, giving you everything he can, everything you can take.  You want to touch yourself, bring a hand between your legs, but you’re not going to.  Feyd will handle it or he won’t.  You feel drunk even though you haven’t had anything that could get you drunk in over a week.  

“You want to come, Y/N?” Feyd asks behind you, and you moan an assent.  “You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to make you come,” he says, tone on the verge of scolding, but still playful enough to keep it from stinging.

It takes a moment to form any coherent words, the four syllables laborious.  “Yes, please, husband,” you manage, voice sounding wrecked, and Feyd obliges you as soon as you get the words out, bringing his fingertips to where the two of you are joined, collecting the slick there, and rubbing circles along your bud.  You can’t help but buck your hips, your moans desperate.

“That’s it, pet,” he says, rubbing harder now, probably relishing the sounds you’re making as he brings you over.  You nearly black out, tears streaming down your face, clenching again and again around him, coming so hard you think you might actually be drooling, and then when you think the most intense shockwave of it has passed, you feel his seed filling you up.

I feel so full, Feyd , you think, delirious. 

You can hear him panting and grunting behind you as he pulls out part way, the last of his come landing hot and viscous on the small of your back.  You gasp, feeling decidedly marked up, but you don’t move, waiting for what’s coming next.

Feyd pauses; you hear his breath even out, and from the shift behind you you’re pretty sure he’s settled back onto his haunches.  It seems to take him a moment to decide what he wants to do with you next before he’s kneading the soft flesh of your ass.  You sigh at the contact, arching your back, and feel your mouth pop open in a surprised “Oh!” as Feyd’s tongue makes contact with your lower back, licking up the remaining droplets of his spend in one long stroke.

And then it’s done, but you don’t move, and for a moment neither does Feyd, who you suppose must just be staring at you and the way you’re exposed to him in a way that you could almost recall being humiliating around the time of your wedding but feels titillating now.  

After a minute Feyd starts to get up, but you stay where you are, still face-down, ass-up, presented to him as if he were to start again immediately.  He might.  You can handle it if he does, you’re certain.  You have no idea how long you remain there, the side of your face pressed against the floor, your body weight on your elbows and knees.  The combination of yours and Feyd’s fluids seeping out of you start to turn sticky, but you’re utterly calm.  You feel weightless.   Your breathing evens out.

“Sit back up for me, pet,” you hear as if Feyd was a thousand leagues away.  You blink and start to rise up on your forearms, stretching like a cat, rising up to sit on your haunches.

Feyd comes back into view, taking your chin in his hand.  You don’t know what he’s seeing in your eyes; perhaps what you saw last night in his.  He drops his hand from your face and extends them both to you in a silent offer to help you stand.

Once he has you up, he tips you, a hand behind your back, and you hardly realize what’s happening before he has you in his arms, carrying you to bed.  He sets you down gentler than you expect before pulling the covers over you and climbing in with you.  Smart idea; you hadn’t realized how cold you suddenly feel, shivering as Feyd gets under the covers with you, braces himself above you, and leans down for a kiss.

You kiss him back immediately, suddenly desperate.  Up until this moment you’d felt almost like you were floating on a string, and now that string's been cut and you’re crashing to the ground.  You gasp into it, clutching his back.  You dig your nails in, your breath ragged, and after a moment Feyd pulls away, eyes darting across the different points of your face.

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

Yes, you are.  A fresh batch of tears comes and spills down your cheeks and you don’t know why.  If you didn’t know any better, Feyd looks almost concerned, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before that takes you a moment to place.  Has he never reacted this way before?  Never been affected quite this way before?

“Can you please hold me?” you finally manage, and he complies wordlessly, shifting to lay on his back, wrapping his arms around you.  You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why you’re crying.  You’re not sad, not angry.  Just spent in a way that you’ve never felt before.

After a few minutes your breathing evens out again.  The solid wall of the man holding you and the steadiness of his heartbeat against your ear helps.  Feyd senses it and reaches for your collar.

“Let me keep it on for now,” you say, and Feyd stills his hand.  “Please.”

Feyd looks for a moment like he wants to ask why, but doesn’t, instead keeping an arm wrapped around you as you nestle against him.  You can’t explain it; right now you feel kept, like you’re something precious.  

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

You nod against his chest.  “But I wasn’t feeling bad before,” you manage, speaking slowly and trying not to slur your words.  You doubt you have it in you to do all this over again, even if he asks, even if he manages to get you floating again.  “It was just overwhelming for a second.”

“I know,” he says, and when your grip on him relaxes he shifts, moving to sit up, and you furrow your brow, wanting to follow him, nervous at the idea of being alone in this bed.

“I’ll be back,” he says.  “I’m not leaving this room, pet,” he says, getting up.  You notice that this time on the side table the water pitcher has two glasses and he fills both.  

He notices your hands are still shaking and lifts the glass to your lips himself, watching as you gulp half the water down first, then take small sips of the rest, not setting it back down on the nightstand until it’s finished.

“When I first met you I’d never have taken you for such an affectionate little thing,” he says before taking a sip from his own glass.

“Neither would I,” you tell him.  “Definitely not with you.”  

Feyd smirks at that above the lip of his glass before setting it down next to yours and settling back in with you.

“I’m going to take the collar off you now,” he says.

“Okay,” you manage, fading, tilting your head to give him a better angle as he unfastens your collar and sets it on his nightstand.  Not that you want him to get up and leave you alone in bed again, but you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately and meticulously set everything back in his armoire.  He’s not the type to leave things until the following morning.  But he’s doing it now; he turns off the light and quietly turns you around so he can pull your back to his chest and slide one muscled thigh between your own.

You’re not sure what the name is for what you’re feeling, the way he shifts and wraps an arm around you and nuzzles his face into your hair.  It’s a sinking feeling rather than the floating feeling you had earlier, but nice all the same.  You start to drift off, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, his breath slowing down, and just before you fall asleep you remember the word you’re looking for.

Peaceful .

.

The next morning you don’t wake up until you feel the absence of a solid form behind you and sit up to notice Feyd almost-fully dressed, putting on his boots.

He gives you a small smile when he senses you watching him.  

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

Feyd’s smile fades as he stands.  “It’s an obligation like the rest.  We’ll make a good appearance for the guests, Uncle will get the confirmation he needs, and we can plan for tomorrow.”

“So is that a no?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“I obey the Bene Gesserit’s instructions. I don't have to like them,” he says, voice flat.

You look down.  He’s implied it before; you’d assume it’s because the Bene Gesserit tend to make powerful men nervous but there’s likely more to it.  

His mother was Bene Gesserit.  You’re not about to ask if she treated him like a son or a cog in her Sisterhood’s larger plans.  Not this morning, perhaps not ever, you think as he watch him leave.

The entire Fortress is bustling, preparing for incoming visitors; not just the Bene Gesserit but Harkonnens living off-planet in colonies and fiefdoms as well as a few guests from other Houses.  Your family will not be among them, but they’ve sent a gift–casks of some of your planet’s finest liquor, apparently.  

Not that you blame them for not wanting to come to Geidi Prime, but it would be nice to see them, especially when you can feel the mounting pressure on you like a valve you wish you could release.

.

It’s both too soon and later than you realize when you have to change into a different dress that’s thankfully more modest than your gown for tomorrow, complete with long black gloves and a lace cloak meant to evoke the often-veiled and hooded style of the women you’ll be greeting.

Itkonen will be the first Harkonnen official to greet the Bene Gesserit after they receive their medication to help with the atmosphere, at which point you and Feyd will accept them and act as intermediaries before bringing them to the Baron.  The Baron’s also reminded you and Feyd that they’ll examine you to make sure that you’ve secured an heir for the Harkonnen line, as if either of you could forget.  As if that’s not the entire reason the two of you even met.

The anticipation builds as you and Feyd wait in the Reception Hall, you on his left and half a step behind him in deference.  In front of both guests and other Harkonnens, you call Feyd exclusively by his title, because as far as Harkonnen politics are concerned, you may be his wife, but you are not his partner.  You are his subject, and as such you will keep up the appearance of being his doting subject, his broodmare, his doll that dresses and presents herself as he chooses.  You’ll live with it, and some part of you might even want to smirk at how the people won’t be privy to what you and him have developed.  They won’t see how you’ve fucked him into an incoherent state, how worshipfully he licks your cunt, or how he likes holding you against his chest at night when you fall asleep, but the two of you will know better.

You’re also reasonably certain that these women, certainly the Reverend Mother Mohiam, will know better as well.

Itkonen steps in, inclines his head, and announces your Bene Gesserit guests.  His dark eyes slide towards them as they enter, a hint of a derisive smirk on his thin lips that only you and Feyd see as he glances back at him.  Duplicitous whores, the lot of them, aren’t they, boss? his eyes suggest.

All the women are veiled, most with their faces hidden.  You incline your head in a slow, respectful curtsy.  This is what you’ve been training for your entire life.  You were made for this, you remind yourself as you then lift your head with a polite smile.  

You only recognize the Reverend Mother Mohiam, but there’s another just behind her, one who’s quite beautiful with almost cat-like eyes and high cheekbones.  You noticed her, though, not because she’s beautiful but because you could sense Feyd-Rautha just barely stiffen for a moment beside you as they entered the room, and when you glanced over at him saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested uncomfortable recognition.  If you hadn’t been so close to him you wouldn’t have noticed but it’s unmistakable.

They’ve met before , you realize, even as they don’t exchange a word of conversation and the woman doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance, her gaze on you.

Feyd seems to recover almost immediately as he greets the Reverend Mother.  “We offer our fondest welcome to your Reverence and your Sisters on behalf of the Baron and Geidi Prime, and gratitude for making the trip here for the occasion.”

Reverend Mother Mohiam looks both unsurprised and unimpressed that the Baron himself couldn’t be bothered to get up from his throne but accepts the greeting with the same dignified coldness she’d shown you back on your planet.  She looks over at you, taking inventory of your still-intact hair and eyebrows, and looks back at Feyd.  “We appreciate your hospitality, Na-Baron Harkonnen,” she says.

You’d almost forgotten that Feyd does a decent job despite having a menacing presence at playing the part of statesman and representative.  Not that he was ever quite able to fool you into thinking that he’s harmless–and he certainly doesn’t fool them–but he manages to keep the small-talk polite without being insipid as the two of them lead the conversation towards the Baron’s throne room.

The Baron stays seated in his suspensor chair, which whirrs forward as he nods his head in acknowledgement.  “Welcome to Geidi Prime, your Reverence,” he says.  “We do hope you and your Sisters enjoy the festivities during your stay.  My gentle niece-in-law will be especially accommodating.  She’ll be relieved for female companionship.”

Much as it makes you want to grind your teeth and glare at him to speak as though you aren’t there, he’s right about that.  How he’d even know, you’re not sure.  He’s certainly not asked you.  

“Our services will take only a minute, but we appreciate the invitation to enjoy Feyd-Rautha’s birthday,” the Reverend Mother tells him.

“Forgive me for not knowing the exact details,” the Baron says, “but what process do you use to determine if young Y/N has secured the Harkonnen bloodline?”

“Nothing invasive, Baron,” the Reverend Mother replies.  “Just a private meeting.”

“Well, then, you certainly have your opportunity now,” the Baron says, gesturing loosely towards you.  “The people of Geidi Prime will be happy to know that my nephew has continued the Harkonnen bloodline.”  He looks at Reverend Mother Mohiam expectantly, as if to say, alright, let’s get it over with.  Show me if my nephew knocked up this Y/H whore or not .

She holds his gaze.  “We’ll conduct the test privately, absent of any men,” she says. 

The Baron blinks and looks at her as if to say, Are you dismissing me?  Have you lost your mind?  You can’t possibly expect me to wait outside , before beckoning a servant over.  

“Show the Na-Baroness and our Bene Gesserit visitors to the next room, on the left.  It should more than suffice for their needs,” he tells her.  

It is; a sort of lounge area that tomorrow will be teeming with guests, you notice as you trail in.  There are ample seating areas, tables that can and will hold down trays of food and drink.  The lighting is even somewhat hospitable.

“May I ask,” you start as you’ve all filed in, “how you’ll be conducting the investigation, your Reverence?”

The Reverend Mother looks at you.  “You seem healthy,” she says.  She means, Feyd-Rautha’s been civil towards you?

“Thank you, your Reverence,” you tell her.  “Geidi Prime requires an adjustment period, but I believe I've been able to find some decent footing here.”

The Reverend Mother looks a moment longer at you before speaking.  “Have you met Lady Margot Fenring before?” she asks, extending her arm to the woman you couldn’t help but notice earlier.

“We have not met officially, your Reverence,” you say, looking over at her.  Fenring .  She must be the wife of Count Hasimir Fenring, then, even if she looks like she must be a good thirty years younger than him.

“Lady Fenring here is expecting as well, Na-Baroness Y/N,” the Reverend Mother says.  “She has a certain talent for detecting pregnancy in other women before doctors even can.”  

You glance at Lady Fenring’s stomach and don’t see a bump–a still-recent development, then.  She sees where your gaze drops and explains, “I’m only two months along,” she tells you.  “A daughter.”

“Congratulations, Lady Fenring,” you tell her, cautious, wishing you knew more about Bene Gesserit customs.  Nothing invasive, they said, watching as Lady Fenring delicately pulls off the glove of her right hand and reaches for your stomach.

You take a small step back before you realize it, and Lady Fenring gives a coquettish little smile.

“ Don’t be afraid ,” she tells you, her voice pleasant and melodic, and she slowly places her ungloved hand on your lower abdomen.  For a moment, your heart slows down, your limbs feeling heavy, and you’re not entirely sure if her words were spoken aloud or if you thought of them yourself.

The woman closes her eyes and you can’t help but stare, vulnerable at her gentle touch but unable to move.  You feel lost, reminded of the early morning fog on your planet, before the sun starts rising.  You close your eyes as well to try and snap out of it, but the same murky feeling persists where fear and dread had been.

Did she just…did she just use the Voice on me?

That can’t be right.  The Voice is forceful, commanding, or so you’ve heard.  Margot Fenring is anything but.  You breathe in, breathe out, and wait, until she speaks again.

“Congratulations, Na-Baroness Y/N.  Your union has proven fruitful.”

You open your eyes and gasp, unable to tame your reaction before it comes, unable to stop your smile and breathless, “ Really? ”  You suddenly feel sharper, everything brighter, as Lady Fenring removes her hand and you move yours to where it had been.

“The life growing within you is new, the seed still very small, but it’s there, and it’s growing,” she tells you.

You can’t help but laugh a little, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you do.  You did it .  How long has it been forming?  A week?  Two?  Three?   Is it smaller than an apple seed?  Can this woman tell if it’s a boy like Feyd claims he dreamt of?

And then you think about the other man waiting for the news outside, probably more impatient for the results than your husband.  Your smile fades and you drop both hands to your sides.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “The Na-Baron will be pleased.”

You need to help me keep the Baron away from it, keep him from c orrupting it.  If you’re anywhere near as invested in keeping it safe as I am then …

This is why they’re here, you remind yourself.  They need you and your progeny to be healthy.  They’ll look after you.

.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

“We bear good news,” the Reverend Mother says.  “The Na-Baroness is with child.”

Funny thing is that before all of this, before you thought you'd get married to a Harkonnen, you'd never had any expectations about how the moment would happen, when you would find out you were pregnant for the first time and told your husband.  It hadn't been a situation you'd ever really entertained even as it was always inevitable.  And yet this feels disappointing, not even being able to say it yourself, and having the news shared in front of your vile uncle-in-law as you try to seem demurely pleased and nothing else.  You try not to make direct eye contact with Feyd.  This isn't for either of you as individuals.  It's for the Harkonnen bloodline, for the Baron, for the Bene Gesserit and their selective breeding program.  So when it stings a little that Feyd 's only response is a nod in your direction as if to say, Well, done, you feel silly for it. 

The Baron says, “We’ll wait until after Feyd’s birthday celebration to make the announcement; we don’t want to overshadow his match.  Still,” he glances at you, “the people of Geidi Prime will be delighted to know that he’s continued the Harkonnen line.”  

You lower your head.  He truly has a gift for being able to suck the joy out of any celebration.  The baby growing in your womb will have to share space with the gnawing twin feelings of disgust and dread settling in your stomach.

After that, though, the Baron makes it abundantly clear that his main purpose for inviting these women has been accomplished and foists the responsibilities of entertaining all but the Reverend Mother onto you.

“Mohiam will speak with you tomorrow, young Y/N,” he says to you.  “But in the meantime, I’m sure there’s lots for you to discuss with our other distinguished guests.”

You curtsy and assure him that you’ll be an exemplary hostess in your most deferential tone before you and the other women are escorted back into the room you’d just been in; servants have already begun laying out plates of foods, various delicacies representing different Houses, goblets with pitchers of water, juices, and wine.  

The veiled women wait until the food and drinks are set out and all the male servants have gone before they show their faces, lifting their veils to take the first sips and bites.  Their ages range from possibly even younger than you to their seventies, all quiet at first.

Lady Fenring ranks above the rest of them both in title and within their ranks, it seems, as they defer to her and she’s the one who initiates conversation with you.

“It appears you’re adjusting well to Geidi Prime,” she says.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “It was an unfamiliar environment to which to adapt, but the Fortress has been accommodating.”

“We’re in casual company now, do feel free to call me Margot,” she tells you, and you blame it on the fact that you haven’t gotten to talk to any of your friends in over a month that you smile, feeling warmth flood your chest.  

“Then feel free to call me Y/N,” you tell her.

“I was curious about your hair,” one of the Sisters says.  “The fact that you still have it–was it your decision or your husband’s?”

“The Na-Baron informed me shortly before the wedding that I could keep my hair.  It’s my preference as well, but I would’ve made a concession if it had been required,” you tell her.  He only allowed the hair I have growing out of my head, though, you don’t add.

“About the hairlessness–is it a personal choice or are Harkonnens simply incapable of growing any?” she asks.

“They are while living here,” you tell her, knowing that everyone’s listening.  “Geidi Prime’s bustling with industry but not organic life.  I’ve heard that it’s only possible for Harkonnens to start growing hair if they live off-planet for long enough.”

“It is indeed,” Margot says.  “The late Abulurd Rabban had not only a full head of hair but a beard when he died, but at that point he’d been living on Lankiveil for over twenty-five years.  Have you ever seen a picture of him?”

“I have not,” you tell her.  “His memory isn’t widely celebrated here, for obvious reasons.”  You’ve never seen a picture of either of Feyd’s parents, but you’ve wondered what arrangement of features they each had that they could have produced such different-looking brothers as him and Rabban.

She looks at you a moment longer, as if contemplating what next line of questions she has for you.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” you say first.  “The Harkonnens are of course better known for commerce and warfare but the library they have in the Fortress is very impressive.”  You wonder how transparently you’re trying to play ambassador.  You wonder how much it’s working.

When you all conclude your meal, and once all the plates are cleared, the other Sisters find conversation with each other, leaving you and Margot alone, and the thought gently scratching at the back of your mind becomes clearer; this friendly conversation is a soft interrogation.  Margot will relay everything, your words and the tone with which you speak them, back to the Reverend Mother.  Whether or not she is actually interested in your opinions is entirely beside the point, but even with this she certainly makes you feel that way.  Her body language is demure but inviting, her questions polite but never overtly invasive as she asks you about your upbringing and your hobbies, how you spend time on your new planet.

You’ve never met someone who seems both serene and somehow unsettling in a way you cannot articulate but feels tangible.  She has a certain poise you realize the longer the two of you sit in the same vicinity, that you just haven’t matured into yet.  She’s older than you and Feyd, more complete than either of you.  

She tilts her head at you at one point and says, “Forgive my questioning, but had you ever been courted or had an intimate relationship before your marriage?”

“A brief-lived courtship,” you tell her.  “Nothing substantial ever came of it nor did I expect it to; neither of us had high hopes that my father would approve of him as a potential husband, and I suppose I’ve always been too practical to entertain the concept of a love-match.”

Margot blinks slowly, and her next words are as diplomatic and polite as anyone can manage with the subject you realize she’s about to breach.  “I ask only because I’m sure you’ve heard some discouraging, perhaps intimidating rumors about Harkonnen men?”

Ah .  There it is .

“I have,” you tell her.  “But I’ve also heard for years about how the best way to temper a man is through catering to his desires,” you tell her.  “Even without any substantial prior experience it didn’t take long to understand what my husband wanted and how to provide it for him.”

You don’t need to delve any deeper.  She’s both Bene Gesserit and married; she’s known this for years before you did.

But there’s a part of you that wants her to know that you’re more observant than people may realize.  There’s an even greater part of you that wants to know what caused Feyd to nearly flinch when he saw her when you’d never seen such a reaction from him before.

“May I ask how you first met the Na-Baron?” you ask, trying to keep your voice a mask of politeness and casual indifference.  

She doesn’t look surprised at your question, which unnerves you further.  “I was assigned to test him,” she says.

“On what?” you ask, fairly certain you know the answer.

“Whether or not he could play into our larger plans.  What I found was interesting.  Despite being a man with no Bene Gesserit training he possessed a level of prescience I’ve seen only in my Sisters.”

He dreamt about our son .  You try not to let your nerves show.

“And then there was his pain tolerance,” she adds, cat-like eyes on you.

You keep a straight face as you wonder how she’d be familiar with it.  Has she bitten him?  Flogged him?  

She keeps you waiting for only a second before continuing.  “Have you heard of the Gom Jabbar?” she asks.

“I think so?”  You weren’t sure if it was a real thing or a myth concocted to instill fear of disobeying the Bene Gesserit, but you’ve heard of a test meant to bring whoever takes it to the extremes of pain, and that many of those subjected to such a test did not live to pass it.

“He not only passed, but he lasted longer than anyone I’ve ever tested.”  She meets your gaze as she says, “I’ve never seen anyone react to it quite like he did.  He didn’t just endure it; he enjoyed it.”

Oh .  Well, that would explain how they know each other, you think, trying to parse your own jumbled thoughts.  That’s probably all she did; she has a husband, after all, and she was testing Feyd to see if he’d be a good match for you , not herself.

But despite yourself you imagine her riding him with slow, deliberate movements rather than the grinding, bouncing desperation that you had doing the same thing two nights ago.  The image makes you inhale and glance away as you try to shake it from your mind.

Weeks ago the thought of him satiating himself with someone else would’ve been a relief.  Now a shameful ball of jealousy blooms in your chest, and she can sense it.  The Bene Gesserit aren’t truly omniscient, you know this, but she seems almost close to it.  It’s embarrassing how transparent and vulnerable she makes you feel, like a child trying to keep pace with an adult who’s skilled at a game you’re still learning.

