#AND I HATE THAT WORD. IT TURNS MY FUCKING STOMACH. BUT MAYBE IF I KEEP PUSHING PAST MY FILL LIMIT ILL FREEFALL AND I WONT HAVE TO FEEL

[batqueers]

oh my God.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly

I've spent the last five days working on this one.

p.s. it's 2k words...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them. 

Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.

He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.

‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts. 

He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’ 

His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already. 

‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.  

When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off. 

‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.

Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back. 

‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up. 

Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’

‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended. 

 Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?

*

The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore. 

He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore. 

He was done.

*

You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible. 

 After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’. 

Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again? 

‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying. 

Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face. 

‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook. 

He was trying to dodge the question. 

‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.

‘’Then yes.’’

‘’How many times?’’

‘’Once.’’

His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going. 

‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’

‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’

‘’But if you had to say.’’

Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.

He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’

*

The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past. 

The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm. 

You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights. 

He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her. 

So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath. 

You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you. 

When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.

Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.

‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids. 

Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’

‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation. 

‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying. 

A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.

‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently. 

‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.

There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’ 

As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.

And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.

‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’ 

‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’ 

It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm. 

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes. 

 ‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’

You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.

‘’What are you doing?’’

‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch. 

The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored. 

You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.

Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now. 

‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours. 

*

The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore? 

He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him. 

The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts. 

Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s. 

While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back. 

For the first time, what’s past was past.

‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter. 

Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.

—

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[dazednmatthews]

your lips, my lips number neighbor!matt x reader part eleven

y/n is already outside by the time matt pulls up. she’s telling herself that she doesn’t care that they’re about to spend the night together, doesn’t care that matt’s about to be in her bed, and doesn’t care that he drove all this way at basically midnight to see her, but she knows it’s a lie. she cares so much it might kill her.

when matt shuts his car off and steps out, y/n feels her stomach tie up in intricate knots. his hair is messy and fluffy and he has her favorite chain on. it’s addicting, the way his muscles flex as he slings his backpack over one shoulder.

he raises an eyebrow with a half smile when he sees her sitting on the curb in her pajamas. “someone’s eager.”

she stands, wiping the pebbles from her shorts. “of course i am,” it takes him off guard, his eyes watching her walk up to him. she takes the drink from his hand and takes a sip. “been waiting all night for this one.”

matt bumps her with his shoulder. “annoying.”

she says nothing as she leads him up the stairs to her apartment. it’s the first time he’s been physically inside, but matt pretty much knows his way around. with the amount that they facetime, he’s been propped up on every surface there was.

when they get inside, she leads him to her room where he drops his bag, then they settle in her small but comfortable living room. they’re sitting about four feet apart on her sofa, tv playing lowly. even though she shouldn’t, she feels semi-awkward. the nerves are pressing against her temple, headache forming. it’s ridiculous.

and like the ever-knowing being matt seems to be on all things y/n, he stares at her, eyebrows furrowed. “what’s wrong with you?”

she’s shaken out of her stupor. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” he observes, eyeing her up and down. “and you’re quiet. you know i hate that shit.”

this makes her roll her eyes. “you tell me i talk too much constantly. like i’m pretty sure you’ve said it at least twice every day we’ve ever talked.”

“no, i say you talk a lot,” he rolls his eyes back at her. “never too much. for some ungodly reason, i like hearing you speak.”

it makes her warm all over. “going soft on me, matty?”

“enough with the matty shit.” his face is highly unamused and it makes her giggle. “why the hell are you all the way over there?” matt grimaces instantly. he goes to retract the words, but y/n beats him to it.

“wow,” she snorts. “that might be the most god awful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“i didn’t mean it like that.”

“what did you mean it like, then?” she teases. one of her legs is folded underneath her and her body is turned towards him. “cause it sounded like a line.”

“barely.” he shakes his head. “i meant why are you being even more of a freak than usual?”

she pretends to be offended. “one of these days i’m just going to hit you on that big ass head of yours.”

matt laughs. something about it catches her so off guard she falters. maybe it’s the way his eyes catch the light and are shining brighter than usual. or maybe it’s the way she can see his teeth, which she has a strange obsession with, poking out under his top lip. maybe it’s just the fact that she is painfully aware that this man is becoming important to her.

it’s like autopilot, the way she crawls over to him. like he pulled a magnet out his pocket and aimed it directly at her chest. his body turns to her instantly and it makes her heart stutter. almost as if he was finely attuned to her movements. they’re face to face, inches apart.

they do the thing again. “hi.” she says, smiling.

“hi.” he says back, flicking his gaze down to her mouth.

“what do you wanna do?” she questions, pretending not to be distracted when he runs his tongue over his top row of teeth.

“i could think of more than a few things, really.” he says, in a tone that makes her want to pounce on him. “it’s all about what you want, sweetheart.”

shockwaves. through her entire fucking body. she keeps up the bit anyway, though. “all men are the same. only want one thing.” she kisses her teeth in fake dismay.

matt’s hand moves from his side to a stray hair framing her face. he pulls on the curl, releasing it and watching it bounce. he does it twice more before he says anything. his face is thoughtful. “i was thinking more like play a game, watch a movie, talk… you clearly have something else in mind.” he leans forward, bring his mouth to her ear. “dirty girl.”

y/n almost falls off the fucking couch with the way the shiver racks through her body. she puts her forehead on his shoulder. “you’re evil.”

matt laughs again, but he doesn’t reply. before her mind can go absolutely buckwild with salacious thoughts, she redirects it. when the idea pops into her head, she lifts it suddenly. it startles matt so much he moves back.

“what the hell?”

she doesn’t say anything as she stands, tugging him up with her. they’re half way to her bathroom when she says, “i have something we can do.”

matt just complies, following her lead. it’s becoming a trend for him. he kinda likes it.

*

“this is absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

matt has been grumbling since the moment y/n put the cat eared headband around his head. she thinks he looks absolutely adorable, but he thinks he looks crazy.

“finish washing your fucking face, matt.” she has a playlist on her home speaker, entire space filled with her favorite songs. she’s sitting on the closed toilet, bare faced and amused as matt aggressively scrubs his own with her face wash.

when he pats his face dry and looks at her, he has that painfully dry matt look on. his skin is slightly red but clear, and she thinks he looks so pretty it might kill her.

the words come out before she can stop them. “you look pretty.”

matt does a double take, stopping mid stretch. the red waistband of his boxers are peaking through the top of the pj pants he’s wearing, a different color than usual. god knows how many pairs he has. he probably bought and wore these specially to torture y/n.

there’s a smile toying at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” he says. “you too.”

she doesn’t let the blush form under her skin before she’s jumping up. “okay, face mask time.”

matt groans, rubbing at his jaw. he’s clean shaven, which she’s definitely noticed, which will help. y/n gets the tube and squeezes some into the bowl she grabbed, taking the small brush and dipping it in. and because she just can’t help it, she tells him to close his eyes and slaps it across his cheek.

matt flinches and stumbles back. “oh, you fucking-“ he sighs, opening his eyes. “i hate you.”

“i’m sorry.” she says, completely unbelievable through all her giggles. “i so couldn’t help it.”

he rolls his eyes, muttering a quiet, “pain in my ass.” while y/n gets to work actually applying the mask. it’s quiet in the small space save for their breathing. she can feel matt looking at her intently as she concentrates, no matter how hard she tries to block it out.

his eyes are intense, looking at her like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. she can’t take it. “why are you looking me like that?”

she brushes under his eyes gently. “i like looking at you.” he shrugs.

her movements falter for a moment. “shut up.”

“i hate when you do that.”

she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so she waits for him to keep going. “when i say things to you and you brush them off like i can’t possibly mean them.” he catches her hand, making her stop. “i don’t say shit i don’t mean.”

she’s speechless for the first time in her life. matt drops her wrist, so she continues. when she’s finally done, she admires her handiwork. it’s a funny sight, matt in a pastel green face mask, hair pushed back by a fuzzy headband.

“all done.” she says, gesturing for him to look.

“can’t believe i let you do this. i look like shrek.”

“not nearly as sexy.”

“you’re a sick person, you know that?”

when y/n turns to lean over the sink, ready to apply her own mask, matt stops her. she turns to him, confused. “what?”

“what?” he parrots. “i don’t get to do you?”

she grins, raising an eyebrow. he rolls his eyes yet again, “you know what i meant.”

“do you even know what you’re doing?” matt grabs the tool from her hand.

“nope.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “but i think i’ll manage.”

it’s sickeningly sweet, the way matt concentrates on the task at hand. how he takes extra care to outline her lips right. how he makes sure not to get it in her eyebrows. his own are furrowed tightly, eyes darting all around. he’s taking his time, pausing to look at his own reflection to make sure it looks the same.

when he’s done, he gives her a proud smile that makes her head spin. “now we match. shrek and fiona.”

“that might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“that’s concerning.”

matt grabs his phone from his pocket, pulling y/n to his side. his hand rests on her hip, fingers casually curled under the hem of her shirt. “smile or something.”

she looks at him, because she can’t help it. she wonders what planet he came from. she grabs his phone, flipping the camera, taking another picture. their faces are close, careful not to touch so they don’t mess up all their hard work. when she hands him his phone back, she catches a glimpse of him favoriting the picture before he slips it into his pocket.

fuck.

*

y/n is quite literally about to die.

not really, but the way that matt looks sitting against her headboard, her bedside lamp illuminating his face has her patience running thin. it’s like three in the morning, she thinks, or at least it was the last time she checked the time. after washing off their face masks, they returned to the living room, talking, laughing and snacking for hours.

matt had a way of listening, really listening, that made it even easier for her to talk. he asked all the right questions, laughed at all the right moments and teases her just enough to keep the conversation going. he wasn’t a big talker himself, but she noticed that the second he felt comfortable, he could go on forever. it made her feel accomplished.

they were in her bedroom now, because she yawned once and matt just had to make fun of her, saying it was her bed time and she couldn’t hang. she had a few words for him. none of them were appropriate.

she’s leaned against his shoulder watching a movie she’s seen probably six times before, cause he never had, debating on whether or not to make a move. his hand is on her thigh, just sitting there, and it’s been driving her crazy for twenty minutes now.

“the main character is fucking stupid,” matt says, voice deep and raspy. “why the hell would he-“

y/n doesn’t care about his thought, doesn’t care about this fucking movie and doesn’t care about anything other than kissing him. so she does. she turns his head to hers, slotting her lips over his.

matt falls into her immediately, hand finding her waist. she forgot how good he was at this. she wishes she kissed him the second he got out his car.

there’s a tiny bit of time where they stay like that, before matt gets fed up and pulls her into his lap. his hands find themselves on the swell of her ass, pushing her into him. she rocks back and forth, grasping everywhere her hands can reach. his shirt, his hair, his neck— she needs to feel it all.

“you,” matt says, breaking the kiss. “have to tell me-“ y/n can’t help but chase his lips. “-what you want.”

“you.” for once, she not she’s not thinking about whether or not it was too much to say. “i want you.”

matt smiles into the kiss, chuckling. “you have me,” he slides his hands up her sides, thumbs resting under the underside of her boobs. goosebumps break out. she forgot she wasn’t wearing a bra. “but i need you to be specific.”

she can feel exactly what he wants under the thin fabric of both their pants. she rocks her hips again, making matt groan. “fuck, y/n.”

she nods, trailing kisses down the base of his throat. “yeah, that’d be nice.”

matt flips her over, making y/n gasp when her back hits her mattress. “you piss me off so bad,” his lips leave a searing kiss on her throat. she’s letting out incredibly embarrassing sounds, mewls and whines that she just knows matt won’t let her forget later. she can’t bring herself to care. “cause why is it,” he sucks on her collarbone roughly, nipping the skin. “the one time i need you to talk to me,” he ghosts his lips over the valley of her chest through her shirt, “is when you want to be the woman of few words?”

she laughs, breathlessly. “maybe i just want to get you all riled up, matthew.”

he brings his face back up to hers, chain dangling above her. his eyes are alive, bright blue pinning her to her spot. “trust me when i tell you that you don’t have to do anything special for that to happen.”

the words are sexy, yes, but it’s the way he says it. it feels like a confession of sorts. like he’s telling her something without actually saying it. it sobers her up.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

y/n tames her restless body, thinking for a moment. “is this okay?” she asks, uncharacteristically shy.

matt smiles softly, reaching up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. he places a gentle kiss on her lips. “more than okay. we could stay like this all night and i’d be happy.”

the mood shifts, from sinful to sweet. it may not be what she initially wanted, but it’s exactly what she needed.

matt settles down next to her, pulling her closely. they lay there, hands roaming and lips colliding, for who knows how long. they learn every dip and valley of each other, pressing buttons and soothing them too.

it’s tranquility and raw emotion. it knocks y/n clean off her feet. tomorrow, she’ll think about what it really means. tomorrow, she might even get in her head about it. but tonight, her and matt are laying in between her sheets, blocking the world out. it might be her new favorite place to be.

a/n: this was not even supposed to come out for a couple more days 🙄 but there were so many asks and i felt inspired so here it is!! it is so late LMFAO and i have to be up so early but it was so worth it because i really like this. i’ll probably post part twelve tomorrow night!! hope u liked this!! alr love u all byeeeee

TAG LIST:

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[allfearstofallto]

hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat back in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Rafe Cameron loves your little golf outfits but also hates them at the same time. Loves that you color coordinate with what he wears but hates when his friend’s eyes linger a second too long. He loves the way you show just a fraction of your toned stomach but hates the way Topper's fingers always seem to brush your arm. He loves the way your little skirts sway when you swing the club, hates the way the men suddenly crouch down when you’re bending over. He would never tell you not to wear it, instead he’d slip a bottle of laxatives and some cash to the waitstaff and have them drop a pill into everyone’s glass. Usually he would resort to violence and punch everyone’s face in for even looking your way. But he’d promised you that he would cut back and try to sort things out by using his words.

Your eyes would widen when everyone started to scatter from the golf field, turning slowly to look at Rafe who was admiring the way your skirt started to flutter up from the breeze.

“Rafe”

“Mhmm?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing baby… go on keep playing”

And you would because you secretly enjoyed playing golf but you also loved giving your boyfriend a little show.

You’d hit maybe two more balls before he was hauling your ass into the buggy and driving you over towards the Bushland, pressing your back against the scratchy bark and ruffling your skirt up to your waist.

“So needy baby”

He’d respond by sucking harshly at your neck and slipping his fingers into your panties, rubbing lazy circles on your swollen nub. You’d let out soft pants and cries as he brought you closer to your release, slipping two of his long fingers into your dripping cunt. “Fuck baby” you’d cry, pressing your hips into his hand to get him deeper. “I need more”.

He’d oblige, pulling your panties down your legs and pulling his heavy hard cock from its restraints, you wouldn’t give him any time to think before slipping your bare cunt down his shaft. “Fuck” he’d groan, tightening his arm around your waist and pressing his palm against the tree to steady the two of you.

