#and the face which I've only seen from the side

[paulyenvol6]

All Mine, All Yours

Based on this request. I haven't really written much about switch!Joel before, but I had so much fun with this request and I hope you're gonna like it too. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play, handjob, powerplay, dom/sub dynamics, switch!Joel, switch!reader, fight for control, dry humping, cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, begging, hair pulling, established relationship, soft!Joel, nicknames like baby/sweetheart

Wordcount: 7,620

Masterlist

You basically danced through the door.

Heart light, fluttering almost as you pressed the bag, the perfect, beautiful bag of your dreams against your chest.

"Joel?" you shouted, fingertips prickling and blood throbbing with adrenaline. Butterflies were swirling in your stomach and it felt the same way it did whenever Joel locked eyes with you, only that this time it wasn't love that had awakened them, but this amazing purchase. Well, maybe it was also the anticipation of seeing Joel.

If only you knew where he was…

"Joel?" you asked again while opening the kitchen door and now you finally received an answer.

"Yes, baby. In 'ere," his southern drawl echoed against the walls and your broad smile intensified. Light-footed, you trotted across the floor and then twirled through the kitchen straight into Joel's arms, who was just leaning over the couch to adjust some pillows.

"Baby," he chuckled as you pressed yourself against his chest, arms instinctively draping around your back.

"Everythin' alright?"

"More than alright, Joel. Look at this!"

You lifted the sultry-colored leather bag, dangling it in front of his face and excitedly biting down on your bottom lip.

"I found this baby at Martha's. It was love at first sight and I was so obsessed with her, I couldn't stop looking at her and Martha saw it as well and offered me to trade."

The joy your face radiated was contagious, your boyfriend smiling as he looked between you and the leather bag.

"That's so amazing, sweetheart, I'm so happy for you."

He kissed your cheek before brushing with his thumb over the sumptuous fabric.

"What did you trade it for?"

You pursed your lips, lashes fluttering as you looked up to him, face drawn apologetically.

"You're not gonna like it, baby."

Joel raised a single eyebrow. "C'mon. You can tell me."

You sighed and twisted your lips.

"I traded my boots…. I know it's not ideal and I – I'm gonna get new ones, I swear, but… I just couldn't resist. I'm sorry – "

That was the moment when Joel cut you off, pressing his lips on yours to shut you up. Then he withdrew just an inch or two and cradled your head in his large palm.

"Don't ya apologize. You definitely have to get new boots for the winter, but we can take care of that. Tommy can surely get you a new pair. And we can trade the jacket that I got for my birthday. I have two anyways. I'm just happy you're happy. You know I love nothin' more than seein' you smile… And that 'lil smile was already worth it."

His forehead touched yours and he closed his eyes while you felt like you were drowning with love for this man. It was almost too cheesy what he was saying, but nonetheless his words had the desired effects. You were melting in his arms.

"Thank you. I am happy. It's the most beautiful bag I've ever seen in my life. I'm gonna wear it all the time from now on and I – I can't believe Martha was so kind. I thought – I thought she wouldn't trade a bag like that."

Joel kissed you again, more demanding now as he sucked on your bottom lip.

"It's gonna go amazing with your black dress," he whispered against your mouth, hot breath tingling on your chin and his beard stubble scraping over your skin.

"Which one?"

"The short one. With the red buttons."

You grinned, connecting your hand with the side of his face.

"Yeah, you're right."

"It's my favorite one, you know baby? Love the way your body looks in it," Joel growled, his grip on your cheek tightening while his other hand moved to your waist.

"I know," you smirked again and couldn't help but shiver at the way Joel didn't make any effort to hide his boundless lust for you. You were a sucker for this kind of behavior. Nothing got you off more than seeing the person you desired both metaphorically and literally on their knees for you. Completely at your mercy and almost uncontrolled with their need to touch and kiss you. When they worshipped every inch of your body like it was holy and a priviledge to just get near you. And fortunately, Joel was exactly the kind of guy to give you this. Being with him meant feeling like he had waited all his life to meet you, like he would burn the world down just for a simple glimpse from you.

"Sit down," you breathed against his lips, gently nibbling and biting as he didn't immediately react.

"Joel," you repeated and softly pushed against his chest. God he felt so firm and strong beneath you, which made your knees all wobbly.

"Yeah baby, just…" he started, but then stopped midsentence as he took a step back. The back of his knees touched the edge of the couch and a last push against his stomach was all it took to make him sit down. Without any hesitation you climbed onto his lap, knees trapping him underneath you and your arms wrapping around the back of his neck.

"Mhmm baby you know what you want, ain't that right?" he grunted in your ear, palming your waist and sending little shock waves through your chest as his hands dragged upwards until they reached the swell of your breasts.

"I do. And there's nothin' you can do about it. 'Cause I know you will do as I tell you."

You kissed his nose and then trailed a line from his ear along his jawline, leaving a wet trace. You had begun to rock your core against him, your pussy clenching around nothing as you felt him grow underneath you. It was the perfect stimulation, the perfect pressure on your clit and hearing his ragged breath only motivated you further.

"Will I, pea?" he murmured, groping your left breast, which elicited a gasp in you.

You knew what this was. You knew that Joel was waiting for the right moment to take over and take control and as much as you loved it on certain days, you wouldn't give up that easily today. Perhaps it was the high you were on right now or just your ovulating body, but you were in the mood for a little battle of dominance. It was tempting to just lay back and let your sweet, sexy boyfriend take care of you, but seeing him suffer and hearing his little moans were a turn on as well and you sometimes felt like you didn't get to see it as often as you liked to.

Therefore you grabbed a handful of his dark greyish locks and held on tightly, testingly and maybe even warningly tugging as if to tell him how this was going to go tonight. You simultaneously pushed yourself closer to him, straddling his lap and hovering right above his crotch.

"Yeah, you will. 'Cause we both now what you want. And you're gonna get it, I promise, but only if you'll be good."

You saw a sparkle in his eyes, a light glint, which made you think that you had maybe already won the fight. At least he didn't reply, but looked up to you under his lashes. His lips were slightly parted, breath hitched and broken as he glared at you, his dick clearly twitching as you lowered youself on him.

"Look at me, Joel. Eyes are up 'ere. Keep 'em on me while I make you feel good or I'll stop."

Your voice didn't sound as confident and unbothered as you had planned it in your head, but your boyfriend seemed to realise that you had the upper hand right now. He locked eyes with you, not even flinching when your clothed pussy came in contact with him, dry humping him in slow and teasing circles that weren't enough for you either, but it was worth his pantings. Yet, Joel didn't stay completely still. He still had his hands on your chest, kneading your flesh through the fabric of your t shirt and rejoicing when he realised that you were not wearing a bra. It was perfect for twisting your nipples between two fingers, pinching and rolling them just enough to cause you a little bit of pain and make sure he had your attention.

"Fuck…," you moaned, eyes rolling back and your motions on his lap getting unsteadier.

"Yeah, baby… Let it happen, you know you just wanna give in. You wanna let me take over. Your body wants it."

He had hummed those last words, the effects of the way his dick rubbed over your core visible, but he tried everything right now to keep it hidden. At least until he had won this battle.

"Shut up or I'm gonna put your mouth to work," you managed to say under breath, cheeks blushing with a telling pink.

"Oh I would love that. I truly would. I would love to taste your pussy 'n' have 'er drippin' for me but we both know you're afraid of that. You're scared you're gonna lose control 'n' stop havin' the upper hand."

Joel suddenly leaned forward and pushed your shirt up in the same moment, which allowed him to press a open-mouthed kiss right on top of your stiff nipple. You sharply inhaled, chest involuntarily arching against him.

"Oh god. Oh, fuck, Joel."

You wanted to slap yourself. Not only because you were angry at yourself and wanted to punish yourself for being so cock-dumb and responsive to his touch, but also to ground yourself. Make yourself snap back to reality, so you could take matters into your own hands again and continue where he had interrupted you. You wanted to roll your hips against his bulge again, feel him throb underneath you until he was just about to burst and begged you with his puppy eyes. But god, did this feel good. His wet mouth pressing kisses around your nipple while his large hand traced the outline of your other breast. It was so warm and slick, so comfortable and messy – just the way you liked it…

Suddenly you shrieked as Joel let go off your nipples and wrapped two arms around you, standing up with you clinging to his body.

"What are you doin'," you said, pinching your eyes shut at how weak and needy your voice sounded.

He secured his hold on you, putting one hand under your butt and the other around your shoulder and then effortlessly, like he barely felt your weight, carried you to the bedroom.

"Need more space for what I'm gonna do to ya," Joel smirked, seemingly oblivious to what his hoarse voice was doing to you. You softly moaned and kissed his neck just to do anything. You were tired of fighting back and refusing to give in to his touch, so what if you were just going to let go? Let him take over and allow you to feel the most amazing and enthralling kinds of pleasure? You knew how good this man was and how well he knew your body. But at the same time, you were yearning for his pleasure-drawn face, the way he would pinch the nose of his bridge while you were giving him head.

In the end you decided to delay the decision and for now let him bring you to the bedroom. Then you could choose whether you wanted to continue your fight for dominance or let yourself go. Joel carried you through the bedroom door and then dropped you onto the bed. Not roughly, not aggressively, but like you were made of glass and would break if he tossed you. You hated it. Not because you didn't enjoy his gentle hands holding you so carefully and tenderly, but you knew why he was doing it. He wanted you to feel so comfortable that you forgot all about your initial plans for tonight. He knew what buttons to push, when to clench a possessive hand around your arm and when to affectionately brush a strand of hair behind your ear. You should love the way he knew his way around your body and you really did, but in moments like this you hated the way he took advantage of it. Because it was working.

You gave him your biggest doe eyes as you lay on your back, watching him take off his shirt in one swift motion before throwing it behind him. You licked your lips at the sight of his toned body, shoulders broad, and chest so strong, you just wanted to lean yourself against him and let him not only hold you, but all the weight on your heart, all the pain you had ever experienced in your life. Not that there was a lot of pain left now that you had settled down with Joel in Jackson, but meeting him hadn't just made everything that had happened to you in your past disappear with a snap of your fingers. He had made it better, sure, but even he couldn't make you forget about the life you had before Joel had stepped into your life. He could make it so much more bearable, though.

"C'mere," you smirked, gesturing with your finger for him to approach. But he shook his head, as if to say that he knew exactly what you were trying to do. Regaining the upper hand.

Maybe that was why Joel hesitated and took all the time in the world as he headed to the dresser, grabbing the glass of water that was on top of it and taking a large sip. This was a power game, a battle of who was able to last longer and right now you feared that he was winning it. Joel watched you over the edge of the glass and you swore you could see the grin he wore in his eyes. Then he slammed it back down, wiped over his mouth and approached you with forceful, deliberate large steps. He was heading to the bed on his terms now and not because you had told him to.

"You like to watch, huh?" he whispered once he was standing next to the bed, hand reaching down to cup your chin. "Couldn't keep your eyes off me. Did you enjoy the show, sweetheart?"

You sat up a little on the bed, your eyes roaming his bare upper body, stopping at his hairy chest.

"I did. You look so pretty strippin' for me. Who could blame me?"

You had felt confident saying those words, but a single glance up to him made the blood in your veins quiver. God he looked so gorgeous. His lips were stiff, eyes dark and chin high like he didn't accept any rebuttals, no matter what he said. You couldn't help it as your lashes fluttered, your stomach flooded with hot pressure. You needed him so badly, preferable between your legs where he would lap up the mess he had created with just his voice and if it meant letting him take control, perhaps it would be worth it…

Joel didn't give you enough time to finish your thoughts because now he was sitting down on the edge of the bed, still towering over you, but closer to you. His hand around your chin was firm, even when you were squirming in his grip and flashed your eyes at him.

"You're gonna give me somethin' now? Or do I have to? You could almost believe that you're scared of this pussy," you hissed, in a flash of inspiration reaching for his dick, but Joel slammed a hand on top of yours the moment you touched him through his jeans.

You wriggled, trying to create any kind of friction just so he would be distracted enough for you to have your comeback and luckily it worked. For a moment at least. You seized the opportunity to escape from his grasp, swinging your leg over his lap and climbing on top of him while wearing a triumphant grin. You could feel him shift underneath you and then exhale through his teeth as you started to rock yourself against his hard dick again.

"Baby…," he made, gripping your hips tightly to control your movements, but you slapped his hands away.

"Shhh…," you hushed him, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him. "You just enjoy it, pretty boy. You just take it and let me make the both of us feel good… I know you can do that, right?"

Joel seemingly fought with himself, face twisted with indecision, but lucky for him, you wouldn't leave him a choice. You just had to keep him close, wrap him around your little finger and work the two of you up until you had taken his mind was off your little game. Until all he could think about was the way your body felt against him, how you touched him.

You picked up the pace, softly moaning at the pressure on your clit. It wasn't a lot – there were several layers of thick clothing separating your most sensitive spot from Joel's manhood, but the slight tease, the barely tangible friction kept you on the edge, ready and eager for more. But first you had to take care of Joel and make sure you had him on the tip of his toes.

"Baby," he whispered again, eyes closing as your hand came in contact with his bugle. You palmed him through his jeans, watching him fall apart underneath you and then found the opening of his belt. It was a swift and deft motion, which almost surprised you, considering your hands were so shaky. But then his belt was off, carelessly thrown on the floor and all you had to do until you had him bare in front of you, was pull down the zipper of his pants. You kept your lips pressed to his while blindly opening his jeans and then immediately grabbed his hard dick, which caused Joel to deeply growl against your mouth.

"Mhmm yes…," you commented, smugly grinning and tugging at his jeans in order to undress him further. Joel fortunately offered his help and lifted his hips so you could take his jeans off along with his boxers, but you couldn't wait until he had kicked them off his feet. You just wrapped a hand around his thick girth the moment you laid eyes on it and almost started to drool at the angry red tip. This man was suffering, leaking and twitching for you like no man had ever before and you adored it. He wanted you badly and he wasn't just telling you so, but his body gave it all away. And in this moment you swore that nothing could ever give you more confidence about yourself than his heated gaze skimming over your body like he wanted to remember each inch. Giving you his perfect brown deer eyes, staring up to you so deliciously.

"Like what you're seein', baby?" he grunted, attempting to grab your thigh again to push you closer, but you were prepared and just slid with your hand up his shaft, eliciting a low moan in him.

"Jesus, baby… You don't even – know what you're doin' to me."

"Oh I have a pretty strong idea, handsome," you smiled evily, brushing with your thumb over his tip. It felt so hard and stiff under your finger, leaking and burning with the desire to bury itself inside of you. But he had to have a little more patience.

You briefly thought about going down on him, the glistening of his precum surely made it tempting. But kneeling in front of him would mean that he got to move again, perhaps even use the moment of physical dominance to pull you up, throw you onto the bed and disturb your plans. And you had him right where you wanted him right now. Therefore, it was decided. You would delay it to another night. It was his own fault after all – him putting up a fight over dominance had led to this very moment and although you regretted not being able to feel him twitch at the back of your throat, this game was more important to you right now.

"You want me to ride it? Mhm? Want me to put it in my pussy and ride it until you fall apart? Until you won't say anything but my name?"

Joel sharply gasped, chest heaving rapidly, but fingers gripping the bedsheets to release the pressure buidling up in his stomach.

"You better shut up and focus on whatever you tryin' to do there."

You gritted your teeth, although you obviously knew that he was playing unbothered while he clearly wasn't unaffected by your hand around his dick. He was much too hard for that. His cheeks were too red and his forehead too sweaty. You tightened your grip, increasing the pressure with which you stroked up and down his dick. He felt warm and heavy in your hand, the texture smooth and a little velvetry. But what you loved most about his dick were the veins that were entwining his shafe – because you knew how beautifully they scratched over your walls when he was inside you.

"Jesus, baby," he hissed through clenched teeth, the vein on his temple prominent. He was restraining himself, fighting not to break, but you would get him there, you were sure. You wanted him to beg for you, plead with you to let him cum in your hand like a pathetic teenage boy.

"I know. I know you wanna cum an' you can, you know?" you whispered, combing through his hair before travelling down his thick neck.

"Just let go, Joel… Be good for me, I know you want to so badly…"

You were already expecting him to burst, hand clenching hard to push him over the edge, which was why you shrieked in surprise when you were suddenly flipped over.

This bastard.

He had thrown you onto your back, now hovered over you with a smug smile that you wanted to slap out of his face and trapped you beneath him, unbothered by the way you flared your nostrils.

"You asshole," you hissed, hands taking hold of his broad shoulders, but Joel just laughed at you.

"Aww my pretty girl… There's no use playin' it cool. Once I start with you, you're gonna do exactly as I say. And you're gonna like every second of it."

You didn't doubt that, truly.

Joel knew his way about your body better than yourself, you thought at times, but still, you were mad for the way power had slipped out of your hand just like that.

You narrowed your gaze, chin up high as he kissed along your jawline, one hand firm around your waist and the other on your cheek. Skillful fingers unlaced the buttons of your shirt and took it off faster than you were able to blink and then your eyes rounded as his lips made contact with your stiff nipples.

"Joel…," you involuntarily whined, but instantly regretted it.

It just felt too good. The bed was so comfortable and soft underneath you and you could just sink down into the cushions and let him do all the work. And his heated gaze, the sparkle in his eyes that lit up every time you moaned his name…

"I know babygirl… I know what you need. And if you stopped fightin' it, I'd give you the most divine pleasure. No need to try 'n' get on top, I got you."

God, he knew what he was doing. His hands grabbed your breasts, kneading and massaging like he wanted to carve the memory of their shape into his palms, your nipples hard between his lips when he sucked on them. You were a moaning mess, squirming and writhing under the weight of his body and you weren't even sure yourself if you were doing it because of the sensation or because you were still fighting for the upper hand.

You were just about to complain that you needed more, when Joel's hands dropped to the waistband of your jeans. Perhaps he could actually read your thoughts.

He opened the button, pulled down the zipper and then yanked them down your legs with one forceful tug, but let them dangle around your knees. That was the moment you met his gaze and based on the curl of his lips, you knew that you must look pathetic. Eyes glossy, hair sticking to your forehead and lips swollen from the way you bit down on them. You couldn't supress the 'Please' and hoped that it at least was so quiet that Joel couldn't tell what exactly you had said. His lips just formed a playful pout, then he lifted the corner of his mouth like he was thinking and spit on his index and ring finger.

His eyes were on you at all times while he brought his hand between your thighs, blindly finding your clothed clit and rubbing you in soft circles. That was the moment you officially felt that you had lost because your facade dropped, the crease between your eyebrows deepening and your lips parting. And he enjoyed every second of it.

"Yeah babygirl… I knew you could be good. Just feel it, stay still and keep that pretty mouth shut and just enjoy what I give ya. You know I'm so good to my pretty baby."

"Joel," you whimpered, reaching for his chest and regretting that he didn't wear a shirt you could cling to.

You spread your legs wider for him, welcoming his touch on your throbbing clit and feeling yourself drown in a dense, hazy cloud of sheer pleasure. Fighting with him for control, using all your strength to crawl on top of him was difficult. But this wasn't. This was just taking, letting him do as he saw fit and trusting that he knew exactly what you needed. Soon your underwear that had already been damp before Joel had taken off your jeans, was absolutely drenched with your arousal. The cotton was sticking to your cunt and a big dark patch was visible right below your leaking hole. You were relieved when he hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down for them to join your jeans around your bent knees.

"Look at that…," Joel murmured, scratching over the corner of his mouth like he was studying what hid between your legs.

"Please Joel. Please I – I need it."

"What was that?" he pretended to be surprised, lifting his eyebrows as you twisted your face in frustration. He was going to make you repeat it and then mock you with it for the rest of the night.

It was to your surprise that he didn't.

Joel just briefly caressed the side of your face, brushing over your burning skin and softening at the way you arched off the bed to get closer to him. Then he kissed the tip of your nose and made his way down your body, slow and teasing and eager at the same time. It was as though he was trying to savour every moment, be precise and slow in the way he kissed and licked your skin, but couldn't hold back because his own desires were too overwhelming. This combination was intoxicating, absolutely captivating. You felt the sensation in the way your belly clenched the way it always did when you were close to orgasming. Which was remarkable, considering Joel had barely touched you yet. You felt light-headed, your skin buzzing and prickling where your boyfriend's lips touched you and when he had finally reached your mound – remains of spit on your chest and stomach – you inhaled sharply.

He kissed you like it was meant to show you how much he had waited for this very moment. It was just your mound, but he made it feel like he hadn't seen your pussy in months or years and had missed every inch of your body.

"Joel," you said, voice airy and thin while your hands grabbed as many locks as you could reach.

"I know," was all he said and you had a feeling he actually did know.

And then he dived between your legs like he wanted to be suffocated by your pussy. Mouth pressing hard against your clit, tongue quickly swirling around the little bundle and greedy hands opening you up wider for him. His hard grip on the inside of your thighs would surely leave marks, but in this moment you couldn't have cared less.

"Fuck… Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you cried out, toes curling and heels pressing into the bed. A blissful, warm liquid poured in your thighs as the thumping in your chest intensified.

Joel looked up to you, brow wrinkling and eyes flashing as he took in your fucked-out face. With deft and deliberate precision, he drew random patterns over your clit, sometimes going faster, then slower again – always keeping you on the edge of the seat and intensifiying the pleasure whenever you were about to complain and wriggle.