For her part she seems politely amused when you look away, feeling yourself flush. You won’t ask if she saw him in the arena and took to his bed.  You don’t want to know if she indulged him in some of his darker fantasies or if she was able to coax him into a submissive state that took you a month to discover.

Focus on what she just told you, you remind yourself.

“You've seen it in him,” she says.  It's not a question.  Not from her, in any case, but the Reverend Mother will want to know, and it takes only a couple of seconds to cave.

“I have.  Both his masochism and his prescience,” you admit.  You won’t share any specific details, though; it’s too intimate to share with this woman, even as it feels as though she’s seeing you naked, like she can extrapolate your most personal moments with Feyd from a single glance.

Margot smiles.  “Her Reverence will be most impressed with you.”

.

The evening concludes when it seems as though the Baron’s meeting with the Reverend Mother has, and servants come in to escort the Bene Gesserit to the guest suites.

As you all emerge you see Feyd, stone-faced, glancing between you and Margot as he notices the two of you walking alongside one another.  You look over at her, who curtsies towards you.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Na-Baroness,” she says, undoubtedly aware of the attention the two of you are getting.

“You as well, Lady Fenring,” you tell her as you incline your head.

Feyd barely manages a curt nod in her direction before turning away, presenting his arm for you to take as you head back to the private residence wing.

You don’t say it; if you say it you won’t be able to take it back, feign ignorance.  You don’t say a word on the walk back, and for a solid few minutes, neither does Feyd.  He offers no recourse, and doesn't tell you what he, his uncle, the Reverend Mother, and Itkonen were all discussing over dinner and beyond it.  His silence lasts just long enough to set you on edge, make you wonder if he’s upset about something.

“You did well tonight,” he finally says, as the two of you reach your quarters.  “Uncle doesn’t care to entertain female company,” he adds, the closest thing to innuendo he’s suggested when it comes to the Baron, “so while he won’t say it, he was relieved to push them onto you.” 

You smile.  “Diplomacy is what I’ve been training for since I was a child,” you tell him.  “I wasn’t prepared for the intimate parts of marriage, but I trained for the politics of it for most of my life.”  Marriage is politics for a woman in my position .  “Although I’d like to think I’m getting reasonably good at the intimate parts as well,” you say, leaning in, looking up at him as if to ask, Your room or mine tonight?  You start to wrap your arms around his shoulders, thinking about how you’ll get to sleep more easily if he’s there, nestled behind you like he usually is.  

Feyd doesn’t move, instead staying where he is, rigid and unyielding.  “Not tonight,” he says.

You’re confused at first, pulling back, certain you misheard, but he’s completely serious.  Hadn’t he talked about wanting to spill his seed in more places than just inside of you?  How he’d wanted to continue fucking you even after confirmation of your pregnancy?

You drop your arms and take a step back.  Did seeing Margot Fenring put him off?  Is she the type of woman he’d prefer?  Not a Bene Gesserit, he’s said as much, but a woman with more effortless poise?  Or does he intend to find someone else tonight now that he doesn’t need to take you?

“I understand,” you say, trying not to let your hurt and indignation show.  “We’ve done what was necessary to secure an heir and now there’s no need.”  Not for another year at least . 

Feyd looks amused for a moment, taking in your disappointment that he’s not going to bury himself inside of you like usual.  It is sort of funny, in a sense.  Weeks ago you would never have anticipated wanting his touch and feeling disappointed at not getting it.

“I abstain from indulging any kind of carnal desires the night before arena matches,” he says.  “With others or with myself.”

Why? you want to ask, pretty sure the answer lies in something along the lines of discipline or wanting to save pent-up energy to put on a show for his audience.   

“I’m pregnant ,” you say instead, more to yourself than to him.  It’s almost incredible how shocked you are that the realistic outcome to the past month is finally here.  Like being surprised that a seed you’ve planted and watered every day is starting to sprout.

His almost-smile turns as close to soft as you’ve ever seen on him.  “How ‘bout that?” he says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand to your stomach.  His touch is gentle, his eyes drifting to where his hand rests.  For a moment you don’t think you’ve ever felt closer to him.  For a moment you’re not concerned with politics, with the Baron, with your future, and you can insulate the two of you inside the warmth you feel blooming in your chest.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” you ask.  He looks at you and nods, and you take your opportunity, cradling the side of his face and wrapping your other arm around his shoulder as you pull him to you.

He breaks the kiss first, but still rests his forehead against yours, his hands on your waist.  You can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips, needing to pull away because otherwise you’re going to keep holding on.

“Good night, husband,” you tell him, your voice thicker than you realized, feeling a rush within you.

You finally have allies here; you’ll be able to talk to the Reverend Mother, devise the best way to keep the Baron away from your children so that what happened to Feyd will never happen again.

You will find a way.

.

You wake up in the morning feeling resolute.  It’s not the same quiet dread that you had on your wedding night, but the tension in the air still feels thick.

You won’t be seeing Feyd until it’s time to adorn him with war paint; you will dine separately, prepare separately, and once you have finished painting his body will sit in the stands waiting for his not-match.  After that the people of Geidi Prime will shower him with their praise and adoration and the entire Fortress will celebrate the Na-Baron’s birthday.  You’re not likely to have any real privacy with him today, certainly not until bedtime and even then you imagine it’s going to be a late night of entertaining well-wishers and keeping up appearances.

Your food is brought to your quarters, and you find you don’t have much of an appetite, between the snug fit of your dress’s bodice and the thudding feeling that starts in your ribcage and spreads downwards.  Not just Idrisa but another attendant helps prepare you to look as anointed and pristine as you were on your wedding day.

You wear your hair down, save for two braids starting at your temple and connecting at the back of your head.  It’s not defiance against the Harkonnens; they surely know that you look precisely how the Na-Baron wants you to.

Lips painted black aren’t any less common here than teeth dyed the same color, you think as you apply your cosmetics.  In fact, when you apply it, you think about how your mouth resembles an inverse of your husband’s.  

Your husband .

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is beloved by his own people, feared and despised by others.  He’s a force of violence, a killer and stone-cold executioner.  He’s a sadomasochist who comes from the most dysfunctional family you’ve ever seen and is set to lead the most bloodthirsty population in Landsraad.  He’s also known you with such tangible intimacy that it’s sometimes overwhelming.  He’s brought you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible.  He’s the man whose child you’re carrying in your womb at this very moment, even if the whole of Geidi Prime doesn’t know yet.

You are going to go out and watch the arena match as the Na-Baroness, and as the bridge between his world and the rest of Landsraad, both of and separate from the Harkonnens.  

You keep your head held high, the quiet clicking of your heels against the floor the only sound you make as you and Idrisa head for the chambers where your husband’s preparing to make his appearance.

At the entrance is another girl whose name you don’t know, and they flank you down a flight of stairs you’ve traversed only once, and two a set of double-doors guarded by two men in white who bow their heads, eyes downcast before opening the doors for you.

On the other side of the room a pair of young women wait, one of them holding a bowl and the other a pair of translucent gloves.  

And there’s the man himself, stripped to ceremonial loincloth, watching you enter.  His gaze sweeps up and down the length of your body, taking in the sight of your long, unadorned hair, painted-black lips, and every feature your gown shows off to almost exaggerated effect.

You stop for a moment and incline your head.  “Happy birthday, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

“Come to give me my gift, then?” he asks, and a month ago you’d have thought his tone cold and mocking.  Now it sounds as close to playful as he’s willing to get with other people present, especially as he’s still staring at you.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you tell him, and glance to the side, at the raised platform jutting out of the wall.  His Darlings are all curled up in a pile, lazily but contentedly watching the two of you.  They’re wearing clothes this time, matching outfits.

“You dressed them for the occasion?” you ask Feyd.

“I had servants sedate, bathe, and dress them, but yes,” he says.

One has a stripe painted on her forehead; she seems to be the leader of the pack, moving first and the other two deferring to her, and she leans over as far as she can manage, nuzzling against your side

You inhale sharply, picturing her not for the first time taking a bite out of your lower abdomen with those black fangs.

Feyd can sense it.  “They won’t hurt you,” he says.  “They like you.”

I wish I could say the same about them , you think as she purrs–another feature no doubt installed by the Bene Tleilax.

“Do they smell it?” you ask.  The baby?

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” Feyd says, 

I won’t allow them near the baby when it’s born , is a conversation for another place and time, when there aren’t other people around and you don’t have an imminent task.  The girl holding the bowl steps forward, head bowed, to remind you why you’re here.

“Let’s prepare you, then,” you say, and Feyd gives you a small smile before turning his back to you.

Maybe when he first told you to paint him, he thought it would demean you, but it doesn’t.  You doubt he feels that way anymore, either.    He rolls his shoulders back briefly, and you watch the taut muscles ripple under his pale skin.

I was terrified of you the first time I saw you like this, you don’t tell him as you press your fingertips against him, but even then I thought you were impressive to look at.  Maybe not a traditionally handsome man as far as I was concerned, but I liked seeing you in a loincloth back then, too.

One of the girls holds the bowl for you, and the other gives you a pair of gloves to keep you from staining your hands.  You looked up the design–they change depending on the occasion and a birthday or other holiday requires its own set of strokes.

“Is this correct?” you ask, feeling pretty certain that it is.

“Yes, that’s right, Na-Baroness,” the girl holding the bowl says softly, hardly more than a whisper.  

“Very good, Na-Baroness,” echoes the girl just beside her, waiting to take your gloves off for you once you’re finished.

Feyd’s silent as you work, turning his head briefly and giving you a view of his profile as he glances over his shoulder at you as if to speak, but ultimately remaining silent.  You don’t have much to say, either, nothing that you want an audience for.

He’s going to kill people today; you assume prisoners of war, former soldiers who would put up a tough fight if the playing field were even.  Instead they’ll be drugged before meeting your husband, their ruthless and efficient executioner.  It’s not fair, it’s not good.  It’s not something you can call yourself proud to be associated with, but it’s him.  And you’re a part of his life, his legacy.  A knot forms under your ribs as you finish with his back and focus on his chest and stomach.  Does he share the combination of power and vulnerability you feel now, as he stays still for you to adorn his body with ceremonial paint?  Is he looking forward to cutting down total strangers in front of thousands of cheering people?  Because for all the discussion in the Fortress for it, Feyd seems less excited for it than everyone surrounding him.  Does he quietly long for the thrill of a real fight?  A challenge amongst everyone catering to his every desire?

You finish painting him and take a step back, allowing the girl next to you to pull your gloves off before she and her partner scurry to the side.  For a moment it feels like there’s no one else in the room, and you think as you look at Feyd in his loincloth and ceremonial paint that he’s devastatingly beautiful.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

His eyes look dark in these halls; it’s tough to find the blue of them.  “For making me a part of this,” you add.  “A part of your culture.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, before snapping the fingers of his right hand.  Idrisa and the other girl hurry forward, hands clasped in front of them and eyes downcast.

He still looks at you.  “Uncle will sit in his usual spot, that's his alone.  He’ll have you sit in the private box with the Bene Gesserit Sisters.  It’s a gesture meant to insult you, but don’t take the bait.  Just keep being hospitable to our guests.”

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

A figure enters; a fat man carrying a cushion laden with knives–the swordmaster.  Feyd’s eyes flicker briefly towards him before turning back to you, and he gives a small nod.  Dismissed .

For a moment you’re not entirely sure what to say.  Good luck?   It would be insulting to imply that he needs it.  I can hardly wait?  He knows that’s not true.  In the end you say nothing, opting to curtsy before leaving, taking the same steps you’ve taken once before, ready to play your part as he plays his.

The slaughter awaits.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich

Also please lmk if you'd like to be tagged!

Our supporting players for this chapter:

[bad-decisionsot7]

Their reaction to you getting too close to another member.

SEOKJIN

Jin may not seem it, but he's quite the jealous type. he'd see you rubbing jimins arm playfully and he'd immediately walk over, gripping you by yours. you'd give him a confused look while he'd pull you into the hallway, he'd press his forehead against yours as you were pushed into the wall. "you know you're mine, right?" with the way he had suddenly become so touchy, you could feel your knees threatening to give in.

NAMJOON

Namjoon was usually okay with you being close to the other guys. he never minded it because he normally wasn't jealous, today was one of his few had days though where everything annoyed him. he swore he had seen red when you were hugging hoseok, his hand rubbing at your lower back, as soon as hoseok and you had parted, namjoon walked over, throwing you over his shoulder. "Joonte what " he'd slap your ass in front of everyone, continuing to walk away with you. "you're pushing it today. baby, just wait."

HOSEOK

Hobi was in fact very sensitive. if he'd see you hug another member, it was awkward to him. he didn't understand, why the body contact? he hadn't ever brung it up before but today, something inside of him snapped. you had hugged yoongi for the last time. when you got home that night, he said he had a "surprise" for you, he'd blindfold you, his fingers trailing at your naked skin. "you like hugging other men, y/n? you like giving them the opportunity to touch you?" his voice was just above a whisper, you knew where he was getting with this. you couldn't help but to shiver with excitement at his jealous attitude.

JIMIN

Jimin would be keeping a close eye on you as your legs were thrown over tachyungs lap, it bothers him. the physical contact. his jaw was clenched when you looked at him, confusion clear on your features, you hadn't known why he was looking at tae with such anger but you were sure it had to do with you, you slowly made your way over to him. "jiminieeee." you spoke, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, they were a darker shade than usual, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. "everything o-" "I hope you know I don't plan on playing nice with you tonight." he'd spoke, his tone calm. calm jimin was dangerous, it excited you.

YOONGI

Yoongi was always laid back and chill, his attitude never really showing, it had been jins birthday and he'd witnessed something that made his blood boil. you kissed Jin on the cheek, hugs, handshakes, all of that was fine in his eyes but a kiss? that was over the top. his dominant nature was exposed when he'd come over to you, demanding for you to sit on his lap in front of everyone, he remained calm on the outside as you shyly sat on his lap his thumb rubbed circles on your thigh as everyone seemed to be paying no attention. "yoongi what are you doing?" you'd whisper/yell. "alot less than i should be, you're lucky i'm only making you sit here."

TAEHYUNG

very very jealous, you'd like to play games with him though, his jealousy fueling something inside of the both of you. you'd purposely grind against jungkook at the club making the grind his teeth. he'd been used to your little games but they never failed to work. with one last sip of his drink, he walked over to you, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, his teeth grazing against your neck. "I'm starting to think you like doing this to me, no, actually. i know you do. guess i'll just have to teach you a lesson, little one." after he had left hickeys all over your exposed collarbones in front of everyone, you knew they knew who you belonged to. no doubt about it.

JUNGKOOK

Jungkook was very easy to read. you'd known you had messed up when you rubbed namjoons hair, the way you did to him. he wasn't going to play with you. you didn't take his jealousy serious until after the two of you had gotten home. after he had shown the majority of his hidden kinks, hickeys over every visible inch of your body. the thing that really had gotten you was the way he came in you, looking deep in your eyes with that familiar "fucked out" look, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip as he repeatedly whimpered breathlessly, "you're mine."

[little-annie]

E | WC 1k | STWG Kinktober Day 4: Blindfold/Safeword | Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Part 3 of Running With The Devil Steddie Role Reversal AU

●●●

Unfortunately for Steve, after spending last weekend and the one two weeks prior in Munson's company, he's developed a bit of a problem.

A day dreaming one.

A wet dreaming one.

A thinking of Hawkins Number One Track Star in various stages of undress one.

It started two weeks ago, when Steve got home from yet another party in the woods, and the memory of Munson ogling his newest tattoo hadn't felt the need to stray from his mind. He'd fallen asleep that night thinking of the way those night dark irises traced the lines of Demogorgon on his chest.

That night, Steve had imagined Munson leaning closer, slipping his hand into his shirt and tracing his fingers over the raised lines of black-blue ink and thick chest hair.

The next night, it was Munson's tongue.

The following Monday in the middle of class, it was a combination of both, but they hadn’t remained solely focused above the belt.

From then on, things had started to spiral out of control.

Especially after the last party where it hadn't only Munson’s eyes wandering, but his hands too.

Steve couldn't help imagining what may lay beneath the guy's signature track pants and t-shirts. Sure he'd gotten a better idea when he'd caught a glimpse of the guy in his shorts and track team t-shirt, but Steve wanted to see more.

Wanted to feel more.

The thought of what Munson's sweat damp skin might taste like was a recurring query.

But tonight, Steve’s unconscious self is straying a little further. Clad in nothing but a pair of tight white boxer-briefs, lying in his bed alone but for his imagination, Steve drifts to sleep with the thought of pale skin and onyx eyes.

***

“Lying so well for me, Baby.”

In the hazy space of Steve's dreamscape, Eddie lies before him nude but for the black silk wrapped around his head, shielding his eyes and squishing his curls flat above his ears.

His cock sits weeping and heavy against his stomach and the sparse thatch of hair that lies there.

Under Steve's heavy gaze and his wandering fingers, the older boy squirms with need. Keening with a gasp when Steve dips down to taste the salt of his skin, hot and hard between his thighs.

There's always been something so intriguing to Steve about being blindfolded. About not knowing when or how or where the next sensation is going to come from. Releasing enough of yourself to trust another to be your eyes. To be the only thing to bring you pleasure as you clench the sheets with tight fists just as Eddie's currently are.

Reaching with a black painted nails, Steve scratches from a toned pec to tight curly dark hair and down a thin muscular thigh. Watching as red blooms in his wake and Eddie holds in a gasp.

“Want to hear you,” Steve hears himself say as he scratches again. Delighting in the dribble of precome he's granted and the moan that falls to the air above him.

He wonders if Eddie's ever laid himself out like this for anyone else. If any of those cheerleaders he's fucked have taken care of him in such a way.

Steve doubts it though, the best things those girls seem to have to offer is flexibility and endurance.

What a shame.

He voices just as much, crawling further up his bed to where Eddie remains lying back against plaid pillows. Nipping and licking at pale porcelain skin, Steve whispers, “Bet you've never been taken care of this way before.” He bites at Eddie's jaw and reaches down to cup his tight balls in hand. “None of your girls even bother asking what you want, huh? Never ask if you want to give up control and just lay there and take it… I bet you do all the work.” Steve faux pouts with his last words, smirking to himself when Eddie whines and nods, arching up into Steve's palm in search of friction.

While Steve continues to massage and pull, lick and bite, he also continues to tease.

“This easier for you, Sweetheart? When you can't see me? When you can pretend I'm one of them? You miss having tits in your face? Or a tight cunt to sink into?”

“I can give you what you need, don't worry.” Steve shifts again so he’s nearly sitting on top of Eddie, guiding his pec to the other man’s mouth and encouraging, “Here; take a bite.”

Just as he’d hoped, Eddie bites down, taking the muscular flesh of Steve’s chest into his mouth and humming as he presses his nose closer, laving his tongue over coarse hair and flushed skin.

Steve groans himself and grinds his ass down against the thick cock beneath him.

Eddie’s gasps against his chest, hands flying to meet Steve’s hips and pull him down, thrusting up as Steve pushes against him again.

“There. Right there. Just like-“

***

With a start Steve wakes, jolting upright in bed, covered in a light sheen of sweat and with a tacky mess in his underwear. God, he was so close.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Steve sighs, reaching with ringless fingers beneath plaid sheets to give just the gentlest squeeze to his aching cock. He’s just about ready to sag back against his pillow and allow his hands to wander when the doorbell chimes loudly.

That must be what woke him up.

For a moment he thinks of letting whoever it is wait, but the possibility of it being someone there to buy or fuck ( or heaven forbid it be his parents,) gets Steve out of bed with a stiff cock and a groan.

Wrangling on a pair of sweatpants and nothing more, Steve rubs at his sleep crusted eyes and makes his way down the stairs to the front door, flinging it open and nearly choking on a gasp when no other than Eddie Munson stands worn with sleep before him.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you-”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts, wide-eyed and rosy cheeked, “Can we talk?”

●●●

Read Part 1 & Part 2

[butlersxbirdy]

You Light My Morning Sky: Part 13

To You I Can Admit, I’m Just Too Soft For All Of It

Warnings: ass play/plugging, color system, new position, oral (f recieving), dom/sub, panty play, mentions of exhbitionism and body insecurities

The wardrobe consultants come in quickly and set up the dressing area and the makeup chairs.

Austin holds your hand and stays by your side, smiling when he sees the garment bags covered to hide your outfits from each other. 

“Remember what we talked about?” Austin says to Anna, your makeup artist, when she gets you in the chair.

“Strong setting spray, so her makeup doesn’t come off, because she gets dressed blindfolded,” Anna grins. “I remember. As if that’s the weirdest request I’ve ever gotten. I think it’s kind of sweet,” She says and gets you seated, in a chair large enough to accommodate Austin half next to you and half under you, arms around your waist. He likes watching this part, and he likes making sure the makeup goes well with the dress only he has seen. You blush and think about when he had suggested it; 

"I pick what you wear, you pick what I wear. No peeking until the night of."

It felt marital, as though he was creating ways for you two to surprise each other. 

"Aust, baby, I love it," you had smiled. “That doesn’t apply to the wedding, though. I’m picking my dress and it’s gonna knock your fucking socks off.”

He had agreed, and now, the two of you get ready for everything like this; together. 

His voice brings you pack to the present when he points to a color you can’t see and says,

“Her dress is that color, so maybe.. This, this and this?” he suggests and Anna makes a counter suggestion. You sit there while they chat and you feel makeup being applied to your face. It’s relaxing, and Austin holds you tighter when one of Anna’s assistants starts working on your hair. 

The actual process of getting dressed turns out not to be a horrible ordeal. You make sure no one notices Austin's plug, but even so, he insists on slightly ruining the surprise by being dressed in the same room as you, a piece of black satin tied over your eyes. You agree to let him technically peek by partially dressing himself in light of the secret nestled firmly inside him. He nuzzles and holds and kisses you as much as the process will allow. 

You can feel that the dress is flowy and fitted, and strapless. Layers of black wrapped silk with a structured bodice and a-line full skirt with a slit, all come together to show off your chest and legs perfectly; Austin grins smugly at knowing from memory the contours of your shape when the gown fits perfectly. You can feel the details before you see them, and suddenly, there’s a warm body close to you, and you put your hands out. They land on the narrow, fully clothed waist of your fiance, clinging a little to him. He picked out this outfit for you, and you want to love it, or at least not judge it until you see it, but you feel a little self conscious because it's snug around your stomach. Austin, as always, sees the thoughts in your head, and quiets them with a kiss to your jaw. 

"You look so fucking delicious, Mama... wanna get on my knees and worship you," he purrs, tugging you close and running his hands all over your stomach. He grabs the black silk bow and tugs, the fabric falling away from your eyes, and you look at the two of you together. With his adoring touch, you can see that the elegance of the gown is perfect. His simple low buttoning shirt and lace blazer with high-waisted pants are the perfect companions to your outfit, as he got the two designers to match color pallets. The pale pink detailing on his ensemble matches the makeup Anna put on you and your hair falls in soft curls. He got every last detail, exactly perfect. 