His face buried in the crook of your neck as he thrust into you, angling his cock to hit your spongy soft spot sending waves of pleasure up your spine. “Oh fuck princess… so fucking wet”.

“Wet for you, you looking so fucking good in your golf clothes… I was aching to touch you”

He’d grind harder, his lower stomach rubbing on your clit. Your fingers would slide under his shirt and nails scratch at the expanse of his upper back, leaving behind pink lines. Heels of your feet digging into his lower back as his cock slides in and out of your messy hole, juices everywhere and anywhere. The tip of his cock throbbed against your walls causing you to clamp around him and suck him further. “Fuck.. Rafe.. so close”

Sweat dripped down your lips, his own mouth on yours moments later licking up the salty bead as his tongue explored your mouth. Breathy moans and groans swallowed by his mouth, your orgasm tickles your toes, up your calves until it erupted in your pussy. Pulsating around his cock as you came from the pure pleasure of his aching cock. “Oh shit! Fuck Rafe!”

He was right behind you, your pussy milking him dry, his cum coating your walls. “Shit princess” he’s kiss your collarbone and slumped against your and the tree, pulling himself out of you and grabbing your panties from the floor. “Be a good girl” he says, grasping your calf and helping you back into your panties. His hand reaches up your skirt and palms your pussy, his cum soaking the thin material. “Let’s finish the game” “but” “no but, let’s finish the game. I want to watch you play while my cum drips from your pretty pussy”

Smacking you on the butt and pushing you towards the golf buggy, you bite your lower lip and take a seat like the good girl you are.

[violet-eng]

pt.2 | Husband!Zhongli gets home and wants wife!reader to take care of him- NSFW🔞

Summary: This follows the PART 1 where Zhongli returns home and wants to enjoy his wife but things turn a bit philosophical and spicy.

TW: smut. MDNI, established relatinship, unprotected sex, p i v, oral (fem receiver), dirty talk. Basically porn without plot (the plot is in part 1).

🎨 by SaiprinSK

1.1k words

NSFW under the cut

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

There's something about your husband that drives you crazy, maybe it's the way he knows your preferences in bed, or the way he crashes his hips into yours. Zhongli told you he wouldn't let you go, especially now that he's made this promise to you, the most battle-hardened oath of fidelity he's ever sworn, the contract he'd never think of breaking. 

His hands slide down your hips, he has already finished another round with you and is already preparing you for the third. He stands tall over you, his figure overshadowing your frail, anxious form. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, and as you watch him with those sweet, devoted eyes, your lashes framing the oasis of love you give him, he hates himself. How could he even mention his former conquests at a time like this? He wanted to make up for his mistake, to redeem his indiscretion, that's why he had come clean with you, that's why he had made the promise he had been afraid to make for so long. 

"I'm going to take advantage of every second, every word that comes out of your mouth, every movement of your body..." he had said a few hours ago, and fuck... yes, he was going to keep it.

He slides back inside you, your pussy throbbing and your hips reflexively moving away from his. You find yourself exhausted, the overstimulation not doing you any good.

"Zhongli~" your voice is barely audible.

"No, call me like you just did," he growls low, and you notice a darkness in his eyes that you hadn't seen before. The presence in the room becomes heavy, the air almost palpable, your husband's growl almost animalistic.

"Morax," you whisper between gasps, Zhongli's eyes, piercing and stalking, fixed on yours. You know he likes it when you use his Archon name... you know what you provoke in him, though you are never prepared for the consequences.

"I never want you to think again that you are just another woman in my life, one of my lovers," he decrees as his tongue slips into the curve of your neck, "I will keep you subdued in this bed all week if I have to, so you don't get any ideas like that."

"All week?" you ask anxiously, Zhongli's tone, though seductive, is quite serious, and you know that when he makes a promise, he is reluctant to break it.

"Dear y/n," he smiles against your skin, "I already told you that a week in your human mind is like an hour to me...".

"Morax," you whisper almost pleadingly, caressing his cheek.

"Didn't you say you'd give me your whole life?" he teases, his mouth sliding between your breasts, leaving wet kisses on your stomach, "I already told you that you're the woman I'll be with until my mortal life is over... don't you think I should enjoy everything you can give me as a wife?" he smiles between your legs, giving you a rather captivating honey look.

"M... Morax~" you gasp, almost on the verge of tears. You can't escape, not when he's already got your legs around his shoulders and is tantalizing your womanhood with his warm fingers, not when he looks like a starving man who's found his last supper between your legs....

"I'm going to eat this pussy of yours," he announces, and fuck, you know he's going to do it, and do it well, because he's a god eating you.

The sound of Zhongli's tongue between your folds is intoxicating, morbid and very vulgar, just like the moans coming from your throat, rough, choked, full of lust. You feel his reptilian tongue reach your walls as a heat rises inside you, the same one his mouth consumes between gustatory gasps.

"So sweet," he whispers against your clit, the vibration of his voice eliciting an embarrassed moan, your legs parting even further to give him access to his slick tongue. 

"So devoted...showing that perfect pussy to your Archon. You want to prove you're the most faithful follower, don't you?" he says, his thumb gliding over your clit, tracing wide, slow circles, painfully slow, but with just enough pressure to cause a burst of pleasure.

Zhongli's tongue slides back inside you, spreading to every nook and cranny of your insides, stirring your sex hungrily as his fingers continue to play with your ball of nerves.

You squirm under his movements, running your hand through his hair, tangling your husband's jet locks between your fingers. Your legs, as if overwhelmed by an electric current, release slight spasms every time his tongue touches that delicious spot inside you. 

You are a mess before him, naked and sweaty, your legs spread like a bitch in heat that needs to be penetrated, your voice hoarse from screaming his name and begging for more. Your eyes are blank, your lips are parted, and your back is arched. Zhongli moves deftly, his nose brushing sensitive parts of your pussy, sporadic giggles vibrating against your skin, soft bites on your folds....

"I love you," he whispers as he tangles your clit with his tongue and his hands move up in search of your breasts. 

It's the end of you, you know it when he starts to play with your  flesh while his face is buried, concentrating on your abused nub. The heat builds, your moans are erratic and irregular, the feeling of Zhongli's hands kneading your breasts adding the finishing touch to the formation of that tangle of hot sensations in your belly.

"I love you, fuck... and I will always love you, only you, only you..." he adds pleadingly, eager for his words to penetrate your being as he leaves fiery kisses on your bulge.

The flame explodes and as you writhe under him, victim of the outburst of pleasure, he holds you in place, his hands still on your breasts and his face in your pussy. You cry out in pleasure, fuck, he's never eaten you as well as he just did.

"Don't you doubt me anymore darling?" he whispers, coming closer to your chin, leaving gentle kisses on the corners of your lips, you feel the taste of his breath and your own juices.

"No... not anymore," you let out between exhilarated gasps. Desire runs through your body as it does through his.

"My beautiful little devoted creature," he adds, leaving a kiss on your forehead and caressing your cheek, lulling you with the soft movements of his fingers on your skin, "you know how to make me happy... you take such good care of me."

You feel how he holds you against his chest, locked in his arms, feeling the passionate beating of his loving heart, while he whispers senselessly, making you fall asleep in the arms of your wonderful husband...

[sinsandsweetness]

Wellllllll…… I just read one Rec from someone and holy. Stepdad Rick isn’t my thing but still hot. I was thinking what if it was Shane instead. Or Daryl. Sneaking around behind Rick’s back. But ugh, Rick is so hot tho. Decisions decisions. More like Dad’s best friend maybe?

now that’s hot as hell. Idk who Dad would be but best friend trope could work for any combination possible I would think… (all of them!? 🙈 short of a orgy, I can’t see either Dixon putting up with Shane even for something like that but hey)

been thinking about this every hour since it appeared in my inbox… (Shane is my guilty pleasure fr. would let him do disgusting things to me)

I think I’m seeing your vision… lemme know what you think💗

PICK YOUR POISON

(Rick & Shane & Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+, smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, references of sex, multiple partners, the boys are kinda pervs but it’s ok cause ur legal and this is fiction <3 2.1k word count

You open the door to the garage and make your way down the stairs. Not even bothering to slip any shoes on. Your mom keeps the epoxy floors absolutely pristine, so there’s really no reason. Plus, your toenail polish is still a little tacky. Bright, bubble gum pink polish and a silver toe ring adorning your foot. The smell of liquor and smoke has filled the garage. Accompanied by the deep, rugged voices and dry laughs coming from your fathers closest friends.

“You know mom hates it when you smoke in the house.” You say all matter of fact, leaning up against the bar-tops, marble counter. You can feel your tank top strap slipping down your shoulder. But the animalistic looks coming from your dads three closest friends, force you to let it drop. To let them see.

Your father puts his cigarette out in the ash tray on the bar. Rolling his eyes at you. “Well good thing we’re in the garage then.”

You ignore his attitude.

“Mom needs you.”

“For what?”

“To drop her off at Cindy’s.”

He seems irritated. But all five of you can hear the rain. There’s no way any half decent husband should let his wife walk to her monthly book club meeting in this weather.

“Just- keep your mouth shut about the smokes. And grab everyone another drink. Make sure they don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” You father jokes, ruffling up Daryl’s hair on his way to the door, grabbing his jacket and keys.

You wave an innocent goodbye as you watch him through the garage door windows, backing out of the driveway. Your mother in the passenger seat, smiling sweetly at you.

“Well… whatcha drinkin’?” You ask Rick, who’s sat in the middle. Glass empty, with a lone, melting ice cube clinking around in the bottom.

“Rum and coke.” He answers, licking his lips.

“Spiced?” You ask. A flirty smile playing on your face as you bite your bottom lip.

They’re all staring. Jaws clenched and breathing slowly.

You know what you’re doing. You can tell by the way they’re all looking at you. You can practically see the wheels turning in their brains.

They shouldn’t be thinking this way about their friends daughter. About their best friends little girl. Well… not so little anymore. You’d just turned 21. Hell, they were at the party. Giving you the exact same looks they’re giving you right now.

The ones they definitely shouldn’t be.

But they are.

They’re thinking about your thin, frilly, pyjama shorts, and how they can see the purple g string pulled up over your hips. How they can see your belly ring through the fabric of your tank top, and imagining what it would feel like against their lips as they kiss their way down your stomach. And you know they’re thinking about bending you over the bar counter and taking turns at fucking you until they hear the sound of your dads diesel pulling into the driveway. How you’d have to play pretend for your father, ignoring the fact that your panties are soaking through with three different men’s cum, and maybe even a mix of your own. The salty liquids threatening to drip down your inner thigh as you politely excuse yourself from the garage. Coming up with any bullshit excuse to go lay on your bed and rub your clit until you’re seeing stars. Imagining each of their faces in between your legs, spreading you open and eating you up.

You know they’re thinking it, because you are too. It’s the only thing you can think about in this moment, while pouring Rick a double spiced rum and coke. Taking a sip and then handing it him. Making sure your fingers touch.

When you turn to ask Shane what he wants, he gets up. Insisting that you won’t know how to make an old fashioned. You only just turned 21 after all. You probably haven’t even had one before.

But he’s wrong. They’re your dads favourite and you’d been making them for him since you were 16. But you didn’t tell Shane that. Instead you let him walk around the bar, come up behind you and press himself against your back. Letting a tiny gasp escape at the feeling of his, very hard, cock pressing into your bum. Pushing you even further against the counter. His chest is warm against you. And his hands are big and calloused as he guides your own, pouring the perfect amount of bitters, simple syrup and bourbon over a huge, king sized ice cube that he’d retrieved from the freezer.

Finally, taking a slice of orange, meticulously cut up and organized in little containers on the bar top. It was something your mother was always very fond of; organizing the liquors and the garnishes, ensuring that your father could host a proper poker night or barbecue. Or whatever the fuck they stayed up all night doing in their little man cave. Not knowing that you were upstairs, awake and playing with your favourite vibrator, listening to their rock music through your bedroom floor.

“And then you twist it, like this…” Shane’s lips are actually brushing your ear. And you don’t mean to, but your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. His free hand moves to your waist as he tosses the orange peel in the drink, lifting it up and bringing the cold glass to your lips.

“Try it.” He says. And though you can’t see him because he’s still behind you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You take a sip. A small one. Immediately scrunching your face at the two men still sitting across you. Their lips curl into an amused smile as they watch you swallow the amber liquid.

“Not my favourite.” You whisper as Shane leans back. Only for a second before he’s turned you around and trapped you once more, back to the bar this time.

“Well we did forget one thing,” He says, reaching over to a jar on the counter. Maraschino cherries. Your favourite.

“And I know how much you like these.” He teases, referring to all the cherries he caught you adding to your piña coladas at a neighbors pool party only a couple weeks ago.

He dips a single cherry in the drink. Taking it by the stem and lifting it to your mouth. You don’t hesitate in wrapping your lips around it. The bitter taste of the bourbon on the fruit doesn’t last long. A sweet, sugary syrup bleeds over your tastebuds as you bite into the cherry. And a moan manages to escape your throat. It’s quiet. You think maybe it was subtle enough to go unnoticed. But the smile on Shane’s lips and the dry laugh coming from behind you, tell you that it didn’t.

Shane is still pushed up against you, cock strained in his jeans and pressed right against your stomach. His hand gripping your hip and forcing you to stay against the counter. And the way he’s looking down at you. Fuck, the way they’re all looking at you. Watching you start to squirm under their gaze.

“It’s good.” You swallow. Trying to maintain a confident, big girl attitude. But truthfully, you just want them to peel your clothes off, and let you melt into their arms as you cum all over their cocks.

“Daryl’s drink is still empty, sweetheart.” Rick’s gravelly voice pulls you back.

“Right.”

Shane gives your hip one last squeeze before he walks back to his barstool. Next to Rick. They cheers quietly and sip on their drinks. Watching intently as you try to compose yourself.

“What’s your poison?” You turn to the last man, lighting what was probably his second or third cigarette of the night. Glancing up at you and taking a draw. Slowly inhaling and exhaling. And though your mother was not a fan, you fucking loved it. You wanted to crawl onto his lap and have him blow the smoke right between your lips as you rode his cock, letting the other two men watch and touch themselves to the sight of you getting off on another guy.

But you didn’t.

“Just a beer, sunshine.” He pushes his empty glass forward for you. You grab it and put it in the dishwasher. Grabbing a brand new, frosted mug from the freezer.

“Which one?”

“Bud’s fine.”

You grab a bottle and skillfully pour it into the mug, coming around the bar this time to hand it to him. Intentionally placing yourself between him and Rick, reaching over and setting the glass in front of him.

To no one’s surprise, you feel a warm hand on the small of your back. Rick’s fingers tracing dangerously close to the thin band of your panties.

“Those are really bad for you, y’know.”

You get bold again. Stepping onto the foot rest of Rick’s barstool, and taking a seat right on his lap. The hand on your back only helping guide you on to him. Quickly finding its way around your waist as you make yourself comfortable.