At first, you didn't even notice the two fingers prodding your entrance. You were too hooked on the way his rough, warm tongue lapped at your clit to sense his fingers trailing along the inside of your thighs until they slowly tapped against your hole as if to demand entrance. You hummed, lashes fluttering and hands tugging at Joel's locks as he worked two fingers inside of your quivering cunt. Any other day you might have felt embarrassed by the way you sucked him in, pussy so soaking wet that it produced a smacking sound. You unconsciously started to roll your hips against his face, riding him and trying to regain control over what was happening, but Joel set an end to it with his bruising grip on your hips.

"Stay still, baby. Or I'm gonna stop."

His voice was unwavering and sounded like he didn't expect an answer from you and although you were sure he was just as captivated as you were, you didn't want to risk anything. So you pressed your lips together, legs shaking and your core yearning for more pressure, but you held back and hoped that he would make it worth it.

Joel continued his meal like he was a man starved, lapping and slurping up every drop of your sweet juices until his beard was glistening. His stubble created wonderful friction as well – always a thin line between the most thrilling kind of pain and pure pleasure. Soon your skin was red and itchy, but you didn't mind, couldn't mind. Joel had such a wonderful way of putting your mind elsewhere.

"You taste so good, sweetheart, you know that? And it's all fuckin' mine. Every inch, every drop, every moan… S'all made for me. No one's ever gonna touch this pussy except for me, ain't that right?"

He draggingly guided his tongue through your folds, stopping at your clit to blow some warm air over it.

"Say it. Say whose pussy this is and who gets to touch 'er."

"It's yours, Joel," you whined, surprised by how little effort it had cost you to make yourself say those words. To make yourself give in to him. "S'all yours. You're the only one I want."

He grinned, eyes skimming over your swollen slit and then he leaned in to continue to suck on your pearl while his fingers inside you moved in circles. He was massaging your walls, pushing up against the sensitive and most hidden part of your body while gifting you immense pleasure with his tongue and it was no wonder you were already so close. So close, you felt that if he continued like that, it would be minutes, seconds maybe until you would orgasm, but you couldn't give in. At least that was what a voice inside your head was telling you all of a sudden.

Don't give in. Don't give him the satisfaction of cumming so fast on his fingers and tongue. Seize control and make him beg.

You inhaled greedily, stuffy air filling your lungs, which gave you the opportunity to speak up.

"F-Fuck me," you managed to stutter, hands pulling at his hair to make him look up to you. "Fuck me, Joel."

It was your easiest shot. If he was to enter you with his dick, you might be able to set the pace. Joel lost his mind every time he worked himself inside you for the first time and that might be the moment for you to lead.

"I want you to cum before I do," he replied, the movement of his lips against your clit sending shock waves through your core. He didn't slow down, if anything he picked up the pace with which he kitten-licked your clit and hell, you didn't have the strength to speak up again. How could you, if his fingers felt so good being snug inside you. If his mouth worshipped your bundle of nerves, kissing and showering it with love.

And so you came all over his face, knees buckling and hips lifting off the bed to press yourself closer against him. Joel dragged his tongue through your slit, collecting your wetness and savouring it in his mouth like it was something holy.

"Oh my fucking – " you managed to bring out before squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back. Your neck was flexed, every vein and tendon visible and your legs trembling as wave and wave of pure, hot tension rolled through your body. In the end all that was left of you was your pliant, slack body, clinging to the bedsheets.

"That's it, honey…," Joel just whispered, soothingly stroking up your thigh to settle his hand on top of your stomach.

"The most beautiful fuckin' thing I've ever seen," he added, pressing his lips to your hip bone and then crawling up to lay on top of you. He had licked up every ounce of your arousal and now his lips and beard were sticky and wet.

"Look at me, babygirl. Gimme those pretty eyes."

He brought a finger under your chin, carefully adjusting you so he could take a look at your pleasure-drawn face.

"You know that you make the sweetest noises when I fuck you with my fingers? So goddamn perfect, sweetheart. Just wanna spend the rest of my life between those legs… Jesus, you're a dream."

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, lips loosely brushing over your temple before moving the hair out of your face with his big hands. Slowly, you began to regain your powers, sight clearing up and the pounding of your heart calming. Still, you didn't feel as strong as you sounded as you whispered the following words.

"Will you fuck me now finally?"

Joel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and just grinned.

"You're a greedy 'lil thing."

"And you're an exhausted old man."

You ran a hand down his front until you could grab his dick, eyes flashing as you felt him twitch in your grasp.

"You're not that much younger."

You ignored the comment and stroked him while making sure you kept eye contact.

"I wanna be on top," you whispered against his lips, already wrapping a leg around his hips so you might be able to flip the two of you over.

"I'm sure you do…"

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek, which made him chuckle lowly.

"Ask me real nice and I'll think about it."

Joel suddenly removed your hand from his length and pumped his dick while aligning himself with your entrance.

"Please," you begged, although your stomach twisted.

"Was that enough already…?"

"Please, Joel. I'll make the both of us feel good."

He wryly grinned, but then finally gave in, rolling off you, lying down next to you and guiding you to straddle his center. You smiled like you had achieved this on your own, grabbing his broad shoulders for leverage. Then you reached for his cock again and brought his tip to your hole with your heart beating like thunder. Your pussy ached for him, clenched and fluttered around nothing and just the thought of feeling him stretch you was enough for you to break into sweat. Yet you tried to overplay it with a quiet scoff, blaring your teeth when he flinched in your hand.

"Pathetic, isn't it? You're pratically dripping for me."

Joel inhaled through his teeth, running a hand through his hair to tame the mess.

"Baby, Don't tease. Fuck, don't," he muttered. All of his initial cockiness was gone after just one of your strokes up his dick.

"Oh now it's me that's gotta play by the rules?"

You smugly smirked, painfully slowly dragging his tip through your folds, stopping at your clit for some extra stimulation.

"I didn't – fuck… I didn't tease you like this."

"Shhh. Just look at me. If you're good, I'll reward you."

And then you slowly guided his tip to your entrance, but you were yet to let him enter you. You just tapped it against your pussy, going in tight circles that made Joel fall apart underneath you.

"Baby, fuck… Please, I – god, you're – please."

"Say it again. Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how much you want me to ride this dick."

Joel's head dropped forward, brow coming to rest on your shoulders while he choked on his own breath.

"I need it. Please, fuck, I need it so bad. Please, I – I'll do as you say. Just please."

You laughed out loudly, grabbing the side of his face and tilting his head to look into his eyes.

"You beg so sweetly, pretty boy. You think it's enough?"

You knew how cruel you were being, but you couldn't stop yourself. Not after the way he had taken the reins so brutally earlier.

"Jesus, c'mon… I need you, please. I'll be good. I swear."

You sank down on him at his last word, eliciting a low growl in him. You were soaking wet and properly opened up from the time he had spent between your legs, so you had absolutely no problems taking him in one go. The two of you gasped out simultaneously, eyes wide at the way he filled you so wonderfully. Once you had lowered yourself all the way down and he had disappeared inside you, the sensation was so overwhelming that your head swam and you suddenly felt dizzy. But Joel seemed almost worse. He cussed under breath, shaky fingers gripping your hips to ground himself.

"Oh god… Oh baby, yes. You feel so good 'round me."

His hoarse voice made you snap back to reality and you slowly moved your hips in circles, still getting used to his size. A quiet whimper left his throat, one that only motivated you further to make him go insane, so you picked up the pace and rolled your hips like you had learned to do over time, fucking Joel. You knew what he liked, what made him feral and what made his balls pulsate. You knew the way he lost his mind when you changed the angle and how sensitive his skin right below his jawline was. How he jerked when you clenched around him, how he enjoyed the slight sting that was created when you pulled at his roots and how much he loved seeing your chest in front of his eyes while you rode him. And you were more than ready to make him lose his mind.

His cock was filling you so well that you actually had problems focusing on moving steadily yourself, but with your hands on his broad shoulder to support yourself, you managed to keep a pretty constant tempo. And yet your forehead was soon covered with sweat, the salty drops running down your temple and of course Joel noticed it too.

"You need some help there, angel?" he cockily asked, leaning back against the wall as if to show him how comfortable it was for him.

"I think you need someone to fill that bratty mouth of yours," you hissed and glid two fingers into his mouth without a warning. He sucked on them, twirling his tongue around the digits like he wanted to clean them, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes still didn't vanish and it irritated you.

Before you could say another word, Joel suddenly lifted his hips and drove himself upward, fucking into you. And – destroy your rhythm.

You cursed, brow furrowing and eyes dangerously darkening. And this motherfucker just grinned like he didn't know why you were mad.

"You like to disobey me, mhm?" you purred, taking his wrist and pinning them down on the bed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, hands wriggling under your grip, but you remained unwavering. You gave him another glance, suspiciously watching him through small slits before picking up the pace again and riding his dick that was already throbbing inside of you. He would cum soon, so you didn't understand why he was making it harder for the both of you. Why still trying to gain the upper hand when you were happy to make the two of you orgasm? By now you had brought a hand between your legs to rub at your clit and you knew you were close too. Maybe he had learned his lessons now, you thought, becoming more confident with the way you moved until Joel did it again and this time you almost choked on your own breath.

"Joel," you gasped, lips parted and cheeks flush. Instead of answering he moved again, delivering slow, but deep thrusts into your pussy from below.

"Ah fuck," you whimpered, eyes closing involuntarily. "Joel, you – "

The unfinished sentence lingered in the heated, thin air. You could literally smell the desire off of each other and it was a mixture of sweat and animalistic, primal desire. You were too weak to even notice when Joel freed his hands and brought them to your butt to hold you still while filling your cunt over and over. Your thighs were burning by now, muscles tense and aching from the way you were holding yourself up on top of him, but of course you would never tell Joel. For now you were accepting what he gave you, not that you would have been able to bring up the strength to stop him when he was making you feel so good.

"Touch yourself, babygirl," he breathed, pushing you closer to his center, which changed the angle in a way that made you cry out.

"Yeah I know. I know, honey, you're so close, aren't ya? C'mon let me take care of it."

With these words, he flipped the two of you over again, grinning as your hair was spread out on the pillow. He didn't waste any time pounding your pussy - perhaps he was afraid you would put on another show if he gave you time to realize he had taken over again.

"Now, now," he commented the way your pussy greedily sucked him in, your walls gripping him so firmly, the blood in his veins began to thump. His fingers added more pleasure, rubbing lazy, but precise circles over your clit as he chased his high.

"I want you to cum for me. Cum around my cock, milk him, c'mon."

He pulsated deep inside of you, thrusting in you forcefully until the world stopped for a moment for the both of you. You saw stars and only managed to press out a quiet "You little asshole," before waves of sweet, divine pleasure rolled over you.

The muscles in your lower belly and thighs contradicted, pulsing and twitching as he rode your orgasm out, but then stayed snug inside you while he filled you with his cum. Your face was burning as the high faded, hair sticking to your forehead and lashes fluttering. Your whole body felt numb, limbs pliantly lying to your side and chest heaving.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

It truly had been magical. Joel was always able to give you heavenly moments when he made you cum, but tonight had been something special. Not only had the two of you cum almost at the same time, but it had also been especially intense. You sighed deeply and smiled at the feeling of fresh air filling your lungs. Someone really needed to open a window in here, though.

"You alright?" Joel suddenly asked.

He had dropped his head to your collarbone, eyes shut, but he wore a satisfied smirk.

"Yes. You?"

"Yes."

You tangled your hands in his hair, which stood up in all directions. It felt slightly damp, but you didn't care.

"Did you like it?" Joel then wanted to know and you felt your heart clench, stomach jittering.

"Of course I did," you chuckled, pressing his head closer to your chest. "Did you see how I just came? Did you enjoy it?"

You broadly grinned, stroking up and down the back of his head while fully savouring the weight of his body on top of you.

"Yeah. I love you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know that. And I love you too. More than anyone or anything else in this world, baby."

His eyelids fluttered briefly as if he wanted to open them, but then changed his mind at the last second.

"Promise?"

Joel's hands tightened around you, pulling you closer to him almost desperately, even though there was no more space left. Not even the thinnest layer of paper could fit between you two.

"I promise."

[protectoroffaeries]

now that i've transitioned i'm pretty femme, but when i was growing up i was a masculine girl.

like the prev commenter, my family has dark & extensive hair that the women in my family mercilessly bullied (& medically abused) me into getting rid of bc of their own insecurities - along side my peers, who teased me for being a hairy freak, a boy, a monkey, gross. my unibrow, mustache, beard, they needed to be waxed, trimmed, bleached, threaded, hormonally reduced - but never SHAVED, bc of the myth about it growing back darker. i didn't want any of these treatments, they hurt, & i didnt like the way they looked. but it made my mom, my grandmothers, my aunties feel better about my failgirl status.

i cut my hair short at age 11 bc my mom told me i had to learn to take care of it myself or do so. my grandmother was aghast for YEARS; every time i saw her it was a litany of "boys like long hair, you have such beautiful hair, if i had had like yours i'd keep it long". she repeated these same lines about how i could be such a beautiful young woman if i took care of all my hair after i became an adult & stopped disappearing it all.

i wore only jeans & baggie tshirts as a teenager bc i felt so bad about my body. i didnt want people to see my hairy legs bc they made fun of them, but i never had the energy to physically keep up with shaving them (a process that often took upwards of 2 hrs & ended w/ me riddled w/ cuts due to shitty bathroom lighting). i remember sweating my ass off in 100+ degree temperature bc it was easier than the shame. i didnt want people to notice my boobs bc if they thought i was a boy (this never actually happened lol) maybe they would be less fucking cruel.

& when people werent being cruel, they were asking me invasive questions about how i could live my life w/ so much visible body hair, or saying fetishistic things about how fucking sexy they found hairy women (i had a supervisor say this to me when i was 19 & a regular customer at work who would bring it up whenever he came in in my early 20s).

i used to fight w/ the women in my family about wearing dresses (which ironically i actually enjoy wearing now - on my own terms, w/ my hairiness on full display) bc they emphasized how Bad At Being A Girl i was. i didnt wear any dresses from age 14-21; the last pic of me in one as a child has me so fucking depressed-looking. the night before my great-grandmother's funeral, i got into a huge fight w/ my mother (& then my father who somehow thought it was his business despite not even being physically present) about what i was going to wear bc it was difficult to find something that was comfortable for me AND fit the requirements for the event & she was fed up w/ how "difficult" i was.

& i should note that my mother & one of my grandmothers (not the one who hounded me about my hair length, lol) are not girly girls or terribly femme. they keep the dresses & skirts for church & other formalities. their hair isn't long, but it's not unacceptably short, either. they wear full faces of "natural-looking" makeup every day & lament other women in the family as high maintainence for doing more. & they have jobs that make this a more acceptable presentation. they are the far edge of "not feminine" that is acceptable. the spectrum is extremely narrow - & my mom, being a fat women, still gets shit for being outside of it sometimes.

& on the flipside... like my spouse is still seen as a masculine woman despite being nonbinary. & they are not hairy at all... which makes them a more widespread fetish object, to men & women alike. do u know how often i hear straight men & wlw dehumanizing them as a cool girl type bc they have short hair, a bound chest, & an affiniry for working with their hands? as a masculine 'woman' who doesn't look "gross" (ie have much body hair), they're more acceptable to turn into a sex object for people who hate traditional femininity to the point where they won't fuck a 'girly girl'. none of these people who hit on my spouse see them as a full person w/ fears, dreams, deep thoughts, complex illnesses, silly quirks, etc etc. it's always how "mysterious & cool" they are. they would balk at the prospect of holding my spouse when they cry or tenderly nursing them when they're sick - i know this bc ive heard abt their past relationships.

there is no reward for being seen as a masculine woman. there are only these narrow options of fetishization or revulsion.

the most baffling idea that goes around these days is that masculinity is accepted and even encouraged in girls

that's the stupidest shit ever posted on the internet and i think that any trans person who grew up as a girl can agree to that, except a small minority who grew up in a privileged background

masculinity is only ever accepted in ppl perceived as women if it panders to the cishet male gaze. it's very similar to the Gone Girl "cool girl" monologue. u can like fixing cars, but u better wear a really small top and have nice tits while doing it. u can like sports and hanging out with guys, watch sci fi and be fun and messy, but u better have a full face of appropriate make up during it and be careful that u remain skinny. also if u have a traditionally considered male hobby or job, it's cool, but only as long as u are not better than the men around u. that' not masculinity being accepted, it's immature cishet men wanting a girlfriend that puts as much effort in her appearance as a girly girl without being "high maintenence"

and all that shit applies if you're gender conforming

when u start presenting in a masculine way is when shit hits the fan. i wouldn't say that u lose all privilege (if you're cis) when u go masc, but the way u are perceived is not the same. suddenly u are no longer deserving of protection, kindness or dignity. when i presented hard masc it was almost impossible to go outside without gettimg harassed at a magnitude i've never experiences before or since. ppl stopped being kind to me, i was treated like a freak show, the little queer u can show like a new purchase, ppl treated me like i was stupid to the point that it affected my school life. ppl were routinely staring at me, and in some instances even tried to touch me (my tits specifically) without consent to see if i was a girl

but that's not all

regardless of what some trans radfems like to claim, u are forced into femininity, all the time. every hair cut, every shopping trip, every year when u don't bring a boyfriend (bc transandrophobia and lesbophobia have always been cousins), every day u don't put make up on, every time u shot down a demand to perform femininity, is followed by screaming, crying and monstruous fights from family members or ppl in a position of power, during which u are repeatedly reminded that being yourself is wrong and you're an abomination

and that's why u can never ask for help, not about the fighting or the endless verbal and sexual harassement, bc u will probably be told that it's entirely your fault, and u deserved all of it

[underratedmurder]

Was it something I said? Remmick/Reader

Reader and Remmick dance together... and get acquainted.

female/femme presenting reader

*Remmick can enter people's minds without turning them* <- I love this idea, and I think it makes sense for him since he was so in touch with Mary's emotions in the movie.

*Smut warning* PIV intercourse, Fingering, Blood, Biting, Drool, Messy make outs

~~~

There's a strange new man in town, and hell if he aint a good dancer!

"What kinda dancin'?" You asked, polishing a tall glass by the kitchen sink.

"Oh, like nothing I've seen before, you gotta see him Lucky," the warm voice of the woman reminded you of childhood wonder and excitement, the kind you two shared together in youth.

She was your best friend, Nelly. 'Lucky' was just a nickname, given to you when you were just a child.

Lucky, you felt it every now and then, lucky to have friends and a home, but you weren't sure luck would give your life much meaning.

Now, after growing up, you struggled for joy and fulfillment.

Your friends were bubbling about the kitchen, exclaiming about some new feller who frequented the local club, electrifying a previously dim and dismal joint.

"He shuffles his feet so fast Luck, like bubbles pricklin' in a tea pot,"

"It's called Irish dancin', he's Irish," your other friend, Maggie, finally chimed in. Nelly looked at her, confused.

"How you know?" Nelly leaned toward her, and a string of curiosity was plucked in your mind.

"Cause he told me, we talked for a bit last night," Maggie looked particularly proud of herself, and you grew suspicious.

"So, you did," Nelly's face twisted in disappointment, something was telling you this man might be a little pretty...maybe.

"Don't be jealous Nel, I don't mind sharin'," Maggie smirked, playful and teasing.

"Oh, don't you start that, Maggie!" Nelly was swatting Maggie and hitting her arm.

Now you just had to see this guy, after all, there wasn't much anything else to do around town. You liked dancing, and you certainly liked the sound of a handsome Irishman who could hop to a beat. And you were secretly hoping the night would start you on a new and exciting adventure, the kind of opportunity you'd been desperate to find for a while now.

~~~

That night at the club was packed, more than you'd ever seen it. The summer heat seeped into the place, moisture was already collecting on your forehead, like you could feel the sweat and exhaustion from the folks who were dancing their heads off.

There was a rowdy dance circle on the large wooden dance floor, rumbling the building with heavy steps and in sync clapping.

The band was playing a bouncy folk tune, more upbeat than their usual jam.

You felt a buzz under your skin unlike anything you'd felt before, like the air was charged with so much energy the place could burst.

Sliding past people chatting and taking swigs from their drinks, you finally stood before the circle, and in the middle there he was.

He was glowing, and not like a light, like a vibration, sending waves of energy out into a sea of bodies. He looked softer than you expected, features defined but not sharp. He bobbed up and down, his dark brown hair barely moving as it stuck to his forehead, shuffling his feet and swinging his legs. His eyes were closed, his chin up. He was focused, but blissful, and all you wanted to do was join him.

You merged with the circle like a drop to a stream, feet stumbling for a moment before you caught the rhythm and bounced along. The music and the people carrying you round and round until you weren't sure which way was left or right. The man was still in the center; a wide smile now plastered on his drunken face. You caught glimpse of his crooked teeth, sharp on all sides, like a dog prancing in the sun, he radiated joy. It was intoxicating to watch, and without meaning to, you found yourself staring for a bit too long.

The only thing that pulled you out of your trance was the sudden sensation of his eyes locking with your own. Light blue and intense, they barely looked human, and that scared you. But before fear could push you away, he was pulling you in.

