#I will not be encouraging your fetish. please leave me alone

[footballffbarbiex]

He’s here and he’s perfect

[plasticfangtastic]

Cozy Corner Kinktober Day 21-- (3 for me)

Behind the Scenes

A Homelander X Tek Knight fanfic, and Maeve is here.

Cozy corner kinktober– prompts: 18. Voyeurism, 10. orgasm denial, alt. Kink of choice– Exhibitionism.

A/N: Tek is gonna be OOC a bit bcuz honestly he’s only been in 1 ep and god knows what he's gonna be like in S4, so am inspiring him heavily on Bruce Wayne just to help myself here (used to write superbat fics back in HS), so sorry ‘bout that… I also set this in s2 so I don’t think Tek Knight’s tumor would be as advanced as it is in gen V so his hole fetish has been toned down, as I imagined it would’ve been something that slowly progressed over time… from kink to straight up fetish.

TW: masturbation, whatever the fuck is up with Tek Knight Hole fetish, angst, both men are being pervs, Bisexual Homelander, cum swap.

word count: 5.2K

Nothing beats an ex-lover when you need the strongest distraction after being utterly humiliated.

Edgar said no lies as he equated him to a manchild. His verbal lashing stabbing deeply into every insecurity, even threatening with terminating his contract had barely raised his blood pressure. He hadn’t cared… ignoring him and educating him in what he really was… what Vought really was and how meaningless he was in return… more than condescending… it hurt… it made him want to fly to his apartment and burn it down.

Instead he was at Tek-Knight’s afterparty, mingling with lesser A-listers and wondering what had gone wrong in his life that he had to smell the foot fungus on people’s mouths.

He turned to look around after escaping another pitch for his next film, Homelander couldn’t think of doing another film when he was feeling so terribly down, his sinuses burning as he tried to not drown himself in self-pity and crying… wanting so dearly to speak to his brother in private, just to hear his words of affirmation and encouragement.

His sole consolation came in the shape of other members of the Seven being subjected to the same meandering– not that they seem to be suffering too much.

Homelander eyes Maeve as some above average publicist chatted her up.

“Want me to get that for you?”

Homelander turned to spot a sharply dressed man, their shoulders rubbing at the same height as he offered a glass of bubbly.

“Sparkling White Grape Juice. Had to go all the way down to the kitchen to find a single bottle for you.”

“I don’t need it.” Homelander said just as sharply as this Italian suit made him look.

“Your tongue is looking 15% paler than usual. You’re parched.” he replied pushing the glass closer to him– "She's aroused.”

“You fucke–

“The publicist. She is being extra flirty… If I had to guess, she its already planning on how to get Maeve to fuck her in the parking lot.”

Robert turned to face him as a red glove delicately ripped the glass off his hand, he gave it a sniff to make sure it was clean, pleasantly surprised that was the case– even the juice smelled clean.

“I know you think I have a death wish but please…”

“Stop analyzing me.”

“So who ticked you off? Couldn’t be Maeve because you wouldn’t leave her alone if that was the case? Was it Matt Damon over there– he’s so snobby? Or was it in the office?” He stared at him trying not to chuckle, seeing that slight squeeze of his jaw– Is it that new cute little thing? Or a wHole other thing?

“Stormfront doesn’t bother me.”

“Bzzz.” He chuckles while taking a sip of his champagne– lie to all those cocsuckers but you can’t lie to me John.”

“Don’t call me that.” The glass made a slight crack but it kept its shape.

“Thought you reinstated my privileges after so long.” He looks down at the rim of his glass, happy he took a sip, and the mark his lips left behind– have some pity on me. I'm going through some health issues.”

Homelander turns to stare at him, undressing him from toe to head, looking at the density of his bones, his heart for any blockages, abnormal palpitation or growing tissue, his lungs for unusual growths then as his sight sets on Robert’s head he freezes, squinting at the mass.

“Going to try some medications. Just a scare but the Doctors aren't sure how they are gonna crack this titanium skull of mine– oh the irony of an indestructible body being the reason behind my demise.” He chuckles dryly hiding the slight tremor on his voice expertly.

“Chemo?”

“And go bald!? Jesus John… I know you’re mad at me but don’t pray for my downfall. You think people would see my movies if I became ugly?”

“I don’t think it matters, nobody who comes to see your crap has any taste… or eyes.” 

That earned a smile on the other man, as he saw his tongue lick his lip, Homelander had finally found a distraction.

“This party it's so boring– want to play a game, Tek?”

Tek Knight blushes before a snide smile crossed his face, leaning even more closer towards Homelander knowing there was no reason to whisper into his ear, he just wanted to see the hairs of his neck raise as his silvery voice susurrated, Homelander couldn’t help but to choke back a moan, as the tip of his nose rubbed his ear.

“I’ll play anything you want, John. Just to help you smile again– so heads or tails?”

He was so smooth with his words, no wonder he was so popular, always around Homelander’s sphere when it came to those important women focused rankings.

Homelander knew the rules like the back of his hand, just as he knew how this man would never leave the house without that stupid casino chip on his breast pocket, if he knew Homelander was going to be in the vicinity… neither liked letting go.

It had been a torrid and sudden affair– the first time they’ve met had been like a smack across the face, Madelyn had wanted a team-up to help boost Homelander’s image, to have the world’s greatest detective and up and coming TV name staple teaming up with the world’s greatest superhero– It was the stuff of legends.

There was a maturity to Tek Knight that other supes didn’t have, the way he handled the masses was smooth, the way he poise himself and dressed was the definition of suave, he was born for the camera and it loved him, his little warming exercises even had a charm to them while Homelander still struggled to control his secret stutter… deep down he believed they wanted him to study the weaker supe, to copy him, to spend time with him and discover how to be better… he never expected to find himself drawn to him, Tek read him with ease learning how to handle him more than anybody else… he didn't use tricks to mess with him just used his gifts to learn how to speak to him, Tek hated deceith just as much as he did– quick to call bullshit even from Homelander.

He didn’t like the boy’s scout persona either… It was being able to speak freely to set the fire inside Homelander… There was this unspoken rule amongst all supes… Some clung to the belief they were too moral to fall trap to the factoid, while others just kept their mouth shut knowing the consequences would be too great if the lesser flock heard them… but here… Tek didn’t care, he had no desire to care.

Maybe that’s how Homelander found himself on top of him, maybe that’s why he didn’t flinch at the taste of bourbon on his lips, maybe that’s why that stupid green chip bothered him so much, he could’ve ripped it off his hand easily. Catch it mid-air as he flicked it. Turn around and ignore him for the rest of the party or simply leave.

But Tek knew he was too transfixed now watching the gold sparkle under the low light as the chip dropped back into his hand and hid under the heel of his palm.

“Heads.” Homelander said looking at the compound fracture at the base of his glass.

Robert grinned, lifting it to reveal the faceless side, Homelander groaned.

Rules were simple… 1 hour… don’t get caught… each round progressively gets more and more dangerous… they could not go where the others couldn’t see, no flying out of state or running underground, they had to stay where they could see or hear each other no matter what, or it was an instant disqualification. 

“What’s the prize this time?” Homelander began to walk towards the balcony of this venue, not wanting any of the people who caught the coin flip to pry any further– or…?”

“The usual.” He smiles as he follows him.

Close enough that he doesn’t need super senses to smell him, to feel his presence rubbing against him, hithering closer as they close glass doors behind, he can’t never fully forget the feeling, just how Tek made him feel, the way he knew how to touch him and where to touch him, how delicate his touch was for how deadly it could be, he swallowed.

Looking down and thinking of jumping into the pool several floors below, anything to maybe get away from him… feeling like a deer caught in the crosshair of a pack of wolves.

Homelander watches the heads below, minding their business knowing the party was just a couple steps behind, crossing his hands in front of him as Tek takes out his phone, leaning closer until he’s resting his entire weight against him, his thumb presses play– it didn’t matter what his screen was playing, just a decoy… for any lucky passerby to simply see two men hanging out having a laugh at some stupid video.

“Want to play for 1 hour, this time?” Tek said softly, hiding his excitement.

“Jesus, you think my time it’s worth pennies?”

“It's my party.” he laughed lightly.

“Fine. You're so gonna regret this when it’s my turn.” That was the childish glee that Tek liked so much… this softer and playful side that only he could be privileged to.