Daryl only grunts. Hiding a smile at your silly comment. He’d seen you smoke. Hell, he’d snuck out of multiple dinner parties to have one with you.

“You gonna share?” You ask.

Hesitantly he hands it over, and you take it with two fingers. Taking a long drag in and then turning to face Rick again, before you slowly exhale. Trying to focus the smoke onto his lips more than anything.

“What the hell would your father think if he could see you right now?” Shane asks, leaning back in his chair and palming the hard on, still evident in his jeans.

“Think he’d probably try and beat you’re asses.” You say. And while you’re answering Shane, your focus is solely on Rick. The scruff on his face. His bright blue eyes, taunting you and begging you to lean in. Just an inch closer so that he can catch your lips.

“Think he’d win?” Rick asks, glancing down at your own lips.

“Not a chance.” You smile.

He closes the space between you, and you taste rum on the tongue that traces yours. Rick’s hand going to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as you blindly try to put the cigarette out on the ashtray. You start to move. Trying to maneuver your position so that you’d have a leg on either side of him, straddling his very apparent bulge. But right as you start to moan against his mouth, you hear the truck pull up and park. Practically jumping off of Rick and standing in between him and Daryl’s barstools. Fixing your hair as the heat rises to your cheeks. The men chuckle at your flustered appearance. Waiting for their friend to enter through the side door of the garage.

“Hi dad.” You say, smiling politely and pulling your tank top down to cover the strip of skin visible where it had previously rode up.

“Hey, hun. Glad to see they weren’t too much trouble for ya.” You father aproaches and slaps a hand on Shane’s back. Sitting down next to him and grabbing the pack of smokes from his jacket pocket.

“Y’wannanother drink, daddy?” You ask. Daryl clears his throat. And you see Ricks eyes go wide as Shane tries to hide his smile.

“Please. Old fashioned, darling. Y’want some of that pink stuff we found last week? Bubbly… something or other. It’s in the fridge.”

You watch Shane the whole time that you make the old fashioned. Clearly showing him that you knew exactly how your dad liked it. Carefully placing the cocktail on the counter in front of them.

“Thanks doll.” Your dad says, continuing to smoke his cigarette. Reaching over the counter and handing one to Rick who lights it. Watching you the whole time. Tendrils of smoke, floating up to the ceiling of the garage. You turn around. Bending over and being sure to stay searching for the bottle of rosé about thirty seconds longer than you really needed to. You pour a glass as the men discuss what the next move was. What they should do for the night. Considering it’s still a work night, and they all have a supply run pretty early in the morning.

“You wanna play some cards, sweetie?” Your dad asks. You scrunch your nose at him, taking a nice long sip of your sparkling wine.

“What? You got somewhere better to be?” Shane teases.

You huff a semi-annoyed breath, looking around for a spare stool. Even though you already knew there were only 4. Ricks eyes glimmer as he pats his left thigh, inviting you back on.

To your surprise, your dad pays you no mind, already starting to shuffle the deck of cards as you hesitantly take your seat back on top of Rick. Loving the way his hand curls around your thighs and tugs you even further on top of him. And the the way that Shane looks a little jealous that he hadn’t offered first. And you’re especially loving the way Daryl shifts on his stool just the tiniest bit closer, so that his leg grazes yours every now and then.

“All right, here’s the rules…” You hear your dad starts to explain, already dealing you each some cards. But you don’t hear him. You don’t even look in his direction. You’re way too focused on the taste of Rick that lingers on your lips, and the way your clit is actually fucking pulsing. Begging for attention. And truthfully, your mind can’t help but wander, thinking about what might have happened if your dad had taken any longer to get back home.

part 2

-

(I’m picturing readers dad as Tobin in Alexandria. Someone like that at least. With a Carol-esque mother. But picture whoever you’d like! Just thought I’d share what I was kinda thinking…)

taglist - @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @murder-jacket @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker

[bluecollarmcandtf]

My Found Family

I never grew up with the luxury of family. As an orphan, my childhood was lacking to say the least, and it left me jealous of any kid with caring fathers and siblings. That's why I had to find my family. Nobody's perfect, but with a little reconditioning, I've trained them to be exactly what I was looking for.

This guy is now my father...

"Breakfast is ready, boys!" I call, using my lower register like I'm supposed to, "Whoops! I mean bacon-fest!"

Guttural laughter comes from my stomach even though I don't find my joke that funny. Bad jokes like this have sort of become my personality lately. In fact, my whole life has transformed over the last couple days. A week ago, I would've never imagined myself strolling around my house in nothing but underwear and a robe! My standards for style seem to have vanished along with pretty much every other part of my old way of being.

It happened three days ago at a grocery store, when I ran into this guy in the produce section. He caught me examining avocados for ripeness and walked right up, beginning to talk like we'd known each other for years.

It was all a bit bizarre, but I found myself unable to turn away. He was explaining my life to myself. Well, not my life, but the one he wanted me to live, the one I was meant to live, and I hung on his every word. He was maybe six years younger than myself, but I was to be his new daddy. It was a role I was proud to fill.

"Here you are, son," I grin widely, unable to contain the feelings of pride I have as he walks into the room.

"Thanks, old man," he answers and grabs the plate gratefully.

For a moment, I stand there and stare. My heart beats for my boy as he tears apart the food I made for him. My paternal instincts have been working overtime lately. I can't help but love that boy with every fatherly fiber of my being.

It doesn't matter that I never wanted kids before. Previously, I'd wanted to remain a bachelor forever, but I have them now, and it couldn't feel more perfect.

With a content grin, I turn back to the sizzling bacon and think about my day. Things I used to hate were now what I looked forward to; mowing the lawn, washing the car, cleaning the gutters. I have a full day of work ahead of me to keep this house in tip top shape. Of course, I'll do it all with an ice cold beer in my hand. I never had a taste for the stuff, but my boy thinks I should grow a bit more of a gut.

I know what I say goes around here, but I could never say no to my favorite son...

I obviously have dad wrapped around my finger, but he's not the only member of this family. This next dude is my new big bro...

"Fuck yeah," I grunt and sniff up the ripe stench under my arm, "Smells like a real fuckin' man!"

I toss the barbell down, finishing a new personal record on the bench press and I couldn't feel more pumped. My tank top and sweat pants are drenched with sweat, but I love bein' a nasty gym rat: at least, I do now.

A week ago I was waiting tables at this fancy restaurant, when one of the customers got to talking with me. He was sitting alone and looked kinda sad, so I tried to be friendly and I'm sure glad I did! I got a whole new family out of it. He made me quit my job and move into this sweet place. Now I'm his big brother!

Of course, like all big bro's, I'm supposed to work out in the garage all day. I was never one for weights, but I couldn't imagine my life without them anymore. I like to push my limits and get all hot and sweaty. Then I march around the house flexing and farting all over the place. It's not the most refined thing in the world, but my bro explained to me how much I don't care about hygiene and all that crap.

"Wassup, little man," I call as he saunters in.

"Nothing much," he answers, staring at my arms while I show off my biceps.

"Alright, get out of my space. I'm tryin' to work out," I snarl, acting as tough as possible, "Do I need to wrestle you again to prove my point?"

I definitely didn't used to be like this. I used to be the most polite and approachable guy in the world, always chatting random people up, but that guy's gone. My bro got rid of him and his old family. This new family is the only one I'm interested in now, even if I'm not supposed to show it. I'm supposed to be muscular, rude, and gross. It's who I am now.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," he replies, "You can wrestle me though."

"I will," I frown, flexing even harder, "And this time, I'll win!"

Whenever we wrestle, I always end up with the urge to let him win. It sucks because I could easily beat him, and I should put him in his place, but for some reason, I just know I have to let him win. He just deserves it I guess.

I give him an intense glare and then return to my weights. These arms aren't going to pump themselves...

My big bro always makes my legs quiver, but I love seeing how cocky he can get. Of course, he'll never out wrestle me no matter how big he gets. I programmed him to let me win. Just like I programmed the breadwinner of the bunch...

A short groan rumbles from my lips. For some reason, everything has been disappointing me lately: my sons, my husband, my job has all been leaving me grumpy and frustrated. Even the channels on the TV aggravate the living hell out of me. I have to fight the urge to chuck the remote across the room.

"How was your day, honey," my husband asks, walking into the room and handing me a beer.

"Great," I moan without any emotion.

Everything's been changing so fast lately, and I couldn't be more over it. I was married to my work, busting ass for years to get promotion after promotion, and I had a job I loved that paid extremely well. I couldn't be more happy, even if I was the only unmarried guy in the office. I didn't mind. I loved my bowling league and my solo trips to Vegas too much to settle down.

Then I met him, my son. Well, he wasn't my son at the time, but after talking, I quickly realized who he was and who I was to him. I'm the head of the household, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner. At least, that's who I've become.

"What's for dinner?" I grunt, peeling my eyes away from the TV.

Looking at my husband, odd feelings bubble up. I used to know him as my neighbor, a nice enough guy, but now I'm married to him. It all happened so fast. He's changed too recently, I think. The guy I knew a week ago would've never walked around all day in a robe and underwear.

His hand reaches out and holds my own, "Steak and potatoes if that's alright with you."

I grunt in agreement, turning back to the TV. My husband's presence stirs my cock to life, straining my member against my work slacks.

This is another new development.

Until now, I'd never had a gay bone in my body. In some ways, I still don't, but my son explained how I should feel about my husband. I should love him, I should be turned on by him, and I should get it on with him. He's right, I suppose.

"Hey, I could use a blow job before you get cooking," I gesture to the thick tent in my pants.

My husband pauses for a moment like he's unsure of what to do, but then it comes to him, "Of course, babe, but we need to be quiet. Both of our boys are home right now."

"Don't worry about it. If they walk in without knocking they'll get the belt," I snort as my husband gets on his knees in front of me.

"You shouldn't be so hard on-" before he can finish, I've shoved his face into my crotch.

Somehow, I know I can be rough with him, just like I can be rough with our sons. I'm the man of the house after all. Within seconds I'm grunting in pleasure while staring at the evening news broadcast. For some reason, I always find myself watching it and complaining about current events. It's just who I am now..

I grin, sneaking a peak at my two dad's going at it in the living room like the good little couple they are. My new family couldn't be more perfect, but no family is complete without the dog...

"Ruff!" I bark, gleefully scampering over to the bowl of food that was just placed on the floor.

Without hesitating, I shove my face into the bowl, sending the little pellets flying everywhere. They taste like cardboard, but for some reason, I can't get enough of them! I've done nothing but drool and whine for the last hour while the real humans eat their dinner at the table.

"That's a good boy," a voice coos, and I feel fingers running through the hair on my head.

I can barely acknowledge being petted. I know I'm supposed to act like a hungry animal right now, so that's what I do.

I would've never thought I'd find myself as a house pet, but a couple days ago, this guy just walked up to me and talked me into it. It'd just been a normal day for me, working at the car garage when he became my master. I knew right there and then that I had to drop to my hands and knees and follow him home with my tongue out.

My new life has been great ever since. My masters play ball with me outside, they hose me down when I get muddy, and they snuggle with me on the couch at night. I barely even miss my old work and fiance!

"Alright, boy," one of my master's commands, "That's enough. Get in here!"

It's the mean one. The one who used to own this house, but is now just a working dad. He's always the one who hits me with a newspaper when I drink from the toilet. I don't know why, but I just feel compelled to do it!

Licking the bowl clean, I abandon it and crawl into the living room. There, the entire family is gathered around the television.

I stop by the smelly one and sneak in a few licks. I love licking him because he's always salty with sweat and smells funny. After licking his feet for too long, he kicks me away, "Leave me alone, mutt!"

"Oh don't talk to him that way," the nice one adds.

I climb on the couch and curl up beside him. His belly is always the perfect cushion for my head to rest on, and he always lets me lick his beer bottle when he's done. Within a couple minutes, I'm drifting off as his hands absently play with my hair...

...sitting with my family at night is always my favorite part. Watching TV with my two dads, brother, and dog heals the child in me that had always yearned for this. Sure, it might be easier to just go to therapy, but this is sure as hell a lot more fun!

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Chapter 2 | Coriolanus Snow

Summary: as penance for your brother's sins, Coriolanus demands that you are sent to his household to work his debt. But Coriolanus does not expect to burn so strongly for you and finds himself addicted to having you as close as he can keep you.

Chapter 1

young!president snow x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: NSFW! Smut! enemies to lovers (??), biting, fingering, unhinged dirty talk I guess, degrading, swearing, talk of ownership, orgasm denial, almost hate fucking, stockholm syndrome maybe?

a/n: ok, i got a little carried away here and I'm sure you can tell because this one seems possibly more disjointed than the last. let me know what you think and if I've missed any warnings!

Days had passed and Coriolanus had been acting as if you didn’t exist. He had ignored your attempts at talking to him, pretended he didn’t hear the constant questions that you asked about what work you were supposed to be doing and why are you here if you aren’t doing any work like you were meant to?

Truth be told, Coriolanus had acted irrationally in making the deal. Jericho may have been someone he loved as a confidant and a friend but truly, he could have simply had him hanged without blinking an eye. Treason is treason and Coriolanus certainly would not stand for it - more so because of the sting of your brother’s betrayal. But here you were, waiting outside of the bedroom he had the staff keep ready for you with a fierceness in your eyes that managed to catch him by surprise. 

Without saying a word, Coriolanus stood in front of you and waited for you to speak. 

“I was supposed to be given work for our end of the bargain,” You avoided letting your anger seep into your tone. “Instead, you’ve been keeping me in your home and avoiding me like I’m some sort of disease.” Stepping towards him, you shook off the nerves that had your stomach in knots. “I tried to leave yesterday. Your guards–or whoever they are–stopped me from leaving. Said you told them I’m not to exit the grounds.”

Coriolanus was calm. “That’s right. That is exactly what I told them.”

“You said I could visit home.”

A shrug. “I lied.”

“You’d better start telling the truth-”

“Do not,” Coriolanus spat. Somehow, he resented you so much that he couldn’t hold back the worst of himself around you. “speak to me like that. I won’t tolerate disrespect. Not from the likes of you-”

Your hand met his cheek before you realised what was happening. It wasn’t hard and Coriolanus barely flinched more than the turn of his head but your hand burned hot at the mistake that had just been made. Pushing down the fear that bubbled in your gut, you squared your shoulders and spoke firmly. “You will let me serve my brother’s sentence so that I can get the hell out of your house as soon as I’m done. Or is there no honour to your word?”

Coriolanus was red with frustration and you were half aware that angering him would not turn out well. But you were not going to cower and fold to the power that he claimed to have over you. He may be ruler of Panem to its citizens but the two of you had grown up side by side and you knew the man he was past the charade of charm and carefully written speeches. Arrogant, greedy, entitled and selfish. 