Strong hands grasped your wrist and forearm firmly, tugging you into the middle. You crashed into him for a moment, puzzled at the coolness of his frame against the heat of the air. But as he grinned at you, eyeing you up and down, you began to move your feet again.

Up close, he was shorter than you thought, but large and muscular, his forearms bare of his rolled-up sleeves and flexing as he reached to grab your hand. You took his, surprised at his cold touch, but gladly holding on as he wrapped an arm around your waist and began to spin you both around.

As he picked up the pace, your feet starting to synchronize in motion, you couldn't help but smile widely, feeling the woosh of air across your face as he spun you around in place. When he pulled you back you collided into his chest, noses barely brushing past each other.

He gazed at you, an almost crazed look in his eye, joy and frenzy and fun. His grip tightened on your hand, and you felt the urge to go a bit further, after all this was a dance, a show for the whole club to see. You couldn't let him out do you.

You leaned back and rolled your head in a circle, flaring out your chest and letting your neck flex. People wooed and continued their rhythmic clapping, as you popped back up to meet him.

But when you returned to his eyes something had changed, they no longer shone that sky blue like before. His pupils were blown, and there was something shiny and slick seeping out the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly he was darker, less soft, and hell if he didn't look even more delicious than before.

His breath was heavy against your face, still somehow cooler than the air, and your heart was undoubtably racing for reasons other than the dancing.

His hand snaked down your back, slowly and carefully, finding purchase at the bottom of your hip. Shamefully, your felt heat pool between your legs, as your face began to run hotter than before.

As if he could read your mind, he slid his leg between your own, propping himself between them like a puzzle piece, still rocking you round the circle at impossible speeds. The pressure between your legs was unbearable, and you couldn't believe you found yourself so wound up in the arms of a total stranger.

His head snuck closer to your neck, nose just centimeters away from the fast and hot beat of your pulse.

"You Lucky?" he hummed.

"How'd you-"

"Your lovely friend Maggie and I had an interesting conversation the other night," suddenly you felt a guilty pit of jealousy hit your stomach, accompanied by unwavering anxiety. What had they possibly talked about, and why did you feel like a fish on a hook.

You weren't sure if you were imagining it, but within moments, he drew a great long sniff from your neck, rolling his head back like he'd finally taken a breath after emerging from water. As he exhaled, his mouth hung open, his teeth were longer, sharper, unnatural fangs that protruded like knives. And when his eyes fluttered open, they were red like blood and piercing. You gazed upon a man, now a monster, his arm wrapped around your waist and his leg pressed against you, and you finally startled.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Scared I might bite?" his voice was so low and smooth, you felt sedated, like it would send you to sleep.

Every instinct in your mind should have told you to fight, to run. Your feet were slowing but still shuffling around the circle, afraid to break the spell of the dancers that surrounded you. They hardly took notice to the creature that grasped you, like blind pigeons flocking to a vulture.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, his mouth and fangs at the edge of your ear. The proximity was too much to bear, you could feel the tickle of his stubble on your cheek, sharp pricks which you realized were his nails coming to stroke your neck.

"I promise I'm much gentler than I appear," the hum of his voice made your skin prickle, like a paper about to burst into flame. You felt the heat in your body radiating, a call to supper he was ready to head.

You fought to shake away from him, eyes unable to tear away from his every feature. He let you go, though a pout appeared on his face, mocking you, and as you stumbled backwards that pout turned to a terrifying grin.

"Was it something I said?" He held up his hands in feigned ignorance, looking around at the many who slowed their stride, grinning along with him.

Through hurried blinks, the reflective red of dozens of eyes revealed themselves.

Skirting backwards out of the circle, your mind began to race, griping the spiders web in which you were trapped.

Nelly and Maggie were gone, and all eyes watched as you scrambled for a broom closet nearby. Scattered laughter filled the club as you tripped and nearly toppled over before slamming and locking the door.

Heart racing, you laid there on the floor, ears penetrated by hundreds of whispers of your name. Over and over, each voice sounded incredibly loud and impossibly close, like the lips were pressed right to your ear. Covering them, you hunched over, begging, waiting for the silence.

The voices began to crescendo, piling on top of your chest and weighing you down, until one triumphant voice called out. Smooth and clear, it was him.

A polite knock at the door, and your eyes darted up, wide and bloodshot and brimmed with tears.

"Knock knock little dove, there's a dance floor out there waitin' for you," he chimed, cheery and almost affectionate.

His voice seeped like honey through the cracks of the door frame, you fought the impeding thoughts of licking that honey straight from his mouth.

You shivered.

"I didn't mean to scare you darlin', honest," he sounded sincere.

"Whatever it was I did, I promise I can make up for it," you could hear the grin tugging at his lips. A flash of the image of his fangs peeking over his lips made your heart pound.

"Got plenty more moves I haven't shown you yet," the drawl of his voice was past the cracks of the door and reaching for you across the wood floor. So tangible you could try to kick it away, but you didn't.

You didn't scream for him to leave you alone, the words would be caught in your throat, feeble attempts to keep the monster at bay.

You closed your eyes, covering your ears again, but when his voice rang again it wasn't from behind the door, it was from within you.

I can make you feel better honey, I can take allllll that fear away. Just... open the door.

The tears were falling down your cheeks now, heart thumping like a rabbits'. You bit your lip and crumpled, the pressure of his presence in your mind was so warm and deep, slowly you accepted what you knew you wanted to do. What you needed to do. What was itching at you since he laid his eyes on you. Since he looked at you like you were his perfect meal.

Slowly you rose, shaking and dripping with adrenaline. Your hand crept to the lock, fingers moving in painstaking slow motion. You held your breath for fear that he'd suck it all out from the other side of the door.

One finger lightly taps the lock

You see his eyes again

Another positioned to turn it

His fangs baring like a dogs

Your palm presses against the mechanism

Sharp claws scraping your side

The lock flips and you finally breathe out, weight of your fear lifting for just a moment, but he fills the gaps.

The door slowly swings open, his body appears like an apparition, a ghost you summoned through subconscious fear and unbearable desire.

"See now that wasn't so bad," drool is pooling from his mouth, like a rabid dog he stares a hole into you, licking his lips.

Your legs are weak, giving out as soon as he takes a step forward, quickly closing the space between you in the small closet.

You were on your knees, hands clasped together, and eyes shut again.

This was sin, this was the Devil finally finding you, and you asked so desperately to be found.

You began to pray, mumbling words to a lord you didn't seek to find, but to be received by the creature before you. A declaration, a promise, an admittance, that you were under his spell, his to take.

"Oh, sweet baby. There's no God who can take you from me now," the hunger in his voice traveled down his neck through his arm all the way to the fingers that grasped your chin and forced you to look up.

You continued your prayer, but directly to him now, "Is there a Devil who can?" the tears left your eyes red and strained, looking up at him stung in the loveliest way possible.

He smiled, lips together, dark hair framing his beautiful face. You could die looking at him this way, you didn't even know his name...

"It's Remmick. There is no Devil here tonight,"

He pulled you up with one swift motion.

"And he couldn't take you either,"

His hand grasped the back of your neck, other hand lightly toying with your face, wiping tears from your cheeks and brushing hair from your sweaty temples.

"Look at you,"

Your lips parted, so close to his own, you yearned to press them together.

"So beautiful, little dove," his thumb grazed your lips.

His face came closer, aiming for your neck again, his hands' grasp tightening on your hair.

"If I could just... taste you,"

You breathed in, tense, anticipating his every move.

"Shh sh sh, it's okay. There aint' no need to be afraid. I'm gonna take real good care of you,"

Instinctually, words blurted out of your mouth once again.

"Lord please forgive me, I have given in to sin, I have fallen in the hands of evil," you sniffled and sobbed.

"Look at me," his voice was darker now.

Your eyes darted to his, widening in a trance.

"Will you give yourself to me?" his gaze was dark and possessive.

A thin drop of sweat ran down his temple, the sticky stuffiness of the closet made you want to rip yourself and him from your clothes.

You nodded, not daring to break contact with his crimson stare.

He grinned widely, revealing his monstrous teeth and making your stomach twirl. You needed to feel them grazing your skin.

"I'll need you to say it out loud sugar. S'only so much I can read from that little mind o' yours," he cooed. He was prying the words out, tugging you down to a level of humility only a creature that wished to eat you could push you towards.

"I- I'm yours," you blurted, almost pleading.

"Mmmm," he hummed loudly, the sound vibrating through his hand to your chin.

Suddenly he wrapped his hand around your jaw, nose taking a long sniff from your hot neck.

"S' so good, for me,"

He dragged his tongue all the way up your neck as an ungodly moan finally escaped your throat, your hands reached to grab his sides.

"M' you like that?" he said through up turned lips.

You began to nod, arms pulling him closer. You felt him hard against your hips, his length through his pants grinding so painfully good against you.

Another, looong lick up your neck which ended with his mouth around your ear, teeth teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin.

"How'd you like to dance forever, Lucky?"

He didn't even meet your eyes, only listened to the increased speed of your heart rate and made his own conclusion.

Before you knew it, a white-hot flash of pain was puncturing your neck and seizing your whole body. Teeth tore flesh and blood spilled into Remmick's wanting mouth. He began to shake fervently, groaning loudly and gripping you so hard you felt dizzy.

You barely had a few seconds of awareness before he was finished with you, full and drunk on your blood, needy for every last drop he could lap up.

You collapsed to the floor, and he followed you, propped up on his haunches, still grasping you.

The way he drank from you sent waves of mixed pain and pleasure through your body, a body quickly changing from mortal to monster, blood drained and soul transformed.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he panted.

He turned your head to face his own, both hands cradling your features, eyes taking in the rapidly changing color of your eyes.

"Said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

His stubble was dripping with red, and you stared as his tongue slipped out to lick excess from his lips.

Rapidly, energy returned to your body, skin and bones tingling and brain ablaze with activity. Your vision was clearer now, like your senses had been turned up to 200%.

Without thinking, you leapt forward, pressing your lips to his, starving. You let your tongue explore his mouth, tasting your own blood and his every memory.

Images, emotions and hundreds of years of experiences were flooding your brain. Every moment, every want and need he'd ever had now became yours.

You ate everything, every bit you could take, lips smashing together ever more aggressively.

"Havin' your fill now, little dove?" he smiled, amused expression on his face.

Your eyes fell to the hard length under his pants, only for a moment. Without you even realizing it, a thick line of drool was streaming from the corner of your lips, almost trickling off your chin and onto his trousers.

You blinked up to look at him again, his eyes almost black and glazed with desire. His thumb came to quickly wipe the spit from your lips, before he stuffed the finger in his mouth and sucked.

"No, not yet you haven't," his lips collided with yours again, this time more like he was eating than giving a kiss.

You heard the clinking of his belt has his hands quickly but carefully undid the buckle, your sign to do the same.

His hands met you first though, fingers raking up your legs and pulling your underwear down past your stockings.

He placed them gently to the floor, slowing down as he raked his tongue over every inch of your mouth, letting out low and breathy moans.

You couldn’t take it anymore, the heat of your cunt felt so exposed against the cool air, you wanted him closer, to fill the void and relieve that ache that had been building ever since he grabbed hold of you on the dance floor.

You pulled the suspenders down from his shoulders and his pants down with them, reaching for his cock which strained against his underwear.

The fabric was smooth yet worn, and you could feel the heat of him as he twitched under your touch.

“M’ gonna fill you so nicely,” he whispered, mouth nipping at your ear.

He pulled you toward him with a firm hand at the bottom of your back, his cock pitching a tent. You felt him graze your stomach, chills ran up your body.

He felt you grow tense, and began lightly kissing your neck, top to bottom.

His fingers wasted no time in finding your slick folds and inserting them quickly, but not all the way. Just half his digits were in you as you gasped.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he listened to your quiet whimper, slowly dragging his two fingers in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit.

“That good? Mm?”

Your mouth lay agape as he kept his steady rhythm, building up the knot inside you. You nodded, eyes threatening to role back in their sockets.

He laughed quietly, grinning so widely like you’d just given him the best news of his life.

You reached out to grab him, shoving your hand in his underwear to grip his hard length and stroke him.

He let out a surprised guttural moan.

“You want something little dove?” His hips started to pump into your hand, clearly he wanted something too.

“Mhm,” you nodded more confidently this time, the knot in your cunt tightening with each stroke of his hand.

“Fuck,” he grunted as you quickened your pace around him, and so his fingers moved faster.

His grip at the bottom of your back tightened, eyes glowing red again as he locked his with your own. Faster, he moved his fingers, and you beckoned his cock closer to your core with each stroke of your hand.

You thought for a moment of the devilish kind of scene someone would see if they opened that closet door. Before you could feel too dirty though, his pressure on your clit increased and his fingers pumped far inside of you, that knot snapped like a twig, and sent you cumming on his hand.

You moaned loudly before his hand came to cover your mouth, his mouth dripping with drool again.

He held your face in place as he lifted his slick covered hand to his lips and stuffed the fingers in his mouth. You watched helplessly, moaning quietly beneath his palm.

“What do you want Lucky?” He released your mouth.

Your eyes darted to his hard cock and your cheeks flushed.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” breathlessly the words escaped you.

“Careful what you wish for sugar,” the words were playful, but they came out dripping with intense hunger.

He shifted forward, hand gripping himself, slowly bringing his length to where you were most sensitive.

You gasped as his tip grazed you lightly, warmth inexplicable, his eyes glowing red and sweat rolling down his temples.

He lined himself up with you so that when he bucked his hips forward, he dragged his cock up and down your cunt. Slowly, tip pressing on your clit and length becoming slicker with each roll of his hips.

He continued on like that, watching you intently as you let out light gasps.

You couldn't take it any longer, you reached out and guided him inside you, letting out a low moan as he stretched you.

"Mhmfgh-" his eyes rolled back as he let himself sink into you.

"So good, God," he muttered, thick accent and low voice like music to your ears.

He began to pump faster, hands gripping your hip and side, his linen shirt stained with sweat.

You noticed the chain that hung from his neck, peeping out of his unbuttoned shirt. It swung, faster and faster as he pumped in and out of you.

Drool was seeping from his lips and tickling your own, somehow, he was still hungry, and he didn't waste a second kissing you again.

He was grinding up against that sweet spot inside you, never relenting in his rhythm. The two of you exchanged low moans, winding each other up, no more fun quips or clever words.

"F-fuck, mm. Remmick," it was the first time you'd said his name, and that seemed to be what pushed him over the edge.

He bucked his hips even faster, quiet desperate whimpers leaving his lips as he chased his release.

He came, hips still rolling and hands gripping you like you could slip away so easily. His tongue found the last bit of blood that seeped from your neck, building up his ecstasy in a mix of pleasure and taste.

He breathed hard into your neck, hands running down your body as he pulled out of you.

He quietly began to button himself up again, pulling his suspenders over his strong shoulders, and gently guiding your underwear back up your legs.

His eyes looked human again, round and blue, his fangs had retracted. His hair was a mess, but the way his locks stuck to his face made him look charming.

He lowered himself back on top of you, "You're perfect, little dove,".

You let the smallest of smiles flash upon your lips, a little bashful.

He grinned, "And cute,".

You felt the heat return to your cheeks again, he made you feel like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous, you thought.

His hand found your hair, fingers gently playing with it.

His eyes met yours.