“You look so good, do you like what I picked?” you ask, and he kisses your cheek.

“I do. We look so beautiful. I love you,” he whispers in your ear. “And I’m not done surprising you, so just get ready,” he grins, and you two turn back to looking at yourselves together in the mirror. He looks so handsome and sweet and he only wiggles a little when he sits for his hair to get finished, once you two can be begrudgingly separated.

You look around for the shoes he picked in the many boxes the designers had sent over until he makes a soft noise of distress. You hurry to him, and when he sees you coming and his smile widens as you walk, the layers of the skirt swishing around your bare feet.

"Here she comes, God, have you seen her?" He says proudly to the team surrounding him. They laugh and nod.

"We have. She's beautiful, you're both so lucky," Anna answers him. He winks at you and looks at her.

"You have no idea," he hums, and when you come over to him, his face is lit up with joy.

“You made a noise, handsome, what’s wrong?” you ask, and you place your ear close to his mouth for privacy. He shakes his head and he pulls out his phone, typing something. You hear yours ding and you grab it, reading a text he sent so no one would risk hearing it.

Do not. I mean under any circumstances. Bend over again. Please Mama.

You return to his side and kiss his cheek, squeezing his hand twice to show you understand, and you switch your phone, wallet, and both passes for the carpet and dinner into the clutch you were loaning for the night. He tugs you closer, and by the time you've settled in his lap, his hair is done and you are showing Anna some ideas.

"What if he just had a little mascara and lip color? Just subtle," you bite your lip, looking at Aust when you talk. His hands touch you everywhere he can, and he tilts his eyes up like he always tells you to do for mascara. 

"Good boy," you praise and Anna and her team exchange a look. "None of you heard that," you say firmly and they all blush and nod.

"Yes, of course," they hurriedly agree and they follow your suggestions. 

"Do I look good?" He asks when they're done and you lean in and kiss his cheek.

"You are so beautiful," you smile and you try to slip your feet into your heels without bending over, but Austin shakes his head. 

"So do you, but no heels until we're downstairs," he reminds you, kissing your cheek softly. The soft pink of his lips and darkening of his eye lashes only add to his ethereal beauty, and you hear a camera snap as the two of you look at each other. You turn around and Anna smiles.

"I'm sending it to you then deleting it," she promises and you grin.

"Thank you," Austin says quietly, and adjusts his stance. You lean in close and whisper,

"Color?" and hug him close by his waist. 

"Green," he whispers and you nod. He takes you carefully down the stairs and he hands you a jewelry box.

"I did say there would be more surprises,” he winks at you. “For you, my love," he smiles. 

"What-" you ask and he opens it for you to reveal a set of white gold teardrop earrings set with burgundy jewels, and a layered white gold chain with matching gem pendants, one small and one large. The larger jewel rests between your breasts when he puts it on you and the color offsets and brightens the deep black color of your gown. He kisses your neck when he does the clasp, which settles oddly on your neck.

"Baby, the clasp feels heavy," you reach your hands back to feel and he smiles.

"It's a charm. Subtle, but it has my initials on it," he smiles and you blush, looking up at him. He's wearing his engagement ring and the necklace with your initials on it as well, and you run a hand through his hair.

"I love you," you whisper. He leans into the touch and looks at you with wonder and adoration.

"I love you too," he says quietly, then kneels to put your feet one at a time in the Louboutin pumps you selected for the evening. You look down at him and Anna comes down to grab your phone and snap more pictures with it. Austin pushes your skirt up and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. Thankfully Anna gets a photo, and when you help him stand, he gasps a little.

"Color?" You whisper.

"Green, it pressed against my... spot, though," he huffs, a blush dusting his cheeks, and you squeeze his hand. 

"Time to go, Prince, you okay?" You ask and he smiles down at you, bringing one hand up to gently cup your cheek and he presses a kiss to your lips. 

"I'm great, My love. Come on," he grabs your hand and leads you out the door, Anna and her team hurrying out quickly behind you. They take the first elevator, at Austin's insistence, and he holds you by the waist in his arms.

"You look so beautiful," he hums. "I meant to say earlier. I couldn't find the words, but, thank you for not looking at me differently," he says softly. You turn in his arms and look into his eyes.

"What do you mean, Baby?" You ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes where it had fallen.

"After you touched me, and made me cum by playing with my ass, you still look at me the same way. I'm no less of a man in your eyes for enjoying that," he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckle right above your engagement ring. "Marry me, Mama," he grins and you kiss his lips softly before kissing his ring finger next to his engagement ring.

"Planning on it, Butler. My strong, capable, loving man," you assure him and he smiles, kissing you tenderly until the elevator doors open.

"We're not staying long," he smiles and you shake your head.

"Not long at all, Baby. You're being so good." 

The Red Carpet turns out to be an exhilarating experience. Austin holds your hand and leads you everywhere the cameras flash, begging for your attention. You both try to keep your left hands out of sight, and Jenn, your boss, comes up to you both for some pictures, looking fabulous in a black velvet plunging gown.

"Keep smiling," she says through her teeth. You pose together, and she says "Your leave has been approved and I fired Sarah," she tells you both and you and Austin exchange barely concealed looks of unbridled joy. Austin hugs her in full view of the camera.

“You need new clients, right?” He asks. “That’s the point of this?” 

“More or less,” she giggles, smiling at him.

“Well, let’s make that happen. Thank you for taking me and my relationship seriously,” he says, giving her the million dollar smile that is just so.. Austin. "Let's take a picture, you and me," he suggests, and he puts her arm around her as they pose for some photos. 

"Those will be great for us, Thank you" she says when they come back to your side, and Austin looks happy too. 

"Yeah, it will. Just a token of his appreciation," you giggle as Austin poses playfully. 

"I guess I'm the bell of the ball, although looking at you two, I don't know how that's possible," he winks at Jenn and he kisses your cheek. His mascara and lip color look amazing in the light and when he stands next to you once more, he gives you the look he gets in his eyes when he can't see anything in the world but you. You guide him gently towards the next section of hungry cameras,  and when all eyes are on the both of you once more, he takes your left hand and places it on his cheek.

"My Mrs. Butler," he whispers, and twirls you into a low dip and a passionate kiss. The crowd goes wild, and the flashing lights get brighter, but you don't really notice. When he pulls you back up, you pose in his arms and he gives a smoldering look before you continue on down the parade of people wanting your attention. 

Dinner is quick thankfully, but after the first course, you can see trouble stirring. The room is warm, and the lights are bright. Austin is charming and gracious as ever, but he doesn't have time to breathe much, and, he notices, neither do you. Young male stars of every type approach you and give you the sparkle he knows well; it’s how he looks at you. What makes it all the worse is at some point your hand left its place on his leg. The plug feels so present inside him, and he wants to whine and cry and make you pay attention. Checking the time, constantly, he knows you haven’t looked at him in almost 45 minutes. After they clear the final course, Austin practically yanks your hand to him, double taps the inside of your palm and whispers, "Yellow, Mama, come on," and he stands on wobbly legs. You hold his hand and when you're out of sight and ear shot of the crowd, he pauses and looks at you.

"Bathroom?" He asks, jaw tight and eyes hardened and cold. You nod, electing to take him to the private VIP bathroom

"We can lock this, and there's places to sit," you explain and he nods, breathing through his nose as you lock the door behind you. When you turn to him, you take his hands.

"What can I do, Baby Boy?" You ask and he tugs you down on to the couch. His hands wander over you, feverish with possessive rage, and then land on your waist, gripping a little. 

“You can stop shoving your tits in the face of Miles Fucking Teller,” he growls. “I am plugged. I am dressed in clothes you picked,” his voice is rough but the push on to the couch he gave you was so gentle.

“Austin, I’m sorry, I was working!” you say firmly, trying to set some boundaries. He isn’t having it; he looks perfectly coiffed and debauched all at once, and you know you won’t be able to hold out. He gets on his knees and pushes your dress up, once hand resting on your stomach. 

“Austin, what are you doing?” you ask. You’ve been passive to his anger since leaving the table, letting him get his frustrations out, but at some point you know you need to offer grounding and consistency. As much as you like it when he runs wild and free with your body as his sub, you don’t appreciate the attitude when the roles are reversed.

“I’m your baby. You are my mama,” his eyes glint angrily. “I’m reminding you of why you like it that way. Why you don’t like it when other people touch me. Why I don’t like it when other people stare at you,” he pouts and you bite your lip. He sounds distraught, and wrecked. 

“Okay, baby,” you nod. “Take what you need.” 

“Yes, Mama.” His head disappears under the fabric of your dress, hands caressing your thighs, and then his mouth is on you. His teeth clamp down on your panties over your clit, and you feel the scraping sensation against your sensitive swollen bud. He sucks the dampening fabric hungrily, then tugs them down your legs with his mouth.

“Baby!” you whine, and he smirks.

“Glad to see your attention is finally where it belongs,” he smiles, rubbing and kissing your thighs before diving back in. His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly, then pushes inside you, sucking hungrily at every part of your pussy he could possibly access without using his hands. He loves this; even when you don’t limit him, he challenges himself. Only his fingers, only his mouth, only his cock. He loves the feeling that just part of him is better for you than the whole body of any other lover, and he’s infuriatingly correct. You are painfully close already just from the attention on your clit and his tongue paying loving attention to your g spot. He pulls away from your entrance to go back to sucking your clit, and all it takes is him humming against you while licking you where you need his touch most. You cum with a soft cry, and then a louder shout of his name as he swirls his tongue over the outside of your clit, and a more powerful orgasm pours out of you, almost knocking the wind out of you. 

“Holy shit! Baby Boy!” you gasp, panting as he licks you clean, then pockets your panties, looking up at you. He spreads your legs and snaps a pic, and you hide your face.

“Panties, a pussy pic, what next? What can I get you?” You want to be sarcastic but it comes out as a moan. 

“Look,” he grins, getting up and laying next to you, showing you the photo with his head on your chest.

“Holy shit, how rough were you?” you gasp, looking at the pink abrasions across your pussy.

“Mama, it’s my lip color,” he whispers. “I would never hurt you,” he soothes you. “But to be honest it scared me too.” You look at each other, and you see some darkness in his gaze as you giggle together about the mixup, and he adjusts the way he’s laying down. He's laying on his side, which only adds to the worry nagging in your chest.

"Austin, please use your words, what hurts? What do you need?" You ask, nuzzling his hair softly. 

"Its really overwhelming," he says softly. "My ass feels... full, I'm aching in these silk pants, and everyone is making so much noise. I just needed a second of no noise, taste, smell except Mama and my pussy," he sighs, hand going up your dress again so he can just gently pet you.

"Do you need it out?" You ask, rubbing his back. "No judgment, Prince. You've been so good. Do you need it out?" 

"No," he shakes his head. "It's grounding me. Keeping me so connected to you. Just needed a break," he explains, pressing his lips between your breasts. 

"You've earned a million treats," you assure him. “My good boy,” you stroke his hair and kiss his still slick lips. 

"Thank you, Mama," he smiles and kisses you again. "5 more minutes?" He asks and you shake your head.

"I think we should go home," your hands wander into his hair, and his hopeful eyes widen.

"We can leave?" He asks, hardly daring to believe it.

"We can and should leave," you confirm and he stands up carefully, hips rolling briefly as he sits up and his ass makes full contact with the edge of the couch. He shoves the panties in his pocket, and he licks his fingers clean.

“What if we stayed for dessert, and you pay attention to me more in front of everyone?” he asks. “If you don’t, I’ll suck on your panties in front of your boss,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Austin,” you say firmly. “Is that how good boys behave?” you ask, hand slowly stroking his neck, reminding him of what you could do to him.

“I want to be good, Mama, but being good doesn’t get me anywhere. You stopped touching me. You stopped looking at me,” he pouts and your eyes flash. He wants to play. 

“We will go back to our table, I will show people how much you mean to me, and you can keep that little panty power trip if it makes you feel like a man, but when we get home, you’re mine. No questions asked. Only a red will get you out of it this time, Baby. If you wanna play, those are the rules,” you say coolly, squeezing his neck a bit. His eyes are sliding in and out of focus, and through his pants, he looks hard enough to burst. You smirk and look at him, forcing him to make eye contact with you.

“Mama, yes. God, yes, please,” he swallows thickly. This, as it turns out, is what he wanted, and you were happy to oblige. 

“Okay then. Color?” you ask, kissing his cheek and fixing his lip color.

“Green. You’re so beautiful,” he smiles softly. You wrap an arm around his waist and look at him.

“Not as beautiful as you,” you say quietly.

“Pause,” he says sharply, then picks you up, places you on the counter, kisses you so deeply and passionately you fear for the state of your makeup, but you quickly lose even those thoughts in your head. You cling to him, kissing him back and then at last he pulls away and helps you down, fixes both your faces, and your dress. 

“Unpause,” you say, grabbing his hand and taking control again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he grins shyly, and then you return, hand in hand, to your table. 

Thanks to Austin bringing his aching heart to your attention, you manage to avoid any behavior that would cause him to publicly suck on your panties for attention, and dessert goes as well as can be hoped. Austin feeds you a bite of cake and the camera catches you two being extremely cute together. The blush on Austin’s cheeks looks placed there, but he’s just getting flushed and a little overwhelmed again. Jenn wanders over before the speeches begin, takes one last photo, and then looks at Austin.

“What did you do to him?” she asks you. You look away, not remotely about to tell her the truth, but Austin provides a satisfactory enough answer.

“She stopped touching me and flirted with people because she’s good at her job, and I got mad so I took her panties but now I wanna go home,” he grins at her and she lets out a shocked but genuinely amused laugh.

“Get out of here you two,” she says and you really don’t need telling twice. You call for the car, grip his hand and practically run out of there, Austin’s free hand pawing feverishly at you. He knows, however, that he’s in for it when you push him into the car with a smack on his ass, and you settle across from him in the spacious limo instead of next to him. 

“Mama,” he breathes, trying to get into your lap, but the toe of your high heel presses gently on his clothed erection and pushes him back down. The choked moan and deep breaths coming from him make him sound like a gravely wounded animal, and you ask him for his color.

“Green! I think! What the fuck, Mama?” he whines, hips rolling against your shoe, which hasn’t moved.

“That was a nice bit of honesty with Jenn, angel. You’re lucky it went well,” you purr and Austin grunts.

“I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else and I wouldn’t say anything about the plug! Promise!” he whines and you nod.

“I believe you. I’m glad for that. That’s my good boy. Want me to move my foot?” you ask, pretending to absentmindedly check your phone while messing with him, but he lets out the most hollow whine you’ve ever heard.

“I want your attention!” he snaps and you set aside your phone. 

“You have it,” you assure him quietly, moving your shoe. “I can let you grind on my shoe or you can play with me to your heart’s content on the way home, but you absolutely must not cum until I tell you to. And I won’t tell you to, under any circumstances, until we’re back home,” you inform him honestly, wanting him to have all the information.

“I want you,” he whines. “But I was bad. I should have the shoe, just… Please don’t press too hard,” he begs, and you smile and nod.

“Good compromise, Little Prince. I’m proud of you for knowing you crossed a line.” You press the toe of your shoe to him again, your painted toenails glinting in the low light and the dress falling open at the slit so he can see your bent leg and bare pussy. He gulps and tries to focus, and much to his own surprise, and your pride and joy, he follows the rules the whole way home.

When you get inside, he’s insistent; hands on your hips all the way up, kissing you everywhere he can, and no amount of rule making that currently comes to mind would sufficiently deter him. He’s an animal, but a seemingly wounded one. There’s a vacancy in his eyes again, a deep well of suffering that cannot be quenched by what you have planned. He collapses on to the bed after you get upstairs, staring up at you, and he honestly looks like he did when Elvis asked Priscilla if she still loved him. He is going to a place you don’t want him to go, ever.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ask, stroking his legs and undressing him carefully.

“I feel.. I feel empty,” he whines. “I know I’m plugged, how ironic is that? But I need something,” he rubs his chest. “I need to be owned, Mama, do we have like, a collar or handcuffs or a whip or something-” he rambles, listing crazy possibilities one after the other, and you stop him.

“Okay, whoa, we have some of those things, Austin, but that’s not the solution when you’re feeling like this. Let’s start simple,” you suggest, helping him sit up, and you finish getting him naked. “Undress me,” you ask. “Only you can do it, no one else,” you look into his eyes. He’s aching hard, and still a little out of it but he looks more like himself from that boost of confidence alone. When you’re naked, he tugs you close to him, holding you tight. You get both of you on the bed, and you look at him.

“No toys, except the one you already have. We’re gonna try a new position, okay? Nothing but Mama being in charge of you, and loving you, and giving you the attention you deserve, but we can talk about anything you want first, Baby. Mama hurt your feelings, huh?” you ask and he clings to you.

“I just want you to be proud of me. I know you were working. I let you down,” he says, looking ashamed. You frown and stroke his hair.

“Baby, I am so proud of you. We worked it out, and you ate my pussy like a damn expert. And, you did it all while making it clear what the problem was, and you communicated clearly to me what it was. Why would I not love my best boy?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a little kiss.

“I’m Mama’s? Mama’s mine?” he asks and you nod.

“Absolutely. This position will help ease that ache for you, if you’d like to try it tonight,” you say and he nods.

“Now, please,” he blushes, kissing you more deeply. You sit up and you look at him. 

“Okay, Baby,” you smile, suddenly feeling a little shy. “We’re going to try the amazon position.” 

His eyes light up, and he eagerly lays back, grabbing the backs of his knees, spreading out for you. 

“Please, Mama, I’m so hard,” he begs, and you lean down to kiss his thighs, rub his ass a little, and make him the center of your attention. His little gasps and moans reveal that you’re hitting the mark, and you help him support his knees. He sighs gratefully and his hands tangle in your hair. “Mama, don’t tease, please, I’m such a good boy,” he whines when you kiss his cock, and when you look up at him, there are tears of pleasure streaming down his face. You smile fondly at him, and you sit up, still holding his knees for him.

“You ready, my love?” you ask, stroking his face as you use your body to support his legs, ready to sink down, and he nods. “You’re just the most beautiful little pillow prince,” you tease lovingly, as you position your legs on either side of him, sit forward, and guide his cock inside you. The pleasure is immediately intense for the both of you, and Austin is rendered motionless. His breaths come in little pants, stomach rising and falling rapidly, and you lean forward, fully resting on your knees.

“Color, my Prince?” you ask, and he looks into your eyes.

“Green!” he moans. “Please, move Mama,” he begs, and you do. You start riding him, slowly, but it feels too good, and you grip his thighs, squeezing and rubbing his trembling limbs.

“Feel okay, baby?” you ask, voice cracking as your folds grip his cock when he hits your g spot just perfectly. “This feels so so good,” you gasp, rocking your hips down and rubbing your clit on him shamelessly. 

“Mama, I’m gonna cum!” he cries, and you lean forward to play with his nipples, making him arch up, trying to buck his hips. The pressure on your clit drives you close to the edge; you’ve been on edge since he took your panties and pleasured you in the bathroom. Loving Austin had given you a new standard in life when it came to sex; once with him was not enough. You needed more of him, always more, and he indulged your cravings as you indulged his. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and cries, and the tears pour endlessly down Austin’s cheeks. He is mad with desire, sobbing beneath you.

“Mama, let me cum! Please! Let me put a baby in you, you look so pretty, wanna give you a baby and suck on your tits and make you cum!” he cries out, filthy words tumbling out of him freely, and you lift up off him before sinking back down, roughly rubbing your clit on him each time. The tight coil of heat that’s been building for hours snaps, and you gush all over him, squirting as his cock rams into your g spot.

“Come on, Baby! Cum for me! You can do it, give me a baby!” You scream, and he cums immediately after, babbling and whining, and reaching for you. He softens inside you and he cries harder.

“Y-yellow… Red… I don’t know Mama, it’s so much, make it stop,” he begs, and you immediately lift off him, and ease his legs back down. 

“Plug out too, Baby?” you ask and he nods. You stand up, feeling his cum leak out of you, and you do something you’ve never done before. Leaning down, you caress his face and kiss him.

“Let me carry you,” you whisper. “Put your arms around me.” He does and you lift him easily, getting him out of bed. You carry him to the bathroom, and you set him on the edge of the tub. “I know we already had a shower, but you’re having an epsom salt bath, with petals,” you soothe him and he nods. You fill the tub, and add the salts, and the rose petals.

“Thank you, Mama,” he hums. “Can you take it out please?” He stands up and bends over, turning away from you and you can see his whole body is shaking.

“Of course, Prince, I’m sorry if it seemed like I wasn’t listening,” you soothe him, rubbing his back and his ass as you pull the plug out of him, and he whines, but then sighs in relief.

“Thank you Mama,” he hums, and turns around immediately to hug you. “That was fucking amazing. All night, my whole body was on fire, and I was floating, and there was only you,” he sighs, face buried in your neck. 

“Gives you an idea of how I feel about you,” you say softly, and he moves to look into your eyes. He gazes at you, searching your face, then pulls you into a deep, filthy, sweet, all consuming kiss.

“I am so in love with you,” you both say at the same time, and burst out laughing.

“Alright,” you giggle, kissing him briefly once more. “Into the tub, you big sweetie,” you smile and he slides into the hot water, sighing happily. His eyes slide closed, and he reaches for your hand. 

“Get in the tub, Mama, my pussy is all full of cum and making a mess,” he purrs, and you shiver at his words. You get in with him, as he asked, and you yelp when he instantly pulls you toward him, rubbing your stomach and nuzzling your chest.

“You’re so good to me, Baby,” you praise him and he smiles proudly.

“I love you. You’re wonderful to me, I’m glad you feel the same way about me, because loving you is all there is,” his voice is soft against your skin.

“Austin, you’re my world,” is all you can say. The love he feels for you leaves you breathless, and knowing that you’re finally loved by someone the same way you love them is a new, but wonderful feeling. “I didn’t know it could be like this, I really didn’t.”

“Neither did I, Mama,” he smiles and kisses your chest.

When you get out of the tub, there will be sheets to check, although you hope you didn’t make a mess this time.  There will be things to do, outfits to hang up, things to put away, and bedtime routines before you can lay together for the night. But that could wait a little longer. For now, there was you and Austin. You needed nothing else in the world.