“You still think that’s really why you’re here?” He looked terrifyingly handsome in his rage. “You should appreciate the generosity I’ve shown you. You’re living in my home, free of charge and free to do as you please with your time so long as you stay within its walls. I hardly see how that is a problem for you.”

“Generosity?” You scoffed. “You’re keeping me prisoner.”

Coriolanus’ expression was blank, his light curls casting shadows of his face as he let out a snarl. The fabric of his meticulously tailored jacket brushed against your hand and before you knew it, he guided you into the bedroom with a strong hand on your back that had you stumbling into the middle of the room. 

“Since you’re so ungrateful, I’ll show you what it means to be a prisoner in my home,” Coriolanus said, sticking his hand into the pocket of his dress pants and pulling out a set of two keys, dangling it in front of your nose. “You’re not to leave this room until I say so. Try to leave and I’ll have you whipped.”

And with that, he left you to yourself, slamming the door harshly behind him. The click of the lock was barely drowned out by your protests, palms smacking against the wood of the door. 

How dare he? 

Tears welled in your eyes but even in your own company, you refused to let them fall. The ache in your chest for the freedom to visit home, to walk the streets of the Capitol and to see your friends was overwhelming. You hadn’t been here long and you knew that the Coriolanus’ home was a luxury far beyond your imagination but the feeling of confinement ate at you. 

This was not fair. You had done him no wrong. In fact, his hatred towards you was entirely unwarranted and everything seemed so, so unfair. His problem wasn’t with you - it was with Jericho. So why did Coriolanus have so much rage for you? Even as a teenager, he was cold and detached despite your best efforts to warm him. 

If this was to be your prison cell then you were fortunate, you thought. At least he didn’t send you down to the bunkers or to whatever place was made for those who crossed the new President.   

The room you had been given upon your first night was unlike anything you had expected. It was red and big and the carpet felt like clouds under your toes - a luxury so simple and so particular that you wondered what kind of wealth could afford such minute pleasures. The wealth of a country, it seemed.   

You still think that’s really why you’re here? 

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew Jericho and your father had been lying to you. It made no sense - in fact, it was a ridiculous excuse that they had given you. You weren’t stupid - there was no work that you could possibly do to fulfil the extent of Jericho’s debt nor to save your family’s already tarnished reputation.  

So why were you here? You had your own doubts. Not only had you spent the last three days with little more to do than think but hours had passed alone in this cage since your confrontation with Coriolanus.

Jericho had said you were only part of whatever bargain he had struck. You figured that Coriolanus had use for Jericho and here you were, a token of control over your family. So long as Coriolanus had you here, Jericho would have to do whatever it was Coriolanus needed him to do. 

The sound of the door lock clicking pulled you out of your thoughts. Candice didn’t bother knocking before stepping into your room with her arms full of–dresses?

“Mr. Snow wants me to get you ready,” she said. “You’ll be attending the gala we’re hosting tonight.” 

What?

You eyed the dress that Candice laid down on your bed before rushing towards your wardrobe to put away the other dresses she held. From what you could see of the dress, it was unlike any dress you’d ever had the chance to wear. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

The look she gave was answer enough. “Take a bath first. I’ll help you into the dress once you’re out.”

You quickly washed up, half tempted to take your time but Candice was waiting for you and you didn’t intend for her to fall victim to your antics. There was a matching set of underwear laid out with the dress - if you could call it underwear. 

Clutching the towel to your chest, you decided against the g-string that accompanied the stick-on bra. Before Candice could turn around, you shrugged on a robe and turned to do your own makeup. 

Candice pottered about, seemingly displeased with your insistence on doing your minimal hair and makeup yourself.  She helped you step into your dress, adjusting the fabric wherever it needed. “Perfect, ma’am.”

“Please, you don’t need to call me ma’am,” you corrected. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Fuck. 

The dress was a perfect fit. It was a deep emerald green satin, floor length gown with a wired corset midsection. The bust was stiff and covered your cleavage just enough so that it could accentuate the swell of your breasts perfectly. Inch thick straps hung just off of your shoulders, leaving your neck and collarbones bare. The back of the dress dipped just above your hips. It made you look and feel sultry in an entirely new way. 

This was a powerful dress and you wondered if Coriolanus had intended it to be. Candice fastened a thin, crystal chain around your neck. You asked her the question that had been lingering at the back of your mind, “Why does he want me at the gala?”

“I’m merely the housekeeper,” Candice spoke, her voice stern. She reminded you of a teacher. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” you murmured. 

“I’ll leave you for now. Mr. Snow will escort you downstairs when he’s ready.” 

And just like that, you were locked in your room once more. 

Coriolanus was making you wait. He knew that your mind would be racing with questions - questions he knew you would assault him with as soon as you had the chance. If he wanted to, he was more than ready to pick you up from your room and show you to the main hall. But there was something so satisfying in knowing the effect he had on you. 

He could picture the scowl on your face and the way you’d be wallowing in your impatience.

Forty-minutes had felt like two hours before Coriolanus was standing in your doorway, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit that was tailored to every curve in his body. He was like the embodiment of Adonis, the way he radiated with beauty and temptation. 

Coriolanus’ gaze made your breath catch in your throat. It was hot and you swore you could feel it scorching your skin as he studied you from head to toe. “Let’s go.”

“Am I-Am I your date?” You still didn’t understand. 

“Of course not,” he answered. “You said you wanted to see your family. Your parents will be here tonight.”

A statement. That’s what you were. 

I have your daughter. She’s safe and sound so long as you behave. 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if it meant that you’d get to see your parents. A sense of urgency overwhelmed you and you rushed towards Coriolanus. “Let’s go then.”

Goosebumps arose on your skin the second that Coriolanus’ hand brushed against the dip of your back. It was a gentle graze, feather light and barely there but he drew his hand back and took a breath before you could even blink. 

“Follow me.”

Coriolanus had left your side before entering. The main hall was packed with people, many of whom you recognised from your days studying or as past friends of the family. They all looked at you scornfully and you knew that they were all thinking of you as a traitor to the Capitol. You weren’t but you had the same blood as one. 

The music was pleasant and some people danced while others were busy drinking and conversing. You searched the crowd for your parents, hoping that you didn’t look as crazed as you felt. There were so many eyes on you, so much judgment that it made you suck in a breath and keep your eyes anywhere but on the guests. 

Your mother was toward the entrance, a champagne flute held delicately between her fingers as she talked with your father. 

It was a miracle they had been invited after everything but you knew that they were only here because Coriolanus had a message for them. A message that was loud and clear just through your attendance. A message that told them that you were sitting comfortably in the palm of his hand, that he could use your entire family for whatever he pleased. 

“Ma,” you reached for her, willing yourself not to cry in a room filled with people. She gasped, arms wrapping around your shoulders as she mumbled incoherently. “Are you okay? And Jericho?”

“We’re all fine,” she smiled sweetly. “How is it? Over here? Are they treating you badly-”

“Ears everywhere, my dear. I see that Snow has been generous.”

Generous. That word was like a parasite, stuck to you and making you sick to your stomach. 

“Yes. I’ve been–I’ve been okay.”

You stayed with them for the entirety of the night, slowly making your way through one glass of champagne and a couple plates of the food that was set out for the guests. 

Slipping your glass onto a tray that one of the Avox were carrying, you smiled at Livia Cardew who barely spared a glance at you from where she stood. She was talking to Coriolanus and another man whom you could not name, a hand on his arm as she gazed at him through her eyelashes. 

You glanced towards the corridor. Coriolanus seemed distracted enough by the conversation. Maybe you could blend in with the guests, make your way out as part of a group and nobody would be any the wiser. 

A few steps at a time, you made your way towards the exit. Every now and then someone would try and make idle conversation, seeing you alone and extending a greeting. But it would only last a few minutes. 

By the time you were at the exit, Coriolanus was nowhere to be seen. Fine, as long as he was far away from you. The front door was grand and there were groups of people saying their goodbyes. It was the perfect getaway opportunity. 

You could disguise yourself within the guests, make your way a block down where your parents would drive past and leave with them. It would work and you’d be out. You could see Jericho, your friends and then you could disappear somehow. Jericho would help you if you explained things to him–if you asked him. 

The thought that you were making a mistake began to cross your mind but just as you were at the foot of the door, an arm wrapped itself around your waist roughly, fingers digging into your hip as you were pulled away. Coriolanus smiled at the people who turned to look at you, their eyes trailing to where his hand burned its mark into your side.

You could hear your blood rushing and heart racing, your palms growing clammy. You considered struggling, maybe putting up a fight. But it would be useless. Coriolanus was strong and how far would you even get before someone else caught up to you? Your plan was a desperate, confused mess. 

Of all the things happening in that moment, your mind was clouded by Corolanius’ cologne and the roughness with which he held you. The tick in his jaw and the slight purse of his lips gave away the anger he was suppressing as he dragged you through the crowd, opening the closest door he could find and pulling you in with him. 

Shit. 

Coriolanus pulled you so that you were facing him, holding your arms firmly in his hands. He all but growled, “Didn’t I tell you not to run away, little mouse?” 

Your cheeks burned and your chest felt as if it were about to explode. Corolanius had brought you into a closet which was the size of a small bedroom but you were flush against him, chest to chest and eye to eye. 

“What? Are you going to have me whipped for it?” Taunting him was not a good idea but it came so naturally that you barely realised what you were doing. 

Coriolanus pushed you into a shelf, pressed against the surface and your back flush against his chest. “I don’t like disobedience. My things are to stay where I leave them.”

You struggled against him. But it was for nothing. You barely stood a chance against the man who held you, his breath tickling your ear as you spoke. “I’m not something you own, Coriolanus. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Oh but you do,” his knee lodged between your thighs, holding you down. “Where were you going to go, hmm? There’s not a single place in Panem where I couldn’t hunt you down myself and you’d be back here within a week.” Coriolanus could feel your rapid breathing, feel the way you squirmed against him but moulded so perfectly into his body. “Maybe I should have let you go. I do enjoy a chase.”

There was a seductive venom that coated his tongue. It was so unlike the Coriolanus Snow you had known all those years ago who may have been riddled with arrogance and dishonesty but he was never wicked. 

“What did I ever do to you, Coriolanus?” You gasped as he pressed himself further into you in an attempt to put an end to your struggling. Tears threatened to well in your eyes.  “Why are you doing this to me?”

Coriolanus stilled. He thought of the words to say, the words to describe the way that four years ago, he would have despised himself for making you cry. As far as you were concerned, all he was to you was Jericho’s friend. Jericho’s friend who never had the perfect home that you had, never had the wealth that he deserved, never had what he desired the most. 

He never had you. 

And Coriolanus hated you for it. 

“You were so blind,” he said. “So unaware. So selfish. All I had ever wanted from you was your devotion and all you gave me was resentment.”

Whether it was the gravity of his confession, or the way his body felt against yours, it took your breath away. What he was saying didn’t make sense. “I didn’t know. You were so cruel to me, Coriolanus.”

Your chest was heavy with so many conflicting emotions. Fear, shock, anger and desire. 

“You want to know why I’m doing this to you?” Coriolanus brought his lips so close to your ear that they brushed against your skin and sent a shudder through your body. “Because I hate your brother for what he did. Because I hate your family. Because I hate you.”

His hands, his hands. 

They were everywhere, dragging all over your body and leaving a trail of fire on your skin. He slid his fingertips down the sides of your dress, bunching it up at your hips. You couldn’t breath, couldn’t think of the words to say as the ache between your legs grew for him. It wasn’t right - Coriolanus was all but kind to you but your body yearned for him. 

He bit your ear. “I hate you but I fucking burn for you.”

Another gasp and you arched into him. Coriolanus’ words burrowed deep into your core and made your head spin with unfettered lust. After everything, you would have given him everything right then and there. The desire you had for each other was infernal, it was wrong and it was perfect. 

The air was thick and Coriolanus thought he’d choke on the passion that was heavy in his chest. Your skin was soft like the satin of the dress he had picked out for you and it drove him crazy to think about all the ways he could indulge himself in your flawless body. 

“So tempting all the damn time,” he touched you with so much determination you wanted to let yourself melt into him, to become one with his heart and body. “Would you let me fuck you like this, missy? How I should have done years ago and make your body mine?”

You let out a wanton moan as his lips found your neck, sucking roughly along the ridges of your skin. “I don’t know-”

“Of course you don’t.” Coriolanus let his hand slip to the inside of your thigh, roughly digging his nails into your flesh and dragging them up to the most intimate part of your body that was bare under his touch. He sucked in a sharp breath at your lack of underwear and placed his hand flat against your sensitive flesh.  “I’m sure you would. Look at how responsive you are to my touch, such a needy little thing.”

The feeling of his hand against your sex and his body pressed against yours sent shockwaves through your body, right down to the tips of your toes. With heavy breaths you reached for his arm, desperately scratching his skin because you needed more, more, more. 

You were blind with need for Coriolanus’ body, for him to make good on his words and show you all the filthy things you knew he’d have perfected. The little voice at the back of your head told you to slow down, to think and that you’d regret this tomorrow morning but you were far too weak to listen to it. 

“Just this once,” you were breathless as you spoke, chest heaving against the hard surface of the shelf. 

Coriolanus tensed against you in surprise, his hips pressing against the swell of your bum. He was hard, so hard for you. “If I’m going to have you missy, it’ll be in my bed. Where I can take you in every way I’ve spent hours dreaming about.”

Against your better judgment, you drawled, “Thought you hate me-”

“I do hate you,” Coriolanus growled, swiping the pad of his forefinger over your clit in one swift movement that had you writhing in an instant. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you.”

You were so wet for him, so prepared for him to push his cock into you right then and it made him throb under the restriction of his dress pants. But Coriolanus was a man of great self control and he refused to give in so soon. 

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles over your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body. Your hips rutted against his hands, incoherent words tumbling from your lips. 

Coriolanus was usually a selfish lover. He didn’t take pleasure in someone else’s pleasure. But the way you trembled against him, the way that every inch of you called for his touch and the way you sounded so desperate and so filthy for him satisfied him in an entirely new way. It made his cock twitch and set a fire in his blood.

“Please, Corio–I’m so close,” you whined. He chuckled darkly before pulling his hand away from you.

There were people looking for him, Coriolanus could hear them through the door. He couldn’t care less.  “That’s enough for now. Seems like they’re looking for me.”

You turned yourself around, still squashed between Coriolanus and the shelf, just to gape at him. A smug smile graced his face, his pupils blown out with lust that you could feel pressed against your thigh. You resisted the urge to smack him again. 

“You can’t be serious.”

Coriolanus stepped away from you, taking a moment to look at the mess he had made of you while slipping his fingers between his lips. Your dress was caught at your hip and hitched up at your thigh, your hair was tangled and your knees wobbled gently. But your eyes, wide and full of innocent, unburdened desire for him had him questioning his decision to stop. 

How he longed to corrupt you. 

“Collect yourself. I’ll send Candice to get you to your room,” he was at the door by now, fixing his tie as his fervent gaze was focused on you. “If you ever try to leave again, I will not be so lenient.”