"So, you wanna come dance with me, or what?"

~~~

Author's note: Please please please! Let me know if you liked this and/or if you are interested in me writing for Remmick more. This was lots of fun, I love reading Remmick fics and hope my addition is worthy of being part of the collection.

Thanks for reading!

[incorrigible-bastard]

Part two of this little prompt

There’s… a lot of dust in the air, ok?

First

Ignoring the signs staked into the frozen ground, Stan pulled to a stop outside the cabin, zipping up his jacket, encasing the jar in its fluffy warmth, burying it close to his chest as he stepped out of his car, giving it a pat before hauling his bag over his shoulder.

The door shutting like a final nail in the coffin- fuck, no, too soon. Fresh beginning, fresh start, for all three of them, even if it soured in the cold.

Muttering to himself as he trekked towards the door, siking himself up to knock, the door creaked open before he even made it to the first step, Ford's ashen face peering out from the shack, the crossbow in his hands giving Stan pause.

They stared at each other for one second, two before Ford's shaky grip lowered with a sigh. "Stanley? I- Sorry, I thought you were. No matter, please come in."

"Hello to you, too," Stan grumbled, stepping up to the porch, hand unconsciously gripping where the jacket bunched around the jar. "What's with the crossbow?"

Before Stan could receive a reply, he was grabbed, the door swinging shut behind them as a light flooded his vision, struggling against everything with a dazed glare.

"Hey! What the hell, Ford?!"

"Sorry, Sorry. I just... needed to be sure." Ford muttered, brushing past with urgency, pushing through stacks of paper as if searching for something.

"Sure of what? Ya acting like ma after 10 cups of coffee."

At that, Ford looked at him, as if really taking him in for the first time since he arrived, before darting away again. Stan knew he'd seen it, his shallow face, eyes still bloodshot from the days prior, spent crying in the hotel room, then in his car. At one point, he'd had to stop just to throw up on the side of the road, grief and desperate hope stabbing through his stomach.

"I-yes, I've been busy, there's not much time to explain, I've made some terrible mistakes, and I don't know who to trust anymore."

Stan frowned, taking in the way Ford's eyes darted around the room, watching as he stumbled over to turn a skeleton's head. With a shaking hand, he reached out for Ford's shoulder, the tension obvious beneath his knuckles as Ford turned to face him.

"Hey, hey, whatever it is, we can figure it out together, yeah?" Stan's voice softened, reminiscent of the comforts whispered into his son's cradled form, through particularly rough nights.

"You- are you feeling ok?" Wincing as Ford's eyebrow shot up with obvious shock, Stan felt the word's lance through him, not even a year ago, he'd be just as surprised at how much he'd changed.

"Uh, yeah, don't worry 'bout it" Stan brushed him off, turning to look around the mess of the living room as Ford righted himself, determination solidifying under his brow before he gestured to Stan.

"Right, right. There's something I have to show you. Something you won't believe."

At that, Stan snorted, following along as Ford led him further into the cabin. "Listen, I've been around, whatever it is, I'm sure I'll understand." Swallowing down the dread that trickled in as Ford shot him a dubious look, Stan allowed himself to trudge after Ford, staring incredulously at the set-up, hidden staircases, elevators and underground laboratories.

When they finally stood in a big open room, staring up at the triangular machinery above, Stan realised just how out of depth he really was, biting back the familiar urge to make a comment in favour of looking towards Ford for answers. He'd learnt to keep his mouth shut to avoid trouble with a baby in his care.

"This is a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I-I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction. That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it. There's only one journal left. And you are the only person I can trust to take it."

The words spun around Stan's head as he stepped closer, eyeing the massive wires and whirring machines all connected to the frame of the... portal?

"I have something to ask of you: remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?" Stan froze, the hope burning through him, as he waited for Ford to continue. Not yet, don't get your hopes up yet, not after...

"Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as ya can! To the edge of the Earth! Bury it where no one can find it!"

There it was, the simple way the world seemed to rip the good right out from underneath him, over and over. He couldn't even find it in himself to get angry or hurt, as the book was shoved between his hands. The cold wash of reality stung his cheeks, or was that just a fresh wave of tears?

Stan was thankful Ford's back was turned, scrubbing his face with the sleeve of his jacket at the tears stubbornly clinging to his cheeks.

"That's it? You finally wanna see me after 10 years, and it's to tell me to get as far away from you as possible? I-I thought you'd-" He cut himself off, Ford's voice straining from the fury licking at each decible.

"Stanley! You don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through-" Ford caught sight of the tears, pausing as Stan whipped his head up sharply, heart thundering in his chest. How dare he?

HOW DARE HE?

Like a snake rearing back, coiled defensively, Stan snarled, barely hearing the words tumbling from his lips. "I don't understand... What you've been through? Oh, you don't have fucking clue what you're talking about. You didn't even ask, you selfish prick!"

"Selfish? I'm selfish, Stanley? How can you say that after costing me my dream school?! I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won't even listen!"

...

"Fuck. You." It was all Stan could manage; the fury bubbled up from the black hole carved in his chest, hands fumbling for his lighter as he held it up to the book, hoping to burn away alongside the pages.

The tackle came out of nowhere, tumbling as the book skidded across the room, in a blur of movement, the two brothers fought, curses biting through the air as they pushed and pulled, falling into the control room.

"My research!" Ford yelled, intent on grabbing the book before Stan could get his hands on it, wrestling as levers and switches were flipped, the portal's lights glowing a brilliant blue that cast a shadow across the lab, unaware as they continued scrabbling for the journal.

In a moment, tumbling back into the main room, hands still secure around the book, Stan felt the thread around his neck snap around Ford's hands, stomach turning as he looked up at his Brother from the floor, his six-fingered grip wrapped around the bottle's neck, panting in the pale light of the portal behind him as he glared down.

"Wait! No!" Stan begged, reaching up, forgetting all about the book as the thin twine seemed to float into the air.

"Enough! Stanley, hand over the book or else-" Ford spoke, eyes widening at the sight of the portal before he clenched his Jaw, looking down at Stan. "Or else this goes in."

Whatever fight Stan had left fled in an instant, tears springing from his eyes, lifting into the air from the force of the portal's as he hastily picked up the journal, scrabbling to his feet.

"Here, just, fuck, just take it, ok, just fucking have it." Stan stumbled over his words, rocketing up as Ford reached towards it, grip loosening around the jar.

"Thank you", Ford spoke between breaths, intent on retrieving the book before a surprised gasp erupted from his throat, the portal pulsing with unexpected energy, lifting small objects into the air like a vacuum.

The jar included.

Zeroing in on it, Stan shot forward, tossing the journal to the side as he cried out, following the glass vial as it flew past the security line. Within seconds, the frame creaking ominously, whirling with energy all the while, he was almost there, the jar achingly close, almost in his grasp, before a weight slammed into him, the force of the trajectory winding him as he watched the last memory of his son fly from his hand.

Lost through the shimmering blue of the portal as the brothers landed on the floor with a thud, a voice screamed out in the air, swallowed by the sound of the portal. Or the thundering rush of his pulse rushing through his ears.

In seconds, the room was flooded with light, lifting in the air briefly before crashing down as the entire system failed, the portal tearing itself apart from the force of the energy.

Stan lay there gasping, the weight of his brother across his chest, shielding him from debris as he struggled to take in a single breath. The hollow aching pressure carving into him with each sobering exhale. The screech of metal raining down around them as they curled in on themselves.

Once the air was silent again, Ford pushed himself up to kneel by Stan's side, using the ground as leverage, surveying the utter destruction around them, mouth ajar as he took in the frame hanging off the wall, before turning to face Stan once more.

His heart threatened to crack as Stan stared up at the ceiling, gasping shallow breaths, eyes wide and unseeing, watery from unshed tears. Hyperventilating as sobs wracked through his body.

"Stanley? Stanley, are you hurt?! What was that?!"

[cherphadetseuk]

Idk if I've just seen Gap Jakarin but he looked like him

[riddlesrose]

sporting someone else's jersey

w/ ushijima, bokuto, sakusa, oikawa, kyotani, atsumu, suna & tsukishima

in which you decide to see how your pro volleyball player boyfriend reacts to you wearing a jersey. a jersey that so happens to not be his, and not even his team?? c'mon now.

a.n; all my favs go pro this is great

ushijima wakatoshi stares you down as you're cooking in the kitchen. you can feel the intense bore of his curious eyes as you welcome him home from practice. his wandering vision takes in the black jersey with the name "sakusa" in big, bold letters across the back. you look over your shoulder when he doesn't answer, and are met with his bewildered state.

"oh are you interested in my new shirt?" you pull at the hem, examining the MSBY jersey look-alike as you turn to face you boyfriend. he takes three long strides through the kitchen before he's caged you between himself and the counter.

"i don't like it. it's representing another team. though i am acquainted to sakusa..." he grasps his chin between his thumb and forefinger, pondering for a moment. "no, i don't like it."

you let your head fall onto his shoulder, defeated by his straightforwardness. he runs a hand down your spine, "is there a problem?"

you groan, meeting his eyes, "i thought you'd react more to it, like... be jealous or something, gods.." you say, rolling your eyes.

"well, i am jealous, i thought that was obvious?" he tilts his head to the side slightly, like a puppy.

"no, it wasn't!" you drop your forehead onto his chest and groan again. his 'matter-of-fact' attitude is probably going to kill you one day.

bokuto kotaro eyed the green shirt suspiciously, "when did you get that?"

you hum in a fake thought, "i think a while ago?" you turn, revealing the full front of the jersey. a large number 17, followed by the name sendai frogs.

"hey! it's tsukki-bro! hey, wait..." his shoulders fall, along with his smile. you almost gave up the act right then and there, he looks so upset immediately. he drags one foot after another, stopping in front of you. he pinches the mock jersey and rolls it between his fingers.

"it's not as soft as mine is." he mumbles, eyes still trained on the details of the shirt.

you wrap your arms around his neck and attempt to catch his eyes, but you realize they aren't sad. they're crinkled at the edges like he's smiling wide. seems like he's got you figured out.

kotaro figures you've caught onto his fake sadness, and a smile spreads across his lips as he kisses your forehead, "i saw the receipt on my email, you used my card."

"shit."

sakusa kiyoomi grimaces at your package as you hold it up for him to examine. if kiyoomi didn't find the green utterly horrid, it was the fact that you spent money, probably his, on a jersey that didn't even support his team.

"it's like you spun a wheel with teams on it and bought the first one it landed on," he watches as you rip the plastic off and instantly throw the jersey on. "oh my god."

you pull the shirt over your head, fitting into the sleeves, "what?"

"you're not even going to wash it first?" you pause. you hadn't thought about that, nor the fact that your boyfriend was now judging you twice over.

"i, um... no?" kiyoomi rolls his eyes, a telling look clouds his eyes. "wait, are you jealous?!" you practically leap off the couch, the green jersey falls fully into place, the hem grazing your thighs, as your boyfriend avoids your eyes.

"you are, i knew it!"

"i'm not.." he mumbles, cheeks turning just the slightest shade of pink. "why did you pick the sendai frogs anyways? do you even know the player you picked?"

"it was kyotani, and not really, i've only ever seen their team play on tv, like once." you reach around your head and pull the shirt off, throwing it to the side. "but you're jealous!"

"am not."

the jersey was a short lived accessory in your closet, but best believe kiyoomi threw it out later that night. the shirt wasn't even soft enough to turn into a cleaning rag or sleep shirt, in his best opinion.

oikawa tooru, your loving boyfriend, stands in front of you, absolutely fuming as he eyes the white schweiden adler's shirt. what makes it even worse is the name and number you've picked. #20, kageyama tobio.

"get rid of that, like, yesterday."

"um, how about no?"

"what do you mean, 'no'!"

you stand from the couch, "oh tooru, you grew up with iwaizumi as a best friend, you've been told no before." then take off towards your bedroom.

"you-! get back over here!" tooru tails you into the bedroom before you can shut and lock the door, leaving him in the hall. he grabs a handful of jersey pulling you towards the closet as you protest, trying to scratch at his arm like a cat.

"here is a treasure trove of shirts and sweaters at your disposal, why on earth would you need that."

you wiggle free from his, not surprisingly, strong grip and fall back onto the neatly made bed, wrinkling the sheets. "because, i knew you'd freak."

tooru whips around, slack jawed, "oh, and it was iwazumi's idea." if his mouth could fall any further to the ground, you'd have to pick it up for him.

"you're both so horribly mean to me!"

kyotani kentaro, a man of many emotions but little words. for some reason some 15 months ago, you decided that he was a great target for your affection. it took a long time poking and prodding at the volleyball player for his number, and by the grace of the gods, it worked. you broke down his walls and caved yourself a cozy little home in his heart. now, he'd ask for nothing different-

"what the fuck is that."

you look between your drink and your phone, one in each hand, "what do you mean?" you ask with a sweet smile.

he rounds the table, "oh piss off, you know what i mean," and pulls your chair out from the table, while tugging at your oversized argentina jersey t-shirt. the blue shirt ripples under kentaro's hold.

"oh, that! there was a giveaway online on them after the argentina team won their last big game, people online were saying they were soft, so i entered for one to sleep in. i needed a new sleep shirt anyways." you don't miss the disgusted look that your boyfriend sports so well, it deepens as he realizes the name on the back. oikawa.

after a moment, he notices your shoulders shaking lightly in laughter, sensing his displeasure. you rise from the chair, bringing him and his scrunched face into your hold, "i'm just fucking with ya, i specifically picked oikawa, too."

he huffs with a stupid smile, rolling his eyes but reciprocating the hug, "gross, get rid of it."

miya atsumu's jaw drops when he catches a sight of you lounging comfortably on the couch, in a jersey that is most definitely not his. he swiftly makes his way between you and the television, ignoring your protest. his brow furrows when you don't immediately acknowledge him and his pout, (though he will 100% deny he's pouting, miya atsumu does not pout like a child).

you lean back on the couch as he advances, "off, take it off," he says while grasping at the neck, trying to pull the jersey from you.

"atsumu stop, you're gonna stretch it!" you protest, trying to blindly swat his hands away.

he stops, the jersey falls back over your eyes and you're met with the most dramatically hurt expression ever, "you care more about this, than my feelings?!"

"i spent good money on it, besides, you went to school with suna so i thought it would be cute!"

"it is far from cute," he spits, eyes full of envy for what could have been you in his clothes. "if i let you re-steal the grey sweater can i throw that thing out?"

"... possibly."

atsumu crosses his arms, "i'll forfeit my movie choice tonight."

"you've got yourself a deal, sir."

"rin come help me with this!" suna rintaro shuffles off the couch at your call, making his way to the hallway between the living room and kitchen of your share apartment.

he leans on the doorframe as he watches you move around a picture frame, "where should this go?" you turn to him, handing the frame to him. it was a picture of the two of you and the miya twins at the recent festival that passed. it was nice to see the two of them, and thankfully both their schedules allowed for them to come.

rintaro smiles at the picture, gaze lifting to you, who's looking at him expectantly. his view lowers to your attire, a simple pair of black shorts and a shirt he's never seen before.

you catch him examining the jersey-copy and turn around to reveal the name miya across the back. you look over your shoulder and are met with rintaro's sharp eyes, judging your choice of player. and team.

he reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder, turning you back around to face him. "hey, why don't we have a bonfire tonight, i'm sure the pit is free and i have the perfect fire starter." you feel the shirt tighten by your shoulder, he's got an iron grip on the jersey, but his face remains calm as ever.

a little too calm, it's kind of unnerving.

large white letters stare tsukishima kei right back in his dumbfounded face. your boyfriend places his gym bag down by the door, walking into the kitchen, ducking under the frame that just slightly too short for him.

"hinata, really?" his voice sounded extremely irritated, but his face softened as you turned to face him.

you place your mug down, "yeah! i remember you went to school with him, i thought it was cool you both went pro!"

"i don't care what that blockhead did. more importantly, where did you get that?" the blonde gestures to your torso, flicking his wrist around distastefully.

you smile, "i ordered it online! since it's a popular team they have their own line of lookalikes, they're really soft too." while you praise the MSBY jersey, kei's brief look of jealousy goes unseen.

"you bought a jersey based on someone i went to high school with?" he steps closer, just to flick you on the forehead, "that's stupid."

you rub the spot, while swatting his chest with the back of your other hand, "you're stupid!"

"no, it's stupid that we're not burning that thing yet."

masterlist

p.s; i was gonna do goshiki but realized how CHOPPED he is in the timeskip. sorry my beloved i can't take you seriously with those baby bangs.

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[wonderlandwalker]

Two Can Play (but three's more fun)

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits

𝐚/𝐧: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions

The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air. 

Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.

“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.”

His voice was a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tipped his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”

“Yeah, man. Like—”  Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.”

The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh. Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”

Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.

Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud — not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam — Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some other idiot once stared just a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin the bottle?” Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.

So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.

But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hadn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.

Steve just grins — slow, deliberate — his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.”

The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Was this a test? A trap?  Christ.  Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”

Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered— 

And then you open the door.

Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”

His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then — Jesus Christ.

The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated — it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.” 

Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head — meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well — Eddie does.

He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts— 

Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.

Steve notices —of course he does— and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer “I— Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”

Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”

It’s not a request.

Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.

“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe.  “Don’t just touch. Listen.”  His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”

Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.

“Good.”  Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”

Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”

“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”

Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?”  Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”

Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.

Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”

Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.

The sound you make — the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?”  His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”

Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.

“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.

You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”

Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—

“See that?”  Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”

Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.

“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.

Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Now get on your knees.”

Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”

“No—fuck, no.”  Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.

Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.

Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”

Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slow and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward — but Eddie holds you steady, determined. 

His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval — and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.

The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet — bet you taste even better.”  Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.

He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.

And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”

The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers — slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.

Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more — the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”

Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?”  Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”

But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.

But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”

Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit?  He’s ruined. Forever.

Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.

“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.

“Are you going to come just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.

“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”

Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide —putting you on display— before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you. 

Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision — deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.

“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses — before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.

“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.

“She’s close,” Steve taunts — he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches.  “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response. “Then watch closely.”

He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter — you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink — if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss — not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”

Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait?  But then— 

Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.

“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.

And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”

Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.

“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.

But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.

"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."

And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."

Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."

So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters — success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes — your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over.  It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.

Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?

Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.

Not at back at Steve.

At him.

Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.

“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much. 

Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”

And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.

And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.

As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”

Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."

“Fuck—!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.

“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips.  “Already shaking for you.  Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”

Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant— Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.

“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”

Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—”  Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”

Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”

Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.

“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—” 

“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to come for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.

 Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—

Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!”  Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.

“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”

[narcjsistx]

would sae itoshi be able to recognize his girlfriend just by a simple shade of lip gloss? <3

lately, madrid is always so crowded. SAE ITOSHI as been living here for quite a few years now, he probably knows this city better than his not-so-beloved home prefecture of kanagawa — yet, lately, the number of fans keeps growing

he often has to spend a lot of minutes driving around in front of his house, just to wait for the fans to disperse — since they already know which building he lives in, he can’t risk them finding out his exact apartment number. maybe the situation has gotten this out of hand because of his return to spain after the loss — his first in years — against blue lock, in japan

today is not his lucky day, he’s known that for the past twenty minutes. it’s definitely not his lucky day if, even after getting out of the car and making sure no one was around, he still ended up surrounded by a crowd of at least thirty people

"im a huge fan of yours, sae! i've been following you since you started playing in the youth club!"

"okay. here's the autograph"