[faaun]

[sukirichi]

“your hair is really soft” – jjk ver!

ft. itadori yuuji, gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, nanami kento, ryoumen sukuna, & inumaki toge

ITADORI YUUJI – you’re in the room with Yuuji, who is busy watching the movies gojo-sensei had given him. He holds the cursed corpse in his other side, careful not to let him hit you, while your head lies on his shoulder, eyes drooping close from your long day. Yuuji turns the volume down and brings you closer to him until you’re practically sitting on his lap, his lips making brief contact at the crown of your head while he mumbles sweet nothings, too engrossed in the movie.

You smile at his sweet gesture, gently fisting the front of his jacket while you return the affection, kissing the edges of his jaw softly to not distract him too much. Yuuji’s lips tilt at the soft press of your lips on his warm skin. Soon, your hands rake up to his hair where your nails rake his scalp. Immediately, Yuuji deflates like a balloon as he purrs at the movement, making you chuckle in your sleepy daze.

“Your hair is really soft,” you note, and his eyes practically sparkle. Yuuji was a huge fan of hair gels and hair products, that his desk was filled with different brands all so he could keep his hair perfectly styled – in that somewhat natural, messy appeal. You love it on him and he melts at the fact you’ve noticed his efforts into taking care of himself. Most of all, the feeling of the smooth tendrils running past your fingertips like caressing a field of flowers lulls both you and him to a serene state.

GOJO SATORU – Like Yuuji, Gojo takes his time in styling his hair. You brush your teeth beside Gojo, who scowls as he struggles to keep his hair up the way he likes before he puts on his blindfold. The lanky man groans and adds more product, flattening the strands of his hair between his palms before swooping it up. When it falls down, Gojo whines, leaning forward on the sink counter.

You chuckle to yourself; he could be so dramatic sometimes. Bumping your hip with his, you gesture at him to move, and the big baby pouts before placing his chin on your shoulder as he watches you gargle. “Babe,” he sniffles, arms wrapping around your middle before his nose nuzzles into your skin. You giggle and push him away; the little bastard knew you were ticklish there. “My hair won’t stick up the way I want it to. Now I don’t look so cool anymore. What would my students say? That Gojo-Sensei stopped being attractive?”

That earns him an eye roll and a playful smack to his shoulder. “Ow!” Gojo rubs his shoulder with another pout, although both of you know nothing ever really hurts the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re just fishing for compliments.”

When Gojo hides his smirk behind his palm, you know you’ve hit the nail right on the head. Gojo was probably the most self-assured and overconfident man you’ve ever met – the day he thought lowly of himself and worried about anything concerning him that would ruin his “image” would be the day pigs could fly. Nevertheless, you give in with a sigh, extending your palm towards him.

“Give me the gel. I’ll fix your hair for you.”

“You’re a lifesaver, babe!” Obediently, Gojo crouches down so you could reach his hair, but not before muttering “shorty” under his breath. You tug at his hair harshly than you intended as payback, and Gojo only lets out a loud, fake moan before doubling over.

Your laughter and his bubble and echo through the cramped room, but both of you don’t mind. It’s moments like these you cherish with your whole heart even though it’s not extremely sweet or anything over the top. Dating a jujutsu sorcerer, the strongest one at that, wasn’t always rainbows and unicorns. You worry for him all the time and stay up awake all night, only ever finding peace in your sleep when he comes home safely – which he always does.

Still, you don’t stop worrying for him. It’s only natural, after all, and the way Gojo’s eyes soften as you slightly massage his scalp and style his hair for him lets you know he loves small moments like this too when both of you are completely alone in your own worlds, just enjoying each other’s presence and not having to think about anything else.

“Your hair is really soft,” you muse, unaware of the way Gojo’s closed his eyes as he lets your hand do the magic. When the familiar scent of vanilla and flowers wafts into your senses, you lean down closer to him to sniff his hair, stopping in your movements. “That’s odd. You smell like shampoo, but I haven’t bought that scent in a week.”

“Well, I may or not be the one who emptied it the last time,” he sheepishly chuckles.

“Gojo! That shampoo was really expensive!”

“Yeah, but I wanted to smell like you,” he coos, gently peeling your arms off him so he could hug you. Because of the height difference, you face plant into his bare chest where his skin is still warm from the shower. You keep feigning your irritation, but really, you squish your cheek above his heart, and Gojo’s chest rumbles as he laughs – he knows you can’t resist him. “Sorry about it babe, let’s go grocery shopping tonight when I come home, yeah?”

“You better buy your own shampoo,” you grumble, but Gojo only laughs.

  FUSHIGURO MEGUMI – Megumi is hunched over his desk, eyebrows pinched together while his hands move at an extreme speed. He’s studying while you scroll through memes on your phone, not wanting to disturb your boyfriend. Megumi is studious as ever, and it’s not that you aren’t, but you’re definitely a lot more relaxed than he is. 

You often tease him that you’ve got amazing memory by tapping your forehead whenever he tells you to study with him, which only makes him huff, but in reality, you refuse to study with him because he’s so distracting.

The way he bites his lip when he’s concentrated on something has your stomach erupting with butterflies, and it doesn’t help when his dark blue eyes pierce through the pages like the poor textbook committed a crime he couldn’t forgive.

All in all, Megumi’s beauty tripled tenfold when he was dedicated to something, and it was this fact that had you keeping your distance from him while he studies, because the last thing he needs is to have you jump him when he’s got an exam to prepare for. Unbeknownst to him, you’re angling your phone upwards until his beautiful side profile comes to view – and it’s so unfair his lashes are longer and thicker than yours – and you take a silent snap.

You take a few more pictures with a silent giggle, making sure to set it as your lock screen later. Nothing better than waking up to Megumi’s face every time your alarm went off, but your daydreaming is halted when Megumi drops his pen with a loud sigh.

“I know you’re taking pictures of me,” he side-eyes you with a glare. You squeak before hiding your phone behind you, knowing that it’s not out of the picture for Megumi to steal them and delete his precious photos. It didn’t help he knows your password either (duh, it’s his birthdate) so you take the extra mile by offering him a sickeningly sweet smile, an apology ready to leave your lips when – “If you wanted my attention that badly, you could’ve just said so. I don’t mind taking a break or something.”

Although he sounds annoyed, the way he avoids your gaze to hide his reddened cheeks and ears say otherwise. Megumi’s back faces you as you wait patiently on his bed. You don’t want to bother him – you really don’t – so you stay put, and Megumi sighs for the hundredth time that night before spinning on his chair, arms stretched out wide open. “Come. Want hugs.”

He keeps his gaze on his lap to swallow the embarrassment of using baby-like words, which was a huge contrast from his quiet and cold persona. You don’t mind though. Deep down, Megumi is like everyone else who wants constant affection, so you leap out of his bed and jump into his arms. Megumi relaxes with your weight on top of him before he squishes his cheeks against your boobs – one of his quirks that you found endearing – a sign that he just wanted to relax for a little while.

Megumi isn’t really that huge on touch, so moments like this where he allows himself to be physically intimate with you has you floating on cloud nine. You hear him sigh between you, and you hide your grin by pushing his hair back to reveal those pretty eyes of his, beckoning him to look you in the eye.

As expected, his cheeks flush a beet red at the intensity of your gaze, but what really catches your attention is how his eyes just brighten even though they’re lined with dark circles. 

This precious boy means everything to you, and you cup his face until your noses are rubbing. “Love you, Gumi,” you whisper, the boy’s breath hitching when your eyelashes flutter against his skin. Megumi tsks, a faux scowl on his face because both of you are painfully aware that he just melts around you.

“Stop teasing me. You know I don’t like that.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you lie, brushing his hair back in a soothing manner to help him relieve the headache he gets when he studies too much. “You know, your hair is really soft. Can I keep doing this?”

Megumi hates it when people touch his hair, so you expect him to say no – and you’ll gladly respect it – but instead, he pushes you closer and murmurs, “Don’t stop doing that.”

You smile so wide you fear your face would break.

  NANAMI KENTO – You’ve always been fascinated with your co-worker. You don’t know what it is about the sharp-faced and stoic Nanami Kento that somehow makes him stand out from the rest. It’s not like he was smarter or better than anyone, although you do admit Nanami overworks most of the time.

It’s kind of pathetic you’ve been crushing on him ever since your first day of work. Maybe it’s because he worked with virtue and wishes to actually be honest instead of just sucking the money out of others. Maybe it’s because seeing him visit a bakery every after work makes him seem softer and a lot more human than his seemingly unapproachable nature. Whatever it was, you can’t explain why you’re so enamoured with the blond, or why you have the audacity to suddenly card your fingers through his hair at his desk that time.

You were told by your boss to give him this folder – quick, easy, and simple. But Nanami has this effect on you that he makes your brain go brr every time you go closer to him. You blame it on the fact both of you are alone at the office right now for OT, but when Nanami freezes under your touch, you realize the grave consequences of your actions.

As if you’ve touched something boiling hot – and he kind of is – you retract your arm and bow so deep you feel a vertebrae popping air. “I’m so sorry!” you begin to blabber, bowing repeatedly to the point your hair has become a mess. You can’t even look him in the eye – what were you thinking?! “I didn’t mean to, it’s just your hair looked really nice and soft and I couldn’t help myself! If you want to tell the higher-ups about this harassment and get me fired, I promise I won’t mind. In fact, I’ll take this to my grave and even offer my firstborn child as an apology—”

“Y/N.”

“because I’ve done something so horrendous and oh my gosh, I was just eating donuts and I probably got crumbs in your pretty hair—”

“Y/N,”

“And that’s really so low of me. Uh, actually, I may or may not have spent last month’s salary to buy my niece a huge ass dollhouse, but I’d gladly schedule a hair appointment for you—” you stop your words when you feel huge, calloused hands squishing your cheeks together until your lips are puckered out like a fish. Nanami stands before you, looking as handsome as ever, and that thought only has you panicking more and withdrawing. “I’m so sorry.”

Nanami sighs, pulling away to give you some space. You try to fight back the whine because not only did you look ridiculous under him, but also because you actually missed his touch.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” he takes the folder from you, pauses, then tilts his head to the side. “You think my hair is soft?”

“Uhm,” you blink rapidly, “Y-yes. Your hair is really pretty too. In fact, everything about you is pretty, like your hands when you type in paperwork but – I’m talking too much aren’t I?” you laugh nervously, scratching the back of your head. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” Nanami doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“Yeah,” you confess, switching your weight from one foot to another. At this point, you’ve given up on asking him out for coffee this weekend because you’re sure he’s labelled you as an idiot now. Not that it’s surprising though; not only does Nanami keep to himself out of social aversion, but you’re also pretty loud and awkward, a huge contrast to someone as well-put as him. “Anyways, uh,” you clear your throat, gesturing to your cubicle. “Now that you’ve got the file, I’m gonna go do my part. See you later, I guess. Or not. You can go home first you want. I’ve got quite a lot on my plate.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Sorry?”

Nanami organizes his desk one last time before following you to your desk. “I’m done with my part and it’s late. It’s not safe for you to walk home alone,” he glances at his watch, “I’ll wait for you until you’re done and walk you back home. That way, I don’t have to worry about your safety tonight,” he plops down on the empty seat next to yours, crossing his arms on his broad chest. “Take all the time you need. Just wake me up when you’re done.”

Just like that, Nanami dozes off, exhausted from a long day of hard work. You, on the other hand, are more energized than ever as you suddenly find a strong wave of motivation you’ve never had before.

Maybe you don’t mess up everything, after all.

  RYOUMEN SUKUNA – He groans when you giggle at him, using your small, dainty hands to brush it through his hair. Sukuna liked to sleep in and it was only seven in the morning, meaning he’s supposed to be still lost in dreamland with thoughts about you and your cute little face. But because you’re an annoying brat who’s an early bird and way too cheerful as a morning person, you’re wide awake when the sun shone through the windows, and you’re gently coaxing him awake by rotating your fingers through his hair.

“Your hair is really soft.”

“Stop that,” he complains, but doesn’t really do anything to push you away. “It’s too early. Go back to bed.”

“But I’m already awake,” you tease, proving your point by taking off his covers and patting his chest. “Come on, let me make you breakfast. Maybe we can go out today and go see a movie, what do you think? It’s my day off so we better make use of it!”

“Exactly, it’s a day off,” he growls the last part, surprising you when his strong hands grip your thigh and drag you beside him. Soon enough, Sukuna has you trapped in his muscular arms until you can’t move anymore. “Let’s just stay the whole day in bed. Plus, I’m the one making breakfast. There’s no way you’re still cooking for me on your day off.”

“But I love cooking for you.”

“I know, but it’s my turn now,” he huffs through your hair. Sukuna’s grip loosens around you a bit to give you room to breathe, but he’s taken aback when you only snuggle closer to him to the point your legs and tangled and your body is warm from his heat. You don’t have to say it out loud to tell him you’ve conceded to his wishes.

As always, Sukuna is right. It feels much better to just let go of time and enjoy this moment. And he smells so good, feels so warm, that you’re unable to stop yourself from burrowing closer onto his body until you’re sure you’re about to start smelling like him later.

Of course, Sukuna likes the thought of that, so he sweeps one arm behind to tug the covers back over your bodies. He kisses your temple, and with a low, husky voice, grumbles, “Let’s go back to sleep, then we’ll do everything you want later, okay? I just want to stay in bed with you a little longer.”

For a guy who was considered heartless and barbaric, he sure turned into putty in your hands.

  INUMAKI TOGE – The platinum haired boy lays on your lap, the wire of headphones dangling beside you both. You’re thankful Inumaki has his eyes closed, because the last thing you want him to see is how embarrassed and giddy you are at that moment.

You and Inumaki have been friends for years, meaning you’ve been hiding your crush on him for a painfully long time. He’s recently made a Spotify playlist with an innocent text of, “I made you a playlist of all the songs that reminds me of you,” which leads you both to your current predicament. It’s a rather lazy weekend and Gojo-sensei isn’t around to bother any of you, so you’re in Inumaki’s room, careful not to bounce your legs out of habit to not give the poor boy a headache.

You snap back to life when Inumaki squeezes your thigh, and you’re met with azure eyes looking back up at you. “Mustard leaf?” he points to your face, which has been previously constricted and heated from his close proximity. It isn’t the first time you and Toge have cuddled, but it’s been too long and you’re standing at the edge of a dangerous cliff with the desire to tell him you like him.

Inumaki must’ve thought you’re uncomfortable with his weight on you because he begins to sit up. “Oh, no, no!” you coax him back down despite his questioning eyes, a wide grin replacing your flustered state to conceal it. “Its’s fine, really. I was just vibing with the songs.”

He hums, not completely believing it, but he doesn’t want to push either. Soon, he settles into your lap again and makes you lose your mind when his breath starts to tickle your kneepads now that he’s facing behind you.

Your heart just about combusts, and before you know it, Inumaki has fallen asleep while the theme of Howl’s Moving Castle plays. Once his breathing regulated into a steady rhythm, you reach out to brush his hair back and lightly add some pressure for better sleep. You know Inumaki lies that, and you smile to yourself when he leans into your touch even in his slumber.

“Your hair is so soft,” you say mostly to yourself, leaning down to kiss his the crown of his head, making Inumaki sigh contentedly. Gosh, you love him so much.

Now isn’t the time but...hopefully, one day you could tell him how you feel. Even if he rejects you, you hope you could still be friends even after that awkward encounter –

You freeze as the next song comes on. I.F.L.Y by Bazzi comes on, and just as you cover your mouth to silence your gasps, you hear the faintest snickers coming from Inumaki before he goes back to “snoring.”

“Toge! Were you awake the whole time?!”

[hold-him-down]

I don't know how this would work in Leo's story or if you could even use it, and if not feel free to disregard, but I have seen a couple of posts recently about whumpers betting their whumpees during card games and I don't know that just sounds neat.

Nothing Permanent

TW: Implied noncon, mentions of nudity, institutionalized slavery, blood mention, betting a whole ass person in a poker game, fear of noncon, discussions of noncon, references to noncon touch, fucky headspace, references to conditioning... the usual suspects.

Notes: Early in Kylie Smith’s contract. Leo’s first buyer out of training. Not really a linear plot happening but it's words and i wrote em so as promised, they are now everyone else's problem :)

Table of Contents

 ✥ ✥ ✥ 

He’s bleeding, he thinks. He’s blindfolded, so he isn’t completely sure if the blood has stopped, but every hand that’s been dealt and won, Leo is forced to take a shot, or lose a piece of clothing, or he’s been touched or he’s forced to touch or he’s… or he’s hurt. There’s no pattern to it. 

This… woman, Mrs. Smith, loves his suffering. In a way he wasn’t prepared to handle, she longs for true, genuine agony. And tonight, she’s chased it.

He feels something slice into him and every muscle in Leo’s body locks as he swallows back a scream. “Not too deep,” she says. “The director said no scars.” 

“Jesus,” one of the men say. Kyle, Leo thinks. He’s outspoken, he’s handsy. He’s drunk and he’s dangerous and if he wins this game, Leo goes home with– 

Liquid is poured along the new cut and Leo wails in spite of his training, curling up as tight as he can on the chair they’ve tied him to, willing the meager contents of his stomach to stay put.

He’s gasping in short, ragged breaths when he feels cool hands come around his neck, pulling his head up. 

Her lips are cool against his jaw and he hears himself struggling over each breath as her tongue grazes his neck. Distantly, he knows his arm is being wrapped up, and that they’ll soon start another round. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the moment unattended, or dread what follows it.

The blindfold that collects his tears is soaked by now. He’s body is covered in bruises and sweat and blood and he just… he just wants to go home. He just wants–

“He’s okay,” Mrs. Smith says, her teeth grazing his skin as she backs away from him.

“He doesn’t exactly look it,” says another woman.

It earns a laugh from all around him, and then a sort of silence grows, and Leo knows their attention has returned to their game.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

“Are you going to be a good boy?”

Covered in sweat, still trying to catch his breath, Leo can only nod and hope it’s enough. Mrs. Smith runs her fingers through his hair, letting her nails lightly graze his neck and she pulls him into a hug. His head drops against her shoulder. It’s what she wants, and he thinks if he can delay this next part, for as long as possible, if he can save himself a single moment of misery, it’s worth it.

“See? He’s sweet,” she says to someone that he can’t see. He closes his eyes, pulling in long breaths through his nose. Leo doesn’t think he can stop this from happening, but if he can earn Mrs. Smith’s favor back, maybe she’ll… make him take it easy. 

She abruptly breaks the hug, her grip tight on his shoulders as she pushes him back, meeting his eyes.

“Have fun tonight,” she says, and Leo nods, swallowing. 

The man, the one who so gleefully tormented him for the past three hours, inclines his head toward the door with a smile.

“Nothing permanent,” she reminds him.

“Nothing permanent.” His voice is thick with desire, Leo thinks. And in an instant, there’s a palm on the small of his back, guiding him out the door and toward the last remaining car in the driveway.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

The first sign that the night isn’t going to go as expected is when they get to the car. The man, Kyle Montgomery, clears his throat and utters a muffled, “Sit wherever you’re comfortable.” 

Leo tenses.

“Sir?” he asks, hand hovering over the rear door handle. He half expected to be folded into the trunk, and he doesn’t want to misstep this early in the evening.

Kyle nods his approval. “That’s fine. I don’t care where you sit.” Kyle’s eyes move to the window, where Mrs. Smith watches them with a smile. “Just get in the fucking car,” he says tersely.

Leo does, stiff, unsure of whether he actually did what he was supposed to do. He would find out soon enough. The next ten minutes are spent in silence, and when Kyle pulls into a drive-up take-out window, Leo finds himself once again taken aback.

“What do you want?” the man asks, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“I–” shouldn’t eat, is what Leo wants to say. But, as if the response has been coded into him, he finds himself saying, “I’d like whatever you’re having.” He hates himself for it. He hates every piece of himself that been broken down by the training. And still, once the words have left his mouth, he can breathe a little easier. It hasn’t stopped freaking him out. That his brain was rewired to do this. That his body seems to act on its own accord.

Kyle orders, and they sit in silence as his card is scanned, as the woman hands him the bag, as he drives away. The bag is placed on the passenger seat, the smell hitting Leo in waves, and he wonders idly if it was bought for him as a reward for later. Or to build motivation. It doesn’t matter. He’ll do whatever he’s supposed to do.

The silence lingers, save for the soft humming along to the radio. It makes the hairs on Leo’s arms stick up.

They pull into a gated driveway and make their way toward a looming brick townhome, and Leo is suddenly grateful the food hasn’t been offered to him yet. He doesn’t love the way his stomach is knotting up, or the way his throat is running dry. 

He’s led in through the back, but Kyle doesn’t touch him. The moment they enter the main room, the lights turn themselves on, and Leo’s… He’s there, in this man’s house, to do… whatever this man wants him to do. Will he ever get used to the unease?  

“Have a seat,” Kyle says, gesturing to the sofa. Leo does, carefully, keeping his eyes down. He wants to see. To see if there are things in this room that will hurt him. To see what kind of man he’s got for company tonight. His heart pounds against his ribcage and he swallows as the weight of the other person falls next to him. “Don’t do that,” Kyle says. 

Leo nods. “I’m sorry.”  

The man hands him a burger from the bag and Leo regards it carefully. “Are you hurt badly?” he asks.

The confusion must be evident on Leo’s face, because Kyle clarifies, “Your… Your head. And your… arm. Your stomach. Everything, I guess.” 

“I’m okay.” Leo takes a deep breath and tries a bite of the sandwich, the smallest bit, just to distract himself. He’s rewarded with a smile, and he smiles back, a little bit. He’s proud of himself, for making this man smile. 

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Kyle says quietly, but he smiles again.

After every bite, Leo looks up at the man who watches him, thumb gliding across the rim of his glass, to make sure he’s doing okay.

He chews slowly, and he counts his breaths, and he waits for the other shoe to drop. He’s heard stories of men like this. Of men who pretend to be your friend, who let workers get their guard down. Of men who feed off of their hope, and once they have it, they strike. Of how much worse that feels. But every time Kyle smiles, Leo can’t stop the wave of fucking pride that surges through him. 

As midnight rolls around, and Leo is still unscathed, he decides to try to push things along. Kyle sits quietly on the opposite side of the couch, his eyes burning into Leo’s body through every second.

“I’m terribly sorry that I’m such poor company,” he says abruptly. It’s his seventh pass at making conversation, and Leo has done his best to enthusiastically participate, but it keeps faltering. “Truth be told, I– I’m not really interested in this type of thing.” 

Leo wants to ask why he fought so hard for it, if he’s not interested in it. He wants to ask why he was so aggressive at Mrs. Smith’s house, if he’s not interested in it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he closes a little bit of the distance between him.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I– Whatever you want, is fine.” When Kyle doesn’t back away, Leo inches closer still.

Kyle’s eyes pinch shut in an instant and he stands, just as Leo sinks into the sofa next to him. “I don’t want this,” he says. 