It really should’ve never happened, the mission was over and the room was covered in soot and guts, watching each other heave, sharing few words, staring at each other for too long, jumping throats before the bodies grew cold. They had no idea why… not after… only that he liked him… he liked John… he liked knowing this secret half that so few could be privy to, it was a rush to be the bearer of such secrets, to see that soft look on his face of bliss as they held each other's arms… but they could’ve never been together, even if Tek Knight’s demographic could’ve been more forgiving… nobody would allowed them to be together… so it was nothing but a fantasy– nothing but a dream within a dream.

“It’s not fun if you make it easy.”

Homelander sighs and lowered his zipper, hearing the sound of his facial muscles move as Tek looked down. 

Homelander stroke the limp member slightly, getting tutted by his friend, he groaned and stroked harder, looking at the monkeys beneath still unaware of what he was doing, low enough to make sense of what they could see, his blood pressure increase knowing how bad it would be, how bad it would fucking destroy him if they caught him stroking his cock next to a man.

Tek made the game harder, sliding his arm across Homelander’s shoulders, knowing his hand was out of frame enough that he could stroke his ear without being noticed from the party, his nails caressing his chin, he hissed wetly as his touch drew circles on his cheek leaning his head lightly into his digits– some people caught wind of them, seeing exactly nothing, just two friends laughing, something cute at most, a phone camera took a photo from behind catching all the indecency and nothing.

Homelander was so fucking hard as he heard the fan make commentary.

“No cumming, yet… you know the rules.”

“Fuck off.” Pre-cum coating his gloved fingers, he watched his cock twitch against the cold wind, wanting badly to just end it, feeling the burn building under his stomach– my turn!”

He tucked it, leaning down, hiding his face as he tried to breath himself back together, force it if he could, but he couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, feeling the adrenaline coursing thru his veins, swallowing the intoxicating perfume, Homelander shoots a cautious look behind examining the room and the building for their next spot.

“Anywhere in the hotel grounds… we don’t leave the place…54 minutes left!” Homelander hisses.

“How many casualties allowed?”

“2 per person max.” He begrudgingly said– can’t make a scene… too many big names… journalist… photographers… we make it look like accidents.” Homelander looks him straight into his soul– already got Stan Edgar breathing down my neck.”

It hurt him to deny himself, but Robert didn’t argue, just massaging his neck to help him cool down.

Both men smiled at each other.

Counting every tick.

The game began.

It was a maze to navigate, to find blind spots, to discover empty halls and ignored crevices and staircases, Homelander and Tek Knight chasing each other from a distance, giggling like naughty school girls the closer and closer they got to being caught, watching their displays of debouchery with amusement as they grow increasingly more horny and frustrated, they couldn’t cum until the last set or until one gave up, edging until it was unbearable.

Homelander rubbed his aching hardened member against the pillow of some stranger’s suite who had foolishly left the balcony open... Robert listened to his meandering waltzing around the room, sniffing some girls lace underwear while frothing his cock, being just a pitch louder than he should for the other man’s pleasure before he had settled on the bed and now Robert could feel his own cock about to break, his balls heavy and swollen and the pre-cum stain dampening his suit as it twitched around his hand.

Homelander loudly suckled on his fingers, wetting them until they were covered in a thick layer of drool.

Letting out the most obscene moan as he slapped his own ass, earning a dirty glance from the soon to be loser-- Tek had broken into the suite below drinking in their minibar just hearing the action with eyes closed as he stained the bed with pre-mix… as he tried to calm his cock and definitely to avoid coming from the sounds of Homelander fingering his pussy, choking as the wet squelching sounds grew furiously louder.

“That couple just finished having dinner downstairs… you might want to hurry up… should be here in a couple minutes tops.” He mumbled trying to calm down as Homelander moaned louder calling his name inside desperate whispers– fuck…”

He pressed the right spots, twisting his back as he sped up his rutting, feeling sweat drops down his nose as he got closer and closer to cumming, as his fingers dug deeper enough to bring that pleasurable pressure, gasping as the pain had started to become so unbearable.

“Quit.”

“No!” He stopped throwing the pillow against the wall, turning on his back, breathing heavily.

“John… Come meet me in the bathrooms… now.”

“You giving up?”

“No.”

“Then I am getting a cold shower.”

“John if you don’t come meet me in the bathrooms I’ll go find somebody else to join me.”

He didn’t like that tone… he used it so much on Robert it was no surprise the actor had learned it worked both ways, Homelander sat on the bed, putting his suit on after dousing his groin with cold water, glad the padding hid his half-mast. 

Flying out the balcony and hopping back to their party searching for him amongst the crowd of drunks.

Maeve caught him coming back, caught the fluster in his step and the flush on his cheek under the coloured light.

Biting her lips, knowing what was happening… she should’ve known that when these two knuckleheads got together they would either try to out-bitch each other or play their stupid dirty game… 

She used to wonder if he would make her less miserable if he had been able to be with Robert, if his anger and obsession wasn’t fueled by projection… Neither man could’ve ever been together, and he had taken it out on her, obsessing on the only woman in his eyes (supposedly). 

Maeve knew just how hungry they were… touch starved… letting their hands touch just never for too long just constant light brushes… just bumping shoulders here and there for a second too long… Maeve at least found joy in seeing him suffer even if it was returned to her x10 worse.

She took a glass, a canape and followed him discreetly.

He entered the empty bathroom, tapping on each cubicle as if he was a mere human finding nothing until the last stall.

Sitting on the disabled toilet with his ankle over his knee and two glasses of champagne.

“So romantic.”

Placing the glasses on his sides, he dug into his breast pocket to pull out a flower head, extending his fingers towards him– slightly wilted and small, a once vibrant rose bud… but just as fragrant as the rest.

Showing up at his penthouse always carrying roses, making him know what those pretty women in the movies felt when their hands were filled with a bouquet… Homelander had gotten plenty in his life… given many as well… so the magic should've died out... yet here he was a twenty-two year old sheltered boy swallowing nervously as his cheeks heat up in front of the boy he liked. 

Jittery and bashful from a single rose… just small enough he could hide it in his jacket… no matter where they would go… if he could get away with it… if he knew he could… Robert would make his heart flutter.

He picked him by the collar, scrunching the fine fabric of his suit before risking it all on his lips, Tek Knight took a second to react, entertaining his hands as they leap towards the exposed flesh of his neck, digging into his scalp as their tongues twist.

Slamming themselves on the wall letting the unlocked door rock back and forth, Homelander's lips plump as he suckles and licks every ridge, alcohol and peppermint pungent on his tongue, wanting to savor him, wanting to swallow every drop of drool of Robert’s tongue, wanting so desperately to fill this anguish. 

Kissing him was the cure to a million ailments, it filled him with just as much happiness as it made him die… it was agonizing knowing how much his body wanted Tek… how much it missed him, his breath could’ve been sulfur and he would would’ve choke on it gladly… just agony… if he could be that foolish young man again to try to change time... Homelander still wouldn’t hesitate jumping back into this car wreck, he would hurt himself on this soft silky lips over and over again.

Tek pressed his knee in-between his tights, dropping his hands over his arms, ripping the gloves with force until his naked hands rubbed against each other, his left fingers latch on the zipper pulling it to feel more skin, wanting to feel the buttery feeling of Homelander’s being.

Homelander returned the favor, skillfully opening his shirt, knowing he couldn’t just rip it off– that had been hard to explain before. 

Feeling every hurried heartbeat against his hand, feeling every inch of hardened muscle on his smooth chest.

“Want to call it quits, John?” He sussurated into his neck, suckling on the crumbs of heat he could get– come on, sugar. I want you so fucking bad… I want to die inside you…” tracing his chin the tip of his tongue, Homelandeer shuddered whining as the pain in his pants grew unbearable once more, crying into his hand as Tek Knight licked his ear– I want you to fuck me so fucking hard I’ll need crutches.” 

“Robert!” he hissed, pulling his head wanting to kiss him more, quick pecks laughing quietly into him, panting constellations into his neck– give up and I’ll make you feel like fucking Madonna.”

He parted, taking a pair of steps back stopped by the toilet’s edge, close to coming undone.

“Lower your pants. Game hasn’t ended.”

He undoes his belt letting it flop on his sides, teasing him as he takes his sweet time lowering his zipper… he’s hard, twitching in the warm air. Homelander doesn’t copy him turning towards the exit, brushing close enough to tease the man, hands quickly grab him by the hip pressing himself against him, rubbing his length on America.