With that, he was gone and you were once again left alone with a mind full of wild, distressed thoughts. 

tags: @deadly-femme-bimbo @justaproudslytherpuff @10ava01 @edb954 @real-lana-del-rey @demyackerman @whatupitshuff @foreludes @motley-baby @unclecrunkle @cillianmurphysbxtch

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i hate this title but i LOVE this fic! i had so much fun writing it, obviously inspired by the tik tok trend lol. also when i started this fic last week, the cookies were different but then this week actually did include banana cream pie so i had to change them 😂 and then had to do a little rewrite obviously. but yeah, go check out the isles q&a on their favorite desserts bc they’re all adorable

tw: tooth rotting fluff, extremely minor insinuation of a daddy kink

word count: 2.3k

summary: you take advantage of mat’s sweet tooth to trick him into doing a tik tok video with you

“Hey,” you call out for Mat from your perch on the couch, one foot wedged in between the couch cushions and your phone resting on your thigh. You can hear him rummaging around in the fridge and the noise stops temporarily.

“Hey,” he calls back, “what’s going on?” The rummaging noises start up again and you grin to yourself. If he’s hungry, your little plan will work perfectly.

You crunch up into a sitting position and drape your arms over the back of the couch, watching Mat as he moves things around in the fridge, looking for something to eat. “Do you want to go to Chip City with me?” You ask. “I want to make like one of those TikToks, you know where they rate the cookies of the week?”

Mat’s nodding and closing the fridge before you even finish speaking. “Oh, hell fucking yes,” he grins, skirting around the kitchen island and stopping behind the couch. You reach out and tug at the belt loops on his jeans, laughing. “You know I’m always down for cookies.”

“I know,” you tease, unfolding from the couch and getting to your feet. “That’s why I suggested it. I can always count on you to validate my sugar cravings.”

He smiles his crooked little smile and readjusts his hat, the new Stay GOALd collaboration with Ralph Macchio, raking his hand through his hair before settling the hat on backwards. Your stomach flips a little at how good he looks. “Babe, we need to stop talking and start driving,” he says, totally seriously.

“Chill, Cookie Monster,” you follow him to the front door, stepping into your ratty Forces. The leather is more grey than white now and creased beyond belief, but they’re comfortable and you can slide them on and off without having to do the laces. “I doubt they’re going to run out of cookies in the ten minutes it takes to get there.”

“Never know,” Mat shrugs, tossing your car keys at you. You barely catch them, fumbling a little before your fingers hook on the beaded keychain. “Your car’s behind mine, you drive?”

You wrinkle your nose, when Mat’s home you’d rather be the passenger princess, but you also hate it when he readjusts your seat to fit his longer legs. “Fine,” you mumble, locking the door behind him, “but that’s the last bit of driving I’m doing all weekend.”

He swoops in to press a kiss to your forehead, “your wish is my command, Princess Squeaks.”

With a delighted smile, you hop into the driver’s seat of your car, turning it on while Mat buckles up in the passenger seat. He leans back in the seat, the brim of his backwards cap hitting against the headrest and popping the front of the hat off his head. “Damn,” he mutters, quickly fixing it and sitting forward. “So, wait, if you make one of those videos, what are the chances we get a Chip City influencer deal? Are we looking at free cookies for life?”

“Um, no,” you wince when you take a turn a little too quickly, clipping the curb. Hoping Mat will ignore that, you continue quickly, “I don’t think free cookies for life is a thing? Maybe some like coupons or extra point perks? Honestly, it’ll probably be nothing other than a comment and a like.”

“For life will be a really short period if you keep driving like a blind lunatic,” Mat teases you, laughing loudly when you lift your hand from the steering wheel to flip him off.

“You’re the one who told me to drive,” you counter.

Mat snags your hand out of the air and laces his fingers with yours, settling the back of his hand on the center console. “That’s only because I forgot what an insane driver you are,” he laughs, dramatically letting his body bounce forward and back in the seat when you come to a sharp stop at a red light.

You roll your eyes and make a point of driving exactly the speed limit and taking turns super carefully until you pull into the parking lot. When he hops out of the car, Mat wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. You snuggle up, wrapping your arm around his waist, car keys jangling in your hand as you walk. “Babe, you can drive like Vin Diesel all you want when I’m not in the car,” he says as you walk up the sidewalk to Chip City. “Lou might consider it a breach of my contract if you drive like that when I’m in the passenger seat.”

“Breach of contract!?” You yelp, pinching his side while he lets loose one of his contagiously loud laughs. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“But you love me,” Mat states matter-of-factly, breaking contact with you to pull open the door and hold it for you. You hum happily, immediately hit with the delicious scent of baked cookies. Behind you, Mat lets out a quiet groan and you laugh at his dramatics. “Jesus, it always smells so good in here,” he falls into line behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“If I worked here, I’d be three hundred pounds from sampling cookies every day,” you comment, turning to the mirror on the wall and lining up your face with the milk moustache decal for a selfie. You nudge Mat into place next to you and he crinkles his whole face up into a cheesy grin just for you. You snap the picture and shuffle forward as the person at the register leaves, moving the line up. Mat shuffles behind you, stepping on the heels of your sneakers and mumbling apologies.

While you wait, you look at the merch on the walls, joking with Mat that you’re going to get him the cookie shaped backpack for him to put his stuff in on game days. Before he can retort, you’re at the case and the worker is asking you how many cookies you want.

“Um, let’s do six?” You say, voice ticking up in a question for Mat. He nods, barely listening to you as he squints at the cookies. They’ll be gone in two days.

“Definitely need the cookies and cream,s’mores and oh, fuck yes, banana cream pie,” he points at each cookie as he names the flavor. “Babe?”

“I’ll do the specialty ones,” you say, “dark chocolate peanut butter, white chocolate macadamia, and brookie, please.”

“I love bananan cream pie cookie week,” Mat comments dreamily, looking like Pepe Le Pew when the cartoon skunk’s eyes turn into hearts when he spots the female skunk. He grins at you when you stick your finger in your mouth, fake gagging.

“Ugh, disgusting,” you shake your head. “Your love for banana cream pie is your biggest red flag.”

The woman behind the counter boxes everything up and you tap in your phone number to get rewards points before stepping to the side so Mat can pay. He smirks at you, tapping his card against the reader, and quietly, so no one else can hear, murmurs, “say ‘thank you, daddy.’”

A laugh startles out of your chest and you shake your head, cheeks flushing hot. “No, nope. I’m not saying that, Mathew.” Your fingers tremble a little around the box of cookies.

Mat’s hand is huge and warm on your lower back as he guides you out of the store, the sudden cool air a relief to your cheeks. He chuckles and flexes his fingers against your back. “Worth a shot,” he teases. “One day I’m gonna get you to say it.”

“It won’t be of my own accord,” you wrinkle your nose at him, stomach flipping a little bit. You refuse to analyze the excitement building low in your stomach and instead march determinedly back to your car. You had a plan for today and it didn’t involve Mat being called ‘daddy’ in a public place. Or any place. Or ever.

“We’ll see,” Mat jokes, pulling open the door for you to hop in and then going around the front of the car to get in on the passenger side. You drop the cookie box on his lap and he immediately picks at the tape holding it shut with his thumbnail, ready to snag a bite.

“Wait for me to get set up!” You chastise him, flicking his fingers away from the box with one hand and pulling up TikTok with the other.

Mat keeps picking at the tape, “no one’s gonna notice, I’ll just break it in half.” He finally manages to get the tape off and pops the lid open, dramatically inhaling the scent of the cookies. “Oh, fuck yes. Babe, what a good idea.”

You grin at him and make sure your phone is set in the holder attached to your windshield so both you and Mat are in the shot. “I literally only have good ideas,” you pull the box of cookies back into your lap, ignoring Mat’s protests. “Ready?”

He nods and you reach forward to start the recording. “Hi guys!” You chirp into the camera. “Happy Saturday, Mat has a rare day off so I decided to rope him into my fun. Say hi, Mat.”

Mat looks up from his phone and parrots, “hi, Mat,” with a shit eating grin on his face.

“He’s the worst,” you roll your eyes affectionately and hold up the cookie box so it’s in frame. “Anyway, I wanted to do something different than the usual Crumbl cookie sampling, and since Chip City is in our town, I figured this was the best thing. I invited Mat, because, well, I’m not sure if you know this but my husband has the biggest sweet tooth.”

You fight to keep your face in a neutral expression, but can’t help the corner of your mouth ticking up when you see Mat’s eyebrows lift nearly into his hairline on screen. His own mouth tips down in a slight, curious frown, but he doesn’t say anything.

So you continue, “it’s not anything like my mother-in-law’s peach cobbler, but Mat will kill a chocolate chip cookie in record time.” You shift in your seat, turning to face him, and keep your gaze locked on a point in the middle of his forehead, because if you look him in the eye, you’ll crack up. “Which do you want to try first, babe? Wait, let me guess, banana cream pie?”

There’s amusement in his tone when he holds out his hand and says, “oh for sure. Hand it over!”

He squints at you and you avoid his gaze when you pass over the cookie. Pretending to think, you look down at the box, “I’m going to try the dark chocolate peanut butter first, I think. Unlike my husband,” you smile at the camera, holding up the cookie while you break it in half to show the melted peanut butter swirls on the inside, “I like my desserts a little less sweet. Lemon bars, carrot cake, cheesecake, that kind of thing. Last week was lemon berry, which is a top three cookie for me.”

You can see Mat jolt in surprise again on screen, his head swinging to look at you. His eyes are wide and his lips are fighting a laugh.

“Yeah,” Mat smirks at the camera, breaking his own cookie in half and taking a huge bite. He chews and swallows before continuing, “the wifey is pretty picky on her desserts.”

Mat’s words sink in and you do a double take, jaw falling open a little. Mat’s grin turns shit eating and he takes another huge bite of his cookie while you blink stupidly at him. “What-?” You frown, ignoring the way your heart is pounding and your stomach is clenching with the echo of Mat saying ‘wifey’ in your ear.

He licks a spot of whipped cream off the side of his thumb and your core throbs.

“Uno reverse, Squeaks,” Mat laughs. “Do you think you’re the only one with Tik Tok?”

“Oooh,” you scrunch your face up at him, “you knew what I was up to?” He nods and your hand shoots out to push at his shoulder.

“Hey!” He yelps, chuckling. “I figured it out when you referred to Mom as your mother-in-law.”

You put your cookie back in the box and tap the record button on your phone, ending the video. “I honestly thought you’d have a better reaction,” you laugh a little, pulling your left foot up onto the seat and turning completely so you’re facing Mat. You shift the box too, so it’s on top of the center console.

Mat talks as he swaps out his banana cream pie for a piece of the s’mores, a string of marshmallow connecting the broken piece from the rest in the box, “why? Not a secret that I’m gonna wife you up in the future. I like hearing you call me your husband.”

He says it so casually, so easily, that it shocks you a little. When you first met Mat, you had thought dating him would be a fun time, but you’d never imagined that you’d be here - with him talking about marriage as if it’s a foregone conclusion.

“Well,” you murmur, feeling warm and content, “for the record, I liked hearing you call me wifey. So I guess we’re even.”

Mat looks up at you, hazel eyes lit up and glowing where the sun hits his face. He looks even more edible than the cookies. “You called me husband twice, don’t think we’re even just yet…” he drags out the pause with a sly smile on his face and you think he may use the w-word again, but he just lets the silence linger, the possibility hanging in the air.

[foli-vora]

without you

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: made myself hurt with this one tbh. I'll think about a part 2 if enough are interested, but I'll warn you - it won't be a happy ending lmao. Enjoy the angst-fest loves! x

Summary: You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

Word count: 2.1kish

Warnings: ANGST. ANGST ANGST ANGST. i got sad af writing this. i don't even know what to put in the warnings. the events of infinity war & endgame, brief mention of the avengers, severe and utter fucking heartbreak, i would lose my fucking mind coming home after an apparent 5 years and finding the love of my life *******, lots of anxiety/panic, severe panic attack, passing out. no hate to karen here - she's a fucking babe.

-

It happens within a blink.

One moment there’s no one, and the next, an older woman is suddenly standing in your way and you can’t help the brief twitch of annoyance that she’s there. You have a meeting, you have groceries to get… you can’t just play chicken with a stranger on the pavement all afternoon.

She freezes, like many others you notice, and your frown deepens, confusion starting to take over the irritation. They all look at you, but not just you.

Time seemingly comes to a momentary freeze and you just don’t understand. Why is she looking at you like that?

The next minute—panic.

There’s a rush.

People scramble for their phones, they run. Cars swerve and there’s chaos. There are people crying, people start screaming, but there’s also awe, laughter. People embrace strangers. You know they’re strangers by the way they look around in complete bewilderment in the arms of the other, seemingly just as confused as you.

Five years.

Why do you keep hearing ‘five years’? Why are shop fronts different? What the hell has happened? 

“You’re… you’re all back,” the woman utters, tears starting to build along her lash line.

Back?

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, a sick feeling of dread slowly building until it feels like it sticks uncomfortably in your throat. Something happened. You don’t know what, you don’t know how, all you know is that you need to go home immediately.

It’s halfway back to the apartment, after passing things that weren’t there previously, shops that you had passed just hours before now different, and your phone simply refusing to connect for unknown reasons, that you break into a panicked run.

You want home, you want somewhere familiar.

Matt left for work the same time as you—would the new mayhem taking over the streets bring him home to you? Maybe he’d already be waiting, sensing the frenzy before you?

The view of your building is a welcome relief, and you slow as you reach the door, heart pounding in your chest as you take the stairs as quickly as possible. The apartment is unlocked, and you berate yourself for forgetting to lock up earlier, but Matt’s cane resting by the door turns your inward irritation to understanding.

He’s home. He got here before you. He must be waiting, maybe he’d have answers—

“Matty?” you call, “do you have any idea what’s—”

A clatter, a sweep of air, and then he’s on you.

He’s curled around you before you can even finish, his arms so tight and constricting you struggle to take in a full breath. He’s talking, muttering incoherent words into the skin of your throat and all you can do is stand there, mind whirling in a maddening rush, not even able to lift your arms to return his embrace due to his restrictive hold.

“You’re here,” he breathes, almost disbelieving, “you’re here. I didn’t want to have hope but—God, I—”

“Matt, I’m so confused,” you breathe, unsure of why tears are starting to gloss your eyes or why your heart suddenly feels like it’s beating in the back of your throat, “what’s going on? It’s crazy out there, I don’t know wh—”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long, I didn’t think I’d ever—” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence and a few more panicked kisses press into the side of your throat.

He’s crying.

You feel the wetness of his tears smear over your skin and it’s enough to bring your own falling heavily from your eyes. What is he talking about? You saw him this morning, only mere hours ago. You made breakfast, you kissed him goodbye like every other day, nothing had been different. 

“Matt,” you whimper, “what the hell is going on?”