The sudden change in the atmosphere rattles Leo, but he stands, too. His jaw locks, but he doesn’t bite back. He’s practiced this. All of this, so many times. He can do this.

“What do you want?” he says, keeping his tone very carefully neutral. 

Kyle glances around his room. “What can you do? That isn’t–” he gestures vaguely toward Leo’s middle “–aggressively nonconsensual.”

And for a moment, Leo feels something close to anger bubbling inside of him. He thought that had been beaten out of him by now, but it’s there, just under the surface. Nothing. The answer, he thinks, is nothing. The word he says though, the picture perfect textbook word, is, “Anything.” 

He can almost feel the whisper of a hand on the back of his neck, of a bottle of water being tipped up against his dry lips, a Good, Leo, spoken from just outside of his line of sight. He swallows, and the dopamine surging through him at the absolute rightness of his answer relaxes him. He glances around the room, trying to get an idea of how this temporary pseudo-buyer might like to spend the evening, or at least the warm up. 

“I can… draw,” he says softly. “I can… I can play the piano, I can read to you? If you’d like, we can… um, we can just talk, or watch a movie, I’m a good–”

“The piano sounds nice,” Kyle interrupts tersely. He sits back down, gesturing toward the Grand Piano in the corner. “If you’re okay with it, the piano sounds nice.” His voice is less aggressive on the second pass, and Leo nods. 

“Of course,” he says. 

And that’s how he spends the evening with Kyle Montgomery. Playing the piano, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

The first thing Mrs. Smith asked him to do when he arrived back at her apartment as the sun rose was to strip. 

He did, without a word, folding his clothing and setting it on the entry table. She examines every inch of him, checking for damage. She pushes into the bruises and cuts, all reminders of an evening spent suffering before leaving with Kyle, just to watch him tense. He doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but when she digs her nail into his arm, he hisses in a breath.

“There you are,” she whispers. She gets a towel from the kitchen and holds if over the newly bleeding wound, then covers it with his free hand. He hates her. He hates this. Every second of it. He longs for the moment that it gets easier, but isn’t sure it ever will.

“Did he hurt you?” Mrs. Smith asks, using the tip of her forefinger to tilt Leo’s chin upward. 

“Yes,” Leo whispers. 

“Did he fuck you?” 

Leo nods. The lie slides easily off of his tongue, with her fingers now lingering on the back of his neck.

“Yes.”

She nods and stands, smiling as she does. “I hope you were good for him, my angel.”

She leans down and plants a kiss against his forehead. And then she leaves, and he leans back on his heels. Leo has been here for just two weeks. If he’s learned anything at all, it’s not to move unless he’s asked to. And so, as the minutes bleed into hours, Leo sits there, waiting for whatever comes next.

tag list: @peachy-panic, @whump-cravings @afabulousmrtake @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @pumpkin-spice-whump @distinctlywhumpthing @thecyrulik @highwaywhump @batfacedliar-yetagain @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @skyhawkwolf @suspicious-whumping-egg @also-finder-of-rings @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @prodigal-zoe @melancholy-in-the-morning @urban-dark @nicolepascaline @quietly-by-myself @seasaltandcopper @angstyaches @i-msonotcreative @mylifeisonthebookshelf @anonintrovert @whump-world @bite-down-on-this

[rebelscoundrel]

Passing Through

din djarin x reader

You run the best cantina on a small Outer Rim planet, but that’s not the only reason the Mandalorian is a frequent guest. His visits never last long but they’re worth it, and this time he manages to surprise you in more ways than one.

Warnings: nsfw, FwB relationship slipping into something else, oral (f receiving)

a\n: i have no excuses. just needed to write some smut and then got emotional with it

Masterlist

The doors to the cantina swish open and a harsh gust of wind blusters in, scattering sand onto the tables and stools. You don’t even blink as you slide a few glasses to the side and grab a rag to clean up a spill at the end of the bar. The murmur of conversation dips as patrons survey whoever just arrived, but you’re too busy topping off a pair of drinks to bother. 

Footfalls bring the newcomer over to where you’re bent behind the bar. Without looking up, you toss a bright greeting.

“What can I get for ya?”

A familiar metallic voice responds, “Maybe something for later?”

You straighten slowly, a smile already on your lips. The one and only Mandalorian you’ve ever met looms before you — broad shoulders, flexing fingers, and shiny new armor — and you preen openly, knocking dirt off your clothes and tugging a hand through the ends of your hair. 

“It’s been awhile, Mando.” Your eyes flash with pride. “Where’s your quarry? Hiding in the market next door?”

“Quarry’s taken care of.”

...so now I’m here to see you, is what he doesn’t say. But you feel it in the expectant way he clasps his hands over his belt. Giddiness spreads over your features — your local nickname isn’t Sunshine for nothing.

“Are you free later?” he continues. 

You sit back on your hip and smile wide. “I’m free now.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilts in mild surprise and he’s glad for its opaqueness because it allows him to freely watch as you lean over the bar to wipe it clean one last time, your tunic dipping low to give him a view. He shifts at your knowing grin and how it makes his length twitch. 

Your brashness had caught him off guard the first time — and every time afterwards, even though he was the one showing back up on your doorstep. As if he was shy. Or confused. Endearing was never a term you’d hear describing a bounty hunter but you were starting to think it might fit this one.

“Hey! Cover for me,” you call to the service droid idling in the corner. 

You stride toward your quarters in the back, knowing the Mandalorian is only a step behind. He’d first shown up at your cantina needing a strong drink many months ago; “a quarry chase gone wrong,” he’d explained when you curiously asked. He saved your life from raiders the next night and after that it didn’t take much dancing around the topic for the two of you to fall, feverish and heavy, into your sheets. You never know when he’s going to show up again, but it’s always a pleasant surprise when he does. Even more startling, the meeting of your thighs isn’t the only thing that aches for him.

By now it’s a practiced dance — locking your door, drawing the curtains, and blocking out all other light sources — you’d chosen total darkness versus a blindfold or him keeping the helmet on. You like things a little more tactile. 

“I like the new Beskar,” you muse when you hear pieces of his armor thunk on the ground.

“There’ve been some lucrative hunts.”

It’s impatient small talk, broken by grunts and the brushing of fabrics being hurriedly lifted off. You reach out for him as soon as you’re bare, helping pull his last pieces off and finding his jaw for a kiss. He shifts to plant his mouth squarely on yours and you tangle one hand in his hair while the other squeezes along his arm.

He feels nice under all that armor.

His chest is hot against your bare breasts but when you fall back against the bed a coolness hits you — he’s still standing over you, and you hum impatiently.

“Mando?”

“I’m coming.” His voice is clearer, smoother without his helmet’s modulator. 

There’s more shifting and rustling as he...takes a sock off? Puts his blaster at a safe distance? You’re not sure, but soon you can feel his presence at the bed again and you instinctively reach out to touch. You find the muscles along his abdomen and ripple your fingers as they slide down, feeling his breath catch under your touch. The darkness hides your proud grin when you find his length and he grunts.

In a flash he clambers on top of you, capturing your mouth again and doing some exploring of his own. He pinches your nipple and it brings out a gasp (you taught him that; he’s a quick learner) and you feel his lips spread into a grin against yours.

He hums appreciatively when you take his hand and guide it downward, spreading your legs as he catches on. His fingers slip over your core and you jolt as he brushes your clit. Another brush, jolt, and huff shows that you’re not wet enough for his liking. Yet. 

Coolness strikes again as he lifts himself up and off your body, shifting down to settle between your legs. 

“Mando, what are you — mm,” you trail off when his mouth hits the bend in your thigh.

His stubble drags along your skin as he makes his way to your core and offers a brief response. “Doing my part. This okay?”

Half a breathless yes from you and he proves that he does it well. He dives in and you writhe immediately, letting loose an obscene moan that had been building since you laid eyes on him. He’s dangerously efficient. You once again tangle a frantic hand in his hair when he suckles your clit and wetness pools at your core. More heat floods in when he presses your thighs open further and flattens his tongue to lick one long stripe up. 

Your moan morphs into a gasp. “Oh, mm — gods, Mando!”

He echoes your earlier words. “It’s been awhile, hm?” Who knew he had an atom of tease in him?

“Shut up.”

He smirks in the dark. You getting snappy is a good sign. Is he glad you seem to have waited since the last time he came around? “We’ll get there,” he promises. 

After a few more swirls of his tongue and you’re more than ready — he can feel it on his chin and in the way you’re clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up on top of you. This mutual desperation is what keeps you on his mind when he’s galaxies away. To be equally needed.

“Yeah, there,” comes his reassuring murmur when you draw him close and wrap a leg around his back, leaving you open and ready.

His face falls to the crook of your neck when he slides in, once again reminding you of his facial hair (it’s what you dream about most when he’s away; that and his hands). He fills you all the way and lets you readjust your hips and crane your neck to whine into the darkness. He’s always liked that you’re noisy.

“Missed this, Mando.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. “It’s Din.”

His confession is punctuated by a deep thrust but that’s not what knocks the wind out of you. You hadn’t exactly studied the fine print of the Mandalorian creed but you were pretty sure they weren’t supposed to share their names — or don’t share them on principle, or whatever. And yet here this particular Mandalorian is.

Buried inside you. Sharing his name.

“Okay,” you don’t know why a giggle escapes your throat (disbelief, maybe), “okay, Din.”

A warmth spreads in his chest at the way your voice curls around his name, his heart. His open mouth grazes the nape of your neck and he bites down when he thrusts again and you clench around him. The overwhelming pleasure and stuffiness of the dark room threaten to close in around you, so you follow through on an idea you’d always wanted to try.

A quick push and squeeze of your thighs and you roll Din beneath you, coming to rest straddling his lap. His chest heaves while he readjusts in awe.

“This okay?” You lean forward to place a hand on his cheek and mouth, finding his mouth already spread wide with a grin.

“Very.”

But he can’t stay away from your face for long. He sits up in time with the first roll of your hips, arms curving up your back to have you arching into him. You cling to him — one hand in his hair and the other at the nape of his neck, keeping his face pressed against you as you find a rhythm — head tipping back in bliss.

He whispers that he’s close and you coax him yes, please, keep going until he spills inside you with a grunt. It’s prayerful, almost, the way he sighs in relief and slumps against you briefly before picking his head back up.

“C’mon,” he urges, his fingers quickly finding your clit and building back up your high, “c’mon, there you go, for me.”

The tight circles have you at the edge in seconds, your hips rutting forward to chase the promised pleasure, and all Din can imagine is how beautiful you must look at that moment you give a soft whine and start panting as the climax flows from head to toe. It nearly chokes him to have you clenching so tightly around his length again but he rides you through it with a comforting hand between your shoulder blades.

It’s hard to have an afterglow in a pitch black room. The practiced dance resumes with you blindly reaching for your soft clothes and the Mandalorian piecing his beskar back on with metallic clings.

You armor your heart up in the same way. He always leaves, he has to leave, you’re just the lucky bartender. Secrets shared in the dark don’t often see the light. 

You feel his presence close in again — the heavy footfalls, the radiating heat — and you catch his arm. “Take care of yourself, Mando.” A beat passes. You bittersweetly correct yourself. “Din.”

“I will.” He hasn’t put his helmet on yet because his gruff voice still comes through crystal clear. It’s your mind that clouds as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

That’s new.

[cower-before-power]

Slippery When Wet: Part 2

Summary: An untimely accident in the shower leaves you injured and in need of rescue. Lucky for you, the object of your affections is more than willing to help.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, nudity, implied sexual content, description of injury (nothing graphic), unintentional voyeurism? (idk i mean like voyeurism in the name of helping i’m not sure how to say it ha), lots of dick talk, prolly really bad sex jokes

Link to A03 here

PART 1 HERE

A/N: First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED AND COMMENTED ON PART 1. You are all amazing, I am so glad you are enjoying this silly little venture Gojo has dragged me on. Again, thank you so much to @ghost-party for her beta skills, you da best! I hope Part 2 makes you all happy :) please enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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You shouldn’t look. Not because you don’t want to, but if you do you’ll know what is absolutely not warming your bed at night and then you’ll probably just feel worse. But, you were overwhelmingly curious. Just a quick look couldn’t hurt.

Right?

You peek through your fingers, just at his upper half. The sight makes you curse softly under your breath. Of course he’s absolutely beautiful out of clothes, did you really expect anything less?

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll get dressed,” he says, “just thought this would help you out.”

Help you out? Good grief this is going to be the star of your late night fantasies for months. Because instead of dreaming it up, you now have the real thing to recall.

“No,” you take a deep breath and drop your hands. “I’m fine.”

Are you though? He’s built to perfection, checking off all the boxes on your “Things I find physically attractive” checklist. You marvel at this long column of his throat, sweeping down into a set of collarbones that would make models die of envy. His chest is hairless (did he wax or was it just naturally that way?), miles of smooth skin and muscle that your fingers were just itching to trace.

Your eyes trail down past his stomach, briefly cataloging the very nice set of abs, before settling on what you were the most curious about.

The snort of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Excuse me, did you just look at my dick and laugh?” He asks accusingly, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle at the disgruntled expression on his face. “It’s just, I’ve always wondered if the carpet matched the drapes since I assumed you dye your hair. Guess I was wrong.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru visibly deflates.

“That’s what you’ve thought about?” His voice is full of frustrated disbelief. “My pubic hair?”

You can’t stop giggling. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious! Are you sure you shouldn’t get rid of it though? Doesn’t the white make people think they’re boning an old man?”

“The utter disrespect,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I can assure you that is the last thing on their minds when I’m working my magic.”

You wonder why you aren’t feeling more flustered. The fun and teasing atmosphere feels almost refreshing after the intense back and forth that was just occurring.

“What, you casting spells for dry weather?”

“Oh, you are evil!” He moans, then looks down at himself. “Don’t listen to her, big guy. You know what you can do.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk to it,” you roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “And don’t oversell the merchandise. It’s average, at best.”

(It isn’t. It’s probably the nicest looking one you’ve ever seen. But him and his astronomical ego do not need to know that)

Gojo grabs his chest as if you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch! Shots fired, target annihilated!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you sigh. You wonder if he notices the quiet fondness in your voice.

He opens his mouth as if to retaliate, but then suddenly shuts it. A look comes over his face as if he’s just remembered something very interesting and important.

“Hey,” he says, and you watch his mouth spread into a smile. “You said you’d wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. That means you definitely imagined me naked at least once.”

And your blush is back.

“What of it?” You huff, cross your arms and looking away. “It’s only natural. I’ve thought of lots of people naked.”

“Do you ever imagine sleeping with me?”

The question causes you to choke on your breath.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

You take a look at him, standing naked and unashamed in front of you. His smile is different; there’s a sultry edge to it you’ve never seen before.

“Maybe inquiring minds should stuff it,” you stick out your tongue. Immature, but he’s got you feeling all funny now.

“Well, I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, actually.”

Your heart misses a beat in your chest.

“You have?” Your voice squeaks as you force the words out.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You consider the question. You’ve got insecurities, but you know you are a decent looking person. And despite his flightiness about many things, Gojo has actually never given you the impression that he’s shallow in that way.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I guess I just never considered the possibility that you were interested in me in that way.”

He sighs. “Pumpkin, I’m not blind. You are stupidly attractive. Every time we’re out in Tokyo you’ve got a million guys and gals staring at you.”

“I just always assumed they were staring at your and your stupid blindfold,” you scrub at your cheeks with your palms, trying to rid yourself of some of the perplexing confusion you feel swirling inside you. “How come you’ve never made a move?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

You want to shout at him, to say of course yes a thousand times yes, but you pause. You realize you’ve never given him any signals, any hint that he was more than just your often annoying friend. Sure, you blushed at his silly flirting, but so did lots of people.

You shift back through your interactions, all the missions, the late night hang outs, the strolls through the city. Nowhere can you find any instant where your ever expanding feelings might have risen to the surface. But still, would your seeming indifference deter him? He was a very self assured man, after all.

“You have confidence coming out your ass, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t make a move anyways, just to see,” you say instead.

His whole demeanor softens. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Oh.

OH.

And you know exactly what he means. It’s why you’ve never said anything, why you forced your desires deep down into the pit of your being when in his presence.

It seems even the strongest shaman could be afraid of something.

“It’s not just about fucking, is it?” You ask, feeling your whole body start to tremble.

“It was never just about fucking,” he replies, and it’s like the universe explodes before your very eyes. “Why do you think I spend all my free time with you?”

“To annoy me?” You croak feebly. “To eat all my snacks? To enjoy torturing me by spoiling the end to every movie we watch?”

He chuckles. “Just side bonuses. Being with you is the real prize, pumpkin.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and your brain whirs like an overworked laptop. You’re having trouble processing that this is actually happening, that the man you’ve been pining after for what feels like forever is really standing there, confessing his own feelings.

Buck ass naked.

“You’ve got two options right now,” Gojo takes a step closer to you, and you shiver at the dominant aura that suddenly swirls around him. “Either I get dressed and we put today behind us, or I come over there and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name. Make your choice.”

Was there even a choice? There was only one option. A slow, warm feeling blooms in the middle of your chest and spreads outwards, dousing your whole shaking body in molten yearning. It’s not a new feeling, but the sensations are different. Because now you can give in to it.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out, breathless and giddy. “Get the fuck over here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

A flash of a savage grin, the soft thump of footsteps and then you are numb to everything but him.

He tastes like sugary coffee and chapstick, lips hard and hot against yours as he kisses you like he’ll die if he stops. He’s everywhere at once, in all your senses, drowning you in his onslaught of desirous fervour. It’s not a timid kiss of new sweethearts; it’s a passionate embrace of long overdue lovers.

Your hands run over every inch of him they can reach, mapping the ridges and valleys of his exposed skin. His own slip beneath your shirt to spread across your back, crushing you to him with a grip of iron. It’s not enough; you want them everywhere, you want him everywhere, until he’s branded onto your body. Until you no longer know where you end and he begins. Until he’s sunken himself into your very bones.

You need to breathe- you pull away with a gasp, one gossamer thread of saliva lazily trailing after you.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You pant, digging your nails into his arms. He’s unwilling to keep his mouth off you, now pressing scalding kisses along your jaw.

“Blame it on mutual stupidity,” he sighs into your skin, teeth slightly grazing the spot just below your ear. “Let’s make up for lost time, eh?”

“I’m game,” you say, a soft whine leaving your lips as he works steadily on what is sure to become a bruise.

“Good,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across the blossoming mark before leaning back to smirk at you. “Have to make you take back all your snarky comments about me and my game.”

You giggle. “Oh, so you’re saying it won’t be as dry as a desert ‘round here?”

“Well let me just check tonight’s weather report,” he laughs, grinning cheekily as he slips a hand down between your legs, brushing gently over the front of your underwear. You bite your lip, grip on his biceps tightening.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re in for a wet night,” he says in what you assume is his best weatherman voice. “Expect a great deal of precipitation, more so than what’s already accumulated. Perhaps we’ll even see some flooding. We’re talking possibly record setting levels here.”

You snort with laughter, pushing at him slightly. “You are such an idiot. Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I intend to put my mouth in a lot of different places,” he removes his hand, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your hip as he goes. “I know I just got you into these, but shall I undress you now?”

“Yes please,” you nod eagerly, already wiggling out of your shirt. He quickly helps remove the offending garment, but in all the lust and excitement you’ve forgotten about your shoulder, and you moan in pain when you jostle it.

“Owwwwwwie, stupid shoulder!”

“Shhh, pumpkin,” Gojo coos gently, leaning down to pepper the area with kisses. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You feel yourself melt at the sudden tender display, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his luscious hair as he continues to smother your bruised shoulder in affection. “You already are, Satoru.”

The first name slips out unexpectedly, but you like the way it rolls off your tongue. He seems to as well, judging by the pleased noise that rumbles from his chest.

“Well, allow me to continue then,” he purrs, and his lips leave your shoulder to capture yours in another toe curling kiss. You press yourself to him, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a thrill shooting down your spine.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“I never got to finish my shower,” you break your kiss to speak, looking up at him under your lashes.

He catches on immediately, his smile once again turning primal. It makes your knees weak and your gut clench in anticipation.

“Maybe you should help me, since I’m injured and all,” you push yourself even closer to him, shivering at the feeling of his not-so-average excitement pressing against your belly.

“Hmmmm, I could do that,” he’s already got his fingers hooked in your underwear, slowly starting to push them down your hips. “But what if you slip again?”

“Well, you’ll just have to catch me then,” you wink at him. “With your dick.”

He roars with laughter, and your heart has never been more full.

“Oh, I’ll do more than just catch you, pumpkin,” he growls playfully, and before you can blink he’s rid you of your bottoms and swept you up into his arms. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you.”

You reach up to kiss him as he pounds towards the bathroom, your blood on fire and only one thought in your head.

Bless that stupid, slippery, wonderful bar of soap.

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Taglist: @satorudicks @sara-nyaa @dixonsbugaboo @fandomtrash100 @oikusa-snow @okemis @kuxredere @mylittleteddybear @the-fandoms-georgie @inaflashimagine @crapimahuman @elenapri0502 @fragments-of-aria @bollywoodghoul @wrdro @kiasnotforever @disregardedbymybias @lavihs @euniartsu @satjsstuff @lycorizzz @fushigurosimp @levisbrat1 @bxstboy-tetsu @one-leaf-grimoire @glxar (sorry i just tagged everyone who asked and commented haha, bold means I couldn’t tag you sorry!)

[theringers]

earned it - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part eight

summary: “you’re my favorite kind of night”

a/n: i know this says pierre but it’s explicitly max. just a heads up

warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, light bondage

still 2 months ago, to the day

You heard the cheers as you booked it towards Parc Ferme. Undoubtably, Max was peering in the crowd for you. You saw the group of Red Bull engineers and mechanics and squeezed yourself into the group just as Max lifted his first place trophy. He was such an insane driver and even after his setbacks early on in the race, he managed to make it to first. You wouldn’t be shocked if he won the championship again this year.

His hair was messy from being under his helmet for the last few hours but you loved it. He was so particular about his hair but something about his helmet hair drove you crazy.

He kissed the trophy and pointed right at you, making you smile until you felt that pang of guilt run through you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Pierre stroll back with his fireproofs still hanging around his waist. He clapped for Max and cheered, excited for him. His eyes looked at you and saw you smiling and cheering, knowing that he’ll always be the guy you could only have in secret.

He just wanted to show you off to the world as his, but that wouldn’t be possible. Ever. Even if you were to be his wife someday, you’ll always carry the title of Max Verstappen’s ex wife. You could never be just Pierre Gasly’s wife.

You met Max back in his motorhome, the smile still not worn off from his win. “Congratulations baby,” you said, running into his arms for a hug. He spun you around and kissed your cheek.