“I want to make this more fun, you pervert.”

He pushes the door, leaving him behind, stopping by the basin, a wide grin on his face.

“Fuck that stupid fucking glass. You and your weird hole kink… You know Knight… I find your thing funny so amuse me…why else bring those here– You know I don’t drink.”

“To celebrate my victory of course.”

It had been a gradual thing, to witness his fixation evolve, that naivety inside Homelander had wilted into bitterness and seeing Tek’s humiliating exploits almost comforted him… that he broke without him.

They would never be more than a rendezvou, they clung to each other wanting to make every second longer than before, parted by the wild current they still swummed against it, hoping to meet in the middle, content to just brush their fingertips.

Over the years as time settled on them while their hearts remained inmature, Homelander had noticed this unusual proclivity, it began as simple fascination, pensive stares, fingers caught drawing circles repeatedly, burning his finger as it follows the edge over and over… watching him fuck a tree engrossed him, cackling as he got worse and worse, he had been so good that he can’t find pleasure in people anymore– he thought.

Wishing it was him.

Homelander cocked his head watching the man spill on the floor, bucking his hips, hissing and gasping as the bubbly fizzles around his sensitive head and his hole, tickled by the fizz in a way a tongue could never, it was growing warm and sticky, as he pushed the expensive drink with his girth, the cold made him shudder now the smooth wet glass licked his cock back.

Homelander leaned down whistling to catch his attention.

Robert stops abruptly– Homelander bare it all. 

It was hard to believe there was a time where he was shy and nervous, where he had to teach him what to do, where he was too afraid to bend over for him, now he purred as his fingers teased his entrance, pushing in, stretching himself just a tad– Robert mouth watered, wanting to bury his face in there, the glass no longer as appealing.

With his belt dragging on his ankles, he quickly found himself on his knees.

Homelander gasped– guess he wasn’t the only one allowed to play dirty, he thought. One hand firmly using a glass fleshlight and the other spreading his cheek, Tek squeezed and slapped as his tongue drew circles, as it reached deeper, slobbering into his chin… the taste strong and salty.

Homelander had to hold the base of his cock, leaking pre-cum into the polished floors.

“This is the women’s bathroom.”

Both men flinched, eyes and muscles ready to neutralize the threat yet all Tek Knight could muster was a shrug before returning back to his meal.

Homelander twisted his back, careless fingers vaguely attempting to push him away, stifling a laugh as he stares back at Maeve, she looks at the exit knowing there’s a passerby in the hall cursing at the out of service sign.

“Please tell me you haven’t killed anybody tonight.”

Homelander shook his head biting his lip as Tek sped up his tongue, lowering it until he was suckling on the sensitive perineum, biting it, and kissing it, not stopping as he stared at Maeve briefly, not hiding his annoyance.

Back then she was the one next to him in the magazines… always running after her… she was the one that was the most special, she was the one that understood him the best, who suited him best… horseshit, he told himself.

“Only 1 person, my bad.” Tek Knight kisses his ass standing up, pulling his pants with one hand and carrying the glass with the other– I quit.” He grumbled.

Coming into the champagne glass, looking at his load as it mixed with some bubbly before leaving it on the sink.

He took to the basin after taking a handful of paper towels, washing his hands without care while soaking the towels.

“Hey…” Homelander took his shoulder.

“What?”

“You can’t just quit!?”

“I can’t stand her.” His smile is still so charming as he speaks, looking down as the washes off the sticky champagne stains off his groin– go! be a tattle-tell if you like Maeve… nobody its gonna fucking believe you.”

“Don’t be like that… Maeve isn’t going to do such thing… right, Maeve?”

“Don’t care. You can have him now if you want, Ms. Cockblocker.”

Before Meave could answer back, she was met with an accusatory finger on her face, Tek zipped his pants after doing half the job, just clean enough that he could survive whatever was left ot the afterparty but Homelander wouldn’t let him leave, his hand pulling on his elbow keeping him firmly in his presence.

“Ignore her… we always did love an audience.” He turned to Maeve– you stay right there and keep watch, understand?” He growled, eyes flickering red towards her direction.

“What do you want anyways?” He said still miffed but relaxing around Homelander’s grip.

“Just making sure you two weren’t going to be covered in blood… dunno if you know this Knight but there’s a lot going on right now.”

“Yeah right. You just wanted to ruin my fun… like you always do.”

“You think I want your se–

“Both of you shut up! Maeve learn to mind your own business and you don’t antagonize her… she’s here because she wants to watch that’s why! She has what three bottles in her already!”

“Two and a half… fuck you drink a lot of merlot.” He seemed disgusted at the choice– please tell me you had the moscato, it was simply refreshing!” 

“I don’t like moscato.” she chuckles– and am not drunk, I'm tipsy.” she laughs with a sleepy smile.

“You’re just another pervert who wants to see his ex get fucked in the ass by his other ex... so be quiet and enjoy the show."

She tried to wipe that shit eating grin on her face.

“Forget about her and just think of me… I want you… I won… so my price is you sucking me off…” He took his face stroking his neck, forcing him to look directly at him– Robert…”

“You didn’t win. I quit. That means the price is null…” both looked so needy, Robert's darkened eyes almost pleading him to make him stay where his lips couldn't.– suck me off first… please, baby… I’m upset.”

“No, you sore loser…”

“You’re so cruel.” He moped.

Homelander rolled his eyes taking the glass before skulking the contents, Robert got hard immediately, watching Homelander lick the rim clean before forcing him into a salty sweet kiss.

Cum frothing from the friction. 

They danced their way back into the cubicle, grinning as the toilet lid squeaked under his weight, Homelander threw his boots and his tights off with enviable effortlessness giving Mr. Vernon plenty to take a hold off, he squeezed his thin legs, savoring the velvety texture, his cock hard and leaking, Tek took it giving it a few pumps, licking his taste off lips with anticipation, his mind solely focused on John, Maeve ceased to exist even if the stench of merlot didn’t, he only wanted this.

“Thanks baby.”

“Only because you’re cute, John.”

Throwing his head back as the other man took his manhood, slurping and swallowing, each stroke followed by his mouth, Homelander placing his hand firmly on his neck pushing him further, he could feel him chuckle against his length. 

Homelander came hard and embarassingly quick, whimpering as he buckled his hips.

But Robert was glad regardless.

Tek didn’t stop moving his lips, wanting him to grind his teeth some more, he let it out with a wet pop, gasping with a satisfied smile, kissing his legs and thighs wishing to leave hickeys and burns.

“You swallowed.” He sounded so disappointed it touched the other’s heartstrings with guilt.

“My turn.”

Tek pushed him back, standing up weakly, leaning to his side to take the second glass of champagne he had left on the floor before.

“Lick it.”

Homelander obliged, licking the edge creasing his nose as the fizz got on his nostrils.

Maeve grimace was short lived, Homelander hand tugged on that pesky belt, pulling him out once more, stroking him roughly, as his tongue parted his lover’s needless toy.

Maeve sat not minding if her skirt got damp, biting her lips as she saw the blonde get on his knees.

Transfixed as she watched his head bobbed, clenching her legs as the man sung loudly, they spoke with only looks, whispering to each other, Robert encouraging him, to look past the flavor, Homelander groaned, displeased but he would cooed him, coaxed him to keep going, coaxing gently to take it deeper, playing with his hair as the man flat tongue made him see the runnign waters of the river styx, rutting his hips into his throat as he saw death welcoming him.

Maeve hand stroked her clit, taking short breath as she tried to not make a sound, her pussy soaking her fingers as she traveled a little further, wanting to fill herself with anything but not wanting to make a show for the bastards either.

Maeve had to look away, she had peeked into something forbidden. It seems for Homelander had leaped into his mouth, kissing him, burning him, Tek was seeing stars, the mixture of salt and french sweetness coating his tongue.

Craning his back as the other man’s weight pulled him down– he saw his John from all those years ago, how nervous his hand was, cupping his cheek, searching for cues to deepen their kiss, to know Robert had wanted him just as much as he had.

He always had.

Fame, fortune and the admiration of many didn’t compare to being Homelander’s.

He wished he hadn’t been greedy.

He wished he had been happy to just be the mistress.

He wished he hadn’t been the clever one that turned to that once naive boy and told him that it could never be.

He had to cut him out of him like he was cancer.