even though he’s tired, coming back from a full day of training and all he really wants is to collapse into your arms, being socially acceptable is necessary. the fan looks at him dreamily, eyes flicking between his face and the autograph, while he hands her the pen and moves on to the next person — starting the cycle all over again: autographs, photos, and brief exchanges of words. he notices the shoe store in front of the house and realizes that the time you usually get home has long passed, yet he’s still here — and not with you

by now, he signs the banners without even noticing, more focused on figuring out the quickest way to handle the last ten people that are still waiting for him. he only snaps back to reality when he feels something unexpected

lips crash against his cheek, sticky from a thin layer of gloss. he involuntarily tightens the pen in his hands, feeling the irritation grow quickly but gradually inside him — annoyed but not surprised by the fans who always try to cross the line

"im taken, go fucking awa-"

"i know"

as he turns around, ready to call the police, the first thing he notices is the tint of gloss on the lips that kissed him. it’s a soft reddish, enough to resemble real lipstick — and, above all, the color of his hair. his muscles relax automatically as he lets out a sigh and moves a hand to your side, gently pulling you closer to him. there’s only one person in all of madrid who wears this shade of gloss, rosewood shine

"why aren’t you waiting for me at home?"

"i saw you from the window and you looked a bit in danger. you don’t mind your fans seeing me, right?"

"i think it would be hypocritical to be afraid of my fanbase seeing my girlfriend of three years, after stories and post"

you smile, rising onto your toes once again to kiss his cheek. you know he’s not particularly fond of being affectionate in public, but maybe the fact that you haven’t seen each other all day makes him more willing to let you — and his fans — notice just how disgustingly in love he is. you hear light giggles from the crowd while someone takes a photo of you without your permission, but honestly, it’s something you’ve been used to for a while. sae hands the signed paper back to the fan, who smiles gratefully — maybe genuinely — amid the fancrazybase

"you immediately pulled away when she kissed your cheek!"

"that’s normal. im taken, i didn't know it was her"

"that’s not something everyone would do"

"then raise your standards"

only seventeen photos later, you finally get the chance to step through the door of your home. sae collapses onto the couch, pulling you with him, as you end up sitting on his lap while he slowly massages your hips. you kiss his face affectionately, while he finally seems to relax, still amused by what happened

"do you do this with all your fans? reject their kisses?"

"it’s called basic human decency, bonus points if you’re in a steady relationship. why would i have gloss on my face that’s not yours?"

"are you seriously only bothered about the gloss?"

"honestly, i just need them to be your lips. you can even wear a lipstick that doesn’t come off, not even if i cut my cheek"

"so cheecky"

"you said 'disgustingly in love and loyal' in the wrong way"

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[croquettish]

Sexuality, Acceptability, Risk, and Medieval Bohemia

Someone commented on my Hansry fic recently about how a good number of fics in this fandom apparently feature the sort of modern protestant homophobia emblematic of the United States. This was baffling to me.

More recently I've seen a bit of backlash against this rather normative, America-centric approach to the historical homophobia (deeply entrenched in Catholicism, mind you) that they would have been subject to back then. And, as is quite normal with the internet, naturally the pendulum has swung way too far in the other direction. Jokes were made and then taken seriously by others. I've now seen sentiments floating around like "oh they wouldn't have cared at all," (not on tumblr) which is wild to me.

My doctoral studies have to do with queerness in the High Middle Ages, so seeing as I've spent the last several years of my life living on archive.org, knee-deep in this research, I feel like it's my academic responsibility to correct the record some. As usual, the answer lies somewhere in the middle of the two extremes.

All my sources are listed in the text (in the case of art) or at the very end of the post. For those of you just interested in what all of this means for Hansry, feel free to jump down to the purple heading.

I will start by saying that the "queer medieval utopia" you're looking for didn't exist. The closest you're going to get to that is the late 11th century / early 12th century, and even then there were limits to this general social acceptability. Paris and Florence were commonly considered to be gay dens of iniquity by people outside of those places, but even that was a bit of an exaggeration.

So where does this misconception come from?

Within the Catholic landscape, the body was considered separate from the spirit. Only one's "mystic sensorium" was supposed to be involved in spiritual intercourse with Christ and each other, and the overlap of the real and the ideal was… problematic at times, a genuine threat to chastity. Physical affection was meant to not broach certain limits. Kissing was acceptable. Metaphors were acceptable. In ancient Christianity, it was normal for women to kiss other women and for men to kiss other men as part of mass in the name of exchanging the kiss of peace, the pax. The idea here was to meet with the Spirit of Christ. Ambrose likened it to "lovers who, unsatisfied with the mere enjoyment of the lips, kiss so deeply as to interchange their spirits with one another." Which is all well and good, but this leaves a lot of leeway. How much physical affection was considered acceptable?

Anselm, the closest thing we have to a gay man of this time, would write things like this, in this case a letter addressed to two biological brothers that he hoped to join him in the monastic life:

"My eyes long to see your faces most beloved; my arms stretch out to your embraces; my lips long for your kisses; whatever remains to me of life desires your company . . . . Oh, how my love burns in my marrow . . . . [In coming to Bec] you have fused my soul with yours. If you now leave me, our joint soul will be torn apart, it can never again become two."

He had never met them before, nor should this suggest that they were about to enter a sexual relationship. In fact, around this time we see quite a few such expressions of affection coming out of the monastic space. Alcuin, writing to Arno of Salzburg, felt entirely comfortable writing that his love could not be prevented, even in the face of death, from licking Arno's innermost parts, a reference here (most likely) to Christ's side wound. In another letter, Alcuin is even more overt:

"It is exquisitely sweet to remember your love and intimacy, holy father; I wish the dear moment would come when I might embrace the shoulders of your love with the arms of my longing for you. . . . with what speedy hands I would rush into your fatherly embrace, with what pressing lips I would kiss not only your eyes and ears and mouth, but each knuckle of each finger, of each toe, not once, but many, many times!"

It would be extremely easy to assume that these letters suggested more than meets the eye, but historically speaking, as far as we know, this was not the case. Because this level of affection was considered to be in line with the "Christian" thing to do between brothers (no, I'm not joking). And there were harsh punishments if you breached these limits. Bear in mind, these letters could easily be seen by others!

Moreover, it should be noted that we don't see this level of affection outside of the monastic space (though it does still come up, albeit to a much lesser extent). You can think of it as code switching, essentially. Verbiage that would be considered insanely sexual in one space would not be considered as such within a monastic context prior to the shift in the 12th century.

Some scholars suggested that the use of such language implies ignorance or naivety about how this physical affection could look to the outside world, but we do know that Anselm at one point became worried enough that he might be misunderstood that he censored himself after leaving Bec for Canterbury. Even if his inclinations were chaste, he knew they could be viewed through the lens of homosexuality.

The ideal sexual state for a person to be in at this time was rooted in asceticism: chastity in the face of desire. You'd think asexuality would be a quick workaround for that, but unfortunately the lack of desire would just mean a lack of necessary effort on that person's part. Bear in mind, suffering is what's rewarded here. A gay man plagued with homosexual desires is just being tested by God. By denying himself those desires, he's rising in the ranks of holiness. A great example of this is Brother Lucas from KCD1:

According to the Rule of Pachomius, kissing boys on the lips was forbidden and punished by whipping, imprisonment, fasting, shaving, and six months of humiliation. In Fructuosus of Braga's Rule, a monk kissing or even being "too attentive to young men or boys would result in a very similar six month sentence as well as six additional months of manual labor, separated from his brethren, always under watch of at least two spiritual brothers. Never again was he allowed to enjoy private conversation or companionship with those younger than him.

"But Tam!" you might say. "This is just about monks! What about real people?"

I'm so glad you asked! Because we know that as well!

Penitentials, which were quite in vogue until around the 11th century and then again after the passing of Lateran IV in the early 13th century, were very punishing of all manner of sexuality, but especially homosexual acts, and, among them, especially oral sex. (The mouth is considered, to a certain extent, sacred. Don't ask me why, that alone is like twenty pages in my dissertation, though I could be lowballing tbh.) The Penitential of Theodore punishes it with 7 years of harsh penance and 15 years if the practice is habitual. Sometimes, however, it was "until the end of life" and considered to be the "worst evil," worse than fornication with one's mother. Harsh!

Ye olde penitentials were used as guidelines for later confession as well as those from before the 12th century. Conveniently for us, the late, great James A. Brundage came up with a fantastic chart/guide on when and how it was acceptable to have sex at all:

Did people follow this? My god, absolutely not. We wouldn't have the confessional records if this wasn't a problem in the realm of ~sin. But the guidelines were there and expected to be adhered to.

Don't get me wrong, the late 11th / early 12th century was a watershed moment in history in terms of overall acceptability of queerness, a time when Ovid and other Ovidian literature flourished. Punishments were rarely enforced. But the come-down from that era led us to a very rough landing. Lateran III kicked off the official canon ratification of outlawing homosexuality explicitly, and this, together with the outlawing of clerical marriage and the sudden flourishing of courtly love as a genre, led to a very dramatic shift in society from homosocial to heterosexual (which is, incidentally, what my dissertation is about).

The long 12th century was a red letter event in terms of history, not least because some of history's most notorious homophobes spread their ideas like wildfire. I am, of course, talking about Alain de Lille, renowned author of De planctu Naturae ("The Complaint of Nature"), which reminded everyone that homosexuality was against nature, and Peter Damian, who doesn't even deserve being commented on. The idea of homosexuality being "against nature" was far from new. The early church fathers like Augustine and Jerome condemned it pretty outrightly, and in the 13th century St. Thomas Aquinas was more than happy to further entrench the idea. Here, sodomy disrupts nature so much as to dissolve the soul.

We saw this in literature as well. Dante's Divine Comedy (early 14th c) slapped sodomites into the 7th layer of hell, but a real standout here is the Debate Between Ganymede and Helen, where the two have a very lengthy argument wherein she convinces Ganymede (often associated with homosexuality) that heterosexuality is infinitely superior to the alternative. She throws in such lovely arguments as insisting that he at least respect Nature, that he's been deceived by well-disguised filth, that he's been squandering his love between the thighs of men, and that he's been treating himself like human garbage as a result. In the end, he suddenly sees his crime for what it is, and the gods agree with him, stating that they've now also come to their senses. Sodomy is thus left behind by the gods and the choir swells in cheer at this tremendous success.

Canon law more or less exclusively had its grubby little fingers in the pies of what was and wasn't deemed acceptable in terms of sex until about the early-14th c, while afterward the government was delighted to also get involved in your bedroom activities. Particularly in the late 14th century homosexuality was increasingly legislated against, and in increasingly brutal ways at that. This wonderful and not at all problematic marriage of church and state is how we ended up with the Trials of the Knights Templar.

Let's say you're King Philip IV. The people have been revolting, you're running low on funds, you owe the Templars as it is, and you have a penchant for pogroms. You want money and land. What do you do? Well, naturally you write a letter to the pope about how you have all these horrible suspicions about these people you employ and who have come to your aid quite often!

Boy, oh boy! Wasn't that a fun time for them. Before, they'd been well-respected and well-off, supported by the king, with zero doubt in their respectability. Naturally, it all came tumbling down with that letter. Because the investigation was ready to find them at fault for something no matter what, under pain of torture of course. There's a particularly striking letter from a father to his daughter, written during the Bamberg witch trials (much later), wherein he explained that, after a particularly rough torture session, the executioner pulled him aside and told him this: "Sir, I beg you, for God's sake confess something, whether it be true or not. Invent something, for you cannot endure the torture which you will be put to; and, even if you bear it all, yet you will not escape, not even if you were an earl, but one torture will follow after another until you say you are a witch. Not before that will they let you go, as you may see by all their trials, for one is just like another."

Were the Templars recreationally homosexual? Maybe. For their sake, I sure hope so, because then they might have at least had some fun before going out. But either way, they were arrested, their territory, funds, and belongings seized, were convicted of heresy, sodomy, and black magic, and eventually burned at the stake. Two men were later burned at the stake as relapsed heretics after saying that they'd only confessed under duress and were actually innocent.

It even led to fun art like this one in 1350:

De Longuyon, Jacques. Voeux du Paon Manuscript. 1350. Morgan Library and Museum, New York. G.24 fol. 70r.

It was also around this time also that homosexuality was increasingly associated not only with heresy, but also with bestiality, suggesting that this crime against nature was effectively also a crossing of special boundaries (species-based, not extraordinary). In line with this, while homage to one's liege used to be sworn with a kiss on the lips (!!), over the course of the 14th century that was summarily done away with as well in a change that quite frankly swept across Europe (and we all wept).

In 1327, Edward II, who had a few boyfriends, was supposedly murdered by having a red hot poker shoved up his rectum. Even if this didn't happen, the chroniclers wanted us to believe it, and knowing what we do about Edward's sexual proclivities, it seems like this was a Statement if nothing else.

Where Bologna used to punish homosexuality with a fine, after the late 13th century the punishment was death by burning. The Portuguese, meanwhile, castrated convicted homosexuals and then, three days later, had them hanged by the feet until dead. In Siena, death by hanging was also the answer, but in this case, it was hanging by the dick until dead (not kidding). A particularly horrifying case was this one, happening just six years after when KCD canon takes place:

Which reminds us that this was most likely an issue that very much associated the clergy (known to be corrupt, especially around this time!). You'll recall the little comments made about this in the game, like Godwin casually committing heresy in front of the whole crew. "Do you think you need a priest for God to hear you?" Well geez, Godwin, according to the Catholic Church, you sure as shit fucking do! What a fantastic and not at all risky thing to say!

(Sidenote, this one is particularly upsetting to me personally in a fandom context because, not only is Augsburg not far from Bohemia, it really reminds me of the many associations between Hans and a caged bird.)

All of which isn't to say that sodomy didn't take place. Boy did it fucking ever. A great example of this comes from out of Switzerland, where, in 1475, a priest reportedly told his lover that "if everybody who committed [the act of sodomy] was burnt at the stake, not even fifty men would survive in Basel." ("Vnd solt man alle die so das tuend verbrennen, es bliben nit funffzig mannen jn Basel.") So, 1% of Basel. This is almost certainly a massive fucking exaggeration that this man pulled out of his ass in order to convince his partner that sodomy is fine, actually, but it does tell us something about the perception, if not the actual prevalence of sodomy in urban centers. (So, you know, if anyone needs to justify that Jadder have fucked at least once, if not more… when in Kuttenberg...)

It should be noted that Basel was very lax in terms of punishing homosexuality, but that was by and large not the most common outcome, as homosexuality was generally associated with divine punishment (I'm sure you've heard that drivel yourself before even in the modern day). Hilariously, it was the generally held belief that if someone learned of "the vice against nature" they'd naturally want to do it, and so priests were advised never to talk about it, even to preach.

So then, what does this mean for Hansry and co?

It means that this was at worst very much a fucking crime that you could very much be convicted for, in brutal fucking fashion at times, and at best the quiet part that you don't say out loud. But even then, it was fucking risky. Riskier if you're a member of the clergy (do recall how worried Brother Lucas was about his secret getting out, despite having never committed the sin himself), but risky even if you're not. All you have to do to see this reflected in canon is to look at Barnaby, the herbalist/hermit. As he explained it, he turned down a girl, she complained to her brother, and "he put two and two together":

Remember how I said that homosexuality was increasingly associated with bestiality? I find Barnaby's word choice fascinating here. Animals like him.

Of course, he beat them up and thus... uh, was able to survive:

Not that it didn't massively affect his quality of life. There's a reason he's a hermit! After all, he was unwelcome no matter where he went, no doubt because the brother and his friends ensured that this knowledge spread:

You might say, oh, it's different among the nobility! And to a certain extent, you're correct. Talking to the scribe in Troskowitz, he at one point gets to a part in the story about George the Lion of Wartenberg where he says this:

And then later, at the banquet where Hans loses his mind from jealousy, it comes up quite a lot in the conversation with Black Bartosch. First, he brings up Florian of Lomnitz:

And then, of course, we get the legendary conversation that follows, where the comment about Florian's sexuality makes Henry question Bartosch about his own:

It's soooo subtle. So, so easy to turn to plausible deniability. If anyone questions it, you can easily argue that your intentions were entirely chaste. And Henry can ignore it or even outright respond with a claim of heterosexuality:

But he can't question it like he can with the scribe:

Where the scribe then brushes it off as nothing and refuses to elaborate:

Even here this is a case of IYKTYK, like homosexuality is a club and in order to enter you have to know what's up. Because if you don't know and have to be informed, that presents a risk, namely that of suspicion being cast on you. Why do you know this information? What were you doing at this sodomitical devil's sacrament?

Honestly, at least among the nobility I'd liken it a bit to prohibition, but on a much less... widespread level. Oh, and literally everyone and anyone could be a cop. You could get away with it until you were caught. The risk was just a lot more pronounced. Even with Edward II the consequence of the very accurate rumors surrounding his sex life was public denunciation and possibly a poker up his ass. And if you're a noble involved with a commoner, multiply the risk exponentially, which is unfortunately relevant for both Hansry and Jamuel. If it really was as casually acceptable as some people claim it to have been (again, not on tumblr, I'm not here to stir up drama), I think Henry wouldn't have necessarily pushed Hans away, nor do I think they would have been as careful in their end-game conversation about what they do and don't say.

If anyone has any questions on this, tangentially-related topics, my sources, or literally anything else, by all means feel free to ask. I have the resources at my fingertips and the research very much at the forefront of my mind and will for the foreseeable future. On request, I've also added a list of further reading after my list of sources if anyone is curious to learn more of this for themselves.

Sources used:

Abraham, Erin V. Anticipating Sin in Medieval Society: Childhood, Sexuality, and Violence in the Early Penitentials, Amsterdam University Press, 2021

Anselm. The Letters of Saint Anselm of Canterbury. Translated by Walter Fröhlich, Cistercian Publications, 1990.

Brundage, James A. Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe. University of Chicago Press, 1987.

Dronke, Peter. Medieval Latin and the Rise of the European Love-Lyric, Vol. 1, Oxford University Press, 1965.

Major, J. Russell. “‘Bastard Feudalism’ and the Kiss: Changing Social Mores in Late Medieval and Early Modern France.” The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, vol. 17, no. 3, 1987, pp. 509–35. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/204609. 

Mills, Robert. Seeing Sodomy in the Middle Ages. University of Chicago Press, 2015

Moore, R. I. The War on Heresy: Faith and Power in Medieval Europe. Profile Books, 2014.

Murray, Jacqueline, and Konrad Eisenbichler, editors. Desire and Discipline: Sex and Sexuality in the Premodern West. University of Toronto Press, 1996.

Perella, Nicolas J. The Kiss Sacred and Profane: An Interpretative History of Kiss Symbolism and Related Religio-Erotic Themes. University of California Press, 1969.

Puff, Helmut. “Localizing Sodomy: The ‘Priest and Sodomite’ in Pre-Reformation Germany and Switzerland.” Journal of the History of Sexuality, vol. 8, no. 2, 1997, pp. 165–95. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3704215.

Puff, Helmut. Lust, Angst Und Provokation: Homosexualität in Der Gesellschaft. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993.

Southern, R.W., Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape, Cambridge University Press, 1990.

Stehling, Thomas. Medieval Latin Poems of Male Love and Friendship. Garland Pub, 1984.

Recommended further reading:

Bailey, Derrick Sherwin. Homosexuality and the Western Christian Tradition. Archon Books, 1975. Originally published by Longmans, Green & Co., 1955.

Barbezat, Michael D. “Bodies of Spirit and Bodies of Flesh: The Significance of the Sexual Practices Attributed to Heretics from the Eleventh to the Fourteenth Century.” Journal of the History of Sexuality, vol. 25, no. 3, 2016, pp. 387–419. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44862359. 

Brundage, James A. "Playing by the Rules: Sexual Behaviour and Legal Norms in Medieval Europe". Desire and Discipline: Sex and Sexuality in the Premodern West, edited by Konrad Eisenbichler and Jacqueline Murray, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996. https://doi.org/10.3138/9781442673854-004

Bullough, Vern L. “Heresy, Witchcraft, and Sexuality.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 2, 3 Mar. 1976, pp. 183–199, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n02_03.

---. “The Sin against Nature and Homosexuality.” Sexual Practices & the Medieval Church, edited by Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage, Prometheus Books, Buffalo, NY, 1994, pp. 55–71.

Bullough, Vern L., and James A. Brundage, editors. Handbook of Medieval Sexuality. Garland Publishing, 1996.

---, editors. Sexual Practices & the Medieval Church. Prometheus Books, 1994.

Burger, Glenn, and Steven F. Kruger, editors. Queering the Middle Ages. NED-New edition, vol. 27, University of Minnesota Press, 2001. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/j.ctttszw5.

Clark, David. Between Medieval Men: Male Friendship and Desire in Early Medieval English Literature . Oxford University Press, 2009.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. Getting Medieval: Sexualities and Communities, Pre- and Postmodern. Duke University Press, 1999.

Fradenburg Louise, et al., editors. Premodern Sexualities. Routledge, 1995.

Frassetto, Michael. Heresy and the Persecuting Society in the Middle Ages: Essays on the Work of R.I. Moore. Brill, 2006.

Gilbert, Arthur N. “Conceptions of Homosexuality and Sodomy in Western History.” The Gay Past: A Collection of Historical Essays, edited by Salvatore J. Licata and Robert P. Petersen, Harrington Press, New York, NY, 1985, pp. 57–68.

Goodich, Michael. “Sodomy in Ecclesiastical Law and Theory.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 4, 20 June 1976, pp. 427–434, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n04_06.

---. “Sodomy in Medieval Secular Law.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 3, 20 June 1976, pp. 295–302, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n03_04.

---. The Unmentionable Vice Homosexuality in the Later Medieval Period. Ross-Erikson, 1979.

Jordan, Mark D. The Invention of Sodomy in Christian Theology. University of Chicago Press, 1997.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. “Attitudes to Same-Sex Sexual Relations in the Latin World.” A Companion to Crime and Deviance in the Middle Ages, edited by Hannah Skoda, Arc Humanities Press, 2023, pp. 84–101. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.3716022.9. 

---. From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003.

---. “The Regulation of ‘Sodomy’ in the Latin East and West.” Speculum, vol. 95, no. 4, 1 Oct. 2020, pp. 969–986, https://doi.org/10.1086/710639.

---. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing unto Others. Routledge, 2012.

Kruger, Steven F. “Queer Middle Ages.” The Ashgate Research Companion to Queer Theory, 1st ed., Routledge, New York, NY, 2009, pp. 413–434.

Kuefler, Mathew, editor. The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality. University of Chicago Press, 2006.

Lees, Clare A., et al. Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in the Middle Ages. University of Minnesota Press, 1994.

Pierce, Rosamond. “The ‘Frankish’ Penitentials.” Studies in Church History, vol. 11, 1975, pp. 31–39, https://doi.org/10.1017/s0424208400006276. 

***Please note: my omission of Boswell's CSTH here is entirely intentional. I know that if people here got a hold of him he'd be considered a tumblr darling, easy. If I could, I would wear merch with his name on it. And normally I would list him loudly and proudly. But I'm not, because the man loved reading into things that at times aren't there, and there are countless critiques that have been leveled against CSTH, many of which Boswell himself agreed with. So. If the general tumblr population wasn't constantly pissing on the poor I might trust it in their hands, but as it is, I know that nuance is lost on people!

(would you believe me if I said I tried to restrain myself in curating this list? no?? well I DID)

[dcxdpdabbles]

I've seen a lot of Danny being Ellie's dad but where is the Pariah Dark adopts this sassy ghost child that beat him in a duel and is now prince because why not adopt the overpowered child. Which leads to the JL fighting Danny for whatever reason and when he calls for help he calls his new dad and oh shit is that the Ghost King

Danny was with Sam and Tucker in the Ghost Zone when three seven-man squads of ghost knights found him. They had found an empty island near the portal that they had made into a makeshift training ground so he could safely practice his powers.