“You up for a little bit of celebrating tonight?” He asked. He won so much that he couldn’t keep partying like crazy after every win. “A more personal celebration,” he leaned into you and left a kiss on your neck. “Just the two of us.”

“I’d love that.” You hugged him again, so proud of what he achieved.

Your celebration that night was fit for a king. Steaks delivered by room service with bottles on bottles of champagne, no clothes, and lots of orgasms.

Max had his back propped up against the headboard and watched you between his legs. His hands held onto your hair as you bobbed your head and down. He grunted and groaned as you suctioned your mouth and tightened around him. “Shit baby, when did you get so good at this?” He asked.

You smiled but still had his dick in your mouth, trying to make him cum from head for the third time tonight. He really loved when you sucked him off and you loved to hear his moans of pleasure, so it worked out.

With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you reached your other hand down between your own legs and began to rub softly. You bucked your hips, making it easier for you to touch yourself and moan with him in your mouth. The sensations drove him crazy, but he pulled your arm away anyway. “No touching yourself.”

“No touching myself, huh?” You took him out of your mouth and walked around the hotel room to your suitcase. He watched as your ass swayed back and forth with each step you took.

You returned with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, spinning them around in your fingers. You repeated yourself again to him for emphasis. “No touching myself? I know you’re the race winner and all, but you don’t get to tell me what to do tonight.” You placed one of the cuffs on his wrist and the other you hooked to the table next to the bed.

“If you complain, I’ll blindfold you too. So the only thing you’ll have is my sounds.” You whispered in his ear before finding a comfortable place on the couch, directly across from the bed. He was still hard as a rock. Not your fault.

You spread your legs wide open and ran a finger through your wet lips. His jaw clenched from across the room and he was breathing heavy. He didn’t like to be told what to do which is why torturing him like this was turning him on so much.

You rubbed your clit, feeling the unbelievable sensation, and moaned. “Y/n, please come back here,” he begged. “I’ll let you touch yourself but I need you to touch me right now.”

“You lost your privileges, sir.” You winked at him and inserted a finger inside of you, the sounds of your wetness filling the room. “Oh, Max,” you moaned and added a second finger.

“I will tear this dresser drawer right out.” He tugged on the handcuffs, getting restless. “I can make you feel so much better than that.”

He was right. Your fingers were nothing compared to his. Or Pierre’s.

Your eyes shot open when the thought ran through your mind. This is not what you should be thinking about right now. You try to shake it from your mind and focus on the hunk of a man you had in front of you, weak and horny.

You stood up and carried the handcuff keys over to him, unlocking him. He was fun to tease, but you didn’t want to push him over the edge and make him genuinely mad.

As soon as he was free, he pushed you face down on the bed and grabbed your hands. He used the handcuffs on them and smacked your ass. “That’ll teach you.” He said.

He pulled your hips up and rammed into you, immediately with hard and rough thrusts. You felt him deep right away as your head was pushed further and further into the bed. Your ass stung from all the spanks he was delivering and your pussy throbbed as another intense orgasm washed over you. You could tell he was getting close when he sped up and gripped your ass hard. His final few thrusts were slow and he pulled out. “I’ll get you a towel to clean up.”

You reached down and felt him dripping out of you. “Ugh,” you complained.

He tossed a white bath towel at you and smiled. “Sorry, your pussy just felt so good I couldn’t pull out.”

You were exhausted from the number of times he made you cum and you just needed to sleep. Without even putting clothes on, you passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

next part

[sierraraeck]

The Better Kisser

BAU x Bi!Fem!Reader

Emily x Bi!Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After finding out that you haven’t had very many kissing experiences, the team realizes you’re the perfect candidate to judge who the best kisser on the team is.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: As you may have guessed, lots of kissing.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my head that I just needed to write. This is technically an AU where the members of the team are Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, Penelope, Derek, Emily, JJ, Luke, and Tara. Everyone is single.

It was true. You hadn’t kissed very many people. You decided long ago that it wasn’t really in the cards for you, dating and kissing and relationships, that is, so yeah. You weren’t what one would call an ‘experienced kisser.’ Your friends had teased you for it, but you’d always shrugged it off. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

You’d never thought it’d be something to be grateful for either, until tonight.

It’d been a long, hard case, and everyone was dying to get out of the stupid office, and away from those stupid files, so that you could all finally relax, maybe even have some fun. You’d only been with the team for about three months, and it was like an entire whirlwind throwing you this way and that. You also hadn’t gotten to know the team too well either, considering how busy you all constantly were. Your first week on the job, they went out for drinks after a case, but you were so exhausted that you left after the first round.

There hadn’t been time, or energy, since then for the team to spend quality, relaxed time together. That’s why tonight was extra exciting.

“You’re telling me that throughout all of highschool, all of college, you haven’t kissed more than two people?” Derek asked incredulously. You couldn’t fully remember how you’d all gotten onto the subject, except that you had. You were sitting on Garcia’s squishy couch, littered with colorful pillows and all sorts of stuffed animals. Garcia had decided that instead of going out to a bar, you were all going to go over to her place, minus Hotch and Rossi who tapped out early.

You shrugged. “Nope. I had one boyfriend and one drunk kiss, both of which were bad experiences for me. I’ve kind of avoided all of that since then.” You explained, “Plus, when would I have time for that? Between my college studies and getting into the FBI, then BAU, I didn’t really have free time.”

“I mean, sure, I guess,” Derek continued, “but come one. There had to be guys falling at your feet!”

You laughed. “Not all of us have that kind of draw, Derek.” He nudged you, and you nudged him back with a wink.

He was right, though. You were stunning. Even when you just put your hair up and wore sweatpants, there was just something about you. You would probably look good in a trash bag. But men were not just falling at your feet. Even if they were, you wouldn’t notice, putting all of your energy into chasing your dreams instead. You thought that was a very reasonable, and responsible, thing of you to do.

Plus, you’d done the whole boyfriend thing, and weren’t really interested in trying it again. Well, not as interested as you were in trying the whole girlfriend thing. And your first day on the job, a certain badass brunette caught your eye, and was even the first one to make you really feel like part of the team. You were finding it harder and harder to resist her pull.

“Yeah Derek,” JJ chimed in, drawing your attention back to the conversation, “Not all of us can rack up eight phone numbers and five make out sessions in one night.”

“What can I say?” Derek beamed, pride shining in his eyes. “I’m a great kisser.” Emily snorted. When Derek glared at her, she pressed her lips together and looked down. “What?”

“Nothing,” Emily sang, shaking her head with an air of mischief.

“No seriously, what?”

“It’s just that if you read girls half as well as you claim to, you might wonder if that’s always the case.” Derek’s jaw hung open, and Emily smirked at him with unabashed confidence. You stared at her and her piercing eyes, and you couldn’t help but admire how sexy she was when she was confident, smug even.

“Wow, you’re gonna go there?” Derek asked, feigning hurt disbelief, “And how would you know that?”

Again, Emily shrugged and nonchalantly stated, “Because I know how women act when they kiss me. And trust me. They’re actually enjoying themselves.”

Some ‘ooh’s radiated throughout the room, and based on the look Penelope had plastered to her face, things were about to get good.

You watched in amusement as Derek sat up a little straighter, “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.” Emily’s brows shot up.

“Alright, you’re on,” Derek nodded, determination radiating off of him.

“Well, I don’t know how strong either of your games are,” Luke spoke up, glancing quickly over at Spencer who was just observing the whole encounter, “but I think I could take on both of you.”

“No you could not,” Tara sneered from beside him.

“And you could?” Luke challenged.

Setting her glass down, Tara replied, “Yes.”

You giggled at the thought of the four of them having a kiss-off, just imagining how utterly chaotic that would be due to all of their extraordinarily competitive natures.

“Oh my god, this is going to be so fun!” Penelope squealed. “Now we just have to figure out who’s going to judge!”

“We can’t really use one of us because some people might be biased or recognize the kisser,” Emily casually stated. It took a moment for you to realize what she’d just admitted to. Who on the team has kissed before? But before you could really start thinking about it, you noticed that everyone’s gaze had slowly turned to you.

“What is happening right now?” you questioned, looked between them.

The five of them exchanged excited, knowing looks before training their attention back on you. Then you got it. “Are you serious?”

“You’re the only one who hasn’t kissed one of us!” Derek explained, as if it were obvious.

“You mean…” you trailed off, but again couldn’t complete the thought before someone interrupted.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Penelope promised. “And you seem like you’d be a very neutral judge.”

“Not to mention,” Tara added, “You’re a pretty blank slate since you haven’t really kissed anyone.”

“Don’t worry though, we’ll show you a good time,” Derek assured with a wink.

Heads nodded. You were a bit worried that there would be some hurt feelings by the end of this, but they were all adults, and the appeal to kiss all of them, along with their eager faces, became enough to convince you to say yes.

“Yes!” Derek exclaimed. He looked pointedly at Emily, “It is so on.”

She just rolled her eyes. “Pen, do you have a blindfold?”

“A what?” you asked.

“Well we can’t have you getting biased on us. This has to be strictly about kissing.” Hearing her explain it with such reason hampered your growing nerves a bit. Like you’d said, you hadn’t kissed very many people and you were worried how much better they were going to be at it than you.

You reminded yourself that this was more about them than you, and tried to use that to calm yourself down. You were about to be kissed by some of the most attractive people you’d met. This was definitely not a bad place to be.

While Penelope rummaged through her belongings to get a makeshift blindfold, Luke convinced Spencer to join and JJ decided to participate.

Pretty soon, they had you seated in a chair, another one across from you, waiting for whoever was going to go first, while Emily explained some ground rules. “We are going to go in rounds. We will each kiss her and then after every round, Y/N will eliminate one of us based on the number in the round we kissed her so she doesn’t know who it is. No touching. You can’t use your hands in any way, this has to purely be about the kiss. And kiss however you normally would, no matter what that means for you.”

“No hands?” Spencer questioned. You were still surprised that he’d agreed to join, let alone ask a question like that. Luke gave him an odd look from behind while Emily confirmed the rule.

“Your hands might give away who you are, and again, this is just about the kiss.”

“Alright, alright, let’s just get started,” Derek complained, as Penelope tied the blindfold behind your head.

Now that you couldn’t see, you relied on your hearing to figure out what was happening. You heard some shuffling and disgruntled whispering, then you heard the chair across from you slide across the floor toward you. You waited anxiously as the person leaned in and pressed their lips to yours.

Their lips were plush and soft, but the kiss seemed a little too forced. It was a bit excited and you could feel their smile as they started pulling away. It was a pretty good kiss, definitely better than your previous two, despite the fact that it only lasted a few seconds. You couldn’t help but try and guess who it was, thinking it was either Penelope or Tara.

The next person who sat down completely blew the person before them out of the water. It was a much longer kiss and the person even swiped their tongue across your bottom lip for entry. You weren’t really thinking as you gave them access, the heat in your body starting to rise. You just hoped that your face wasn’t giving any of that heat away, so you were almost grateful that the person pulled away.

There was a bout of silence, which made you feel a little awkward, but soon enough, you heard the cushion squish down across from you. Their knee knocked yours, as you assumed they crossed their legs. Being a profiler, you were very used to picking up on body language with your eyes, making it kind of fun to try and pick up those same behavioral cues with all of your other senses. This person, you could tell, was very hesitant. You couldn’t say you were surprised when the person really only pecked you on the lips.

Number four in the line up started out pretty good, but you felt them start shaking or something halfway through. You quickly realized that they were laughing and you pulled back. You couldn’t help but smile when you asked, “Why are you laughing?”

Up until then, they had laughed pretty silently, but once you called them out, they just full out chuckled. “I’m sorry!” Tara unapologetically said through more laughs. “I couldn’t help it. I blame Luke.”

You laughed with her as you playfully shook your head. “You were doing so well up until then!”

“I know!” she agreed.

“I guess this means you’re out?” you half questioned.

Tara gave an over dramatic sigh, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she stated, “I guess so.” As she walked away, Luke gave a small ‘ow,’ and you assumed she’d hit him. You wondered what about this was Luke’s fault? Had he said something to her?

Either way, someone took her spot across from you. They wasted no time leaning in and putting their lips on yours. The kiss started out slow and gentle, like they were easing you into it. But gradually, as you both became more used to the other, it picked up pace, your mouths starting to move in sync. It felt like all of their energy was focused on you and exploring your mouth with their tongue. It was by far the most passionate kiss you’d experienced, and you tried to hide the pout from your face as they pulled back, chasing their lips for only a second before remembering there was an audience, and a competition.

Person number six was … good. You couldn’t really describe it. They used, what now seemed to you to be, a medium amount of tongue, for a medium amount of time. It was a good kiss, you weren’t saying it wasn’t, it just didn’t have any quirk or something unique that stood out. It was just … good. You knew Tara was out, so you tried to guess who that person could be. You thought maybe JJ, or possibly Luke, but you couldn’t be sure.

The final person who kissed you was intense. They had plump, captivating lips, but the way they kissed verged on overwhelming. They were also a little sloppy in their movements, and it was like you could tell they weren’t fully invested. Distracted, maybe? Again, not bad, but nothing like some of the other kissers.

The air was hot and heavy as Emily spoke up. “Okay, we’ve all gone. You know Tara is out, she was number four, so who else from this round would you eliminate?”

You pretended to think about it, even though it actually wasn’t that hard to pick. “I think it was person number three.” The person who just sort of pecked me, you thought, but didn’t say.

The players were now down to five, and they went in the same order as they had before, minus person number three, who you guessed was Spencer, and Tara.

This round made you even more confused about who was who than the round before. The excited one you guessed was either Luke or Penelope, the intimate one you thought was Derek, the passionate one you thought was either Luke or Emily, the average one you thought was JJ, and the sloppy, intense one you had no idea about.

By the end of that round, you eliminated person number one, the overly excited, verging on too hard kisser.

The next round was a no brainer. The intimate kisser, Derek you thought, upped his game. He kissed you for longer, used a bit more tongue, but was still somehow gentle. If you thought he’d upped his game, you weren’t prepared for person number two. They also upped their game, keeping your mouths molded together for longer than before, something you were more than happy about. You couldn’t quite place exactly what it was about their kiss, maybe that it seemed so perfectly balanced, incorporated the perfect amount of everything, or something else, but they were absolutely magnetic. It sent electric waves through your body, making you feel a little tingly. You felt sort of bad for the average kisser, most likely JJ, because they had to follow that up. And finally the sloppy kisser, who you still couldn’t place. They didn’t up their game at all. If anything, they felt more distracted by the minute, and pulled away earlier than the rest.

“Person number four,” you stated when Tara asked who was getting eliminated.

It was now down to three; the intimate kisser, you predicted Derek, the passionate kisser, either Luke or Emily, and the average kisser, probably JJ.

There was some shuffling, a faint whispering, a small ‘ow,’ and then Tara spoke up again. “Now that there are only three left, as long as you are okay with it, they want to use their hands.”

You tried to downplay the excitement you were feeling with this new rule, but you were sure their trained ears could hear it in the way you said, “Yes, that’s good with me.”

The seat across from you suddenly became occupied, but before anything could happen, Tara quickly jumped in. “Wait. Y/N, you can’t use your hands.” When you pouted a little, she explained, “Well if you did, you’d definitely know who is who, so…”

You sighed, but agreed, waiting in anticipation for the person across from you to touch you.

It started soft, their long fingers brushing over your cheeks as they leaned in. Soon enough, though, the entirety of their hands were firmly cupping your face and pulling you ridiculously close, close enough to feel some of their body heat. It was intimate, and again made you feel like the most important person to whoever those lips and hands belonged to. You rubbed your thumb into your palm, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch them, but you knew you couldn’t. Your sole focus was on them, them on you, and you had to say it was one of the best kisses of the night.

That person made you feel like the most important person in the world, but the next person kissed you like you were the only person in the world. They started out by tucking your hair behind your ear, then slowly sliding their fingers back into the loose strands. As they started to kiss you, they moved their other hand behind your head, cradling the back of your neck. The person before them had captured your focus, but this person erased any thoughts your mind was capable of forming. You couldn’t think about anything other than the way their tongue moved against yours, and the shiver they sent down your spine as one of their hands traveled the length of it, coming to rest just above your hip, strong, confident fingers pulling you closer. It was a moment you never wanted to end, and one that left you in a cold shock when it eventually did.

You almost didn’t even want the last person to kiss you because of how you knew it would never come close to what you’d just experienced, but a competition was a competition. The third person kissed you similarly to how they’d done before, good but nothing special, their hands resting comfortably on your hips.

When it was all over, you asked, “Can I take off the blindfold now? I know who the winner is.”

“Sure, but announce who first,” Tara suggested.

“Okay,” you agreed. “The third person got third, the first person got second, and the second person was the winner. Can I take the blindfold off now?” you asked again. You were eager to find out who was who. When you didn’t get an immediate response warning you not to, you stood up and quickly ripped it off to quite the amusing sight. Spencer looked as bright as a cherry, Penelope looked shocked but proud, Tara was smirking, Luke’s eyes were the size of beach balls, JJ looked indifferent, Emily was smirking, and Derek looked like he’d just been shot. “So are you going to tell me who was who?”

Without answering, Emily took two large strides toward you and placed her lips back on yours. One of her hands slid back into your hair while the other rested above your waist, and you smiled into the kiss. Of course it was you, you thought. When she pulled away, you were both smiling like idiots, and she gave you a single eyebrow raise as you both turned to look at Derek.

“I got third?” he asked, still in a state of bewilderment.

“What?” you asked, just as shocked as he was. “I thought you got second.”

Emily snorted. “You thought Spencer was Derek?”

What?! You spun to face Spencer, the person you were sure got out the first round, and he was still blushing like he’d been out in the sun for far too long. “You took second?” He nodded nervously. You beamed at him, causing him to return a shy smile, then look down at his fiddling hands. “You’re a really good kisser,” you complimented.

Derek repeated, “I took third? Emily, I guess I kinda get,” she rolled her eyes at that, “but Pretty Boy?”

You shrugged, and Luke jumped in, though not nearly as harsh as Derek had been. “Yeah, I took fourth, but Spencer got second?”

You offered him a cheeky smile, remembering how distracted he felt while kissing you, and the not-so-subtle glances he constantly made at Spencer all the time. You took the opportunity to encourage whatever was going on there. “He did. Like I said, he’s a good kisser. Very intimate, like I was the only one on his mind. You should try kissing him sometime. Might help you feel less distracted.” You winked and Spencer looked like he wanted to evaporate. Luke, on the other hand, was just staring at Spencer, and you could see the gears spinning in his head. He finally mumbled a ‘what the hell’ before pulling Spencer to him by the back of his neck. Spencer seemed immediately surprised, but recovered quite quickly, no hesitation to his movements after the initial shock. They kissed each other probably exactly how they’d just kissed you, Spencer’s hands cupping Luke’s face, Luke’s hands resting on the back of Spencer’s neck and lower back. Although, you’d have to say that Luke looked a bit more focused than he’d been with you. You laughed while some of the other members hooted. This was something that’d been a long time coming.

When they pulled away, Luke nodded. “Y/N, I definitely agree with you.”

Spencer smiled, and playfully nudged Luke as he said, “Y/N, I also agree with you.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, but he was smiling the brightest he had in a while.

Derek was still a mess, not enjoying the moment as much as he usually would’ve, and asked, “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured, “You’re a good kisser, but there’s just nothing too special about it. It’s kinda just…”

Emily and Derek looked at you expectantly before Emily got it. “Wait. Are you calling him average?”

She looked way too excited for the occasion, but she was right. He was just kinda average. You nonchalantly admitted, “I guess.”

Derek let his hands fall to his sides with a slap, his mouth still hanging open. Emily’s lips curled up into a sly smile as she placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Not everyone can be as good as me.” He shrugged her hand off his shoulder, and she held out her hand. Derek reached into his back pocket producing his wallet, and grudgingly slapped a crumpled $20 into her open palm. You gawked at them, not realizing that they’d placed a bet on their skills.

Emily returned to your side, closer than she’d really ever stood to you before, and gave you a smile that seemed on the shyer side for her, biting her lip as she peered at you through her lashes. You mirrored her shy smile, pressing your lips together as heat quickly spread to your cheeks. You turned back to the rest of the conversation that demanded your attention, people wanting to know why you eliminated them. But you couldn’t help glancing over at Emily every now and then, and couldn’t hide your joy when you saw that she was gazing back.

Who knows? Maybe that night was going to be the start of two great relationships in the BAU.

@90spumkin

[akaashisbabygirl]

camboy part two

authors note: hehe i decided to leave you all on a cliffhanger once again. if you haven’t read part one i suggest you do so! i think my tags are working again so hopefully this can be seen in tags!! i’m sorry that i took forever to post this, i’ve been really busy :( now, if you would like a part three let me know!

words: 1840

pairings: camboy!akaashi x female!reader

warnings: NSFW, male vibrator use, female and male masturbation, mentions of sex toys, reader gets sad, akaashi gets sad, kinda angsty, leaves you on a cliffhanger

part one 

“so...” akaashi’s voice spoke into the microphone sitting on the desk, “thank you all for your suggestions. i’m going to be taking them into consideration for my next video.”

he quickly turned off the microphone, stopping everything he was doing to check out the list of items people had suggested for him to use in his next stream.

a harness, blindfold, handcuffs?? he didn’t know how much that would work. he’d have to find a way to restrain himself without having to call someone else to do it for him. that would be tricky. some viewers even suggested he used some sex toys such as a vibrator because they wanted to see what akaashi would look like squirming and overstimulated. or some even suggested that he were to edge himself, not letting himself cum just yet. cat ears, a harness? the things people were suggesting to him made him really interested to see just how far they wanted him to go. maid outfit? he chuckled.

it would’ve been next to impossible for akaashi to hide all the clothing items from you, his roommate, the one person he has definite feelings for. he couldn’t just keep some women outfits in his closet - you would believe he has a girlfriend who you didn’t know about. and if you felt the same way about him, you would be upset with the fact that he never told you about being in a relationship.

he shivered to these thoughts. which is why akaashi kept the idea of just getting the simple items - cat ears, harness, a skirt, sex toys etc. at least he wouldn’t need to try and hide them from you.

if you had found akaashi’s secret sex toy stash on accident - he knew you would probably just brush it off, considering you know him and his hormones, and knowing he wasn’t taken by anyone, there really wasn’t anyone to fuck.

you see, akaashi isn’t the type of person who is interested in one night stands. yes, he had lost his virginity before his ex girlfriend, which he regrets very much. but now, akaashi was a grown man. he was out there looking for a relationship that he wanted to last for a long time, a relationship where he can properly love the person for more than just the sex.

a relationship that he wanted to build with you.

he left his room quickly as he heard the door shut, signalling that you were back home. he was excited to see you, yet, he hid his excitement from you.