No matter how much he wanted him, no matter how much it hurt to see him running after that redhead.

He looked up to catch her, smelling her arousal and regret.

“Come to my loft… John… just for tonite…” he susurrated– I want to be yours…”

Homelander smiled, half lid eyes and bruised lips gave him a soft yes.

Maeve ran out the bathroom wanting to find something to wash away the confused feeling in her stomach, thinking of that cute publicist that had been eyeing her all night.

Robert’s ear followed her heels, as John kissed him while fixing himself doing just enough of a good job that cameras wouldn’t notice how disheveled he was, he had done a good job considering he hadn’t stopped kissing his lover for most of the ordeal.

“I’ll be a good boy and get the bath ready for when you get home, Tek.”

“I’ll get the condoms on my way home then.”

“Why? We are gonna run out of them anyhoo” he growled into him, licking Tek's lower lip, gnawing on him until a scarlet drop fell on his tongue– see ya in a jiffy, Robert.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I’ll go first.”

Homelander rolled his eyes, kissing him goodbye for the time being.

Ignoring the crowds as they both left to attend more pressing matters.

Glad to meet again as if they were just those hopeful stupid kids yet again.

[sweetrays]

About me: 

Just call me by my username I don't like using real names anymore

(bisexual transsexual male & 2 yrs on T) 

I write novels, short stories, and fanfiction

I draw novel illustrations and favorite characters

I'm autistic and therefore can be perceived  a little bit strange 

My dominant special interest fandom wise is Peter Pan stories. (Hook is my absolute favourite Peter Pan movie. You'll mostly see me talking about the character Rufio) 

I liked OUAT Peter Pan for a little while last year but it's not my thing anymore 

My other special interest is historical (mostly 19th century) fashion

A quick heads up:

I enjoy NSFW art, but I don't post any. There might be some reblogging of that here occasionally. 

A lot of the fanfictions I post are openly based off- have some sort of connection to my somewhat disturbing fetishes that involve characters dying or being hurt

I know some might not be comfortable with that.

If you'd like to be my friend please just skim through the readmore just in case you find my opinions distasteful. If you do, just block me I don't want trouble

My Internet Discourse Opinions

Stupid but very important in order to avoid ugly confrontations nowadays 🙁

"Proshipping" 

-the good pure holy shipping vs. icky yucky nasty evil creepy freak shipping stuff is bullshit. If you give me/a mutual shit over FICTIONAL ship your ass is getting blocked cause that's just a whole nother level of ridiculous. I do not condone the bullying and harassment that is so common in 'woke' fandom culture nowadays. It is disgusting that people are throwing around paraphilic accusations and words like p**o at innocent fanfiction authors who are just enjoying characters with no real malicious intentions. 

I come across ships on ao3 that absolutely disgust me on a day to day basis, even so, the last thing I'd want to do is be mean to the author/anyone who enjoyed that ship. That's because the author has just as much a right to write about just as I have the right to be uncomfortable. No character ship is illegal and people are allowed to be as gross or weird as they like as long as it remains fictional (which in 99.99% of cases no one is actively trying to encourage and/or normalising pairing that would be illegal irl) That's never how fandom, art, or fiction has ever worked. If you think otherwise, all I'm saying is you have some serious issues and you need help. 

When I write an age gap pairing I don't parade my fic around going "EVERYBODY START DATING YOUR FATHER!!" I tag with many warnings to avoid upsetting people who would be opposed to reading it + add a disclaimer explaining how I do not support such things in real life situations because I don't and neither does anyone else who ships 'problematic' things. 

Transgender discourse (neopronouns, etc) 

As a transgender male myself, I don't care what pronouns someone uses or what gender they claim to be. I am pro-block anti-harassment when I see someone I disagree with. 

However, I do block quite liberally when I see people saying that transgenderism is possible without dysphoria. Because it is not. Being trans is not a choice. Dysphoria is the cause of being trans. Even if it's just a tiny bit of dysphoria you are still valid. If you're a feminine presenting trans male, that is fine, if you're a masculine presenting trans female, that's fine too because even if you're trans you absolutely do not have to abide by society's confining gender stereotypes. 

But, if you are feminine presenting non-dysphoric afab going by he/him or a masculine presenting non-dysphoric amab going by she/her. That is not transgender. You just picked different pronouns. Which again, I don't care about the pronouns thing so whatever, but just please don't call that transgender because my brother in Christ, we are not the same. 

Therefore please leave me alone if: 

You have some sort of weirdly obsessive morality/legality bias against people minding their own business with character shipping in fandom

OR

Think that being trans is a choice. 

Thats all, have a nice day. Don't forget to block if you don't like me lol.

[fluffyprettykitty]

Amarillo

Pairing: neighbor! Joaquin Torres x female reader

Word Count: 1714 words

Outline: Your second date with Joaquin goes a little bit different from what you were both expecting.

Warnings: Fluff with smut!, heavy nipple play, hand job, spit as lube, lingerie fetishization, body worship, grammar mistakes, if I missed anything or tagged something wrong please let me know!

Author’s Note: first time writing anything for Joaquin and so far the longest thing I've written, and this is also my submission for the @late-to-the-party-81 and @yarnforbrains all-new challenge, I used these two prompts (I think we found a new kink…, do you like my new...) and I hope I did this story and this character some justice, not beta 'ed, all mistakes are my own!

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics​

🌟 Please reblog and comment, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to learn what to work on 🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・Joaquin Torres Masterlist

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. MINORS PLEASE DNI.

In the quiet of your room listening to some uplifting music while you were dressed up for your second date with the cute guy from across the street. New neighbor Joaquin Torres. He had moved to your neighborhood a couple of weeks back and immediately you caught each other’s eyes. Although dating a neighbor is always awkward at first, you kept your distance.

However, after a night out at the local cinema with your best friend, you happened to run into him as you were getting your snacks from the bar. Nachos with extra cheese just as he liked it, he noted, with a bright smile greatly illuminated by his white t-shirt. As soon as your friend saw you two talking, she faked a sudden illness and left you all alone. Gotta love smart friends.

That night out together transcended pure magic and was like the start of something new. He drove you back home and held your hand till you reached your house and with a soft kiss goodbye, he promised a much better date next time. Even better?

And so that was you today, picking through dresses and tossing around clothes wondering what's his favorite color? What is your best feature to accentuate? You remember him telling you that his favorite color is yellow as you pick your lingerie first. Cotton feels with a pretty overlay lace pattern. Hasn’t been long since you bought them but you haven't worn them more than once.

Over it, you chose to wear a semi-maxi dark green floral dress, a new purchase, and your favorite pair of beige faux leather sandals. 'Perfect' you thought as you looked at yourself in the mirror and then proceeded to fix your hair.

Picking up your bag, you proceed to leave your room with a final text to him, letting him know that you are ready. Only to get greeted by him a minute later standing at your front door with a bouquet of roses in his hands. What a gentleman. You place your bag on the table and you open the door for him.

Greeting him with your best-worn smile, accepting the flowers and asking him to come inside to search for a vase to place them in. As you moved around the living room, bouquet in your arms, you twirled around in your dress and give him a cute pose.

"Do you like my new dress?"

"Is very pretty, you look even prettier in it, you’re beautiful, Y/N."

Joaquin smiled nodding his head, sitting close by to the door. Finding the vase and carefully placing the flowers inside, you shoot him another bright smile. However, you noticed his eyes wandering to the slightly exposed strap of your dress. You felt his gaze fixating on it as you run your fingers through the strap to hide it back.

Yellow. Your bra was yellow. His favorite color. Just like you had planned. Naughty ideas begin to form in your head and you decide to let the strap fall down again over your shoulder.

You notice how his breath hitches, probably thinking about your bra and wondering what else you might be wearing. Letting out a deep chuckle as you notice the first droplets of sweat forming in his forehead. He's unable to speak for a few moments and you're only giggling, shaking your head.

Your plan is very much working, what you didn’t know is how much he actually liked yellow. That's when you finally notice it as he brings his hands to cover his crotch. He's getting hard at just the sight of you. A shock overwhelms him and he profusely apologizes and tries to leave.

"I'm sorry, I'm really, I’m sorry, your strap, the yellow, Dios, is driving me insane, I'm sorry, I should leave, this is not okay"

"No, please stay, Joaquin, is okay, I'm flattered, honestly you don't have to leave. You can…"

A wave of confidence washes over you as you take a step closer to him.