The most recent fights had shown him that he was only winning because of his quick thinking and adaptability that tricked his enemies, but he needed to get better if he ever wanted to prevent an incident like the ones at Axion labs from ever happening again.

He couldn't afford to create another arch-nemesis. Plus his good luck and clever mind could only get him so far if his body couldn't keep up.

He was in the middle of shooting the rays from the various drones Tucker set up when the knights landed on his island. Their metal clacking with each step they took, marching away from their skeleton winged horses.

At once, Danny flew between the ground, feeling more than seeing his friends scrambling for their weapons as he raised his fists.

"Who are you?" He demanded, watching the other squads surround them. Tucker and Sam spun around, each pressing up against his back in a makeshift triangle.

The hum of their ghost guns echoed through the air as the knights continued their marching until they had formed a circle around the three.

I don't like this. Danny thought felt his own ecto-ray heating up in his palms. They look oddly familiar. Where have I seen those armors?

The knights all, simultaneously, dropped to one knee, surprising the three teenagers. They bowed their heads, and even the winged horses followed suit,

"Prince Phantom." The one right in front of Danny said, "We have come as your formal escort to your Father's keep. He demands your presence."

"My Dad?" Danny repeats, voiced, laced with doubt. , "My Dad sent ghosts to escort me home? Do I look stupid to you?"

"It is not your sire, Jack Fenton, I speak of," The Knight explains, voice still respectful even when staring at the ground. Danny can't see his eyes or any of the other knights, as they are hidden in the shadows of their helmets. "I speak of the Ghost King, Pariah Dark, who has chosen you are his Heir. You are summoned to complete the adoption process."

"Yeah, that's going to be a no from me." Danny deadpans, even if his insides have turned to ice. Pariah Dark was resealed, Danny personally made sure of that, so why was this guy speaking as if he was back?

"Apologies, my Prince, but you do not have a choice," declares the other, and almost as if that was a cue of some kind, the other knights rise from their knees. They descend on the trio faster than Danny was expecting.

He ducks and waves as three different fists fly to his face, reaching down to aim an uppercut at the one on his right. It lands with a clack and a sting in his knuckles as the helmets odd shape as some protection to the chin

Shaking out his hand, Danny is not prepared for the kick to his side that sends him flying.

He lands in a heap but is quick to get back to his feet as rope is lassoed around one of his wrists. He gapes at it as another knight, quickly throws on to his other arms and suddenly he's being tugged in two different directions.

Summoning his ice, Danny has it travel down the ropes towards the knights, who drop it just as the ice would have encased their hands. Freed, Danny, leaps back as a flying kick paces mere inches from his face and has to quickly raise his hands to block an ecto-ray to the chest.

"Do not harm the Prince!" The leader barks "Capture the humans, he will go willingly if we have hostages!"

Danny swings his head towards Sam and Tucker, who have been forced up against a wall, shooting desperately at the advancing knights. Their shots are being knocked away by flowing swords, and it was obvious their movements were slowing down.

Despite the many fights they have helped in a fight, neither Sam or Tucker could outlast a ghost. Their stamina was superior, and sadly, it seemed these particular ghosts also had training under their belts.

"No!" Danny moved to help but just as he turned his eyes away from the Knight Leader, a bubble of ectoplasm exploded in his face.

"I told you not to harm the Prince!" Someone roars over the sound of ringing in his ears. Hands fell on all his limbs holding him down, even if he weakly tried to shake them off. Everything is spinning, though, and his vision is blurring in and out of focus. He sees Sam fall to the ground with Tucker screaming something he can't make out before Danny is left up and dragged away.

There is a weight around his wrists and ankles, indicating he's been tied up, but Danny can barely keep his head from bobbing to the side. He had no energy to attempt to break his bonds.

He knew no more as he was thrown into a carriage, the block dots in his vision taking over completely.

Three years later, Danny is overlooking the development of a ghost colony in a far-off corner of King Pariah's empire. This colony was made entirely of former slaves whom Danny fought his adoptive father tooth and nail to free.

Pariah moods were odd. He controlled everything Danny did, but he also wanted Danny to take his own stances on how the empire should be run. The Ghost King's control had expanded to nearly all corners of the Ghost Zone, breaking and tearing apart any resistance they found.

War had broken out as ghosts from various tribes and kingdoms fought desperately to keep their freedom. Pariah saw no challenge in their attempts, crushing anyone that stood in his way.

His aim was to once again rule all over the dead, and later, once every ghost bowed to his whim, invade the living world again but this time there would be no Halfa child to stop him.

Said Halfa that was now heir of the tyrant. Everyone knew about the kidnapped Prince, as his tale was told in resistance meetings both in pity and in rage.

Prince Phantom's iconic white hair and green eyes were just as widely known as his golden collar was. It was created by King Pariah, to keep the prince in the area by an invisible fence he set up. Should Prince Phantom attempt to fly or walk out of those areas, the collar would turn into flaming chains, yanking the prince back. It wouldn't burn him, thankfully, but it would drag him roughly.

It didn't help that the collar stopped Prince Phantom from accessing his powers. It was almost like he was a full human, except he was trapped in his ghost form and in the Ghost Zone, which meant his options were far more limited than normal.

He was more of a royal hostage than an actual heir.

Even out here, while overlooking reports and listening to testimonies, Prince Phantom could not leave the tower of the newest colony. At all times there was two guards that followed him and limited his movements too.

Despite his position, the Prince did everything he could to protect the people, tales of him jumping to a servant's defense against his father, advocating for the abolishment of slavery, and even offering to serve any punishment for any ghost child. The people loved their prince, and all wanted to one day see him free as well.

Rumors had it that the leaders of the main resistance were two humans who were desperately trying to free Prince Phantom, but since everyone in the rebellion's army's identity remained secret, no one knew how true those rumors were.

Danny unrolls a scroll, sighing at the numbers. "If nothing is done about the harvest, the people will starve come winter. We need to start rationing. Take whatever you need from my own supplies before we start applying it to the people."

"My Prince, we couldn't possibly ask that of you. Already, you granted us freedom and a home. ," Started the mayor of the colony, only to stop at the sight of a large magical circle forming around the prince. Danny's eyes widened as well, feeling his collar start to glow as whatever it is attempt to yank him away.

He feels it start to crack as the magic overpowers the collar's settings. Hope flares in his heart as his guards leap to their feet. Before they can so much as come near him, the mayor throws himself at them with a roar. "Run, my Prince! I shall buy you time!"

Danny is swallowed by light before he can respond, the collar left behind to clatter against the floor. He is flung through a portal made of multiple colors, so bright and blinding he has to close his eyes and hold his hands in front of his face. He lands with a startled yelp, but his hands fling to his neck.

When all he feels is flesh, tears burn his eyes sight as he sobs. He's free. He's finally free.

"Well, this isn't what I was expecting when I offered a piece of my soul" An accented voice hums, drawing attention to a group of oddly dressed strangers. A man in a trench coat lights a cigar, the glow casting his face in a dim light as he stares down at Danny with a detached appraisal glint in his eyes. "Tell me, why did my spell bring me a child when I asked for a champion to overthrow the Ghost King?"

Danny's ice core starts to slowly freeze the room over, his breath visible as his eyes harden. "It brought me here because I am going to kill my father."

"Prince Phantom" Trench coat man identifies with some relief. "A pleasure to finally meet you. This is the Justice League and they like to lend a hand in your parricide."

[cibulovychleba]

To any kcd and hansry enjoyers coming across this post who have seen kcd only in English, I need you to know what you're missing.

Hans Capon is in Czech called Jan Ptáček

Jan has a few name variations in Czech, each less formal (and each more unserious, in my opinion). Like if you're called Jan that's on you IDs etc, but your family and friends might just call you Honza, if you prefer it

The Jan scale goes from Jan > Honza > Jenda > honorable mention Janek, but I'm not sure if this variant is relevant right now

And guess what, Henry calls Hans by these variations, which is so precious to me. Yes, Hans is a noble and yes, Henry refers to him as his lord, but he also calls him Jenda, which is very much giving village boy energy, Jenda the stable boy or something. I think it really shows, on another level, how familiar and close they are with each other, and how the relationship shifts in kcd2, how Hans is becoming Henry's closest first, his lord second, how they are on the same level now, in comparison with kcd1, where they tiptoe in some dialog options around Henry keeping his distance and Hans encouraging him to treat him less formally and rewarding when Henry actually talks back.

Side note, I'm glad at least Henry has available name variant in English people who know him use, as well as in Czech (Jindřich and Jindra – Henry and Hal)

And a cherry on top, the situations when Henry uses a less formal variant of Hans' name are rare, but one of those situations that I've seen in someone else's playthrough was specifically the march to Nebakov turned ambush. When you're attacked and fight back you get periodically prompted to follow Hans and defend him, but if you can't find him, Henry will call out and use Jenda variant. And when Hans gets knocked out and Henry finds him in dirt before facing Žižka, he kneels down to him and calls him Jan, then Ptáček, and when nothing seems to work, he calls him Honza. Which makes me think this is something Henry's mind does when everything goes to shit and he's desperate and the closest person he has left and who he loves is in danger and so he reaches, asking Hans to come back to him, not as a noble with unfinished responsibilities, but simply as his Honza.

And I'm totally normal about that.

Beside all of this

I adore Tom McKay's voice and performance, but also Richard Wágner is so good as Henry, and, his words not mine, his Henry sounds much more sillier, which is a delight. And this is such a Czech-specific appreciation, but kcd2 has many iconic Czech actors and it's honestly so amusing to both see and hear them in a video game.

[goldeunoias]

Favorite Student.

WARNINGS: YES THIS IS PROFESSOR AND STUDENT FUCKING IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT DON'T READ IT. both of yall are adults i think like 22 and 28 or something like that so it's not like the worst of the worst but yes. there are power dynamics blah blah, sunghoon is massive pervert, ITS ALL FICTION YALL

um includes....perverted sunghoon, eating out, teasing, pet names, sex in an office, fingering, it's me so ya know

Synopsis: A class you'd hated, but a professor you'd always admired...

A/N: DAISY BACKKKKK

SUNGHOON STANS ARE THE BESTTTTT at writing and giving me anons and feedback and comments and reblogs which is why I will always spoil them bc they treat me the best <333. next fic is a heeseung one sooo if you want more heeseung content make sure to give that one as much love too when it comes out!

_________________________________________

He was the meanest professor around, bar none.

But in your current predicament, he was the only professor left for the class you needed to take, unless you wanted to wait and thus delay your graduation by a whole semester.

That's how you found yourself standing outside his office, swinging back and forth on your heels, trying to get the courage to go in and ask him for help on the chapter that seemed like no one in your class was getting, you included.

"What are you doing standing outside my office?"

At the sound of his voice you jumped and turned around, heart racing in your ears as you tried to give him some eye contact; ultimately failing miserably.

"U-Um, I needed help with chapter 14 in the textbook and no one in my section really got it either so I figured I'd stop by-"

"Did you look at the lecture notes?"

"Y-yes sir."

"The supplemental videos?"

You nodded again.

Dr. Park sighed and moved past you to unlock his office door, letting the door swing shut past you as you walked in. The vibes of his room was austere to say the least and you couldn't tell if anyone had ever sat in the chair across from him given how spotless and un-creased it was.

Well, first time for everything.

"So what are you needing help with? Do you have any notes or something?"

"U-uh yes sir, give me a sec," you stuttered out as you fidgeted with your bag to pull out your laptop, showing him all that you had done.

He leaned on his side of the thick oak desk so he could get a closer look at what you had done, the closer proximity causing cologne you could only surmise to be expensive filling your nose. You fidgeted in your seat and moved some to lower your skirt as it rode up, trying to think of something to fill the awkward silence as he scrolled through what you had done.

Luckily, he beat you to it.

"Well, it's not the worst thing I've seen." He sighed, taking off his glasses and pointing to your screen. "You still aren't understanding the basic concepts of this chapter yet and it's reflecting in your notes. You see this summary outline you wrote here is-"

Your eyes absentmindedly drifted to his alabaster forearms that were shown from the rolled up sleeves of his button up, thick large hands scrolling on your keyboard. His jaw and nose were sharp too and from the closeness you could make out his dark lashes, usually hidden by the thick framed glasses he wore.....

You were jolted out of your thoughts when he snapped his fingers in front of your face, eyebrows knitted in annoyance at you wasting his time by daydreaming.

"If you're going to come to my office I would think you'd listen to what I have to say," Sunghoon said through a clucked tongue.

You looked down and immediately apologized profusely, feeling tears well in your eyes. You weren't the best with scolding you never had been, but to have someone who was already not in the best of moods have it become worse because of you only made you more sensitive.

He looked at you from across the desk, a grown girl with mannerisms like that of a meek fawn.

A prey.

You swallowed thickly as he stood up and leaned over the desk, strands of mahogany hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you.

"Hey hey, don't cry, we'll work through it together mmkay? You're a smart girl aren't you?"

It was a voice you'd never heard him use on anyone, and it made the hairs on your neck stand up and your legs squirm as he held your chin.

"I'm sorry it's just this is one of my final classes I need to graduate and everything is hard and I don't want to waste your time-"

"Aw, princess don't stress, don't stress," he cooed. The sweet and gentle tone of his voice was causing you to melt into his touch, wondering how someone who usually only spoke in stern curt sentences could produce such sounds.

You couldn't stop bouncing your legs and squirming in your seat as his fingertips stroked the underside of your chin softly, making soft shushes and coos at you to calm your nerves.

Fuck, he wanted to ruin you.

But he had to wait for you to make the move. He was in the precarious position and even though he could see in your gaze that you were begging for it, you were going to have to show him.

A little teasing should do the trick.

"Here, we have some time before the next test don't we? Start coming by my office everyday and we can work through this unit together so you won't have to worry alright" he offered up, sitting back down in his office chair with a soft smile on his face.

You sniffled and nodded at the premise before rushing out a plethora of "thank you"s to him, unable to stop the tingling on your chin from where he had touched you as he left........

_________________________________

"Here sweetheart move your chair over to my side of the desk so you can get a better look at my screen," he offered up, moving his chair over some to make some room.

"O-okay sure," you agreed, the name "sweetheart" ringing throughout your head. Had he always used that nickname for you? Or was he just using it as a coverup for forgetting your name? Whatever the reason, your mind was spinning in circles at the gentle way he said it.

“Cmon, you can come a little closer than that, I don’t bite ya know”, he hummed, pulling your chair closer to his. You nodded because you didn’t trust your voice and your mind couldn’t stop wandering to how large his hands looked as he pointed out errors in the extra assignments he’d given you, talking you softly through each one.

"Does that make sense?" he inquired gently, placing his head on your thigh and squeezing it. The contact made you jolt in your skin and you gulped before profusely nodding, truly able to grasp just how large his hands were as they sat on your plush thigh.

"Good girl, see you had no reason to be so worried, your work is been improving exponentially".

"T-thank you sir. I have to go to my next class now...." you trailed off awkwardly, fidgeting in your seat.

He smiled and stood up, waiting for you to do the same before escorting you to his door.

"Of course. Same time tomorrow?"

"Mhmm," you hummed, scurrying out of his office. You made a b-line to the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face, wondering if there was anything that gave away just how flustered you truly were in his proximity.

How can someone be so cute? Sunghoon hummed to himself as he sat at his desk, fiddling with his pen. His own hand still buzzed with excitement at how soft and warm your thigh was, and his mind couldn't help but trail further down a rabbit hole.

For the next month it seemed Sunghoon had only gotten friendlier and friendlier: you found out that he had a dog which he adored and would bring to the office if he was allowed to, that he had a younger sister, used to compete in sports (which you could attribute to his frame), and really liked fashion.

All the while, Sungoon used every opportunity to get you used to his touch; the stroking of your ear during one session, the soft touch of your shoulder the next. Every time you'd jolt before absentmindedly melting into it, and before you knew it you find yourself craving his touch.

You didn't dare your friends or anyone around you of your extra tutoring sessions, or that his hands were somehow find themself on yours. Surely you should be disgusted at yourself instead of electrified by the touches he leaves on you right?

But those thoughts would always disappear every time you walked into his office.

"So sorry I'm late!" you rushed out as you stepped into his office, panting from having sprinted up the stairs to get here.

Sunghoon looked up from the papers at his desk and smiled, flickering his head to come sit down.

"It's okay sweetheart don't worry," he hummed, trying to pull his eyes away from the sheen the shone on your neck.

"I've been so frazzled lately I hope you're not too mad at me being late," you rushed out, practically stumbling over to sit down in your chair.

He hummed and stared at your plush thighs that clung to the leather of the chair and watched as you shifted to prevent them sticking, getting flustered when you saw he was watching you.

"Sorry, I'm a bit sticky it's a bit warm outside, s-should I just stand instead?" you offered up quickly, standing up and fixing your sundress.

"Why don't you sit on my desk instead then? Here let me move these papers out of you way-"

"W-won't I get the desk dirty since I'm all sweaty" you interjected, heart racing as he cleared his desk off for you, making space so you'd have no choice but to sit right in front of his chair.

"Don't worry about it, now be a good girl and come sit," he cooed, giving you eyes that almost dared you to disobey him. Quickly you went over and sat on his desk, swallowing thickly when Sunghoon began massaging your calves as he removed your shoes.

"Poor baby rushed over to our tutoring session, your legs must be exhausted and aching," he soothed, tender hands working into the soft flesh of your skin.

"Only s-slightly, it's fine I"m used to it," you excused, squirming as Sunghoon leaned closer to your skin. "Is this something a professor should be um...doing, I mean I know we've gotten close b-but.." you trailed off, yelping when Sunghoon dragged his lips against your knee.

"Then tell me to stop kitten," he taunted, kissing the inner of your thighs as he slid off your other shoe, looking up at you through framed lenses.

"You're not stupid baby, your test grades prove that well enough. Surely you kept coming to our lessons hoping it'd end up like this," he continued, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he pulled you closer against his face.

"I...I don't know," was all you could muster out, toes curling as he softly kissed your inner thighs. Sunghoon chuckled under his breath and stood up, pushing you down onto his desk as he took of his glasses.

The air was knocked out of you for a second as you lay splayed on the desk, the cool hardwood being a stark contrast to your sticky skin.

“It’s okay baby,” he leaned in, licking the sweat from your neck. “It’s okay to say you like doing perverted things with me. Go on, tell your professor how much you like it”, he cooed, rubbing your puffy clit with his thumb.

You whined as felt something tightening in your tummy, mustering up the courage to speak.

“I-I like it”, you choked out, your toes curling in your tube socks as you started to feel how thick his fingers really were.

“Awww, give me more than that yeah? Tell me exactly what you like.” He couldn’t help himself. He wanted you to profess all types of profanities through hazy eyes and shaky legs, for you to beg to be ruined and defiled by him.

“I like..doing perverted things with you.” You felt your face burn as you stumbled your way through the sentence, rutting your hips into a feeling that only got tighter.

“Aw you do? Well in that case let me teach my princess all the perverted things we can do together..." he trailed off, squeezing the side of your thighs.

"Good girl~, such a good girl~" Sunghoon cooed, lifting up the hem of your sundress. "Cute panties," he drawled as his index finger slid down the slit, pressing against the sticky wet patch. "Mind if I keep them?"

You couldn't help but buck your hips into the feeling as you nodded without a second thought, your nails digging into the gloss furnish of his desk.

"Sweetheart you shouldn't agree to everything I say," he spoke, cupping your heat in his hand and massaging it. You gripped onto his shoulders instead and whimpered into his chest as you felt trickles of wetness soak your cotton underwear, meak "I'm sorry"s leaving you.

"It's okay, it's okay, don't apologize. It's just," he moved the hair covering your ear with his mouth before kissing against it, letting out deep groans as he rutted himself against you.

"there are some bad people out there, waiting to take advantage of pretty young girls like you. Are you going to spread your legs for everyone?"

"No, it's j-just because it's...you," you whimpered against his chest.

Sunghoon sucked air through his teeth as his self control unraveled at the seams.

"Because it's me?" he inquired, kneeling down so he was eye-level with your soaked core, messing with the hem of your panties.

"Wait Ihaven'tshoweredso-" your legs shook around his head as his tongue pressed against the soaked wet patch of your underwear, groaning at the taste that trickled onto his tongue.

"Is that why you taste and smell so sweet princess?" He groaned, pulling your underwear down without a second thought to expose yourself barren to him, his cock twitching in his pants at how sticky you already were.

"Here hold my hand sweetheart, squeeze it as hard as you like," he cooed as he offered up his free hand to you. You obliged immediately and squeezed his digits as his other free hand rubbed softly against your swollen clit, leaving light kisses on the puffy bud.

You let out meek "I'm sorry"s as your nails dug into the alabaster skin of his hand, struggling to keep yourself still as you felt the warmth of his lips wrap around your clit before sucking softly.

"It's okay princess, just sink into the feeling, I'm going to make you feel so so good," he groaned between your legs. You nodded and felt your eyes flutter into the back your head as you felt every ridge of his tongue against your entrance, saliva mixing with arousal as he lapped up everything you gave him.

The pleasure only increased as he wantonly hummed around your bud, Sunghoon drunk off of how sweet and syrupy you tasted on his tongue.

Sunghoon was doing his best to not just pin you to the desk and fuck the daylights of you, not understanding how someone could be so intoxicating. Every thing from your little gasps of air to the whimpers you were trying to hide in your throat were making him dizzy, desperate even.

"Your hole is twitching every time I suck your clit princess," Sunghoon remarked as he came up for air, licking his lips clean. "It must want something in it huh?" he drawled, sliding two thick digits into you. Your back arched off the desk as you felt the tight stretch between your legs, your hands going to squeeze his wrist you whimpered.

"Oh no no baby, don't try to move away from it. Take it like a good girl, like my favorite student would," Sunghoon praised as he scissored his fingers inside of you, chuckling at how droplets of arousal leaked out.

Hearing him say you're his favorite student made your heart thrum in excitement, your thighs tensing up when the pads of his fingers pressed down against the spongy part of your walls.

"Pull your sundress down and play with your chest for me princess," Sunghoon ordered gently as he moved to the skin of your neck, infatuated with how he could feel your heart beating through his kisses. "Do it like how you do it when you're in your bed all alone, fingers between your legs..." he whispered against your ear, unable to hide his grin.

Your body felt unbearably hot as you whimpered and complied, pulling down the straps of your sundress and moving your bra. Your legs inexplicably shook as you tugged the pert buds, biting down on your lip as Sunghoon sped up the pace of his fingers.

Sunghoon made a mental note of your movements so he could replicate them next time, his mouth getting hungry as his mouth encircled a free nipple.

You spasmed slightly at his movements as you felt his coarse tongue suck and lick around the sensitive skin, making a point to hold eye contact with you any time your stare met his. Coupled with the gushing sounds he heard between your legs only got more turned on, leaving deep marks on your chest he was sure would last for days.

He couldn't help it, he was getting impatient, desperate to have you whimpering out his name and begging for him to ruin you in this godforsaken sundress.

"Fuck~ you're gonna get me in so much fucking trouble," Sunghoon groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his fingers. "I'm sorry baby but I can't let you come from just some fingering now can I?" he teased.

The eyes you gave him almost broke him down right there as he pulled out his digits and sucked them clean, unbuckling his belt with the other. On any other occasion he'd love to have you on your knees trying to fit him in your soft mouth, but his patience for that was long gone.

Your eyes enlarged as you watched his member spring free and press against his lower abdomen, Sunghoon hissing through his teeth as he stroked the reddened tip.

"Don't worry princess, we're gonna make it fit okay? Even if you are this tight," he reassured teasingly, kissing your temple as he pinned both your hands in one of his.

"Y-you don't need a condom" you choked out.

Sunghoon raised brows and chuckled at the fact such a statement could come from such a timid mouth of yours, ripping it with his teeth and putting it on regardless.

"Mmm of course I do sweetheart," he cooed, rubbing his length between your folds. Even through the condom you could feel how warm and heavy his member felt between your legs, your mind racing at the fact that you were going to have sex with your professor.