—

Five years. You were gone for five years. Just one day—poof. Out of existence, never to be seen again. The city had been clouded by dust, remnants of those also taken disappearing with the autumn breeze. So many people just lost. You don’t remember any of it.

There was no pain, no suffering. You had no recollection of the time lost at all, and yet for Matt it had been years.

Years since he had touched you, kissed you, felt you. He tells you that he looked for you for weeks, months. Even went to the damn Avengers—or what was left of them—and found out what had happened. He’d been distraught, falling into a deep, dark pit of despair and heartbreak from the sudden loss of you.

You cry for him, for the time you’d lost together.

Nothing could ever make up for it. Sure, you’re here now, but could you ever truly make up for the loss of time? What had he gone through during your absence?

The two of you don’t part for what feels like hours.

Matt clings to you, inhaling you deeply and kissing whatever inch of skin he could reach. He doesn’t pull away to answer your questions, instead letting the low rumble of his voice melt through the fabric of your shirt and flooding warmth along your shoulder.

His hands still roam over you, almost as if they’re retracing your dips and curves to remind himself of how you felt when you disappeared five years ago. You catch his fingers with a sweet flutter in your chest, lifting his hand to press a tender kiss to the back of it when the smooth feel of metal catches your attention.

It’s a simple gold band, fit snug around the fourth finger of his left hand and you rub your finger over the shiny surface of it in curiosity. He wasn't wearing a ring this morning...

A ring. 

A wedding ring.

You feel sick.

He senses the moment you realise it, picking up on the sudden quicken of your heartbeat and the clammy sting of sweat that builds along the back of your neck.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as you stare at the smooth gold band in shock, feeling as if the room had suddenly gotten ten times smaller. He starts to shift, his fingers quickly flipping to wrap around your wrists to keep you from moving away.

“Let me explain—”

“You… are—are you married?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You hurriedly stand, wrenching your hands from his and stumbling on your quick step back as he advances after you. He’s married? How can he be married?

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he just slid the ring you both picked out onto his finger when you disappeared in an effort to keep your memory fresh… but with the shine of guilt starting to seep into his features, you fear it’s not as sentimental as you hope.

Panic consumes you. Your eyes flitter around the room, your ears filling with a dull ring that drowns out whatever words fall from his lips as he cautiously steps after you.

It’s your apartment, but it’s… it’s not.

You start to notice the little things you had missed upon coming home so quickly. That throw over the back of the couch isn’t yours. The coffee mug next to Matt’s on the kitchen counter isn’t yours. Your trinkets aren’t lingering on the shelves where you’d placed them. Your shoes aren’t thrown by the door. Your photo with Matt isn’t in its usual spot on the wall.

Instead, another picture hangs there.

Bile burns the back of your throat. Your heart thunders away in your ears. You know what it is, you can see the general feel of it and who stands within the frame through blurry eyes, but you simply can’t accept it.

It’s morbid curiosity that makes you take those few steps towards it, a part of you screaming to not look, to turn away before it really hammers that final nail into the coffin and fucking destroys you. Maybe your mind needs to truly see it in order to make sense of it… but no. It only makes you more confused, more distressed.

What the fuck?

Oxygen is impossible. You can’t fucking breathe. You can’t—

“Sweetheart—”

It’s a wedding photo.

Matt’s wedding photo.

Matt and Karen’s wedding photo.

“Oh my god,” you whimper brokenly, clutching a hand to your chest in an effort to keep yourself together. You press where you feel the rapid beat of your heart, half wondering if you’d be able to feel the break of the frantic organ under your palm.

The room starts to spin.

This morning you’d woken up with an apartment and a fiancé, and now, only a few hours later, you have nothing. How can you have nothing? The apartment is home to you—you left your pyjamas on the floor of the bathroom this morning. You had your coffee at the counter. The love you feel for Matt is present as it always had been, there in the centre of your entire being, so sweet and consuming and yet, his love for you had seemingly vanished.

Disintegrated, along with your body apparently five years ago. Maybe with a clearer head, you’d come to understand that five years is a long time and it’s understandable that he had to move on at some point, but in the moment you feel nothing but hurt—rage.

Matt’s hands are frantic on your body, grabbing at your arms and keeping you from falling to the floor as a sob tears its way out of your chest. You can hear him try to soothe you, hear his worry that your heart is erratic and you just need to breathe.

Breathe, sweetheart—please, breathe.

You can’t. You simply can’t.

Oxygen isn’t coming as easily as it should. Your lungs burn. You’re shaking, unable to stop the tremble taking over your body as you choke on your tears. They burn your skin, painting your cheeks with the bitterness of your heartbreak and they just won’t stop. 

He supports you as you sink towards the floor, legs no longer having the strength to hold you up. He goes down with you, hands cradling your head to his chest and you can’t find it in you to push him away and escape his touch.

It’s Matt. Your Matt. 

You shouldn’t want to shrug him off. You shouldn’t feel guilty at his touch. He’s your Matt, has been for the eighteen months you’ve been together. It was meant to be you in that frame, swimming in white with a smile stretched along your lips, Matt dressed to the nines in an immaculate tux and his ever present red shades beside you.

But it’s not. It’s… it’s Karen.

It’s not you, there’s no trace of you anywhere to be seen. Had you been that forgettable? Foggy’s there, Marci a step behind holding a beautiful little girl with ribbons in her hair. They had a baby? You’ve missed so much.

You start weeping for the life you’d missed out on, for the chances and opportunities of growing older with them and the sweet potential you had had with Matt.

Gone.

All of it, just—gone.

Where would you be now had your soul not been chosen? Married? Promoted? A godmother to the sweet little angel cradled in Marci’s arms? 

“Sweetheart, come back to me,” Matt’s voice cuts through your despair, low and soft in your ear and you cling to him tighter, “breathe. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I-I’ve lost so much,” you choke out, hiding your tear stricken face in his throat and desperately trying to get ahold of your body jerking with each difficult inhale and broken exhale, “and I didn’t even know—”

You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything when you apparently ‘returned’. It’s all so haunting and overwhelming and so fucking confusing. 

He stills smells the same, feels the same, despite all these years. You cling to him, desperate for comfort in the moment of your utter heartbreak, but it doesn’t work like it used to and that only makes your pain increase tenfold. His hold feels wrong now. His hold isn’t for you anymore. He has a wife.

You still don’t understand. You can’t comprehend the fact that he’s married, that the arms that hold you are now meant for someone else. They were yours this morning. It’s not possible. You had him this morning; you felt him this morning, you kissed him—

“Sweetheart,” he’s urgent now, manoeuvring you in his hold until you sit in front of him, your back pressed up against his chest and his arms tight around your torso, “breathe with me. Feel my chest, listen to me and follow—in… and out. Come on—”

You pay attention to the exaggerated feel of him breathing against your back, focusing on every expansion of his chest and attempting to match the pace of your inhales. It doesn’t work. Your heart still thunders away against your ribs, your mind still runs fucking wild, and your eyes threaten to roll back from the rush of it all.

“Stay with me,” he begs, but his voice starts to sink to the back of your mind, taken over by the high pitched ring sounding in your ears.

It’s not long until black fully engulfs your vision, and Matt’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear, frantic and terrified. Maybe you'll find peace in the darkness.

-

matty tags: @javier-pena, @dihra-vesa, @a-reader-and-a-writer, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @acourtofsnakes, @mstgsmy66, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @withasideofmeg, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @fangirl-316, @xoxabs88xox, @federleichtefreiheit, @lavenderluna10, @mindidjarin. @stardustingold, @androah, @itwasthereaminuteago, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @h-hxgirl, @Unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @celestinemuse, @chaoticemz, @alexxavicry, @mylifeispainandiloveit, @cran-berry-vodka, @nishi-reads, @mandocrasis, @lawfulgranola, @ew-erin, @fuckoffbard, @spaceserialkiller, @captain-jebi

[stevebabey]

part one. the same cw applies as part one (cw: past sexual coercion is implied) thank u for any & all kind comments <3 hopin to deliver on the angsty hurt/comfort front >:/

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not exactly how he planned to start his whole apology speech but it’s as good a start as any. Steve is glad he says it. Eddie’s entire character softens just a bit hearing it, his shoulders relaxing to sit a little lower, like maybe, he was afraid Steve had come by to argue some more.

For a moment, they stare at each other until Eddie seems to realise he’s blocking the entrance. He jolts just a bit and side steps, beckoning Steve to come inside.

Good start. Steve steps forward and the subsequent rustle from behind his back reminds him of what’s in his hands. He pulls them out from their hiding spot and offers them out with only a marginally awkward cough. “Uh, first, these are for you.”

In his hands are blue hydrangeas, 3 of them, and the bag containing a mixtape and a multitude of Eddie’s favourite candies.

Eddie’s reaction isn’t… quite the usual. He doesn’t swoon or snap up the gifts out of Steve’s hands like Tilly and other girlfriends had. He doesn’t smile either, just eyes then silently. Steve feels a roll of worry tangle up his stomach.

After a moment, Eddie takes them. Steve follows him, taking the trailer stairs two at a time to keep watch on what Eddie will do. It’s a surprise then to watch them get placed to the side, flowers and gift bag dumped down on the Munson’s cluttered dining table. Eddie doesn’t even attempt a peek into the bag, which, well, for Eddie says a lot.

Moving his gaze from their discarded state to Eddie, Steve finds himself pinned down by Eddie’s waiting stare, his arms crossed tight over his chest. He’s waiting for Steve to speak. Right, it’s time to face the music.

Steve chances a quick glance down at the smudged bullet points on his palm. It suddenly feels too wooden for what Steve really wants to say, too constructed, too much what he thought Eddie wanted to hear.

And besides, Eddie hadn’t reacted as expected in the first instance, the forgotten gifts put to the side. Steve shoves his hand deep in his pocket and goes instead with exactly what he’s feeling.

“Okay, um. Look, I didn’t mean what I said. I- I know that was, I— my parents came home that night.”

None of it is coming out right, stammers on every word. Steve curses himself under his breath and wills himself to continue. Knows if it was Eddie apologising it would be poetic and sweet, all the right words in all the right order.

“I’m not— It’s not an excuse,” Steve shakes his head, tries to string together one single coherent fucking sentence. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t pick you up. And- and I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. Really, it’s- I don’t think that of you. I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”

Eddie nods, though his clenched jaw gives away he’s not entirely peachy just yet.

“Robin told me about your parents being home. And yeah, it wasn’t cool what you said.” He agrees and Steve’s stomach turns. “But I wasn’t exactly fair either, getting all up in your face about it, so I’m sorry for that.”

Steve blinks, surprised; an apology was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m still a bit hurt,” Eddie admits, arms folding across his chest in a defensive motion. Steve hates how he seems to be curling in on himself, so obviously hating to admit aloud that Steve’s words had cut so deep. “But y’know, I know now that you were wound up from your parents being home. So, you’re, like, forgiven I guess.”

...Huh, okay. Usually, forgiveness comes after the grovelling, Steve thinks. Not as easily granted as Eddie is seemingly giving him now.

“Okay, uh,” Steve says warily, not quite sure where to go from here. Eddie isn’t really moving, still standing a bit tense. Waiting for Steve to break the ice.

Steve’s eyes dart to the dining table — the resting hydrangeas and abandoned candy. Steve tries to put two and two together, sure, so sure he’s missing something. It’s never this easy.

Eddie hadn’t acknowledged the flowers, hadn’t wanted the gifts. Steve may be forgiven but he still hasn’t shown Eddie how sorry he is.

Steve steps closer and sinks to his knees.

Eddie’s eyes widen in an instant and he takes half a step back, his hands raising up. It doesn’t feel good to watch Eddie put distance between them. Something curls up in Steve’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. His voice is a bit scratchy and he clears his throat, not moving closer but not moving further away.

Fine. He wants Steve to spell it out. Steve wishes Eddie would just let him apologise in the way he knows — he was hoping Eddie wouldn’t make him drag out his apologies like his father did. But Eddie did love his theatrics so it’s not all that surprising.

“I’m… still apologising?” It’s not meant to come out as a question but half way through the sentence, Steve clocks Eddie’s body language. It’s giving very different vibes than expected. Steve’s confused.

The confusion only hikes up when anger flares in Eddie’s eyes, his jaw tightening just a bit. “You’re—? This isn’t gonna make what you said hurt any less, Steve. Is that what the…”

Eddie trails off, his own gaze tracking over to the dining table. He seems even more ticked off then, fixing his gaze back on to Steve.

“Are you trying to— Did you think you buying me stuff and sucking my dick is some completely fucked way to fast-track an apology?”

Steve feels his own eyes widen, each word twisting his confusion up so tightly it hurts in his chest. Eddie sounds angry.

“No,” Steve insists weakly, because he knows that’s what Eddie wants to hear. Even if that sort of is what he was expecting. He shakes his head, tries to get a read on Eddie’s body language beyond his annoyance. What does he want? “No, I just…”

Eddie’s anger seems to wane a little, seeing the confusion shudder across Steve’s features. Steve suddenly feels incredibly stupid being on his knees— but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want him in this way right now.

“I was,” Steve starts, clearing his throat and willing away his flushed cheeks. “I’m proving it to you.” His voice is a little stronger now, more sure. “I want to prove that I’m sorry.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment and just when Steve thinks he’ll concede and reach for his belt, he surprises Steve and sinks to his knees too. He sits atop his boots, now face to face with his boyfriend, and reaches out gingerly to place a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve eyes it for a moment. Is this the come on?

“Steve,” Eddie says gently. It reminds Steve of the tone one might have with an easily spooked animal, all comforting and soothing. “Do you even… want this? To have sex right now?”

It’s a strange question, Steve thinks. He frowns. This blowjob isn’t about him. “I think I’m confused,” He admits, forcing a chuckle to make it a little more casual. Then repeats the sentiment from earlier again. “I want to apologise.”

Eddie nods, harsh enough a curl untucks itself from behind his ear. “Yeah, sweetheart, you already did that. You apologised and I forgave you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that all these extra things, the gifts and flowers, made him question the genuineness in Steve’s apology at first. Something tells him to dig a little deeper. Steve isn’t smarmy or cocky, he’s not sure that’ll be forgiven, he’s… confused.

But Steve nods. He’s following Eddie’s words so far. Something glitters inside him that he’s already back to sweetheart so soon. He hesitantly lays his own hand atop of Eddie’s, resting them both on his knee. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even know what to say. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking is… what is this?” Eddie waves his hand over Steve’s kneeled form.

The way he says it is still so concerned, which is so far from the usual eagerness Steve has come to know from him normally in these types of situations. Suddenly, knowing Eddie’s definitely not in the mood makes the whole thing a lot more embarrassing now.

“Christ, I wish I had known you wouldn’t want that now,” Steve forces another laugh, quiet, as he ducks his head down. Eddie doesn’t join in, just waits patiently.

“I was— y’know,” Steve waves a hand, gesturing to nothing. “Proving I was sorry. Making it up to you. Guess sex was the wrong idea there, sorry.”