"Would you like to see all of it?"

His face is only a mix of shock and want as he nods his head and parts his lips.

"Please, I, I would love to but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

With a smirk you slowly take both of your dress straps down, exposing all of your bra and your breasts. You take a look at him as you shift in your movement jiggling them for him. All things are better in motion.

“Holy shit, you’re gorgeous, y/n!”

He says in a hitched breath and you can tell he’s getting harder by the way his face looks concentrated and scrunched together.

“Go ahead, baby, touch yourself for me.”

Your commanding tone and your confidence lead him to palm himself at your sight. Pressing his lips together at his touch, a sense of pride overcomes you. He lets out a very small moan and is enough to make you clench your thighs together.

"Could I please, y/n, could I please touch them?"

His voice is close to a plea as he takes in your beautiful sight. Joaquin is licking his lips together just at the thought of touching them. Oh, you were about to make him a very happy man.

You motion with your two fingers for him to come closer. So he does not let a moment go to waste. Immediately grabbing both of your breasts feeling the weight of them in his hands, his breath hitching again and you look at him with a grin.

"Anything you want, baby boy, you can ask for."

"This color looks divine on you, cariño "

He barely manages to say as your next phrase makes his heart beat faster.

"All yours, baby, all for you, you can have them."

With a puppy look on his face, he leaned forward to kiss all over them tenderly but needily, alternating between softly squeezing them and kissing them. His kisses and his incredibly needy nature increase your desire.

Until he stops for a brief moment and looks up at you asking for permission with his beautiful brown eyes tugging at your bra with a pleading face. With a nod you allow him to push your bra down and so he does, taking a moment to marvel at the sight of them complimenting you.

“You look like a Goddess, Y/N. Real Aphrodite coming to life.”

With his delicate fingers, he begins to circle both of your breasts with large strokes, reaching for the areola and easing into a gentle breast massage. After a few moments, he gives them a little squeeze.

Then he goes on to trace your areola without touching your nipples, the sensation leading you to shut your eyes and your breathing pattern to change.

Joaquin moves his fingers to your nipples which are now very erect and hard, rubbing them slowly, increasing speed and pressure as you are reacting to his touch. You were very hot and bothered, your one hand going to wrap behind his neck for support.

That’s when he pinches your nipples, a rush of sensation flowing through you. He goes soft at first but then he pinches your nipples harder making you moan out his name in pleasure. Oh, you were very foregone now.

Switching his movements again he alternates between pulling your nipples and twisting them with his fingers, a very eager expression on his face as you react positively to all of his micro touches. You’re arching your back as you try to press yourself against the bookcase.

His next move is to take his fingers away and start breathing over them, blowing hot air on your now very sensitive nipples. Your mind goes crazy with all of the stimulation.

With a swift move, he takes a nipple between his lips and hungrily licks it in circles with the tip of his tongue. Shutting his eyes as he moans at the taste. Your own panties are now long drenching in your wetness. Your breasts were always the most sensitive part of your body. How on earth did he know? A very lucky coincidence to share.

Doesn't take him long to start sucking on the nipple, utterly desperate at the feel of your breast squeezing the other with the palm on his hand. Then, your hands are going to unbuckle his pants and palm his clothed cock, making him let go of your nipple for a second.

You reach for his cock, pushing his underwear down which only makes him suck harder on your nipple. Joaquin, then he flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue moving on to cover it with the flat of his tongue.

You spit on your hand, the pure sound of it making him moan again once he realizes what you are doing. You spread it all over his cock and start pumping him slowly up and down. His pure fixation on your breast, his tongue working his magic on all of your sensitive nerves, is making your insides tighten and you’re finding it hard to sit still.

Going back to sucking on your nipple and squeezing the other breast, Joaquin is grinding his hips and cock to your hand, sounds of pleasure escaping both your mouths. Thankfully the windows are closed.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you and you feel explosions everywhere, the sensation spreading throughout your body as the pleasure has been building slowly and gradually. Your climax is powerful and is coming in waves as you are trying hard to grab on to him when you feel your whole body falling apart on him.

Your loud cry of his name, and the way your body trembles are enough for him to cum all over your hand shooting ropes of cum on you and your new dress. His orgasm was muffled by the way he nibbled on your nipple as he felt the wave of pleasure washing him over.

That's how you both finish in your living room, right behind the main door, his cock in your hands, the nipple overstimulation making you finish, which was never something you expected you could do. Oh, he was way too good with his tongue. Looks like he is a man to keep around.

"Guess what, cariño. ”

His voice was soft echoing through the room, after a few moments when you both caught your breaths.

“ I think we found a new kink for the both of us."

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: the Century Woman

The hero has a specific maneuver for whenever he encounters a sudden possible threat. He does not react offensively, not willing to bear the tragedy of slaying somebody who meant no harm. He simply raises his shield in a manner that anybody would recognize as a threatening way. This defensive maneuver protected him if the possible threat was, indeed, a threat, but allowed non-combatants a chance to explain themselves.

This maneuver was not perfect as it was still possible to interpret the raising of the shield as a promise of battle, but nine times out of ten it prevented an unnecessary fight against a non-combatant.

This time, however, the noncombatant...attacked.

The hero has spent ten minutes fighting the being: a humanoid woman twice as tall as any man. A creature the hero has never seen before in his travels...

Her visage is unnerving. Eyes larger than normal. Her hair silver, but with bright orange ends, and a some evidence of blue strands. Large shoulders beneath her gown of royal blue, and large tentacles for arms that she uses to bludgeon the hero around the abandoned house. Instead of buttons or lace the front of her gown seems a sideways jaw full of sharp fangs. The rare moments the hero got to see her legs beneath her full length gown he saw two long, muscular thighs and calves.

But her voice... her voice is that of a regular woman in her fifties or so. Her cries of battle hold no malice, only fury.

The hero would parry and escape her blows, but he finds himself unable to harm her. His instincts tell him she is fighting out of fear and indignity. He is an intruder, after all.

Hero: Please! Let’s stop fighting! I’m sorry for intruding, I was only here on a job!

The blows stop. The creature woman looks at him. The hero lowers his sword, but does not leave himself unprotected. His shield remains up.

Hero: Recently... the will of the owner of this estate, a duke who died one year ago, has been read. His family was shocked that this summer villa was left not to his descendants but to an unknown woman. I was hired by the family to investigate...

The large eyes of the creature grow at the mention of the duke.

Hero: . . . Is the woman you?

The creature nods. The hero lowers his sword slightly.

Hero: . . . You’re a shape shifter?

She nods again. She sits down on a tall desk, letting documents drop to the floor. It creaks slightly against her weight. She mutters...

Shape Shifter: My lord... left me this house...

Hero: He also left you four hundred silk bills. Enough to live on for quite some time...

The shape shifter looks up at the hero.

Shape Shifter: Money, too? I’m...

She sobs into her tentacles. She seems so human despite her appearance. The hero places his sword against the wall and reaches for a pouch full of money. He approaches the shape shifter but she is too distracted to take the money

Hero: . . .My lady. . . Just to clear things up, may I ask. . . What is your relationship to the late duke and his family?

She calms down, although her story is told between sobs.

Shape Shifter: I have no... no relationships to his family... They have no knowledge of me... I... I was... His alone...

She stands up and ceases her crying. She looks down at the hero.

Hero: This form... is it your original form?

Shape Shifter: No. I am a century changeling. An immortal race who live our eternal lives in one hundred year cycles. At the beginning of each of our one hundred years we take new shapes... But I can not change perfectly. With each form we take there are parts we cannot discard until the end of the century, where we shed our old forms and begin anew...

Hero: Then what is this form?

The changeling smirks.

Shape Shifter: Would you believe me if I told you that fifty years ago I took the form of a regular woman? I was homeless and the duke found out about my race. He took me in, allowed me to stay in this estate, as long as he lived. All he wanted out of me... was my body...

Hero: You... were his mistress...

Shape Shifter: You’re too flattering. He treated me as more of a concubine... Not that I minded...

The hero cannot believe the story. But the way the tall changeling towers over him... Her strange large shoulders were off putting at first, but now that she stands over him they make her look regal...

Her gown is modest, but he notices her rather large bosom...

But everything else! The large eyes... The tentacles... The teeth dress...

Shape Shifter: You have questions... At first he was a plain man... But soon he began to realize the potential of my powers in our sex lives...