"Besides, if I came inside would you be able to keep my load inside you like a good girl? We can't have a mess in my office now can we?" he drawled in your ear, pushing his thick tip past your walls. You already felt a stretch that was incomparable to his fingers and started struggling against his grip, Sunghoon only laughing at you and tightening his hold even more.

"Shhhh don't run princess, don't run, this is how it feels to be fucked by a real man yeah? No college guy could find my baby's special spot like I could," he soothed, finding it so cute how you sucked on your bottom lip to cope with the stretch.

You raised your head slightly to discover that he was only halfway in, despite how full your lower belly felt. When Sunghoon saw your widened eyes he could only pout at you, finding you absolutely adorable.

And adorable things deserved to be ruined.

"Here princess, kiss me yeah?"

Shakily you reached up some and connected your lips with his, jolting against his mouth as Sunghoon had taken the opportunity to push himself to the hilt.

"P-professor" was all you could whine out as you felt your mind go dazy, Sunghoon using the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours.

"You're doing so good, taking all of me princess, such a good girl," Sunghoon praised softly in between kisses. He knew once he started moving his hips you'd be a goner, already evident by how dazy your eyes looked when he stared into them.

You felt his tip push against the entrance of your cervix and you couldn't help but let out a sharp gasp at the feeling, biting down on Sunghoon's shoulder to cope with the heavy sensation in your tummy.

"Hello? Mr. Park are you in your office?"

Your eyes widened and you went to move to hide, recognizing the voice as your fellow classmate. Sunghoon only laughed at your attempts and pinned your wrists, giving you a "shh" motion as he continued pressing his hips against yours.

"Yeah, I'm here. However if my door is closed that means office hours are also closed correct?" he tsked, sucking a breath between his teeth as you clenched down around him.

Despite his seemingly calm composure you had your mouth squeezed shut feeling a tight knot start to form.

Your legs shook as you tried tapping his wrist with your bound hands, Sunghoon cooing at you softly and kissing your cheek.

"I know you're close baby, I know I know, just hold out for a bit longer mmkay? I'll take care of you, I will."

You could only nod as your face scrunched up from holding back your moans, desperately wondering why this student was so keen on getting into the office of one of the most stubborn people alive.

"I know, but there's this problem I really-"

"Rules are rules" he interjected, taking out his point on you by an extra forceful snap of his hips. Yours nails digged into your own skin as you tried to follow your professors wishes and hold out just a bit longer for him, softly whispering his name to garner his attention.

“Just a bit longer,” he shushed warmly, kissing your temple as he listened to the footsteps outside the door. Sure enough there was a sigh, followed by the sound of sneakers against the tile floor and the student walked away, Sunghoon relinquishing his grip on you and slowly speeding up his hips.

“P-Professor my tummy," was all you could manage out, squirming as you felt the knot get tighter.

"Mmm, you feel the pressure building right here?" Sunghoon couldn't help but tease, firmly pushing down on your lower belly. Your nails left red marks down his back and chest as you gasped at the feeling, mind slowly entering a point of incoherence.

You hazily nodded and felt your toes curl as Sunghoon peppered your neck with open mouth kisses, unable to stop himself from marking you.

"I'm close too princess, hold on just a bit longer for me and we can come together yeah? C'mon, I know you can," Sunghoon purred as his hips only sped up faster, raising your lower back slightly make sure he hit your spot every single time.

You could only hold your breath and scrunch your face as you tried warding off the feeling that was only getting stronger. Sunghoon's own resolve had withered away as he bit down on his bottom lip to suppress the groan that would be heard by the whole hallway, sweat on his entire body as you squeezed down on him like a vice.

"Fuck~ princess, go ahead and let loose for me."

You felt your mind go blank as the knot snapped tighter than you were anticipating, having to suppress your moans by burying yourself into Sunghoon's neck as liquid gushed from between your legs and your walls pulsed around sporadically.

Sunghoon's came shortly thereafter by burying his face in your own neck, his breathing ragged and uneven as he lay shaking on top of you.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you and your mind started swimming at what you'd just done and the mess you'd just made, knowing that if your ancestors were ever to watch you they'd hang their heads in shame.

Yet, that didn't stop you from wanting to do it again.

"Professor," you began, refusing to make eye contact with him after what you'd just done.

"Mmmm yes sweetheart?" Sunghoon cooed as he slowly pulled out, his collarbones and forehead glistening with sweat as he hid the evidence.

"Next time, I-I wanna do it...at your place," you offered up. This was a dangerous and well, a fireable request, you both knew that. However, that didn't stop Sunghoon from bending down to kiss your collarbones and chin, beaming it with happiness.

"I think I'd quite like that arrangement princess."

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Mark ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Mark x f!idol!reader

summary: you and you boyfriend Mark are paired up for an interview, but do you even know you're texting each other? No.

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Mark got comfortable in the plush, pink chair of the Kode set with a shy smile, "Ah hello, I'm Mark from NCT." He pushes his earbuds into his ears and begins playing his music, "today I'll be known as Cheetah. Um, I couldn't really think of anything else and the fans already call me a cheetah so it was easy to think of."

On the opposite side of the wall, you settle into your own chair while smiling at the camera while introducing yourself, "I was so confused when I was asked to pick a wild cat as my screen name. It was such an oddly specific category, and even weirder when you told me cheetah was already taken. Anyway, I chose Tiger because they're the next prettiest."

Your music begins to play through your earbuds as your phone vibrates from the first message from your partner. "Yo?" you read in confusion, staring at your screen with pure confusion, "is that it? This is a man isn't it? Girls don't talk like this."

On the other side of the wall Mark laughs softly, covering his mouth as he reads the message. "This person is so happy. I've never seen anyone write hi with this many i's."

You and Mark text back and forth for a while, sharing your hobbies and sending memes back and forth until the both of your are giggling madly on your respective sides of the set. Of course, after nearly 2 years together you'd know how to make each other laugh, even without knowing you're texting each other. Your partner still doesn't give you any identifying traits or hints as to who they are. Well, besides clearly being a man based on how he texts.

Following the instruction of the staff, you send a screenshot of your home screen. You pout, feeling slightly bad for your partner. Just two days ago you'd gotten a new phone and hadn't yet had the time to make it yours. It was stuck with the boring default background and a handful of apps you considered to be essential. You explain as much with the text accompanying the screenshot.

And Mark's screenshot? Well, it might as well be just as boring as yours. He has the blur set on the photo so all you see is an indistinct mess of colors. Two distinct blobs which could be the shape of two people or two flowers or two guitars or two cats.

"Wow," you say as you typed out the word, "we are two very boring people. You really don't want me to know who you are."

Mark laughs out brightly while he reads your text, "me? You haven't even changed your own yet!"

"I told you I just got a new phone and haven't had time yet!" You laugh to yourself while typing out your message.

Your joking back and forth gets the two of you off track while you playfully poke fun at each other back and forth until the staff ask you both who you think you're texting. Mark looks at the camera while he tries to think, "I have no clue. It's a girl, surely but it could be anyone. Do you pick random people off the street to do these videos?"

On the other side of the wall, you blush softly, covering your face while your face cools down, "is it weird if I say it's my boyfriend? He just seems so much like Mark."

It's one of the few times you've ever referred to Mark as your boyfriend for any sort media. You and Mark had technically been a public couple for about a year now, since your respective companies had come out with their statements to reveal your relationship. How you'd been able to conceal a year of your relationship was beyond the both of you. Well, a lot of dark, oversized clothes and hats and masks to conceal your faces.

After the company statements, you and Mark seemed to be even better at hiding. You barely glanced at each other at award shows, and if you did, it was only friendly, nothing that could be interpreted as anything else. There were very few glimpses into your relationship beyond birthday and anniversary posts with obscured faces and sharing each other's most recent comebacks on your stories. Privacy was something you both valued and of course you were more than ok with doing any type of promotion with Mark, it just never worked out that way. Until now (not that you knew). Plus, it wasn't like this interview would give anyone any important details of your relationship anyway.

When the staff prompt you both to share a screenshot of your most recently listened to songs, you stare at your screen with a look of blank surprise, "this is just a mix of Drake and Justin Bieber. It's Mark, it has to be."

You zoom in on the picture, mumbling about how you see more music that is so distinctly Mark while on the other side Mark looks at the screenshot you send excitedly. "She's a fan! Of me! Wow, she's listened to Child and Golden Hour and 200! Ok, I have to chill out a bit," he tells himself even as he types out his message telling you that you have good music taste.

You snort at his message just as the staff laugh at the exchange at the same time. The head producer instructs you both to find your baby pictures to send to the other.

You look up from your phone, looking at the camera and the staff, "surely, you'd think a couple who have been together for this long have seen pictures of each other when they were kids, right?" The staff nods in response before you speak again, "well, we haven't! I've only seen what has been posted online. Same for him!"

Mark sends you a picture of him as a baby where he's a few months old and you coo immediately. You zoom in as close as you can drawing your phone closer to you face as you star adoringly at the baby on your screen. "He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen! I've never seen a cuter baby in my life! Oh, I just want to squeeze his cheeks and cuddle him," you gush over the adorable picture of the chubby baby boy with an adoring look on your face.

Mark looks at his phone, the camera, the staff, his phone again, the camera again with a look of pure and utter confusion as he looks at what he can only assume is a child covered in frosting. "You can barely tell this is a human, how is this supposed to help me figure out who I've been texting?" Mark asks, zooming in on the picture while the staff bursts out in laughter. When he finds out who he's talking to...

So when he staff ask for a final guess as to who you've been texting you say Mark's name confidently while Mark ultimately utters out, "Maybe someone from a girl group... maybe it's Yeri."

When the staff ask you both to stand and get ready to face each other to reveal yourselves. Instead of walking toward Mark, you find yourself behind the set so you're behind Mark.

Mark walks forward slowly, waiting to see when he'll spot his interview partner, but when he sees an empty spot, he faces the camera and the staff with a quizzical smile, "was I talking to a ghost?"

They laugh softly and murmur amongst themselves while you finally reach forward and tap his shoulder softly. Mark jumps, completely scared by the touch. He turns to you with his eyes wide with surprise, "you?!"

"Yes, me!"

After you're both seated at the high top table and calmed down from the surprise meeting with on another, you're both ready to talk to each other in front of the camera once again. You smile softly at your boyfriend, "I knew it was you."

Mark scoffs, "how?"

"Yo," you repeat the word from his first message with a poor imitation of his voice, "all the Drake, all the Bieber-- oh my gosh, Mark! Your baby picture!"

Mark laughs, taking your hand in his out of view of the camera, "speaking of baby pictures, what did you send me?"

Your brows furrow softly at his question, "I sent you a picture of me as a baby."

"There's no way that was you. You look like a little cake monster."

"It was from my first birthday..." you pout at Mark.

"Don't get pouty with me, you were completely covered, how could I have known? I can pout too! My face used to be your homescreen and now it's the plain default screen," Mark tells you with a playful pointed look.

"Mark," you deadpan, "you were with me when I got my new phone."

"Oh yeah..." Mark blushes with embarrassment.

"Anyway, who did you think I was?"

Mark squeezes your hand nervously beneath the table, his thumb rubbing at your knuckles a little anxiously, "I had no clue, to be honest. I knew you were a girl but I didn't know it was you."

When the staff ask Mark how he didn't know but you did, all he can do is blush and laugh out a nervous response. You turn to him with a playful accusatory look of your own, "yeah, how come you didn't know?"

"I don't really pay attention to how you text, just what we text about..."

You and the staff coo as you pinch his cheeks and cup his face lovingly, "you're so cute, but you were cuter as a baby."

"My mom says the same thing," Mark rolls his eyes.

Your conversation winds down and you both pose for the selfie at the end. You both pull silly faces, cheeks pressed together and eyes scrunched shut with your tongues sticking out.

Despite the stupid picture you both took, the screen fades to black with a completely different picture of you and Mark laughing while looking at each other with hearts in your eyes and bright smiles on your faces.

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream - chapter two

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 5.1K cw: self-harm tendencies/talk

read the: previous chapter | next chapter

a/n: thank you for all the love and support on part one of this fic, it means the absolute world to me! due to popular demand, i've decided to make this a three-part series so there will be one final chapter after this!

The hellscape that was Bucky’s mind felt like absolute torture every second of every day since he was brought back to the tower and away from Hydra’s control. It felt like someone had injected venom into his veins and now, as he tried to grasp onto reality, his body and mind writhed in pain with the thoughts of what the Winter Soldier had done, what he had done. How was supposed to live with himself?

He had hurt people, killed them even, and he was supposed to find a way to adjust back to a normal life? It was an impossible task brought on by a man he barely knew. 

He tried to remember, on the days that were really tough, what you had told him about Steve. That he was just a man living in a time he wasn’t supposed to be in, with a friend he had thought he lost all those years ago. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it made him even more angry, because Bucky, too, was a man who was not supposed to be here, he was not supposed to have been made into a monster. Yet, he was.

Steve had caught Bucky one night banging his head against the concrete wall of his new room. Blood trickled down his face as his hands trembled at his sides. He just wanted it to stop. The voices. The screaming. The cries. The flashbacks. Everything. All of it.

“Jeez, Buck.” Steve said as he grabbed the man’s shoulders trying his best to hold him back, it took everything inside of Bucky to stop the innate reaction of punching Steve’s lights out and running far away, very far away. “Stop, stop.” Steve’s voice was shaky and he didn’t know what to do, the man who was normally put together was suddenly very frazzled. 

Bucky just wanted it to end.

That’s how he ended up in the infirmary getting stitches in his head, his metal hand gripping the exam table firmly as the doctor threaded the needle, ready to close the now open gash in his forehead. The left side of his face was covered in blood, which had now made its way down to soak into his t-shirt.

The room was stark white, sterile, and easily reminded him of the many different locations that Hydra used to torture him in. Bucky was trying his best to keep himself calm under this situation but no one seemed to understand what he was going through. No one seemed to understand that there is no life after being created with the sole intention to destroy.

“I got here as soon as I could.” You say to Steve, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as you approach him from behind. He’s standing outside the exam room, looking into the window. His brow is furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s worried. 

“What happened?” You ask.

Steve had called you the second they brought him in, something about how you seemed to be the only person Bucky had been asking for hours before the event took place.

“I don’t … I’m not entirely sure.” Steve says softly, shaking his head. “One minute, he was going to bed and the next I heard screaming and this banging sound. By the time I walked in, he had already busted his head open. He looked … so … so …” He can’t find the right word so he trails off instead.

You wince at the thought, your eyes traveling over to the room where Bucky sat, watching as the doctor’s worked on him, the top of his forehead bruised and stained with blood. Silence washes over the two of you as you wait.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since that night it was your turn to watch over him a few weeks prior, Nat ended up pulling you into a mission that was way more important and time sensitive than anyone could have planned for. Sam and Steve kept their eyes on Bucky instead, well, mostly Steve who barely left his side. If you had been around, you would have reminded him to give Bucky some space to breathe, but now after seeing Bucky getting stitched up on the table, you weren’t too sure that was a good idea anymore, no one knew what he was capable of doing to himself or others. 

Guilt passed through your body at the thought of what had happened. The night the two of you shared felt like there was a chance for some progress to be made, but it seemed like whatever Hydra put Bucky through was worse than anyone had originally thought, which meant that proceeding with caution was probably the best way to handle this situation.

“Has he talked to anyone?” You mutter, finally breaking through the silence. Your stance matches Steve’s as the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder, your arms crossed over your chest. “This can’t happen again, Steve. He’s shutting down.”

“I know!” Steve snaps, his hand running through his hair. You flinched slightly at his outburst, this obviously had been eating at him for a while. “I know,” he says again softer this time, a sigh leaving his lips a few moments later before he continues. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him.”

You turn your head to the side and take in Steve’s features. His jaw was set, the muscles in his neck taut as you could tell he was trying to think about what to do - how to fix this. You knew that whatever you were going to suggest was going to be shut down immediately, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try.

“Let me handle him for the next few days.” You say. 

His head snaps to look over at you, his eyes narrow as he takes in your request. 

“I’m not saying you’re not capable of taking care of him, Steve, but you have an emotional connection to someone you don’t know anymore. Between that and what’s going on in his head I think it’s overwhelming him.” 

You try to be delicate with your delivery, noticing the way his emotions change with each of your words. He knows you’re right and his face shows it, but suddenly he can’t bring himself to let anyone watch over Bucky. His best friend. What if something happened to him? What if something happened to you ? Steve wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.

“Just a few days.” You remind him of your proposition. “We’ll move him to one of the trainee rooms so I can stay with him.” You knew Steve would want Bucky to have constant surveillance, hopefully this would be the best solution, and the one he would say yes to.

“No.” Steve shakes his head as he responds, the wheels in his brain turning. “He could kill you in a second if you’re not careful. You’re not a super soldier, you’re great at what you do; but he’s not in his right frame of mind. It’s not happening.”

“Please.” You say, reaching your hand out to rest on Steve’s arm. He sighs again, your name slipping out as he does.

“This is worse than we thought. His brain is going through things that no one can understand right now. He could snap in a second, I’m not putting my best team member in there. That’s that.”

You expected rejection, but that didn’t mean you were going to accept it so easily.

“Listen to me.” You take a step towards Steve, your hand still on his arm. “You need someone who can objectively think about Bucky. You’re too close to him, you’re going to freak him out even more. Nat is off on another mission and Sam deserves a break, he wants to go see his family.”

Steve groans, rolling his head back as he takes a moment to consider your words. He doesn’t like them, though he knows that what you’re saying is obvious and true, there’s just a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to let you go through with this.

“I’ll train with him, see if he can get some of the aggression out. I’ll try and get him to work with the doctors, try to talk about some of this. Come on, Steve,” you basically plead with him, your hand falling back to your side. “Give me a chance. Give Bucky a chance.”

Hook, line and sinker.

Steve can’t argue with you there, you said the magic words and it was all he needed to hear. He brings his hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed that you somehow managed to convince him.

“Fine. I’m giving you a week. If nothing improves within a week then we’re going to figure something else out.” He drops his hand and takes a step closer to you, he towers over your figure. “And if he does anything, and I mean anything , out of line we’re pulling you out of there. Do I make myself clear?”

You nod your head at him as you straighten your posture a bit, Steve Rogers was still, after all, your commanding officer.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” 

The sound of the door opening causes both of your gazes to shift, Bucky stepping out of the doorway. His eyes find yours immediately for the first time in weeks, it’s automatic, as if he had been searching for them all this time. He’s stitched up now, they cleaned out his wound and only a nasty bruise remained under the stitches, you knew they’d be healed up in no time due to the serum, but for now he had seen better days.

“Hey,” Steve says. You can see that he’s itching to take a step forward to check if his friend is okay but that he restrains himself. Bucky’s eyes flicker over at Steve for a moment, nodding in his direction, before he turns his attention back to you. Steve analyzes Bucky’s features while the other looks away as if to assess that he really is okay now, a moment later he turns back to look at you as well.

“Can you give us a second?” Steve asks.

You don’t need to know any more details so you just listen to his command, turning on your heels and make your way out of the infirmary wing, your boots echoing once again down the hallway as you exit. As you enter the elevator to head to the floor where your current dorm room is, you can’t get the image of Bucky’s gaze on you out of your head. He seemed tired and stressed, no doubt from the events earlier in the night, but he also looked … surprised … relieved … a bit of both? You weren’t sure you knew.

There was no time to think about it. You had to pack a bag with your essentials for the week.

The trainee dorms were on the 72nd floor of the tower, they were small rooms equipped with two twin beds and just enough space for two people to barely live within the confines of the walls. You remember your early days there and though you didn’t miss them you knew this was exactly the place that Bucky needed to be in order to start over. He needed a mentor, someone to watch over him, someone to teach him how to start from scratch and that someone could not be Steve.

It didn’t take you long to get your items together, making your way out of your room and down the hall once again. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to let you inside, you promptly push the button and feel the cart start to move down to the floor that you need.

It hadn’t dawned on you how close of quarters this would be for you and Bucky, the rooms were usually small, trying to prepare recruits for their times on not so lavish missions. He hadn’t transitioned into regular life yet, so you wondered how he was going to feel rooming with you in such tight quarters.

The elevator dings once more, signalling your arrival to the correct floor as you make your way off and down the corridor. You couldn’t help this gut feeling that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, that nagging voice in the back of your mind sure had a way of making you regret this before it started. Steve was right after all, if Bucky snapped, he could kill you in an instant. But, that night you watched him all those weeks ago popped into your mind, and something tells you that Bucky Barnes was looking to hurt himself more than anyone else.

At the end of the hallway sat a room that was tucked away and barely used, Tony Stark made sure there were more rooms available than actual trainees when converting the place - you never knew when a hero might need to crash for the night.

The rooms were standard for all trainees and looked exactly the same as they did all those years ago and for a moment you were transformed back in time as you stood in the doorway. The twin beds are pushed up against adjacent walls, two dark wooden dressers each with three drawers were all you had to put your stuff in (they made trainees remember that most of the time you only needed the essentials) and besides a mirror on the wall … well that was it. Bare bones.

You remember your very first days, being excited and nervous, eager to prove yourself but also worried that there would always be someone better. That was the drive that pushed you. You got the last laugh in the end, working so closely with Steve Rogers made you the best in your class by default. Those times felt so close, but in reality that was your past and it was so far away. 

The sound of a throat clearing startles you, you turn to see Bucky standing in the doorway, his bag in his hand. You’re pretty sure there’s nothing really in it, Bucky didn’t have many possessions, they were probably clothes someone in HQ got for him and some essentials for the day to day, but you were sure that he owned nothing. 

Your eyes scan over him, there’s a frown on his face, though you’re pretty sure that was permanently there.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you take a step into the room, placing your bag on one of the beds to claim it. You hear Bucky shuffle in behind you, the door closing so it’s now the two of you, alone, for the first time in weeks.

You don’t know why you felt so guilty that you had to leave for that mission, it’s not like you made him a promise to come back. The image of the way he looked at you while he watched you eat his food to promise him it wasn’t poisoned flashes in your mind again. You realize it’s probably the first time in a long time that he actually could trust someone. Now you remembered why you felt guilty.

“Did Steve explain why you’re here?” You decide to ask. You’re unpacking your bag, opening the drawers and folding your clothes into them. 

When you don’t hear a response you turn around and see that Bucky is laying down in his bed, his back towards you as he faces the wall. He’s not laying under the covers and his arms are crossed over his chest. He’s shutting down once again, but you’d rather him be like this than banging his head against the walls.