He grimaces a bit, squeezes Eddie’s hand. Steve wonders how he’ll end up making it up to Eddie, if not this way. It’s always been this way.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just stares at Steve with a perturbed expression on his face. If Steve had to guess, he’d say he almost— almost looks a bit sad.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, nudging closer. Both their knees are touching now. “You already apologised. I forgave you.”

He’s repeating things Steve already knows, so Steve nods. Then repeats the thing he’s heard a hundred times over, “Yeah, I know and now I need to prove how sorry I am.”

Eddie’s face crumples a bit, the frown line between his brows deepening. He seems to have hit some understanding, shuffling even closer to Steve. Any annoyance from a minute ago has leaked out of his body. He’s all comfort now, every soft part that Steve adores so much.

“No, you don’t.” Eddie says simply, words strong and sure. “I know that you’re sorry. You said so. That’s proof enough for me, sweetheart.”

Oh. That’s all there is to it, apparently.

Steve’s acutely aware that the emotion streaking through his chest is relief — relief that he doesn’t have to jump through hoops to gain anything back. Doesn’t have to open his mouth or spread his legs just to earn back his partners affections for a heat of the moment mistake.

He said he was sorry and Eddie forgave him. That’s it. That’s all it took. Like an ill-weighted scale, all the relief slides down into a strange hot shame. Oh god, he’s just come in and then— and Eddie hadn’t even— and Steve had thought—

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, that must’ve—“ Steve reels back, the embarrassment from earlier rearing up inside him close to pure mortification. He pulls his hand from Eddie’s grip, all of it suddenly wrong, so so wrong. “I’m sorry, that was so weird of me to offer—“

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Eddie’s cutting in before Steve gets very far, firmly planting both hands onto Steve’s shoulders to keep him from receding any further. “Don’t apologise for that. That’s… Steve, will you look at me please?”

Nope, a small voice inside him answer, with a quiver. Looking at the trailer floor is so much easier than what Eddie’s asking.

There’s been many times where Steve has felt a bit dumb but this? This feels like a special kind of stupid. The word throbs in his chest painfully as he wonders how he’d got so turned around. He wants to apologise again.

“Stevie?” Eddie says his name again, a soft coo. One of the hands on Steve’s shoulders shifts, hesitating for a moment, before gingerly cradling his jaw. Steve lets Eddie tilt his face up, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to his boyfriend’s face.

Eddie is all sweetness, eyes soft and smile encouraging. It’s his tenderness that makes Steve exhale, a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and he can’t help the way he sags just a bit and leans into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie gives a quiet hum. “No more apologies, okay?”

Steve nods, the motion a bit slow. It sort of feels as though it’s a little harder to move against gravity, like the air is thick molasses. He’s tired. Why is he so tired? He wonders if it’s the mountainous relief that’s still trickling out his body.

“We- we’ll need to talk about that later,” Eddie nods along to his words, voice all tender. The way he says it lets Steve know it’s not a bad thing. “But for now I think I’d just rather hold you. Can I do that?”

How backwards. Steve had come here to apologise, to make it up to Eddie, and now he’s the one being comforted. And yet, his nod comes much easier this time. It’s probably a bit too eager but Steve’s just about drowned in his embarrassment tonight so what’s some more?

Eddie’s hands move and grip Steve’s hands in his lap, giving a comforting squeeze— then waits, doesn’t move until Steve gives another squeeze back.

Then Eddie’s rising, standing up and pulling Steve up with him. It’s quiet, Steve hiding the tiny shake in his hands by squeezing Eddie’s hand so tight he won’t notice — til Eddie’s knees crack, terribly loud in the silence, and he whispers a loud, “Ow, fuck.”

Steve can’t help it, he laughs, the sound bursting out of him. Fuck, his boyfriend is an old man sometimes.

Then Eddie laughs too, that glorious sound that Steve could bottle and get drunk on and then they’re both laughing — and Eddie is tugging Steve into his bedroom, both of them collapsing into the creaky bed. The springs whine under their weight but it goes unheard.

Eddie does his best to bundle Steve in his arms, accidentally sticking his elbow into Steve’s side but it doesn’t even matter. Eddie cuddles are a fuckin’ delicacy as far Steve’s concerned— when he’s happy with the way he’s wrapped himself around Steve, full Koala style, he squeeezes.

It forces a pathetic sounding wheeze out from Steve, quickly spiralling into another laugh because who has ever loved him this way? This well? Between the threads of relief that pluck on his heartstrings is white hot love.

Steve already knows what’s coming next, what is always the second step in Eddie cuddles. Instead of hiding his face away into Eddie’s chest, like he’s done a thousand times before, he sticks his face out. Chin jutted out, face exposed, and ready for kisses.

Eddie doesn’t deny him. It’s a wet smush of quick kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids — Eddie lets out little ‘mwahs’ as he goes, in a sickly sweet voice that Steve adores.

Faintly, inside his chest Steve’s heart sighs. Because no apology, no forgiveness, has ever been like this, this simple, this easy. Equal comfort — like Eddie was aware Steve had been suffering on the other end of the silent treatment, at regretting his own words.

Steve silently hopes it’ll always be this way, even though another part deeper down knows it’ll be. That arguments with Eddie might involve childish silent treatment, tongues poked out and boots stamped — but that apologies would never be a test. Never more than an honest admittance of regret in the form of words.

In the way Eddie presses a particularly slimy kiss against his cheek, hard enough it makes Steve’s cheek squish, he thinks he might not have to worry much at all.

tags: @disorganisedbee @estrellami-1 @moonshadows-13 @qubert18 @fxndom-hoe @nelotegreitic @justforthedead89 @avacrebs @yikes-a-bee @just-a-tiny-void @stevesbipanic @penny-lane-bitch @clarakeanen @weeennussy

[peachypinkygloss]

Oh em gee hey babes 💖 congrats girly on the 2k!! May I request a min yoongi x reader where he's mean to her and fucks her dumb? (Like bully!yoongi x nice reader?) And she has no idea why he's mean to her. sorry I've just been on a yoongi spiral. I need that August dick tbh 🥴

hey baby!! 😘 thank you so much 💕 love u 💋 x

there's more to him

Yoongi hates you, but he seems to never get enough of your pussy.

pairing: bully!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: (implied) university au, smut

warnings: yoongi's ... really mean lol, is he secretly whipped for her??, degradation, unprotected sex, ruined orgasm, 500 words.

a.n.: i feel like i'm the one being mean to you with this ending lol sorry!!

This is part of my 2k milestone celebration! 🤍 (requests are closed!!)

♡・2k celebration masterlist・♡

Yoongi is so ruthless, he has no pity for you, yet he seems so enthralled by you. So excited to see you, so turned on by your body. His feelings are totally the opposite of what he says, of what he does. It confuses you because you've never had someone who hates you that much, but seems so obsessed with you at the same time.

"Who do you think you are, hm?" He asks, sounding so angry but so aroused, too. "Walking around in that short little skirt of yours," he continues, hips snapping against your ass. "Looking like a fucking slut."

With what he says, you'd think he doesn't like your skirt. But the fact that you're still wearing it, just pulled over your butt so he could have access to your pussy, tells otherwise.

You never know what to think about him. You keep being nice to him no matter what, seeing the good in him because you know he's not just an angry person who lets out their frustration on someone else. You know there's more to him.

"It's almost unbelievable how stupid you are," he insults you, pounding into you like a mad man and maybe he is mad, but not at you.

"Please," you whine, not really sure what you're begging for. Mercy? Kindness? Empathy? Or to finally cum around his cock? Maybe you're asking for all of that.

"Please what, sweetheart?" He questions, but he doesn't give you time to answer. "You can't even say a sentence, you're too dumb for that, aren't you?" His lips are beside your ear, sending shivers all over your skin.

"Let me cum," you manage to moan out, his cock restlessly thrusting in and out of you. Tears form in your eyes at how rough it is, but you have to admit it; you love it.

You love how mean he is to you, how his cock stretches you out, how he pins your hands behind your back, how he kisses you until you can't even breathe.

You just wish he would be honest with you, with himself.

"Is that what you want, mh? Greedy little girl," he groans and obliges, passing his arm around your waist and reaching for your pulsating clit.

You moan when he touches it, rubbing fast circles on it. He doesn't stop his thrusts, he even goes deeper somehow. You feel the knot in your stomach tightening, your high coming really, really close.

But when it reaches you, he stops the movements of his fingers and halts his hips, ripping away your orgasm, ruining it. You whimper, but it sounds broken, sad you didn't get what you wanted, what you asked for.

"You really thought I was going to give it to you?" He snickers, his lips brushing against your ear. He slips out of you, making you gasp, missing how his cock was filling you up so well. "Get down on your knees, I'm not done with you."

.

.

.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display. 

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?” 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.” 

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint. 

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation. 

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell. 

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife. 

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact. 

Here went nothing. 

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation. 

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all. 

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now. 

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in. 

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants. 

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit. 

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.” 

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper. 

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?” 

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. “Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.” 

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves. 

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals. 

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner. 

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his. 

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva. 

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing. 

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy. 

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now. 

Megumi. 

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro. 

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying. 

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came. 

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.  

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.” 

The way you cared this much was adorable. 

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?” 

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.” 

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway. 

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back. 

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?" 

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch. 

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this. 

He patted your cheek and cooed. 

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. 

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard. 

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat. 

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight. 

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper. 

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body. 

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again. 

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy. 

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying. 

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head. 

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated. 

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat. 

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core. 

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars. 

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control. 

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap. 

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy. 

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive. 

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s. 

And most certainly, not  Naoya Zenin’s. 

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. 

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done. 

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls. 

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears. 

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response. 

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies. 

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[lychniis]

⚘— DUE RESPITE.

i. SYNOPSIS : he demands his affection. it's long overdue, in his opinion. ( jing yuan x reader ) // evenfall event - prompt xi ( ❛ honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips.❜ ) + daisy.

ii. WARNING(S) : mild mentions of blood and one fucked up appendix, this is lowkey selfship coded, reader is a doctor and is lowkey tired too, jing yuan is just a wee bit touchy, a tiiiny hint of angst. very small but i swear but it's all fluff and sweet talking.

# masterlist

“Come here.” 

He smiles in indulgence, fingers pattering playfully over hardwood. You consider his request, sugar melting over your tongue with the passing moment. You reach out for more candy as the twisting in your gut persists. A wingbeat draws your attention again. Jing Yuan is still staring straight at you.

“Why?” you ask carefully.

“Let me kiss you.” Blunt, to the point, so unlike the lilting riddles he’d spin and confuse you with. You shake your head. 

“I smell of blood.” you’d overseen the surgery of one insistent patient, a short lifer whose stomach cramps stemmed from an inflamed appendix. Even after washing yourself down you can’t quite rid the tang iron rimming your fingertips. 

Jing Yuan laughs. To him, everything may as well be a joke. Or a threat. Or a simple amusement. You consider it the happy experience of going senile with age ( you had expressed it to him. He’d laughed even harder till the birds in his hair clear out and his shoulders shook and trembled like his being was wracked with earthquakes ).

“Trust me, I’ve smelled far worse.” he assures you, leaning forth to take your hand, his lips pressing up against the palm. “Come.” A tug. You’re a slave to the way his eyes shine. You hate how he has you so easily stringed up and weak for his words ( your heart is racing, it’s a traitorous little thing ripping away at your chest and stealing your breath and warming your cheeks ).

His large hands settle you easily on his lap, drumming staccato over your hips. His lips find your temple next. “Darling mine.” he whispers. “Darling mine.”

“Yes.”

Jing Yuan smiles and shuts his eyes, curling his grip around the hook of your legs. The action in firm, steady, half patient, half wanting. “Look at me.”

You turn your head away.

He presses his face to your hair. “No?” he intones with feigned disappointment. “I cannot see your face?”

“No.” you play along, reaching for more of the rock candy. Jing Yuan stops you, and it’s warm, warm, warm all over. There’s is something tempered in his gaze. It’s a lazy adoration. 

“Is there any way I can appease my beloved then?” he muses. “Should I beg on my knees? Wax poetry?”

You groan. “No, no poetry, Jing Yuan.”

“No poetry either? My, you are a tough case, aren’t you?” he’s sweeping you away from the floor, draped on his lap and his chest. Your grasp lays upon his heart. You feel it beat. Your head turns and you face him, lips pursing as you try to stifle back the flustered curl tugging at the corners. “There.” he whispers. A finger taps at your jaw. 

He lets you close the gap and steal away gaping kisses.

“I’m weak for you, aren’t i?” you mumble mournfully between them. Jing Yuan softens to it. “An utter fool. An idiot.”

“Maybe. But I’d be a hypocrite for belittling you for it, no?” he’s chasing after your lips again in a rare moment of greed. He’s not a selfish man. Jing Yuan would let himself be rend by a thousand swords or scorched by starfire if it means another lives a life in peace. It’s a simple truth nestled in him, so blatant in its presence yet artfully tucked away beneath paraphernalia and other quirks picked over the centuries. 

( Jing Yuan who’d let himself bleed, bleed, bleed. )

Your nose nuzzles at the column of his neck. You will not be thinking of tragedy today. “Just keep holding me.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. He is flesh and blood in your grasp. he is whole. He is him.

The respite is welcomed.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

working through this event like the damn aventurine boss jk jk. anyway i am ill for this man and i want him to hold me thank you.

anyway, this evenfall post was requested by @floraldresvi!! i hope you like it!!!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @dustofthedailylife @meimeimeirin @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @ofoceansandtombsanew

AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader - Part 2

a/n: omg thank you all so much for the love on part 1!! i really appreciate it, i didn't think anyone would even see it haha! anyways this chapter is a lil longer but i had a lot of fun writing it, so i hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.5k

part 1, part 3, part 4

warnings: slight angst, language

You and Venetia sit in one of the many living rooms, watching TV as she braids your hair. It’s been a few days since your arrival, and you were enjoying the break from the cruel outside world. 

You planned on getting Felix to drive you down to your parents’ house in London soon, just to visit. You didn’t want to completely leave them in the dust, and you hadn’t seen them since Christmas break. If you were being honest, you missed them, and you have a lot to tell them about your second year at Oxford.

“So, when are you going to visit your parents?” Venetia asks as she continues plaiting your hair.

“I think tomorrow, actually.” You reply, glancing down at your hands as you pick at your nails, a nervous habit.

“Nice. Is Felix going with you?” She questions. “Yeah, I’m going to try to get him to drive me so I don’t have to take a cab.” You respond. “I’m sure he will,” She says. You nod softly.

“You know, I’m really glad Felix found a friend like you. Not some girl just desperate to fuck him.” Venetia says quietly, out of the blue. It seems totally random, but you needed that. A reminder for why you’re even here when you clearly don’t belong.

“You keep him in check, you know? You’re a really good influence,” She ties off your braid with a hairtie and you turn around to face her.