Hero: Oh Gods...

Shape Shifter: You know how bizarre men can get. Vanilla sex began to bore him after our first ten years together... He had wants, and needs. I was a good concubine. With just a little encouragement and prying I made him admit some of his fetishes. They were tame at first... He wanted me taller... Shapely, muscular thighs... But as he grew bolder his fetishes morphed. Encouraged by my shape shifting, he wanted stranger things. Tentacles. Technicolor hair...

Hero: That’s almost reasonable compared to the... the um...

Shape Shifter: The dress? Yes, for some reason he wanted my gowns to “swallow him” into sex. Strange and perverse, but I complied.

The changeling’s dress mouth “opens up,” revealing her shapely nude body beneath. The sight causes the hero’s imagination to stir. He shifts awkwardly, hoping the shape shifter does not notice.

Shape Shifter: At first my shoulders were just a natural consequence to support the tentacles, but he soon wanted me to keep them... I never understood that. I suppose it was in fashion for queens and princesses to wear padding beneath their shoulders a few decades ago. He must have been watching those royal dames... The dirty old pervert...

She pronounces “pervert” with a strange fondness...

Shape Shifter: With each strange fetish my body was permanently changed. Large eyes, small fangs, a long dextrous tongue... Now I have become... THIS as a result. I did this all for him, but I was fine. I was fine because he loved it. He lavished my body with praise, and drew such satisfaction from it, and I felt loved. And now he’s gone, and I’m stuck like this.

She wraps her body with her tentacles, as though ashamed... And although she is crying and the hero desperately wishes otherwise, her monstrous form has begun to captivate him...

Her shapely hips, her bright eyes, the handsome curvatures of her mature and aged face...

And as for the parts of her that are not human...

her tentacles are thick and powerful...

her height so domineering...

her bizarre dress that opens and closes like a mouth, so dangerous and yet there was something exciting and arousing at how it can turn from modest but form fitting to lewd and revealing... and could gobble him up...

the shape of her large, muscular shoulders were the hardest to latch onto, but the hero has found himself aroused even by them, longing to touch them...

Shape Shifter: I can’t leave this house! I can’t change into something normal now. I’m trapped. Even with the money he’s left me. For a year I came close to cursing his name. How could I not? I never knew he cared enough about me to mention me in his will... I...  There’s no one out there who could appreciate this body but him... No one can love this bundle of strange, ghastly fetishes... My only hope being that it is almost time for my form to renew...

The hero’s body seems to disagree. Behind his shield he hides a barely controlled erection. He takes a step back, praying she will not notice... Notice that he is weakening...

Hero: I’m sure it’ll all work out...

Not good. The changeling looks down at the hero. She noticed the nervousness in his voice. Her tentacles unravel around her body, her gown opens slightly. She approaches him...

Shape Shifter: Young man...

Her tentacle easily whips his shield away... He tries to hide but she holds him still... She gets a good look at his blushing face... and very visible lump in his pants...

Shape Shifter: It can’t be...

The hero can see her nude body within the toothy split of her dress... The duke must have at one point had normal desires, as her breasts are large, though they droop and there are visible veins like any regular human at a certain age. But they are still beautiful...

Her waist is large and round...

Her legs are muscular as tree trunks.

The hero is utterly captivated. The changeling’s “grotesque” and “inhuman” face that he once feared looks down at him. There is a light smirk, a brightness in her large eyes...

Shape Shifter: Young man... please take off your clothes...

The hero’s panic and attempt to flee is short lived as the tentacles bind around his limbs tight. He can’t resist as she pulls him closer... Her dress’s mouth opens wide and he sees her bare body.

Shape Shifter: I can’t believe you, boy... You’re just as depraved as my young lord, and at such a young age...

She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her long and dexterous tongue invades him and it is wonderful. He squeals in protest, but also in passion.

Her tentacles pull his pants down, his shirt off... His belt falls to the ground with a clunk of tools and coin pouches. His light armor and trousers as well. His bare body is pulled toward the grotesque and horribly arousing body.

He passes through the dress’s jaw. The teeth, although sharp, are pointed inward. His restrained body comfortably slips right in, but could never get out. He ceases struggling, partly to avoid being hurt by the fearsome gown mouth, but also because his entire front half is pressed against the shape shifter’s gorgeous feminine body and he can think no more...

Her breasts smother him, his cock pointed to the side, pressed against her crotch, his balls bullied and teased by the tips of her tentacles... She allows his hands to cling to her muscly shoulders. He can feel the smooth skin, the hills of strong muscles...

Finally, she lets his cock slip into her vagina.

But it feels different... the inside of her vagina is... tighter. Tighter than normal... And ribbed... And her hips begin to vibrate inhumanly fast... She whispers into his ears...

Shape Shifter: Oops... I did not mention, did I? As he grew older his cock needed more... support...

The hero is not paying any attention as he is too busy screaming in ecstasy...

But she slows down before he cums...

Shape Shifter: How resilient are you, boy?

She looks down at his face half buried in her cleavage. His eyes, moist from passion, meets hers. Large, wide, and bright. He becomes lost in them.

Shape Shifter: It doesn’t matter... I’ll make you last.

She brings her prisoner up to the bedrooms.

*** *** ***

It is mostly riding. Her heavy weight atop his small human body, her form expertly molded to squeeze pleasure out of an old man... The hero’s young and perfectly virile body stood no chance.

She pries out his fetishes, his secrets, and takes advantage. Her strange, seemingly disgusting body, is a perfect match for his repressed imagination... Binding tentacles, a hungry gown, and mighty muscles... The hero is defeated against all of these.

Her vagina feels like a sex toy, designed for pleasure. But make no mistake, it is fully sensitive and she feels everything. In fact, she cums more than he does. She does not let him become too excited, letting him orgasm at the end of one hour long cycles of play.

They have sex long into the night, all the way to morning...

*** *** ***

The hero is exhausted, his eyes open with difficulty. She strokes his hair lovingly with her tentacle...

Shape Shifter: I didn’t believe there was a man in the world who would get hard for me like this... let alone one so passionate...

She chuckles.

Shape Shifter: I almost don’t want to let you leave.

She stands up. The hero watches as she retrieves the bag of money she inherited. She smiles at him.

Shape Shifter: Boy... tell the family of my lord they may have this house. I will need it no longer. I’ll be taking the money, however.

Her body begins to glow as bright as fire.

Shape Shifter: Thank you. For letting this form experience lust one last time.

There is a prolonged flash, and then it dies down. Her body is the size of a normal human now. She is silvery, with no face aside from two glowing eyes. Featureless and sexless and beautiful. Holding her pouch of in her hand she gives a curt nod and walks toward the exit.

The century changeling leaves to begin its next century.

The End

***

[This is how I picture sex with an alien would be like]

[bittykimmy13]

Playing with Fire  (18+ GT Drama / Horror)

Premise: Sequel to Heart of Gold. Sherry navigates a vicious life teeming with cruel and lustful giants eager to get their hands on her. The only lifeline within reach is the person who sealed her fate.

Warning: Graphic descriptions of sexual assault, violence, and dehumanization in a GT context. This is not intended to be fetish material; commenting on it as such will result in an immediate block.

Print/Trinket Universe and characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5​ / @little-miss-maggie​, who made the sick header image <3

(( Read Heart of Gold here ))

(( More from the Print/Trinket Universe ))

"I already told you, I'm done. Delete my number."

"One last time, Sher, please. You can't turn your back on me now."

"What'd you do this time?"

"I just... I need you here. Please. I know how we left things. I understand if you never wanna see me again, but I need your help. This is the last time I'll ever bother you, I swear."

Tears drenched Sherry's face. Her attempts to drift away from her current hell led her down the most miserable memories. She wasn't sure which was worse: revisiting the moment she ruined her life, or being present enough to confront her ruined life.

A voice huffed overhead, forcing her to choose the latter. "Stop crying already. Fuck."

But Sherry couldn't stop. She didn't have a clue what was happening or why. All she knew was that she was pinned to a cold metal table while a human woman tried to fit a gold collar over her head.

Agent Taylor. That was what her badge said.

The cabinet doors had flown open at Zane's place, and the reaper's cold eyes had filled the space. Her grasping hands wrecked the makeshift shelter while she thwarted Sherry and Adam's pitiful attempts to bolt out of reach. They had been dumped into a glass cage and then separated before they reached their final destination.