You can’t see his face, but his eyes are open as he stares ahead of him. For some odd reason, maybe it was the events earlier in the night, or it was being in the presence of someone his brain deemed at one point as trustworthy, his thoughts seemed to have slowed down, not halted but slowed. He can hear you shuffling around the room unpacking your things. Knowing he has to be stuck with you for a week brings up conflicting feelings, he had trusted you for a quick moment all those weeks ago, but you didn’t come back and to Bucky’s brain right now that was as good as a traitor.

The emotions of the last weeks have fallen right on his shoulders, he’s already gone from one prison and now he feels like he’s back in another. He can’t see that ahead of him is a life of freedom. He doesn’t know that it’s an option for someone like him.

The bed next to him squeaks and he can tell you’re getting ready to sleep. It’s late, probably around midnight now, and Steve had told him all about the plans you had for him in the morning, how the two of you would work on training, on channeling the negative thoughts and aggression. Yeah, like that was possible.

You take one last look around the room before you shut the light off, climbing into your bed and laying on your side facing away from him. You could hear Steve’s voice in your head telling you that was a stupid move, that if he wanted to attack you that you were opening the door for him. But something deep inside of you knew that if they wanted Bucky to feel like a human again, everyone would need to stop treating him like a threat, like a weapon. 

Though, you’re not entirely stupid, you weren’t going to fall asleep just yet, you still needed to keep your guard up.

“You left.”

The words shocked you to your core, you shifted in your bed so that you were laying on your back now, your face turning on the pillow in his direction. He was still turned away from you, even in the dark you could see his broad shoulders, the way his back muscles moved as he breathed. If you reached your arm out you were sure you’d be able to touch him. Had the beds always been this close together when you were a trainee? Or did the room suddenly feel a lot smaller with Bucky there?

“I had a mission.”

There was a beat of silence as if he was assessing if that was true trying to gauge if you would lie to him at all.

“I came back.” Your words slice right through the silence. 

“Because I asked for you.”

Yeah. He’s got you there.

“Why?”

Bucky shifts in his bed, the silence now filled with the sound of the comforter moving under the weight of his body. He lays on his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling and he’s acutely aware of your gaze on him.

“Because he was getting on my nerves.” You assumed ‘he’ meant Steve. “I told him I don’t remember anything. I still don’t.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “He’s trying.”

Bucky clenches his jaw for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nostrils to try and center himself.

“I don’t care about some stupid friendship I had with this guy 70 years ago. He expects me to remember baseball games and childhood memories. All my brain is filled with is the screams of the people I -.”

His sentence abruptly ends, he can’t say the words, he can’t speak of the unthinkable acts that he had done, his throat is dry and his body is on fire again. The feeling of wanting to hurt himself is still there, but with you in the room he won’t act on it. His metal hand clenches the comforter under him, his hands trembling as he does so.

“It’s okay.” You try reassuring him, his body is rigid, like he’s biting back all the emotions in his brain.

Neither one of you speaks after that and as the night goes on the silence returns, only the sounds of both of your steady breaths fill the room. Your eyes try their best to adjust to the darkness, wanting to see his face to know when he fell asleep, but at some point you have to just trust that he is.

Hours tick by and the two beds are occupied by both of your sleeping frames, both experiencing different dreams. You’re dreaming of all the work that needs to be done within the next few weeks. Vivid images of training with Bucky, hopefulness that he’s able to conquer these demons and move forward.

While Bucky’s dreaming of all the people he’s killed. Relentless. Suffocating. Run. Wipe out. Pull the trigger. Destroy.

His eyes snap open before the dream version of himself can do harm, sitting up as he pants deeply, his flesh hand resting over his chest as he feels the way his heart beats wildly. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is and it rattles him. Is he safe? Is someone going to hurt him? Is he going to kill? It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the now dimly lit room.

He didn’t hear you get up as his ears are ringing and his vision is blurry, but once he finally comes to he sees you standing at the edge of his bed, a knife in your hand, worry etched over your features.

A pang of frustration runs through Bucky’s core, he was still being treated like a threat. The rational part of his brain was trying to tell him that it was fair to assume he still could very much be one, but he knew deep down that more harm was the last thing he wanted to cause.

“You can put the knife down.” Bucky says dryly, his hand snaking up to run through his long hair.

You didn’t mean for him to see it, you had woken up when he started screaming and wanted to be prepared for the worst, though maybe you should have had more faith in him; call it a momentary lapse of judgement.

There’s a small noise when you close the switchblade, throwing it on your bed before taking a closer step towards him to get a better look at his features. Small beads of sweat are forming on his brow bone, his chest is still rapidly moving up and down as he scans your face.

“Are you okay?” 

Bucky’s breathing stops for a moment almost as if it hitches in his throat; you are the first and only person to ask him that question since he’s arrived at the tower. 

“Yeah.” It’s a lie, but for a moment it feels like he is, even if the moment passes quickly.

“You’re shaking, Bucky.” 

The morning sun was just starting to rise, the room now basking in an orange glow as you took another step forward. He brings his shaking hand up to his face, wiping his eye to try and draw attention away from the fact that the nightmare did in fact have more of an effect on him than he’d like to admit. Maybe if he acted calm and collected you’d believe it.

You don’t realize you’ve reached out to him until your hand is already on his shoulder, you can feel him tense under your touch for a brief moment before he relaxes. A wildfire runs through your fingertips and through his body, the warmth of your touch radiating off the two of you. Time seems to slow as you catch his gaze in the dimly lit room, something shifts between the both of you.

His hands are shaking still, but you’re unaware that it’s for a totally different reason. How was Bucky supposed to know that kindness like this existed in the world? That scared him more than he cared to admit.

He clears his throat and you’re quick to retract your hand, Bucky holds back a sigh as the warmth of you is quickly replaced with something much colder. You want to mumble an apology but the words don’t seem to leave your lips, instead you glance down at your hand unable to suddenly meet his eyes.

“We should get ready.”

It was a long night filled with the worst rest either you or Bucky had gotten in a while, but you figured it’d be better to utilize the training room while no one was around. You excuse yourself from the dorm with a change of clothes, your eyes locked on the floor as you make your way to the bathroom down the hall.

Back in the room, Bucky is staring at the door that you had just left out of. He can’t understand why his body relaxes around you, why his mind is suddenly at ease or why it feels like he’s always searching for your gaze.

You had done something to him that night all those weeks ago, something he wasn’t sure you could ever undo. He was free from a life of torture and in came someone so willing to help him, willing to show him that there was no one here to hurt him - you just failed to miss that he would want to hurt himself.

A sigh escapes his lips as he pushes himself off the bed, making his way over to the only mirror in the room and assessing his injury from the night before. It had healed a bit in the hours since, lucky that the serum he had taken had made these things not last as long as they should, but it was still pretty brutal. He didn’t even remember snapping, one minute he was asleep, the next he was banging his head … it was like his subconscious wanted it, or wanted to get revenge for the things he’d done.

But, then he thinks of what had happened just a few minutes ago, about the nightmare and how he woke up - dazed - but not a threat to anyone or himself. There’s a connection to your proximity and he knows it, he just is refusing to admit it.

You walk through the door to the dorm a few minutes later catching a glimpse of Bucky pulling his shirt down, able to see his back muscles, and more importantly, the edge of the scar of where his metal arm met his flesh. 

“Hey.” you say, shaking your head as you want to get the image out of your brain. “Are you ready?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything as he moves to face you, the look in his eye was all you needed to see before you nodded towards the door. You walk in front of Bucky as you guide him through the halls of the tower, he isn't far behind you and the sound of your footsteps falling at the same time echoed throughout the hallways. You could feel his eyes watching your every step and you struggled to not think about it.

It’s once you’re in the training room and the lights are turned on that things start to feel real. You would at the very least need to spar with Bucky, and at most need to try and control his emotions. Steve’s stark reminder that you’re not a super soldier rings through your ears, you push down in favor of hoping that he’s not right.

“Alright,” you clap your hands together as you walk out into the middle of the mat, facing him. “We’re going to do some light sparring first, see how your brain reacts to thinking it’s in danger even if it’s not.” 

Bucky’s arms were crossed over his chest, the silver metal shining brightly from the fluorescent lights above; it makes him look even more intimidating than you knew he already was. 

“I could kill you.” He says bluntly.

“I can handle it.”

His eyebrow quirks a bit at your response, it’s the most emotion you’ve seen from him since he’s been here, you’ll take it. You wave him forward as you get into position, your hips are wide set as your arms and fists stay close to your chest, Bucky copying your stance as the two of you circle around the mat for a moment. A game of cat and mouse. 

It takes only a moment for the two of you to lock up, but it’s incredibly obvious how strong he is already. Neither of you notice the electricity that’s running through your veins when your skin touches, mostly concerned with trying to knock the other one off their feet. Bucky pushes you back causing you to stumble for a moment, you quickly regain your balance and bring your foot up to kick him; you know that it should connect with his face, it always does, but he catches your foot with ease spinning you around as he grabs your arm and twists it behind your back all in one swift motion. You hit the floor before you know it, an ‘oof’ leaves your lips as you feel the impact of your body being knocked down. Bucky’s knee is on your back as he presses into your spine, the force so strong it constricts your airflow.

You sputter as you try to wrangle your way out of his hold, your head turning to the side so your cheek was pressed down against the vibrant blue mat. The grip on your arm is sending pain coursing through you, a screech leaving your lips as you try and turn back to look at him.

The second your gaze connects with Bucky's, there's a brief moment when you see it, when you see him: The Winter Soldier. Feral, unrelenting, looking to kill, his brain was telling him to strike while you were down. It’s almost as if it’s gone in a blink of an eye because the very next moment the look in his eyes it’s one of concern, understanding and horror of what he is doing to you.

It was as if the second the two of you locked up in each other's arms that his mind played these flashbacks, he felt the pain of when they would wipe his memory, he felt the fear running through his bones that everyone was out to get him; and in that moment you were no exception. Bucky watches you for a moment, his metal hand on your arm shaking as he lets out a growl of frustration at what he had just done, he didn’t think about it, it was innate because he was a cold blooded assassin ready to strike at any moment whatsoever. 

You feel his grip on you loosen, his knee moves off your back, the pressure relieving you of the sharp pain you were in. Suddenly you’re gasping to breathe, your fist punching your chest as you try to get air into your lungs. 

“I told you,” he says, wearing a frown on his face. “I could kill you.”

Shit. This was going to be harder than you thought.

[jinusajas]

12/27/24; 10:00am

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ nightly rendezvous ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

notes: lmao i’m going to try my best to get everyone’s card, but if it doesn’t happen, at least i can say i wrote the appropriate drabbles for my fave lads men (⺣◡⺣)♡ this is nowhere close to canon and is just written for my own, self-indulgence ♡ this is currently an unedited mess of a thirst post, but i'll make any necessary changes when this is posted.

warnings: blood mention in rafayel's.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

seeing your form in such a tight dress was doing things to sylus, making his mind go hazy as a considerable tent was seen against the front of his dress pants-

which put a considerable damper on his plans.

there was party going on tonight to celebrate the new year, however, just seeing your delectable form dressed in such pretty silk made him think of other plans to tend to. as you brush back your hair, sylus steps closer to you, planting his lips against the side of your neck while huskily whispering your name.

"i've changed my mind. perhaps we can stay inside instead." you tremble, feeling the way sylus slides his hand down your form, tracing at your figure as you were left clinging to the edge of the bathroom counter.

"what do you mean, sy?" a shiver runs through you when he presses a lingering kiss against your temple, "what i mean is... i would much rather keep you here with me, where i ravish you on our bed instead of spending our time surrounded by a crowd."

a gasp manages to escape from your parted lips when sylus carries you within his powerful embrace, forcing your arms to wrap around his neck when he holds your high heels with his free hand. the mere sight of his dilated eyes and labored breathing causes a new wave of desire to course through you, causing you to lean forward as you pressed a series of kisses against the base of his throat.

you could feel the vibrations of his rich laughter against your lips as he gently grips at your waist, "if you don't wish to lie down, we better make the most of our time before dawn."

arriving at his bedroom, he tosses aside your heels while settling himself against a chair, pulling you into his lap while delving his fingers into your hair. heat courses through your veins when you felt his clothed erection brushing against your inner thigh. the sudden friction causes you to bite down on your bottom lip as you settle yourself directly over him, grinding your stained panties against his erection.

another rich chuckle fills your ears, and you found yourself giving in to sylus's own desires, not even caring about the party as you sought your own release. your lover continues to coax you, bringing your body impossibly closer to his when his lips crashes into yours in a searing kiss. "you really don't want me to leave, do you?" he murmurs against your lips, making you let out a shuddering breath in response.

your moans echo throughout the room, allowing sylus's desperate kiss to further fuel the ache between your legs. he delves his tongue within you, tasting you fully while standing back to his full height. he doesn't break his connection with you, blindly taking you to bed as he falls with you against the plush mattress.

sylus was the first to pull away from the kiss, his smirk growing ever so slightly at the sight of your swollen lips left in the wake of his passionate kiss. he traces at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, saying your name with an amused chuckle as he slides up the fabric of your dress. "you haven't changed your mind, have you...?"

words failed you, and you could only manage to give him a mere shake of your head, feeling his large hand cup at your knee before spreading your legs fully for him. without removing your dress, a sly expression was seen on his face when he manages to grip at the waistband of your panties before pulling it down with one, swift motion.

his actions makes your breathing hitch, with your hands gripping at the sheets below you. hunger paints his every expression when he unbuttons his dress shirt while adjusting his pants. "looks like i can't hold back any longer, kitten."

never once breaking eye contact with you, you gasp the moment sylus pushes his cock deep inside of you, the squelching sounds of your walls clenching around him causes red hot pleasure to blossom throughout your very veins. his pace was slow, yet oh so steady and powerful that you could feel each and every inch of him. his shaft purposely brushes against your hardened clit, making your soft mewls turn into cries of desperation for him.

and when sylus kept you in his bed, you willingly welcomed in the new year by getting impaled over and over again by the man you have always loved.

zayne's eyes darkened, watching you converse with his male colleagues as he felt the tendrils of envy slowly taking a hold of his heart.

when he invited you as his plus one for this conference, all he wanted was to keep you by his side at all times. yet the moment he had to leave to discuss some matters with the other physicians-

they had to surround you, like vultures getting their taste of fresh meat.

adjusting his glasses, zayne takes quick strides towards you, standing protectively in front of you while stiffly telling the other man, "she's with me."

he doesn't wait for the other man to respond, simply whisking you away from the ballroom as you struggled to keep up with his steps. your confused cries of his name falls on deaf ears as zayne wraps his arms around your frame, choosing to carry you bridal style when he enters the elevators. a strange sense of urgency fills him when he hits the button leading to his floor where all he could think about was erasing that man's casual touch-

running on autopilot, zayne quickly swipes his key card and enters his room before slamming the door shut. once he was alone with you, he pins you against the desk, the jealousy felt burning through his veins as it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "you belong to me, you know that, right?"

his hand grips at your chin, meeting your captivating gaze as you give him a simple nod, "of course, always- but why are you so-"

you gasp when he leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. zayne knew that this wasn't his typical behavior, yet when it came to you (always always always you) he couldn't stop himself. he allows the tip of his tongue to trace at the border of your lips, diving inside the moment you opened up for him.

when the need for air proves to be too much, the man reluctantly pulls away first, lips already latching on to your shoulder while telling you, "i'll admit there's something undeniably addictive about stepping out of line..."

with a click of his tongue, he takes off his glasses before shamelessly breathing in your scent, basking in the way your body trembles oh so sweetly for him with anticipation. as if drunk off of your mere presence, he trails kisses down your body, lingering against your heaving breasts as he nuzzles his face against your skin, "because of you... everything is spiraling out of control."

he feels the way your body writhes beneath him, becoming dimly aware of your words when you tell him, "zayne, i can't think straight... y-you probably had too much to drink-" a gasp manages to escape from you the moment he cups the area between your legs, feeling his fingertips explore the dampness stained against your panties.

"are you trying to escape? you keep saying that i'm drunk. so, must i always stay sober?" zayne shakes his head while letting out a bitter laugh. "as if i could ever stay sober while in your presence."

he suddenly carries you toward the bedroom, forcing your arms to wrap around his neck to help with steadying yourself. "this is all your doing... did you want to see me like this? all needy and desperate for you?"

with the bed in sight, zayne settles you at the edge of it. your eyes refused to look away from him when he takes off the rest of his clothes as he allows the fabric to fall to the ground. your throat turns dry, seeing his proud erection settled between his legs as your walls clenched almost painfully with need in response.

you allow zayne's large hands to grip at the fabric of your dress, sliding it off of you while leaving you bare except for your heels that was left hanging by your ankles. with a reverent touch, zayne frames at your face before completely sheathing himself inside of your slick folds, moving deep inside of you with an expertise of a man who was achingly obsessed with you.

the force of his movements makes your heaving breasts bounce in response, feeling his cock invade every inch of you as you kept on crying out to him. taking advantage of his own strength, zayne grips at your backside to thrust into you even further, basking in the silky feel of your walls wrapped so tightly around him.

"you're mine..." zayne repeats that single phrase over and over again throughout the night, never once stopping as you were given little choice but to surrender yourself to his every desire.

xavier couldn't contain himself the moment you both came home from the new years eve party held by the association-

everything about you set his heart aflame. from your kind smile to the beautiful dress that hugged your form-

xavier was completely obsessed with you. desire was felt coursing through his veins, yet he had to behave and act cordial throughout the party, allowing you to catch up with friends while eating the delicious catering provided at the party.

but now that he manages to convince you to come home with him, he was ready to pounce on you, to trap you in his arms as he kept you with him until he was satisfied.

becoming dimly aware of your attempts at banter with him, xavier simply basks in the sweet sounds of your voice before allowing his hands to grip at your knees. "don't move... and don't say a word."

he gestures at you to lay back against his bed all while pulling your legs closer to him. "uhm... xavier, what are you... doing?"

xavier simply hums while spreading your legs, "you know what i'm about to do, starlight." once your thighs were spread for him, he grips at your panties and slides them off of you, allowing them to hang precariously against your ankles before kneeling in front of you. he breathes in the sweet scent of your center before surging forward, allowing his tongue to trace at your pussy lips.

you cried out to him, forcing yourself to keep quiet as you bit down at the back of your hand. xavier's tongue was felt traveling inside of your slick heat, drawing out even more of your arousal. your thighs automatically trap him against your heat, feeling the way you shamelessly grind on his face, trying to reach your high.

yet the moment xavier pinches at your swollen clit, you lost control of all of your senses, climaxing into his awaiting mouth. your boyfriend drinks up everything you had to offer with a grunt of your name, and you successfully became putty in his hands.

a dazed expression was seen on your face when xavier picks you up, carrying you towards the wall before pressing your front against it. a low hiss escapes from your parted lips when you felt the cold seep into you, further hardening your nipples when you heard the shifting of fabric coming from behind you. you look off to the side, only to let out a breathless moan when you felt xavier's cock enter you from this new angle.

he thrusts the entirety of his cock in and out of you at a rapid pace, fucking you into the wall as you saw stars with each new movement. trembling at all of the sensations that invade you each time xavier's hips met with yours, you nearly fell to the ground had it not been for xavier's tight grip around your waist.

"you feel so good..." his hot whisper was settled against your ear as tears of pleasure cascades down your cheeks, with xavier kissing every salty droplet away before admitting to you, "and it looks like i won't be easily satisfied tonight..."

"this is my room, you're the one that walked in here." his powerful arms were felt wrapped around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to him when he whispers in your ear, "so, you'll take responsibility for whatever happens, right?"

rafayel was completely correct in his assumptions, that you had willingly come into his room with the sole purpose of seducing him.

something about his casual smile seen during the whole exhibit made a surge of yearning course through you, being captivated by his every movement. your gaze never once strayed too far away from him, as your mind kept fantasizing of ways to get him beneath you-

yet it seemed like your fantasies were quick to become a reality when rafayel crashes his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. you moan at the sensation, opening up to him only to playfully bite against his bottom lip. a gasp was heard coming from the lemurian, with him moving away from you to touch at his bottom lip.

a single droplet of blood was seen forming against his lip as a devilish thought comes to you. with a soft giggle, you lean forward to press another chaste kiss against his lips all while licking that single droplet away, earning a groan from him as you pulled away.

"what a naughty princess you are." he manages to whisper against your ear before tightly wrapping his arms around you, leading you towards the bed while keeping you pressed against him. you hear him letting out a hum of your name, settling you on his lap while giving you a series of playful kisses against your lips.

once.

twice.

then three times-

his kisses were no heavier than dew, leaving you wanting for more each time-

your hands shakily frame at his face, with your eyes narrowed in response before managing to push him back against the bed. his dress shirt remains open for you, and you could see the insignia glowing a faint, orange hue against his chest. rafayel meets your gaze through his thick lashes, allowing your lips to perfectly slot against his in a deep kiss that conveyed your hunger for him.

you kept kissing him, not stopping even when the need for air was burning through your lungs. you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from him, allowing his hands to delve into your hair before suddenly shifting you once more, leaving your back pressed against the bed with rafayel now hovering over you.

"i've changed my mind..." he places a lingering kiss at the back of your hand before breaking what appeared to be a silver bracelet, tossing it aside while settling himself between your legs, "i'm not going anywhere."

the ache felt between your legs becomes even more prominent, watching rafayel's every movement when he adjusts the fabric of his pants, freeing his cock as he worked on stroking himself to full hardness. neither of you were thinking clearly, and when you felt his large hand move your panties to the side before quickly impaling you-

your back arches against the bed in response, allowing rafayel to use your body for his own pleasure. you felt each and every swift pound against you, the sounds of your walls eagerly taking him in each time his hips met with your own was enough to make your juices surround him before staining at the sheets below you.

achingly aware of each and every response your body had to him, rafayel shakes his head while his hands grip at the sheets next to you. "fuck- this feels too good, way too good than normal." as if getting drunk off of the pleasure you were giving him, rafayel takes a hold of one of your legs before tossing it over his shoulder. with this new position, rafayel was felt reaching even deeper inside of you as you were certain your pleasure had increased by the tenfold as the tip of his cock was felt hitting that special spot over and over again, making you lost count the amount of times you had released yourself on him-

needless to say, you didn't get much sleep that night.

end notes: girlies.... all of my lads girlies.... HOW ARE WE FEELING AFTER THE REVEAL OF THAT BANNER HHHHHHH??? 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!