“Really?” You ask, blushing at the compliment. “Yeah. I mean it, love.” She grins and throws her arms around you, embracing you in a hug. You smile into her shoulder as you hug her back.

She pulls away. “But have you, like, ever considered dating him?” 

You’re taken aback by the question. Have you? You try to think back on the past four years of knowing Felix Catton.

Sure, the first time you met him, you thought he was slightly attractive. But thoughts of dating him or even getting close to him romantically never crossed your mind.

“No. Never,” You shake your head. “Okay, what about… Farleigh?” 

Your stomach drops and you shake your head aggressively. “No. No, we like, hate each other.” You chuckle slightly at the absurdity of her question. “Why, though?” She asks. “I see the way he looks at you. I don’t think he hates you,”

She must be insane. She’s imagining things, or romanticizing things like she always does.

“Seriously, Vee?” You shake your head and facepalm. “What?! I don’t know, you’d make a good couple.” She giggles and shoves you playfully. “No, we wouldn’t.” 

“Who?” You flinch at the deep voice coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see Farleigh walking in with a cigarette in his hand, as per usual.

He sits down in a chair near the couch and takes a long drag from the cigarette. “No one.” You quickly say, narrowing your eyes at him.

“This guy I was telling her about, I was saying they would look good together,” Venetia explains, and you turn to look at her with wide eyes. Why was she lying? Maybe to test her theory, to see if Farleigh got jealous.

Farleigh scoffs. “What guy?” He asks, and you wonder why he’s intrigued. “Just one of my friends,” She waves her hand like it’s not important. 

“Well, if he’s awkward and inexperienced, they’ll make a great match.” Farleigh says. You turn back to him and you can already feel your anger brewing. “Who said I was awkward and inexperienced?” You ask, confusion written all over your face.

“Like, everyone.” He smiles mockingly. “I’m not.” You cross your arms and look down, your face hot with embarrassment. 

“Hell, even Felix was talking about it a few weeks ago.” Your eyes snap back up to him as he blows some smoke from his mouth. The words hang in the silent air for a moment.

“What?” Your voice comes out weak. “Yeah, he was saying he only hangs out with you because he feels bad. I mean, think about it. You come from a middle class family, you’re a broke scholarship student… Felix only hangs out with people on the same level as him. You’re just an exception, I guess.” He shrugs even though everything he just said has made your stomach begin to churn and your heart begin to race.

“Use that pretty brain of yours,” He points at you with his cigarette, smirking as you stare into space, trying to process what he just told you.

“Farleigh.” Venetia warns, shaking her head. She places a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not true. Farleigh’s just a little shit stirrer. He gets off on that,” She rolls her eyes at him.

“No, it’s true. He has this savior complex. This happens all the time, you’re just the only one that happened to stick around. Like a little lost puppy, following him around, cause you have nowhere else to go. You just want this life so bad, don’t you?” He continues, his tone seeping with hatred.

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you really don’t want to cry in front of Farleigh. Or Venetia, for that matter. You look around, then stand up and walk out of the room and up the spiraling staircase.

You can hear Venetia scolding Farleigh as you run up the stairs. You eventually storm into your room and shut the door, flopping onto your bed as you begin to sob.

Was it really true? Your whole friendship with Felix was out of pity? 

No. 

~~~

4 YEARS EARLIER

You couldn’t sleep. It was certainly past midnight, you figured. You had been trying to sleep for the past two hours.

Something about this mansion made you feel small and inferior, like you were an imposter. You were, in a way. You didn’t belong. It was taking you a while to get used to the exuberant settings and all the formalities.

As you stared up at your ceiling, you figured some fresh air might help. You grabbed a sweatshirt and threw it over yourself, slipping on your sandals and walking downstairs and out one of the back doors to the courtyard.

You could swear there was someone sitting on the steps. You squinted and you could make out a head of curls and a very small light, a flame. No, a cigarette flame. 

You walked closer and grinned as Farleigh turned to you, flinching a bit.

“Why are you out here?” He asked, his face only illuminated by the ghostly moonlight. “I could ask you the same thing,” You replied, standing over him.

“Can I sit?” You asked. He nodded reluctantly. You sat down and hugged your waist in an attempt to stay warm.

You glanced up at him as he sighed, letting some smoke float out into the air. “You have a smoking problem,” You remarked.

“It’s not a problem. Most people smoke, you know.” He rolled his eyes. “At sixteen?” You asked. “Well, I’m almost seventeen. But yeah,” He nodded and took another drag from it.

“Well, I’ll be waiting for the day when your lungs stop working.” You shot back, grinning at your own statement. “Oookay,” He let out another long sigh as he looked out at the courtyard.

There was a long moment of silence between the two of you. You gazed up at the stars in the clear sky above you, like glitter scattered across a page of black ink. It was peaceful and delicate.

Eventually, Farleigh broke the silence. “You know, I like you a lot more when you keep your mouth shut,”

You rolled your eyes and glanced over at him. “I don’t even talk that much.” You observed the smile he was trying to hide and you nudged him playfully.

“I see you trying not to smile,” You giggled and the smile tugging at his lips broke out into a grin. You poked him in the arm. “You act all tough. Why?” 

His smile faded and he looked back out at the long stretch of grass. “Not sure.” His voice was distant and uncertain. This was the one time he was ever going to let his guard down, you thought to yourself. Maybe it was because he thought you were just a one time guest that he would never see again. 

You two ended up talking for about a half hour, discussing the most random things. But for some reason, it was one of the best conversations you had in a while. You had a lot more in common than you thought. 

You think you ended up dozing off on the steps with him, but you woke up the next morning in your bed. You’re not exactly sure how that happened.

Of course, the next morning at breakfast he acted like he was offput by your presence alone, but you knew what happened the night before wasn’t a dream. It was real, and you knew that when you looked deep into his warm brown eyes.

~~~

The next day, you wake up early to make yourself look somewhat presentable, despite your puffy eyelids from all the crying you did the night before. You put on some light makeup and a white sundress.

Although you didn’t want to face Felix, you needed a ride to your parents’. You head to Felix’s room after putting some shoes on, knocking on his door. 

“Felix,” You call out, knowing he’s probably still sleeping. With no response, you knock harder. “Felix!” You call, slightly louder than the first time.

You hear a loud groan and his bed shifting. “What, mate? Who is it?” He asks. “It’s me,” You reply, staring at the door expectantly.

You hear him shuffling around before his footsteps get louder and the door swings open. His brown hair is messier than usual and his eyes seem to be half open as he studies your appearance.

“What’s the special occasion?” He asks, leaning up against the doorframe as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Well, I actually have a favor to ask,” You respond, trying to ignore all the thoughts about what Farleigh said last night creeping back into your mind.

“What’s that?” Felix tilts his head curiously. “I was wondering if you could drive me to my parents’ house today. I wanted to visit. Just for the day, you know.” You smile up at him.

He seems caught off guard, and then his expression looks pained. “Oh, you know what? I totally would, but there’s this thing happening in London today. A lot of our friends from Oxford are going to be there, why don’t we just go to your parents’ another day?” He suggests.

You feel disappointment hit you like a tidal wave. Is this what Farleigh was talking about? 

“Our friends? You mean your friends.” You correct him, suddenly feeling the emotions from last night spilling over. “Well, they’d be happy to see you, I’m sure-” “You can’t just do this one thing for me?” You interrupt him.

He looks at you, dumbfounded. “It’s not a big deal, why can’t you just get a cab?” His words cut through you. Not a big deal. 

“You know what, nevermind.” You shake your head and hold up your hands. You turn and begin walking down the hall. 

“I do a lot of things for you, you know!” Felix shouts after you, and you’ve never heard that tone of anger in his voice. He’s always been so kind, so considerate. He used to jump at the chance to help you with something. Now maybe you knew why.

On your way downstairs, you run into the last person you needed to see in this moment. 

Farleigh stops in his tracks when he sees you. He looks up at you from the lower steps, probably noticing your distressed state.

“What’s your problem?” He asks, smirking lightheartedly like it’s another one of his jokes. “Farleigh, I don’t need your little comments right now,” You sigh in exasperation and continue down the stairs, pushing him out of your way.

“Woah, did something happen with you and Felix?” He turns around and follows you out of curiosity. “No. I just-” You realize a possible solution to your problem, but you would rather throw yourself out of a window than spend  nearly two hours in a car with Farleigh.

“You can drive, right?” You turn around to face him once you reach the bottom of the stairs. “Yes… Why?” He narrows his eyes and peers down at you. “Okay, I was trying to ask Felix if he could drive me to my parents’ house today. He obviously said he was too busy for that, so… Can you just drive me?” You look up at him, crossing your fingers behind your back.

The corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk. “Sorry, you’re asking me for a favor?” He chuckles under his breath and raises his eyebrows. “Fuck. Yes, okay?!” You facepalm and wish you had never said something. Now he’s going to tease you over it for the next week or so.

He steps closer and leans down slightly, although you still have to look up at him. “Say please,” He says tauntingly.

You roll your eyes while heat creeps up onto your face. “Please,” You say quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t really hear it,” He leans even closer and you look away. This is why you can’t ask Farleigh for help. Ever.

“Please.” You hate how pitiful and desperate you sound. He seems satisified, so he steps back and stands up straight again. “Alright. Let’s go then, shall we?” You want to strangle him as you follow him out the door.

It’s sweltering outside. You groan. “Oh my God, so hot…” You shake your head and look up at the sun almost already in the middle of the sky.

“What do you say, should we steal his truck?” Farleigh eyes Felix’s truck and nods his head towards it. You know it’s wrong, and he probably will need it later tonight to get to London, but his truck doesn’t have a roof and it would be nice to feel a breeze…

Fuck it. “Do you even have the keys?” You ask, walking over to the truck. Farleigh holds up Felix’s keys to the truck. You cover your mouth and giggle, feeling like you’re back in fifth grade, playing a stupid prank on someone.

You open the door to the passenger’s side and hop in while Farleigh does the same, turning one of the keys and starting the engine. 

“So, what was his excuse?” He questions as he puts the truck in reverse and pulls out of the gravel driveway. He stretches an arm over to place his hand on the back of your headrest, shifting to see over his shoulder. You watch him closely as he does all this.

“Uhm.. This thing in London today. Apparently a bunch of Oxford students are going. Were you planning on going?” You reply, biting your lip as he moved the truck into drive.

Recognition flashes across his face. “Oh. I told him I would go with him, but.. I didn’t really want to anyway,” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Farleigh Start, passing up the opportunity to go to a social gathering?” You gasp sarcastically.

“We spent a whole year with those people. I’d rather not go all the way to London just to see them after what, like, a few weeks?” You squint to look over at him in the sun.

“But you’re driving almost the same distance to my parents,” You raise an eyebrow. He takes a moment to respond, almost like he’s trying to come up with an excuse.

“This is different. You asked me for a favor and I didn’t have anything else to do. It’s not personal.” He glances over at you. His lighter curls that are usually hidden are now illuminated in the golden sunlight.

“I mean, you did have plans with Felix.” You look back out to the road stretched ahead of you and the trees with vibrant green leaves blowing gently in the breeze.

“Okay, do you want me to keep driving?” He glares at you and your remarks. You bite back the smile threatening to form on your face. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” You look down and adjust the skirt of your dress.

After about two hours, you see the sign that tells you you are about to enter the small town where you formed many fond memories.

“This isn’t bad,” Farleigh admits as he slows down to round the upcoming bend. “What, did you think I lived in the slums or something?” You laugh a bit at his remark before staring out the window and admiring the familiar surroundings.

“Maybe.” You can hear the smile in his voice. This is nice, you think to yourself. Maybe you two can actually get along.

“Okay, it’s gonna be the third house to your right.” You tell him. It’s a townhouse, not very big, but quaint and cozy. The walls are old brick and the windows are thin with white frames, and some shrubs grow on either side of the staircase leading up to the front door.

He pulls over next to the sidewalk and puts the truck in park. You undo your seatbelt and open the door, pausing to look over at Farleigh.

You notice he is still just sitting there and staring straight ahead, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the wheel.

“Hey, you can come along, you know,” You say softly. He looks over at you, his expression seeming a bit shocked. He raises his eyebrows.

“Really? You want me to meet your parents?” He smirks and you register his joke. “Oh, shut up.” 

“C’mon, I don’t want you to have to just sit out here. This might take a while,” You explain, gesturing for him to come with you.

“Alright, I guess.” He shrugs and you both get out of the truck. You lead, walking up the stairs and breathing in the scent of the plants and the summer air.

You knock on the door and wait patiently. The door opens and you are greeted by your mother. She exclaims your name joyfully and embraces you in a hug.

“Honey, I didn’t know you were coming!” She pulls away to get a good look at you. You observe her. She looks tired. “I thought I would stop by,” You grin brightly.

“You just get prettier every day,” She hugs you again. “Who’s this?” She asks, noticing Farleigh, who is waiting below on the steps.

“This is Farleigh. I needed a ride, and Felix wasn’t available. This is his cousin,” You step to the side, allowing Farleigh to walk up and shake your mom’s hand.

“Oh, nice to meet you!” She shakes his hand, looking up at him. “You’re tall,” She laughs a bit, taken aback by his height.

Farleigh chuckles a bit. “Nice to meet you, Miss.” He dips his head politely. He’s so fake to adults, you think to yourself. “Ah, a fellow American,” She glances at you with a smile. “Yes ma’am,” Farleigh nods.

“Please, come inside,” She opens the door wider and steps back to let you both in. Farleigh has to duck to fit through the door.

You walk into the small living room and sit on your favorite couch. You see Farleigh observing all the pictures framed on the wall of when you were little. You hear him snicker slightly.

“Where’s Dad?” You ask. Your mom has already entered the kitchen and is pouring some hot tea into some cups.

“He’s at work,” She replies. “On a Saturday?” You ask. Usually your dad got work off on Saturdays. 

“Yep. He’s been working hard lately, trying to make some extra money.” Your mom explains as Farleigh walks over to sit with you on the couch.

She walks over and sets the tea cups down on the coffee table. “Thank you,” Farleigh smiles at her and takes one of them. You follow suit.

It feels intimate, in a way. Farleigh meeting your mother and being inside the home you spent many years in. You aren’t sure if you could consider it a childhood home, since you only spent your teenage years here.

Your mom sits down across from you two in her usual chair. “So, tell me all about school. How were exams?” She asks,

You spend the next few hours just talking. Farleigh is surprisingly very conversational, and he seems to be enjoying himself. All three of you are laughing and sharing stories. Your mom even prepares a nice lunch for you two.

After today, you feel like you’ve learned more about Farleigh than you ever knew before. He’s almost bearable when he’s nice like this, and maybe it really is genuine.

“Well, we should probably start heading back,” You say, standing up from the couch. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll tell Dad you stopped by.” She smiles softly.

And then before you know it, you’re back in the truck with Farleigh, beginning your journey back.