Adam was nowhere to be seen. Was he being forced into a collar somewhere else? And what about Odessa? She had not been caged with them. Maybe because she had been captured by a different reaper.

"Please," Sherry whimpered, twisting her head side to side to avoid the collar. "W-what are you doing? Why am I here?"

Taylor wound Sherry's teal hair around one fingertip and tugged so sharply that Sherry screamed. The back of her head slammed against the table, making the world turn fuzzy. She squinted through the blinding fluorescent lights to see the reaper's annoyed expression hanging over her.

"Stop squirming, or I'll snap your pretty little neck, you hear me?" Taylor looked down at her with disgust. "I don't have a clue why Mitchell insisted on keeping a whiner like you, but you should be grateful. The best thing a trinket can hope to be is a snake."

"A-A... what?"

Fingertips viciously groped Sherry's neck until she held still enough for the perfect gold circle to slip over her head. The invasive hands pulled away finally. Panting, Sherry sat up and felt her collar all around, intending to yank it off. Impossibly, it retracted to a smaller size and settled snugly around her neck. There was no clasp to be found. Smart metal—the kind that was used on tracking cuffs for prints. Since when was such expensive material used on trinkets?

Feeling like she couldn't draw a full breath, Sherry whimpered and clawed at the collar. She felt the thin engraving of an inscription etched along the metal, but she was not interested in deciphering it.

"Don't bother." A hand swept Sherry into a fist, pinning her arms awkwardly against her body. "Mess with it too much, and it'll choke you out before you can even think to regret it."

Sherry trembled in the woman's grasp—not only from fear, but from the shock of being handled so roughly. She had been spoiled by Zane's consideration and careful touches, even if he had turned out to be a lying bastard in the end. Hours ago, she had felt like a real person, and already it seemed like a fever dream to ignore what she really was.

Trinket. Criminal. Doll. Prisoner.

She was whisked out of the small, blinding room and taken into what appeared to be the main hub of a police station. Sherry shivered harder than ever. The giants typing away at computers and chatting around the desks were not regular cops. These were reapers, government agents specifically tasked with the repossession of wayward prints and trinkets.

Although she fit the category of wayward trinket, she figured she would have been shipped straight to a facility to be redistributed to another bar. Maybe a brothel as punishment for her misguided attempts to be rescued by the rebellion. Why was she still here?

"New snake?" boomed an unfamiliar voice. A reaper passing by Agent Taylor eyed Sherry like a choice cut. She shrank away from his stare, which only seemed to encourage him. He stopped to reach out and brush a finger over her hair. "Where'd you nab this one?"

"Some barfly who can't get his story straight about whether he's black market or rebellion." Taylor made no move to thwart the other reaper from lifting Sherry's chin to see her tear-soaked face better. "Either way, the truth will come out. We got taped confirmation about a meet-up tomorrow at noon."

The guy whistled, finally pulling his hand away. "A confession and a follow-up location? Lemme guess. Odessa?"

"Who else?"

The mention of Odessa's name made Sherry perk up, but the conversation ended before she could make sense of what had been said. She'd been too preoccupied about being petted like a captive mouse.

Taylor took her to the center of the station. What Sherry saw made her stomach churn. A glass labyrinth of trinket-sized rooms sat atop a huge table. There were faint lines of translucent circuits within the walls that suggested it was no ordinary glass. There was no ceiling on the enclosure, as though a pet store had decided to set up shop in the middle of the government establishment.

"Welcome home," Taylor said derisively. "For however long you last. We call this the Warren."

The longer Sherry stared at the enclosure, the sicker she felt. There were over a dozen rooms. The walls offered no privacy, other than one cubicle that had sheets thrown up over the sides for some reason—but it still lacked a ceiling. There were doorways, but no doors. None of the openings provided a path onto the table. No exits. The only way a trinket could leave was if a human plucked them out.

Sherry was released into one of the cubicles, which looked like a rough draft of a bedroom. She backed up against the wall, shivering. She eyed the doorway, but with a reaper glaring down at her, there was no point in making a run for it. Her trembling legs were hard to convince.

Blessedly, Agent Taylor turned her attention to a tablet that lay beside the Warren and tapped away at it. "Name?"

Flinching, Sherry clutched her hands close to herself and stared up blankly.

"Tell me a name, or I'll pick one for you." Taylor's eyes flickered to her. "You look like a 'Diva' to me."

"Sh—" She swallowed a sob. "Sherry."

Taylor made a noise of ridicule under her breath. Perhaps like Zane, she didn't believe that was her real name and that it was really what she had been saddled with when being passed around at a bar. Whatever she thought, the reaper typed something into the tablet. Circuits along the wall flickered, and Sherry's name appeared in translucent letters on the wall by the doorway. It was then she noticed that the other rooms had names, too. The one across from hers was Raquel.

Despite her best judgment, Sherry couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Tell me what's happening," she said, hating the pathetic note of pleading in her voice. "Please. I... I don't understand."

She had never begged as a trinket. Not at the facility. Not at the bar. Not when she was worried that Zane's impossibly gentle touch was fake. But she had been able to make some sense out of those situations. For the life of her, she could not pinpoint what she had done to end up in the Warren with Agent Taylor leering down at her.

The reaper, forthcoming as ever, gave her a barbed smirk. "Do a good job, and you'll be rewarded. Do a shitty job, and you'll be at the mercy of that new necklace of yours. Do a particularly shitty job, and you won't even get that mercy. We'll leave you to the wolves to do as they please. Simple as that."

There was nothing simple about it.

Agent Taylor tossed the tablet onto the table and strode off without telling Sherry what her job was.

For a few minutes, Sherry couldn't do more than stand in one spot while her thoughts reeled. The moment it sank in that nothing stopped her from walking through the doorway of her assigned room, she stepped out. The glass walls were so clean, she might have walked right into a few if not for the pale circuits within.

She came across three other trinkets in her tentative exploration of the Warren. None were helpful. A couple of them were sleeping in their own rooms, and one was sitting on the floor in a central hub area.

He stared up at a news channel playing on a wallscreen that was embedded into the glass. Sherry didn't even realize they made screens so miniature, let alone that there were any systems in place that allowed trinkets to use them. It felt like a twisted, sanitized version of Zane's makeshift trinket hideout.

"Hi?" Sherry said, her voice thready. She stopped a few feet from him. No, inches. Inches. "Can you tell me what's going on here? What is this place? W-what do they want with us?"

He didn't look away from the screen. Didn't say a word.

"Hello? Can you hear me? Please... I-I have no idea—"

"You'll figure it out," he grunted. "Or maybe you won't. We don't bother each other around here, I'll tell you that much." He gave her a razor-sharp glance that told her it was time to stop bothering him.

She retreated back to her room and hugged herself on the bed. That's all there was. No pillow, no sheets. She had glimpsed a few other rooms. Most were fairly simple, but others were adorned with extra accommodations. More pillows, thicker blankets, extra furniture, a box packed with clothes. A couple even had their own wallscreens.

All around the outside the Warren, the reaper station went on business as usual. Footsteps thudded back and forth past the enclosure, but despite Sherry's instinct to duck down out of sight, no one seemed to give the trinkets more than a passing glance. As if the glass cage was no more out of place than a light fixture.

Although intense confusion continued to plague her thoughts, her adrenaline waned and exhaustion crept in. She absently felt along her collar to trace the letters and numbers. C117.

Without realizing she had curled up on her side, she fell into a fitful sleep.

She couldn't be sure how long she had laid there by the time heavy footsteps rattled the floors and walls, closer than before. Sherry jolted in bed, but she kept her head down. She debated on whether it would be a better idea to sit up or pretend to be asleep. A shiver ran through her at the thought that a person was towering over the Warren, looking down at her.

A familiar voice silenced her internal debate—a voice that didn't belong to a massive reaper.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't know."

Odessa.

Sitting up, Sherry almost tripped over her own feet as she scrambled for the doorway. She gripped the glass edge and looked high up. The reaper who had approached was still there. A cold spike of recognition ran through Sherry as she examined his icy blue eyes and dark hair. He had raided Zane's place along with Agent Taylor. Currently, he held Odessa in a fist and glared at her.