“can you help me?” you asked, pouting softly. akaashi chuckled, grabbing some of the heavy bags from your hands, setting them down on the kitchen bench.

a soft pink blush spread across your face. he was so big compared to you, and you liked it. you felt so small next to akaashi, so tiny and adorable. and you know he liked that too - akaashi feels that he can be able to protect you because you’re smaller than him, but that’s just how he feels.

the next day, akaashi was out early to leave for work. the apartment felt cold and empty when you had woken up to the painful sight of the sun shining too brightly into your eyes. it would be one of those days which you had gotten used to overtime, where you would spend all day at home on your own, waiting for akaashi to walk back in through those doors once more. you waited, and waited, thinking of things to do could seem to make time move faster than it had previously.

by noon, you were sitting on your bed, laptop in your lap as you scrolled through your work, submitting it to your manager before he yelled at you. you sighed softly, in desperate need for a break. that’s when the idea popped into your head, to check if he had uploaded. seeing that he had, you smiled greatly. a smile of relief had sprouted over your soft cheeks. you slipped your sweatpants down, watching how the man sat on the screen, his cock already hard and noticeable in his boxers.

you almost drooled at the sight of his cock. it was pretty. if that was even a proper way to describe it. you watched as the man took his erect cock from his boxers, thinking about how it would fit inside of you. he was bigger than what you had seen and taken before, but he was the only man who made you drool to the thought of what it would be like inside of you. how your cunt would feel sucking him in, how he’d hit those spots inside of you that you could barely reach with your own fingers. you’d let him fuck you over and over again until you’d become dumb and unable to think properly, drooling all over the white bedsheets of your bed.

soft fingers rubbed your clit, tracing around your folds before finally slipping a finger into your wet hole. a hand clamped over your mouth quickly to try and surpass your moans as your hips bucked up for more friction. you chased after that one feeling that made you lose control every time, the feeling that had your legs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head. moans slipped forcefully from your lips, a wave of pleasure spreading quickly throughout your body from the feeling of your fingertips desperately trying to reach that one spot inside of you which always sent you over the edge. 

however, what you didn’t know was that akaashi was in the apartment. his jaw had dropped quickly while hearing a moan slip from your lips. without having to look into a mirror to see his painful expression, akaashi could tell a tear had fallen down his cheek. he felt as if he was tied down to the ground by some invisible shackles, keeping him in place, forcing him to accept the reality that he did not want to accept. he didn’t want to stand there and listen to some guy fuck you, he didn’t want to hear you moan for that man, praise them and give them all your attention. selfishly, akaashi wished it were him. 

slowly, akaashi made his way out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. he rushed to bokuto’s, planning to send you a message saying that he would be at work late. it was only because he was too scared to see you right now, akaashi was too afraid to see you. he didn’t want to see your fucked out expression. he didn’t want to see the man or whoever was making you feel this good. 

and so he left. 

when akaashi arrived home that night, he acted as if nothing had happened - and so did you. it made akaashi mad, knowing that he had clearly heard something going on in your bedroom earlier that day, but he didn’t want to sound like a jealous idiot and bring it up. which is why he chose to keep his feelings to himself as he sat beside you, watching the stupid rom com on the tv. he hated the fact that he felt as if his feelings were twisted into a tight knot that he couldn’t untie. there was so much love for you filling his heart that he could’ve sworn that at any minute his own heart would combust from the anxiety which danced around his mind. 

akaashi knew that he needed to get a new video out, his fans were growing desperate and he was needing the money. he waited patiently until you had left the house, before locking the door to his room, changing up his setting to the camboy’s room. 

time passed and quickly moans were spilling from his lips, his hips bucking up as his hands grasped desperately into the bedsheets. he chose today to incorporate a toy, a vibrator specifically, yet, he didn’t know that this much pleasure would spread through his body. he blushed from how he was moaning, he was so desperate, so subby even. he felt dirty, overstimulated from the way the toy was making him feel. his eyes rolled to the back of his head as another orgasm washed over him, his fucked out body falling to the sheets after taking the small toy away from his length. 

he waited until his body filled with some energy before he got up from his spot on the bed, moving to turn his camera off. he quickly changed his sheets, accidentally forgetting to put his skirt away, before passing out underneath the sheets of his bed.

you smiled, seeing akaashi in his bed fast asleep. you could tell he was in a deep slumber from the way he clung to his bedsheets, not even moving a muscle. you adored the sleeping boy. 

“he must’ve worked himself too hard today” you thought, knowing that akaashi never falls asleep unless he’s exhausted.

how you wished that you could go over to him and kiss his forehead, telling him to sleep well, or even that you could get into bed, wrapping your arms around him and falling asleep with his back to your chest. there’s so much you wanted to do, but akaashi wasn’t your boyfriend, so it wasn’t going to happen. 

you grabbed your washing form the bathroom, a pale blue skirt catching your eye in the process. this wasn’t your skirt. who’s was it? your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, almost swearing that tears began to bombard your eyes as your mind came to realisation.

akaashi has a girlfriend.

you left the skirt there, pretending as if you had never seen it. however, the thoughts of akaashi being with someone else made you feel sick. soon enough, you were also curled up under the sheets of your bed. 

days had passed, yet the thought of akaashi having a girlfriend didn’t leave your mind. you wondered what she was like. how pretty is she? how tall is she? what is her hair colour? what’s her style? or in general; what does she look like? you couldn’t find a part of your mind that wasn’t thinking about this as you made your way back to the apartment. you felt sick, almost anxious even being there. you felt scared, scared that you would run into the girl who had crushed your dreams of being with akaashi.

opening the front door to the apartment, you heard a loud cry coming from akaashi’s room. his door was slightly spread open, screams and moans coming from there. you didn’t care about the moans, why was akaashi screaming? rushing to his room, you shoved the door open.

but what you saw wasn’t what you expected.

“akaashi...” you noticed the familiar set up to the way the cam boy has. the bed, the walls, even the pretty skirts, some of the toys he’s brought out before sitting on the bed beside him, “what are you doing?” 

© all content belongs to akaashisbabygirl 2021, do not repost or change

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - Dark Grey

A/n: So this was request but I couldn't find who requested it (and it wasn't anonymous!) So whoever did just give me a hey! This is literally the longest fic I have ever written.

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, sad Kaz, language, torture, Parem I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: Your a double agent for the dregs

"Come on you little shits, we have a job to do." One of the higher ups of the Dime Lions yells at some men at some tables at the Emerald Palace in the back.

Little birds have told me that people have been raving about this place being extravagant, but it's really just extra dramatic if you ask me. The green of the building is like someone drunk from the Crow Club wandered over here and puked on it and someone just decided the color looked pretty, so they mixed some glitter and red and pow. There you have it.

That may just be me though.

I start to get up with all the others but the man who just yelled, jets hand in front of me, fast like I'm going to run off.

"The boss wants to talk with you about getting you higher status." The man growls obviously not happy about someone who could be possibly taking his spot and he's probably not happy it could be a girl. Well sucks too suck.

I almost nod and have an emotionless face on but I realize that's the real me would do that, have have to be Cozbi and she's a little naive. But she's good enough if Pekka wants to notice her.

I let a smile crawl on my face; "Well I guess your just going to have to tell Mr. Rollins I would be delighted." I say nearly flirting with an accent, but more taunting like as I twirl my tailored unnatural bright red hair (like it's VERY bright) around my finger and I grin like a popular school girl.

"I'm not your messenger." The man scowls.

"But boss wants you up there in five minutes." He snaps and goes off face all red.

I barely even manage keep into place long enough as the men walk out to start their job. As soon as they do I speed off to a bathroom and I write on a piece of paper in a stall.

Giving me higher status, think he's getting suspicions though. Their going on a job tomorrow night to take out the Blacktips. Amush. Pekka also got a stash of Parem. Don't know why. Stay Safe, don't give clues. Frame someone.

-Your favorite person from the barrel

I open the window above my stall and I do a low whistle.

Fweet. Fweet.

A crow comes and lands on the window sill I grin slightly and my (also tailored) e/c eyes touch down on the raven haired bird. I'm reminded of Kaz's raven hair and his dark brown eyes as I hand him the folded note and the bird tilts it's head and takes the note and fly's off.

I flush the toilet and hurry out heading to Pekka's office.

I open the door slowly priding myself for being exactly a minute late, it works really well for who I'm playing. I see Pekka siting in his chair but instead of waiting for me like I thought he would be. Right now though he's reading something with a almost confused look on his face.

Shit.

"Well, well, well Cozbi your finally here." Pekka smiles not a nice smile - though he is a barrel boss.

The door shuts behind me and someone shoves me to the ground and people surround me and hold me in place.

"Or should I say Y/n." And then everything goes black.

_______________Time skip a few hours in a random warehouse (not that you know that)😈😈😈___________________________________

I slowly open my eyes and I look around the place. I'm tied to chair there's no light in the room so it's hard to make out anything but I think the floor is concert but the walls are wood.

Cheap.

"I didn't think you would be up so soon Y/n... Well this is a surprise." Rollins says and then in flash stabs a dagger into my stomach.

My scream fills the air as he pulls the knife out. I make my voice quiver I can still be Cozbi, I can still be Cozbi.

"I-I don't know who Y/n-Y/n is sir-sir." I stutter but my entire body is on fire from being in enough interrogations before. It's telling me to be harsh to not get to the point, but I might be able to get out of here if I play the part.

He takes my jaw and shoves it forward harshly. "We already know who you are L/n. Y/n L/n the dregs notorious double agent that never gets killed or even better caught."

Pekka smiles sadistically.

"I'm going to make sure this story ends in red." He laughs.

He goes to leave but he puts his hand up.

"And make sure she's can't see." His henchmen put a blindfold on me as I hear the door close. I can feel them coming closer and I hear one smack something on the ground that must have been a bat.

"Let's have some fun girly." I tug at my bonds hopelessly and helplessness fills my body.

________TIME SKIP_________________________________________

My screams ring this room for the next week.

Or what I at least think is a week. There's no windows in here so it's hard to tell when time pass's. Pekka doesn't come back again but I know his coming soon because his henchmen have been worse than usual because they want a raise or something.

I gave up thinking Kaz would come. I remember what he told me last time I saw him before I went on this mission.

We won't come for you if you get caught and it's only a matter of time before you do.

I messed up the last mission we were on with the crows, I got Inej hurt and he wasn't happy. So I did this job.

Because maybe then I would get what I deserved.

My hands have knives through them sticking them to the chairs, there's blood all over my face from the daily beatings. My one leg is twisted and broken in ugly places and cuts and bruises litter my body.

I know it's only a matter of time before my body gives out and Pekka finally wins.

The door to my (what feels like) cell opens and there's Pekka and six more henchmen in the room.

Those are new.

They might not be henchmen though I think we're past that at this point, I think their assassins.

Or something like that anyways.

Their hoods are up but I can clearly see that there's two girls and four guys. My vision blurs a little. Maybe death will grant me mercy sooner than I thought.

"Meet my new friends Cozbi." Pekka mocks and jesters towards the cloaked figures.

"Ironic that you choose the name Cozbi. For did you know, it means liar? I thought maybe I should call you that now, liar. It fits perfectly you know?" Pekka spits in my face.

"Anyways..." Pekka drawls on for a bit and I realize the lack of movement in the halls. But before I can question that one of the male hooded figures gives a box to Rollins and he opens the box. Rollins grins like someone just made his day.

Fuck.

He advances on me with a small packet and I stay deadly still.

"Do you know what this is Cozbi." I keep my eyes trained on the packet.

"My name is Y/n."

Pekka laughs and grins evilly.

"You wanted to be Cozbi so you will be called as such." He growls and calls for is henchmen.

Two men come to tip my head back and hold my jaw in place. I try to shake them off by moving my head but it's no use.

"It's Parem." I freeze. No, no, no.

"For grisha you suffer by always wanting it not inculding the rare cases. But for normal humans."

He takes a step forward and he opens the packet and holds it over my mouth.

"It kills you terribly and so, so, so painfully." He crouches down and looks at me.

"Your going to die as Cozbi. Your going to die a liar, and I will make sure all of Ketterdam remembers that."

He gestures towards his henchmen and instead of trying to prier open my mouth like I expect them too.

They go and pull up my hands.

My hands go through the hilts of the blade and it hurts so much I can't do anything but scream.

Pekka shoves the Parem in my mouth.

My body feels like it's withering away and Pekka laughs as I vibrate against my seat. I feel my eyes widen and the only thing going through my head is that Rollins is a foul.

The knives.

And I'm not going out without a fight.

I pull the knives out of the handles of the seat and I scream as the hilt of the blades touch my skin but I quickly cut the bonds around me and I stab one of my knifes into the first henchmen.

I leap towards the other and I barley manage the scrap him before my body hits the floor and I can't move anymore.

Searing pain stabs through my body like multiple knives just stabbing me over and over again I expect Pekka to be the last face I see and I murmur something about the saints but then I see it.

The hooded figures.

It's the Crows.

The henchmen are down on the floor and Pekka is tied up and gagged to the chair. I feel my vision start to blur and the Crows go to check the area.

"We have to get her a healer!" Someone yells. But I'm on my back looking up and I barley even recognize that things are happening around me. It's like I'm watching from a different world but I can't do anything.

"Y/n!" Someone yells and picks me up from my spot on the ground.

"Come on Y/n!" Someone whisper-yells.

I groan as the person starts walking and I let out a rattling breath, that I knew that should concern me but I couldn't care less.

I just wanted it to end.

"Your not dying on me today Y/n."

Kaz, I think it's Kaz.

Everything shifts back into focus, Kaz is running (even with his bad leg) and somehow the searing pain from the parem in my body has started to subside. Noticing the many, many yards of guards running after the crows and some group of them has so, so, so many guns pointed right at Kaz.

Then it happens.

Suddenly I feel above the others, like I have powers that no one has ever had. The universe was bending to my will and I gasp as I'm lifted up into the air by something shadowy, and dark blackness surrounds my legs all the way up to my waist. I don't quiet know what I'm doing but it feels natural, like I knew how too do it all along.

I raise my hands into the air and shadows burst out into the open.

Guards are being cut in half, some are being chocked to death, some look like their getting stabbed multiple times as wounds just show up. Others look like they have a disease as darkness spreads across their bodies. And some just fall to the floor and die silently.

Their dead.

The power, and the need to protect everyone I care about is gone.

I don't even scream.

I hit the ground with a thud and I try to open my mouth as Kaz frantically pulls me into his arms cradling me. No, that couldn't be right though.

He yells for someone but I can't make it out I try to blink, but even that is hard and it's so slow and I can feel Kaz bring me closer too him but I don't really know what's reality anymore.

"Y/n." The voice (although it tries not to show it) lets concern and fear run through the words. I gasp.

"Kaz." I manage to say. He pulls me (somehow) closer as he lifts my face up to look into his.

He says something, but I can't comprehend anything he's saying. The edges of my vision start going black and everything else is going fuzzy.

"You'll live!" Kaz says, trying to reassure me but it sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more.

I place a hand on his and I want to say something, but the words are all mixed up and it feels like concrete is holding my jaw shut. Everything starts slowly turning black and I'm internally screaming in my head;

No! I have to say something! I can't go like this!

It's useless though, because everything slowly fades away the last thing I see is the dark brown of Kaz's concerned eyes.

_______TIME SKIP_____________________________________________

The light bulb of whatever room I'm in flickers off and on as darkens seems to try and cover it. I take a look around to see all the Crows tied up to a chair each, they have gags in their mouths and they look like they have been tortured out of their minds.

I run over to Wylan trying to help him out, but he let's out a muffled scream as I go towards him. I quickly turn to Jesper but he's so still in his seat not even looking at me.

Nina and her confident demeanor is gone, her aura is laced with panic and Matthias is with her on that one.

Inej can't seem to stop shaking, making her presence known to everyone. Then I turn to the last chair and my heart must have stopped.

Kaz's corpse lays, in the chair. Bubbles of darkens, are around his mouth and it looks like it chocked him to death.

Dirtyhands was finally beaten.

Then darkness shoots out of me, and I can't seem to stop it as it kills everyone else.

I sit up and a scream rips through my throat. I breath in heavily trying to get the air into my lungs. Everything in me burns, pain course's through me like a parasite on steroids, but at least time I succeed at muffling my scream.

I hear someone running from another room and the door fly's open. On command darkens shoots out from my hand and starts chocking the person- Holy shit! That's Kaz!

"No!" And it all appears to fade away into the shadows.

Tears start to fill my eyes, what will happen when I'm in a real state of panic? Could my nightmare eventually come true?

I feel the bed dip beside me and despite my hardest efforts, my eyes wander over to Kaz.

He looks like he hasn't slept a day in his life, with the essentially black moons under his eyes. His skin looks chalky white, contrasting his red rimmed eyes that looks like he had been crying just a few minutes ago.

Concern fills my shadowed heart, something must have happened for the Kaz fucking Brekker to be like this. My fears about being a shadow summoner disappear, they do stay at the back of my mind but finding out what's up with the bastard of the barrel is more important.

I carefully place a hand on his cheek. He tense's up a bit before relaxing into the palm of my hand and even leaning into it a bit.

"What happened?"

Kaz looks at me in disbelief. "What happened?" He lets out a chocked laugh that holds a sob in the background.

"You died." My breath hitches in my throat, wait... That can't be right. Can it?

"Matthias had to do chest compression's on you while Nina tried to restart your heart. All because I couldn't fucking do it."

He takes in a breath and rips my hand away from his face.

"Your heart stopped Y/n, we thought you were dead. But they kept going and somehow saved you!" A sob tears through his throat and Kaz Brekker breaks down in front of me. His walls that he has tried so hard to keep strong have had a boulder thrown at it. Smashing it with so much force that he couldn't possibly rebuild it.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. "For all the pain I caused you." I somehow manage to speak as my own tears start to come up.

"Seriously? Your sorry?" Kaz turns to me and grips my shoulders.

"Your the one who died, damn it!"

"Hey I have something to hold over Jesper?" I try to joke and it gets a small, very tiny tried smile out of Kaz.

"And the fact that your a shadow summoner."

"I didn't know." I say quickly and I pull back defensively, Kaz just sighs.

"I know."

He lets his hands run down my arms and his hands make delicate patterns on my skin. Then I remember the parem. Fuck.

"What were the effects of the parem?" If anyone would know, it would be Kaz.

He pause's for a second seemingly in thought before opening his mouth the speak.

"Well your life span was shortened to a normal one." I exhale in relief at that news, I really didn't want to live for centuries.

"But your powers could surpass the Darkling's, and the only reason you don't have the opposite of what you have now is because you pushed it down for so long. The healers somehow purged the parem out of your body before it could make you a mindless addict."

"That better news then I thought I would get." Kaz nods but there's something else lingering in the back of his head.

He thinks I'm going to leave.

I intertwine our hands together, and I turn my head to look him right in the eyes.

"I'm not leaving." I blurt out.

"If I went to the little palace I would get hunted, if I went anywhere else I would get hunted. I might go into hiding for a bit, but I'm not leaving you."

A smile that's even bigger than the last one by some means crawls up on his face.

"Good, because I just got you back."

Words 3021

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua

(If you want to be added just comment taglist)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

if you’re still doing the ask game, I’d kill to see number five for either Jake, Jameson, or Jax. you know how I love my drug whump

I have so many prompts sitting in my inbox that are numbers to ask games that I can't remember what the prompts were... but I remember this one. This is as good a time as any...

CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, drugged whumpee, beating, described body/bones, brief emeto ref, restrained, sadistic whumper, collared, chained up

Direct Sequel to Deep Breath / I'm Ready. Part of the Jameson's Backstory mini-series.

-

"I have a system, dog. I have a method. I have a way these things are done."

Robert punctuates each sentence with another kick to his ribs, and the pet grunts with the impact, telling himself to let some of the pain bleed out into the man's boot. With his hands tied behind his back, a short rope linking them to his ankles, he's forced into an arch that leaves his most vulnerable places entirely unprotected.

Open.

On display.

Inviting the next blow.

At least whatever was forced down his throat dulls things a little bit. It's a mercy, he thinks, because Robert isn't done with him yet. The world roils and spins around him like the ocean on a stormy day. The pet is a white-capped wave when the next kick comes and something snaps inside him.

Watch it rain, a soft voice says somewhere inside him. A small hand grabs his own. Watch the rain fall, Johnny. Don't you love rain?

He whimpers, sweating into the blindfold, shivering reflexively as cool air hits the sheen of wet over his skin. He doesn't know who Johnny is.

"Please... please..." His pleading is weak, voice cracked and breaking.

But he just wanted to do the only thing he could to help the young man in the bathtub. He just wanted to help.

Now he's helpless.

Robert's boot, pulled back for the next kick, pauses at the sound. "What's that? You not enjoying this?" He exhales, letting out a thready laugh, before he drops into a crouch, running his hands over the pet's hair. Robert watches him flinch back, unable to see it coming. His thumb finds a spot rubbed bald by the straps of the muzzle and he runs over it, humming, finding the scarred places where the muzzle has cut in enough to make him bleed, over and over. The pad of his thumb is rough, calloused from his job. "You don't like taking your punishment, hm? Is that it?"

The pet holds as still as he can, panting, trying to push past the throbbing ache on his left side. Broken rib, maybe, or just bruised. He'll find out if it heals right or doesn't.

"Please-... please stop," He whispers.

That only gets him another laugh, meaner this time. "That boy had two more weeks of life left in him," Robert says, in a tone of perfect rationality. "I chose him special, and you got it in your head to ruin everything. I just don't see how I'm the bad guy here."

He sighs, and rips the blindfold off over the pet's head.

The pet looks up, struggling to focus, only to take a fist to the face as soon as he does. Knuckles crack into his jaw, but nothing breaks. It's a miracle he hasn't lost any teeth.

His head bounces off the floor, a flash of white behind his eyes. He hears a rough voice cry out in pain and realizes it's his own. The world, already a seasick cruise ship, bobs even more dangerously around him.

He's being blown around in circles, saltwater coming in too fast to bail out. He's going to be sick. He's going to throw up on the floor and drown.

Just like he drowned the man in the bathtub who begged him to do it, who said I'm ready, who held his hand, who struggled at the end and then stopped, and then-

And then...

The air had gone briefly cold after the man had stopped moving and the pet had felt a breeze through his hair, as if something in the man was leaving and moved past him on its way somewhere else.

He starts to cry, unwillingly.

His sobs comes out through gritted teeth, tears forced out of eyes he's closed as tightly as he can to try and keep them hidden. His body shakes.

"Two weeks you've robbed me of," Robert says, standing back up. He groans, and the pet can hear him moving around the room. He doesn't dare look up to watch him, not now. "Two weeks, and now it's all wrong. Now nothing happened the right way, it's all fucked up now. I have a system. I have a method, I have a routine, and you fucked it all up!"

The last words come out a deafening scream, and the pet cries out again, trying as hard as he can to duck his head and hunch his shoulders, wanting only to protect himself in whatever meager way he can. The sound of Robert's voice bounces around inside his fucked-up skull. The water is pulling him under now.

The waves lurch and break against him as Robert grabs him by the arms and drags him. Hog-tied, he can do little more than squirm as he's pulled back into the hallway, to the grimy bathroom.

The young man isn't in there anymore.

"I should kill you," Robert snaps, depositing him back on the cold tile, wet now with water splashed out from when Robert found what he had done and had dragged the body out, trying to revive it so he could hurt the young man more. "I should fucking kill you, you stupid dog. You ruined everything!"

The pet tips his head back until it touches the floor, looks up at Robert looming over him, all malevolence and rage. Beyond his fear, the pet finds a core of something that burns bright and hot, stronger than the smell from the basement. Something sharper than the knives he is cut with, something stronger than Robert's shouting or his fists.

The pet makes an expression that could be a smile or could be a snarl. It could be appeasement or bared fangs. His lip busted at some point and he feels blood on his teeth, tastes it on his tongue.

It makes him think of Nanda.

He lets the blood shift into his mouth, lets it pool on his tongue. Tastes the copper-salt, the hint of sweet. The taste of love, of Nanda's mouth, of his low voice, hands in his hair or on his hips.

Once he has enough, the pet spits blood into Robert's stupid fucking face.

"I hope the next one goddamn kills you first!"

Robert goes still, and silent. His eyes are ringed in white, like a horse about to bolt. Then his hand comes up to slowly wipe away the smear of pink-tinged saliva on his cheekbone running down to his jaw, marked with a five o'clock shadow.

"Fucking dogs don't know how to stop their bark," He mutters to himself. Whatever his plan in the bathroom had been, it's clearly not enough. He pulls the pet up, then lets him fall again. Stares around, eyes bouncing over the still-full tub, the ring of grime around the tub where the water still sits.

Then he just shakes his head. "No, no, no," He mumbles. "No no. Calm it, Bobby. Calm it. Think think think."

The pet stares up at him. His body holds more disgust in that moment than he ever thought possible.

Robert disappears back into the hallway, leaving the pet where he is. Outside the barred bathroom window there's a soft birdsong and the faint hint of sunlight. What time even is it? The pet never knows. The bathroom is the only window that isn't covered with heavy blackout drapes almost all the time.

He focuses on breathing, keeping things shallow to hold the pain in his ribs at bay as best he can. His wrists hurt from the ropes rubbing them raw, his muscles are pulled painfully taut and stretched.

Robert returns with the gag-muzzle, forcing the plastic bit between his teeth. His tongue pushes against it uselessly, working to try and make it comfortable even as his jaw already protests what it knows is coming. The straps slide over the bald spots, buckle into place. The pet shudders at the familiarity of the feeling and tries instinctively to jerk his head to the side.

Robert grabs him by the hair and forces his head back, giving a humorless rictus grin at the pained grunt forced from the pet's throat. "Oh, you don't like that, huh? Shoulda thought of that before you fucking ruined my system. My method. My routine."

You said that already, the pet thinks, but it occurs to him Robert probably doesn't remember that. He's never sure what Robert actually knows about his own words, how much sinks in to memory. He's always repeating things like it's the first time he's ever said them.

The rope between his wrists and ankles is cut and Robert pulls him up to his feet, shoving him forward. The drugs keep the pet struggling to hold himself upright, stumbling to one side or the other. He can still feel the waves - inside him, battering, trying to pull him back under the cold dark water.

He goes willingly enough, shuffling with his hobbled ankles, until Robert has him at the basement door.

The pet rears back in a sudden panicked realization, a muffled, unintelligible babbled plea coming out around the bit, behind the leather muzzle already making his skin pour sweat. He shakes his head wildly back and forth, tries to yank himself free.

Robert's laugh is wild and crazed this time as he shoves the pet forwards and it's either go down the stairs or fall.

The pet's foot finds cool smooth old wood that creaks and he whimpers, the smell flooding his nose making his stomach twist and turn. The next step. A third. A fourth.

The light is on in the basement, a single bare bulb shining a thin circle of light over the disturbed earth on one side. The other side is untouched except for some boxes and the chemical barrels, wreathed in dark shadows that let nothing escape.

"You like 'em so much, you can spend the night with 'em, huh? Just have a little sleepover with my friends here, hm? How's that sound? How that fucking sound?!"

The pet whines as Robert screams in his ear, shaking his head again and again as he is forced step by step down into the basement where they die, where he buries them. His bare feet touch down onto the earthen floor, coolly dry down here, chilly compared to the upstairs. The pet is shivering but it isn't really from the cold.

Goosebumps burst all over his arms and legs, a thrill of terror down his spine as Robert pulls him over to the shadowed corner where the boxes are. There's a hinged metal collar with a chain that attaches to the wall, and the pet realizes that Robert must use it when they're down here just before Robert throws him down on the ground and closes the metal with a snnnnkt over his leather collar, around his neck.

There's thigh bones, he thinks, in a pile over underneath the lightbulb. Just a bunch of fucking goddamn femurs, like Robert comes down here to play fucking barbie dolls with dead people, taking them apart and putting them back together.

Welcome to Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse, he thinks, and a manic horrified laugh bubbles up his throat. John Wayne Gacy edition.

A padlock is hooked through the front of the collar, cold metal slapping down against the top of the pet's collarbone. He looks up at Robert, who is right in front of the light bulb from his perspective, his face black and unreadable.

Please, he tries to say. I'm sorry. Please. All that comes out is muffled animal whines.

"You love them so fucking much, you can be best friends." Robert ruffles his hair. He grins, and the yellowy white of his teeth is all the pet can see of his face. "Enjoy your sleepover, dog."

He turns and leaves, ignoring the pleading whines of the pet as he climbs up the stairs, the creaking like a chorus, a harmony to the pet's cries for this to not be real.

The light seems to shimmer around its edges - it's just the drugs, he tells himself, it's just whatever was in those pills - and shift. Dead people could hide down here in the dark places, with their bony fingers reaching out to grab him.

He whimpers again, softer this time.

He manages to shuffle himself on his ass backwards until he hits the basement wall, smooth stone older than the house itself. His hands are still tied behind him and his ankles are still hobbled. Tears run from his eyes, drift along the edge of the muzzle, drip down from his jaw into the dirt. He sobs around the bit gag, whining until he can't remember if he even is human at all any longer.

Then he sees a face and gives a full-body shudder.

At first he thinks it's the drugs, but it's not. The young man who begged him for help, the reason he's down here at all, isn't buried yet. He's just lying on the ground under a worktable on the other side of the basement. His hands are still tied together in front of him, his soaking wet hair has begun to dry, frizzy and tangled.

Something about the face, though, gives him pause.

He's seen them dead before, their faces etched in horrified screaming, empty eyes wide and terrified. He's seen them trapped in their final agonies long after they're gone.

But the young man across the basement looks like he's gone to sleep there on the floor, that's all. His color's all wrong but the dim light keeps that from being too obvious.

He looks like he's sleeping.

He didn't die screaming under Robert's knife, or begging for it to stop as the blows kept raining down. He isn't tied to Robert's bed, he isn't anything like that at all.

The pet's fear is still in him, heart beating jackrabbit-fast against the inside of his chest, but he stares and stares at the young man's body and begins to understand that... he doesn't need to be afraid of them.

He doesn't need to be afraid.

He needs to be angry that they die like this, not afraid of them.

Anger is what keeps him breathing, what keeps him thinking, what keeps him alive.

He made Robert furious, but more importantly he took a victory from him, he took power from him. He took away control. He made it so Robert can't feel like he owns the young man in his death, like the body is his because he made it.

No.

As long as he isn't dead, that means he isn't out of time. As long as he keeps breathing, as long as he keeps thinking, as long as there are parts of him that Robert doesn't know, doesn't own, that he can't control.

As long as he stays angry.

As long as he has hope.

I'm going to get out of here, he promises the young man's body, the pile of bones, the rest of them under the soil. I'm going to escape. I'm going to do something, someday, when he gives me the chance.

I'm not like him.

I'm not like any of them.

I want to be like you, instead, but alive. I want to live.

I'm going to live.

For a second he smells water, he hears a voice he can't understand and tastes the young man's voice on his tongue, the taste of sage tea with milk.

The pet swallows and closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose, holding the air, breathing out again. The air shifts around him, touches his face just above the muzzle.

In the perfectly still basement, a breeze shifts along his skin, rustles his hair just a little.

Something moving past him on its way to somewhere else.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

[binxyu]

Being on both sides seemed like a good idea. Double the money, double the affection, and double the action. But, your opinion soon changed when you were discovered and were punished accordingly for your crimes.

>>Pairing: Stray Kids (doms) x fem!reader (sub) | secret agents!stray kids x double agent!reader

>>Word Count: 3k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Murder, violence, blood, ninesome, polyamorous relationships, slapping, knifeplay, spitting, collars, gags, bondage, whips, overstimulation, oral (giving and recieving), anal, quadruple penetration, spanking, voyeur, dirty talk, degrading, size kink, choking, swearing, scratching, breast play/torture, electric play, handjob, begging, fingering, scratching, blindfold, paddles, and cockwarming (honestly just pure filth)

“Yeah, that’s what he said”, you chuckled after Jeongin looked shocked at your gossip. You heard the familiar sound of multiple shoes hitting the tile floor of the building. You turned your head and was about to say hello to the rest of the boys, but their dark expressions made a shiver go down your spine and you watched them approach instead.

“Guys what’s going-“, you were cut off by Chan’s sudden grip around your neck, pressing you up against the wall and choking you. You couldn’t breathe and your small hands desperately tried to pry off his huge ones that wouldn’t let loose on their grip around your neck.

“How long? How fucking long have you been doing this? How long have you been telling our secrets to them?!”, Chan yelled in your face, spitting slightly in rage. Your face started to turn a different shade from the lack of air and the man finally let you go, making you fall to the ground on your knees. You tried to catch your breath before looking up at the man, tears staining your cheeks from thinking you were going to die.

“I-“, you realized what they were talking about and sobbed a little louder, covering your mouth to try to quiet them. Felix groaned and walked up behind you, gripping your hair and pulling your head back to look at him.

“Fucking admit to what you’ve done you good for nothing bitch”, he practically growling, his teeth gritting in pure anger. You winced at the harsh grip on your hair and noticed all of the boys looking at you, Chan filling Jeongin in on the situation. Even he looked completely angry at you.

“I’m sorry. Don’t kill me”, you begged, sitting up straight on your knees and putting your hands together desperately. “I’ve only been doing it for a month. I swear”, you looked up at them all and Chan smirked. You on your knees like that gave him an idea for a punishment that wouldn’t involve your death.

“Get up”, Chan ordered. Felix kept his grip on your hair and pulled you up by it, tears streaming as he controlled your every movement. “Felix, we’re taking her downstairs”, your eyes went wide at the order. You had never been in the basement, but you knew that was the torture room. You tried to pull away, but Felix only tightened his grip on your hair as he pulled you towards the elevator. The rest of the group followed behind you two.

“What are you going to do to me?”, you asked, not knowing if you even wanted to know the answer. Chan grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of Felix’s grip, your chest now against Chan’s. His finger trailed along your jaw line and his eyes were on your lips. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, I think I’ve come up with a more fitting punishment for you that’s not death. One that I think you’ve been wanting since you started working with us. Besides, it’s just fitting considering you gave away our secrets for a good fuck with our enemies”, he slapped you, leaving a bright red hand print on your face. The impact made your face go to side and you looked back at him after you recovered from the shock, your hand on your now bruising cheek.

“What are you talking about?”, you wiped your tears, trying to play dumb, but that just made Chan ever more pissed.

“Don’t play dumb, y/n. He was the one who told us”, Hyunjin chuckled, coming closer to you and twirling a strand of your hair with his finger. Fear suddenly went through you, knowing that they knew about your affair. The one night stand that turned into more. You knew you never should’ve done it, but you did.

“How?”, you choked out, looking at the rest of them in surprise. He would’ve never told them willingly.

“Well, he was rather compliant when we threatened to kill him. He told us everything. Your affair, the secrets you gave him, and how long you had really been doing it”, Felix crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He chuckled before finishing his sentence, “but, we killed him anyways because as you know he’s our biggest enemy. And, yet, you let him fuck you” you gulped at the lustful and dark look in his eyes.

“You joined because of him. It wasn’t that hard to figure out”, Chan shrugged his shoulders, “he was screaming and begging for mercy before we killed him” that sentence made you snap. You slapped Chan and desperately pushed the buttons of the elevator to get out. Changbin sighed before grabbing you and covering your mouth with his hand as his other arm was wrapped around your waist. You kicked and punched and screamed, but he wouldn’t let you go.

“Babygirl, if you think he went hard on you then you’re in for a ride”, Changbin whispered into your ear and you stopped, wondering what he meant until you realized. The elevator door opened and you saw the dark basement, a couple of doors lining the walls. Changbin brought you to the last door, the others following closely behind, loosening the buttons on their suits.

“What the fuck”, you whispered, your eyes wide at the room full of sex toys lining the wall and a black bed, chains hanging from the bed posts. You didn’t think a room would exist inside of a secret agency meant to do good for the government, but apparently you were very mistaken. You knew the boys had other ways of making money, but you didn’t expect a sex room to be the way.

“Welcome to our little playroom”, Minho walked past you and chuckled as Changbin threw you onto the bed and cuffed your wrists, watching you completely comply. You didn’t want to admit it, but you wanted this. You always had. You wouldn’t fight it. They all took off their clothes and put their suits on the couch across the room.

“Aw, a cat got your tongue bitch? Why don’t you tell us how wet you are, hmm? How much you’ve always wanted this?”, Seungmin walked up and patted your red cheek. A wave of arousal went to your core at his words and you watched as the rest of the men got toys or watched you. Their eyes looking over your body.

“I’ve always wanted this”, you nodded and felt Changbin rubbing your clothed clit through your black work skirt. You spread your legs wider for him and he chuckled. “Please have your way with me”, you begged and Chan tilted his head, a little taken aback by how easily you agreed to the punishment. He saw it coming though.

“We will doll. But, remember, this is a punishment. You’ll be patient like a good whore”, Changbin slapped your thigh in warning and you whined from the pain. He continued to rub your clothed clit before the rest of the men came over. Chan gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your hands and knees, your wrists still bound by the chains.

“How pretty”, Chan trailed his finger along your back, admiring the way it arched before ripping the fabric of your blouse into two and throwing the fabric onto the floor. The cold air of the room hit your barely clothed breasts and made your nipples get hard, making them extra sensitive.

“So needy for our touch already, aren’t you?”, Changbin chuckled and pulled your skirt and underwear off. His finger trailed down your folds and rubbed your wetness in circles around your hole. Jeongin watched the action and felt his erection get harder.

Chan and Felix got underneath you. Chan’s hand unclamped your bra and threw it onto the floor, his lips immediately sucking your sensitive bud once your breasts were visible. Felix pinched your nipple and you moaned from the sensation of the two men playing with your breasts, Chan’s tongue swirling around the bud.

Minho watched as Changbin inserted two fingers inside of you and handed Jeongin a wooden paddle. The two men approached you as your back arched from the feeling of Changbin’s fingers inside of you and pumping fast in and out of you. Minho trailed his black whip along your back and you shivered at the feeling, a scream leaving your lips when Jeongin brought the paddle roughly down onto your left ass cheek. He chuckled and did it again, continuing to bruise the skin. Tears started to form in your eyes when Minho joined, continously being the whip down on the other cheek.

“Say thank you you bitch. This is what you wanted, isnt it? To be completely ruined by us?”, Minho ordered and you sobbed, trying to get the words out.

“Thank you sir. I’m sorry”, you forced out and Minho rubbed your ass. “Good girl”, he slapped it with his hand, leaving the handprint on your black and blue skin. Jeongin finally stopped after five hits and leaned back to look at his work. You breathed heavily, trying to recover from the spanking session and the sting that came with it.

Jisung handed Chan something underneath you and his lips pulled away from your nipple, so Felix took over, groping both your breasts in his hands and massaging them. Chan pulled something out of a box, but you couldn’t see what it was. Changbin’s fast pace was already hard for you to handle, but the pleasure completely took you over when he added two more fingers and thrusted even faster. You moaned his name and then screamed when you felt a jolt of electricity sent to your nipples. You had been so distracted that you didn’t realize Chan had put electric nipple clamps on you. He hit the button again after turning up the voltage and you shook, pain going into you. Hyunjin came up to your face and watched it change with each thrust of Changbin’s fingers or with each shock sent to your breasts. He loved it.

“P-please fuck! It’s too much”, Hyunjin chuckled and gripped your jaw. He put a blindfold on you and shoved a gag ball into your mouth. You were surprised and you moaned through the gag ball, choking slightly on your own saliva at first. Jisung clasped a black collar around your neck with a bell. Every time you moved forward slightly the bell would ring. You were completely at their mercy just like they wanted.

“Be quiet slut. You’ll take this punishment and be grateful”, Minho used the whip again, making your head go back at the pain. Blood started to appear from the cuts formed from the whip and Jeongin watched as it trailed down your ass cheek. Hyunjin touched your bottom lip with his finger, licking his lips at the sight of you being a complete mess for them. His connected his lips with your’s roughly and you kissed him back the best you could, your mind becoming overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure all happening at once.

Jisung moved underneath your hips and started to lick and suck on your clit as Changbin thrusted his fingers, making your orgasm rush through you. Jisung moved down and started to lick your juices up as Changbin continued to thrust his fingers, making you shake and sob at the overstimulation. Hyunjin chuckled and pulled away from your lips, moving across the room to pick up something. You couldn’t tell who anyone was or what anyone was doing due to the blindfold. Everything they did to your body would be a surprise.

You felt the strange sensation of cold metal sliding across your side. You couldn’t really focus at all due to the overstimulation Jisung and Changbin were giving you, but tears immediately started to fall from your eyes when the knife started to cut into your side. Hyunjin had started to carve his intitials into your side, smiling proudly once we once down and passed the knife to Felix, who was still underneath you. He and Chan cut their initials into your breasts, making you scream louder around the gag ball.

The knife continued to be passed around. Jeongin, who cut into your left ass cheek while Minho cut into the right. Changbin, who stopped his finger thrusts to carve his initials into your thigh. Jisung, who decided to cut into your other hip. And Seungmin, who cut into your back. You now belonged to them.

You let out a breath of relief once the knife stopped digging into your skin and the nipple clamps were off. Changbin and Jisung stopped their stimulation and you tried to breath to recover. You thought the punishment was over until Chan flipped you over onto your back, making your wrists turn in the chains. Your back was against Chan and Felix’s chest.

“Open up”, Minho slapped your thigh where Changbin’s initials were, making you nod desperately out of pain. You spread your legs like you were ordered. Chan held your right thigh and Felix held your left to keep you spread as wide as possible for them. You didn’t know what was to come, but you had an idea. You bit your lip in preparation before Chan lifted you up slightly and rubbed lube onto your asshole. He and Felix slowly thrusted the tip of their cocks into your hole, already stretching you out. Your head fell back onto Chan’s shoulder with a moan spilling from around the ball.

“Such a good girl taking all our cocks. You’ll be a good fucktoy for us”, Felix whispered in your ear and after he said that he and Chan started to thrust into you, taking turns going deep inside your ass. That alone had you shaking and whining from the stretch. You felt two cocks rubbing against your folds, the sound of the skin slapping filling the room. Chan and Felix spread you open wider when you tried to close your legs. Changbin and Minho slowly slid inside of you, spreading your cunt as wide as it could go. You felt like you were going to rip, both your holes being completely filled by four cocks. Your moans and screams became louder when Changbin and Minho started to take turns as well, but even when one wasn’t deep inside of you the tip of the other was still inside to stretch you out.

Hyunjin watched your mouth fall open from the moans, your saliva coating the ball inside. He walked over and pulled the ball free, making your moans louder as the four men thrusted faster into you in perfect rhythm. Your orgasm was approaching fast again and you bit your lip.

“Open up doll. You’re so tiny I know your throat is going to be tight too”, Hyunjin spit onto his finger as you opened your mouth. He rubbed the saliva onto your lips and then pushed his cock deep into your throat, making you gag slightly before you got used to it. He started to thrust into your throat, rubbing against the walls of it.

Jeongin uncuffed your wrists for you and removed the blindfold before he brought your hand down to his cock. You immediately knew what he wanted and wrapped your hand around the base before moving it up and down. You looked around the best you could with Hyunjin’s cock buried in your tight throat and you orgasmed a second time immediately when you saw what situation you were in. You looked through your tears at Jisung and Seungmin, who were walking up towards you. Seungmin grabbed your other hand and you started to pump his cock too, finding it hard to focus with everything going on. The men continued to thrust into you, your cum covered Changbin and Minho’s dicks as they continued to thrust in and out of you.

You screamed around Hyunjin’s dick, sending vibrations to it and you looked up slightly to see Jisung hovering above your chest. He aligned his dick with your breasts and started to thrust between them. Your body was completely being used by all of them now for their own pleasure. Felix and Chan’s grip on your thighs tightened, their nails digging into your skin and leaving scratch marks as their cocks twitched inside of you. They pulled out of you and came onto your back, their heavy breathing filling your ears.

You pumped your hands faster around Jeongin and Seungmin’s cocks, making their moans become louder. Changbin and Minho let out loud groans as they pulled out and came onto your thighs, making you feel the strange sticky sensation. Hyunjin twitched inside of your throat and came, forcing you to swallow all of his seed before he pulled out of your mouth. You took deep breaths as you could finally breathe correctly. Jisung thrusted faster between your breasts and came between them, falling onto your chest as he took deep breaths.

After a few minutes of your hands moving up and down their huge cocks, Jeongin and Seungmin came too, their cum spilling over onto your hands as you helped them ride out your high. The room because filled with heavy breathing. You tried to wrap your mind around what just happened, but it all happened so fast that you really couldn’t.

“So, who’s team are you on now babygirl?”, Chan chuckled as he and Felix moved out from under you, letting you laugh flat on the bed.

“Um definitely your’s”, you laughed back after snapping out of your slight daze. Hyunjin patted your head and kissed it.

“Good girl”, he whispered and the boys got some towels to clean up the mess all over your body.

“When can I have my turn inside of you?”, Jeongin pouted and you sighed.

“Just take turns cockwarming you needy boys”, you chuckled and a smile spread across his face with a nod.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there. 

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

 Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.