"Well, someone must have tipped them off," he snapped. "We've gone over the recording a dozen times—there's nothing left up to interpretation. A distributor was supposed to be there at noon. Are you sure there wasn't some change of plan? Did he ever look at his phone as if he received a message? Because I'm still feeling pretty fucking suspicious about how long it took for you to boot up your tracker."

Despite being trapped in a gigantic grip, Odessa didn't cower. That was strange. She had been so skittish around Zane, and here this reaper was raising his voice at her.

"I wouldn't have gotten the confession at all if you all had busted in any earlier," Odessa spat. "It's not my fault the distributor didn't show up. Maybe some neighbor spotted Zane being arrested and passed the info along. Could be that you all weren't subtle enough. Instead of asking me, why don't you ask Zane?"

The reaper scoffed. "Haven't been able to get another word out of him. He's already on the docket for trial. Let's see if he's so quiet during his follow-up interrogation at three inches tall."

The hand holding Odessa plunged and deposited her in a nearby hall of the Warren. Overwhelmed by the appearance of a friendly face, Sherry bottled from her doorway. Seconds after the hand retreated, she flung her arms around Odessa and held on tight.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Sherry gasped.

Odessa stiffened, but after a moment, she hugged Sherry back. "It's okay," she said softly. "Everything's going to be okay."

"I-I thought I'd be alone here. I heard what Zane said about being with the black market. I knew it. But they won't tell me what's going on here! What are they making you do? Zane just barely got you last night—how can they expect you to know anything about what he was up to?"

A laugh boomed from above, effectively reminding Sherry that they were being watched. She cowered, but Odessa seemed more annoyed than frightened as she held Sherry close. The glare she aimed upward looked like it had been bred in a blizzard.

"Oh, that's just precious," the reaper said, bracing his hands on the table to lean down closer to them. "You sure picked a bright one, didn't you, Odessa? Poor thing hasn't even put two and two together, has she?"

Sherry looked from his looming face to Odessa's icy expression. "What's he talking about?" Sherry asked.

Odessa sighed. "Let me explain—"

"Allow me," the reaper laid in overtop. The cruel amusement in his eyes should have been reserved for a kid frying ants with a magnifying glass. "Sherry, is it? Well, Odessa is the reason you were dragged from that cute little hideaway in the cupboard. I mean, if we hadn't stepped in, you'd be up for bid on the black market. But still. You were rounded up thanks to our expert two-faced bitch here. I suggest you start thinking of her as your new role model if you want to make it through your first week."

Sherry's desperate arms went slack. She wriggled out of Odessa's protective embrace. "He's... he's lying," Sherry said. "Tell me he's lying!"

But Odessa did not attempt to deny any of it. Fury and a sense of utter loneliness exploded through Sherry so violently that she nearly collapsed. Spotting this, Odessa caught her arms and kept her standing despite Sherry's protests.

"Fuck off, Mitchell," Odessa snarled. "Why don't you go figure out the Zane situation before the captain mounts your head on the wall?"

Agent Mitchell was still chuckling as he straightened to his full, dizzying height. "Better start explaining things to her quick. She'll be out in the field before you know it."

Odessa locked her hand in Sherry's and led her away. Still in shock, Sherry allowed herself to be taken. There was a room with Odessa's name displayed on the outside. If Sherry had only explored a little further, she would have saved herself a few precious moments of humiliation. Even more mind-boggling, this was the room with sheets thrown over the walls.

As they entered, Sherry's eyes widened. Odessa had more possessions than anyone she had seen so far.

"Sit." Odessa led her to a dollhouse chair against the wall.

Sherry ripped her hand away and glared, making no move to obey. Her throat was too tight with tears and anger to say all the things racing through her mind. Odessa took her by the shoulders and made her sit.

"Listen up." Odessa's fingers stayed perched firmly on Sherry's shoulders. They were nearly nose-to-nose. "I'm going to explain my job. Our job. Are you listening? When a human is suspected of stealing prints or trinkets, the best way to find everyone they've stolen is to send in a snake. That's us."

"That's you," Sherry protested, her voice a mere croak.

"No. It's us. Whether you like it or not, you have to understand right here and now that there's no choice, Sherry. Either you comply, or they'll send you somewhere worse."

Sherry shook her head. "You said or. Sure sounds like there's a choice in there somewhere."

"Not when one of the choices is a fucking stupid one." Odessa knelt by the chair and looked up at Sherry, taking her hand. A display of vulnerability meant nothing when it came from a professional liar. "I saved you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but this is the best thing I could've done for you."

"My collar disagrees." Sherry yanked her hands away, glaring daggers at Odessa's imploring expression. "If we're being set out as bait to catch these people, we're still ending up in bars. How is this any better?"

"The difference is that you'll be saved if you do your job right. You'll have a bed to sleep in. Food to eat. Moments of actual rest. Those other trinkets out in the world... They have nothing. They're dead."

"Oh, this is what you call living?"

Odessa pursed her lips, patience wearing thin. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it and say it's easy. It's the hardest job you'll ever have to do, but it's a job. You're not a doll or a sex toy or decoration anymore."

"You're right," Sherry spat. "I'm all those things at once, just depends on who the reapers plan to target, huh? Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," Odessa said simply, rising to stand in front of Sherry with her arms crossed tightly. "I'm expected to teach you what to do. So if you want to survive, I suggest you listen up."

Sherry scowled and clenched her hands on her lap, but she listened.

"Depending on the target, you need to tailor your personality to be tantalizing but believable. Some of these creeps have wizened up, or at least know that the reapers have a few tricks up their sleeves at this point. You just need to be something they want to take home with them. Whether it's for personal, black market, or rebellion reasons."

A sour look crossed Sherry's face. "So, that scared girl thing you did at Zane's place... that was just a routine to get him to nab you?"

Odessa scoffed. "Zane was hardly worth the effort. But then again, bar jobs are usually the easiest. The reapers work with the staff to make sure a snake gets served to the target. Those jobs are the most common. I'm sure that's what they'll assign you at first."

"And what about Adam?" Sherry said when he occurred to her suddenly. "Why isn't here, getting this informative seminar with me?"

"There's no way I could convince Mitchell to take you both."

"So... I'm just the lucky one you chose, then?"

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Odessa glanced away, frowning as if she was still processing her own decision. "I've never asked them to bring in a new snake before. But you were convincing when you hid your suspicions from Zane. Convincing enough that I know you'll be good at this job."

Before Sherry could help it, her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to be good at this job."

"Sher... I'm giving you something that didn't have before tonight. I'm giving you the power to take control instead of staying a helpless victim." Odessa leaned in closer and put her hands on Sherry's shoulders again, squeezing. "Lesson one. Never cry unless it benefits you."

One last time, Sher, please. You can't turn your back on me now.

Rage flooded over the fear. Sherry sprang to her feet and shoved Odessa to the ground, catching her off guard. "You're a fucking monster! Just as bad as Zane, and these reapers, and all the other psychos out there who can't keep their disgusting hands off trinkets!"

A shadow darkened over them. Mitchell seemed to materialize out of nowhere, his voice rumbling with dangerous amusement. "Well, well, trouble in paradise?"

Sherry made a choked noise and tripped over the doll chair as his hand dove down for her. She scrambled to kick her legs free of the flimsy furniture, but in no time at all, fingers closed around her body and yanked her out of Odessa's room. He observed her panicked struggles for only a moment before raising his eyebrows at Odessa.

"Guess you forgot to mention in your little orientation that fighting isn't tolerated."

"Back off," Odessa said, brushing herself off. "You've barely given me fifteen minutes with her."

"Hm. Didn't happen to teach her about the collar yet?"

"I was getting to it," Odessa said hurriedly. Her voice jumped in a way that made Sherry's skin crawl with dread.

That was all the answer he needed. He released Sherry on the table's expansive surface outside the Warren, right beside one of Odessa's walls. Odessa tore down one of the hanging sheets, pressing her hands to the glass.

"Just relax!" she ordered Sherry, seeming caught between genuine worry and cold nonchalance in Mitchel's looming presence.

"Oh, stop babying her," he chided, doing nothing to fight a sick smile of anticipation.

Mitchell's hand crowded Sherry again. She backed up frantically, but bumped into the glass, unable to avoid his fingertip as it tapped her collar. He went on conversationally as if she wasn't cowering under his gaze.

"Now, if you're out in the field and need to communicate, put your fingertips on both sides and hold for a few seconds. When you've got a solid enough confession from the target, turn on the tracker by tapping the sides three times." His finger pulled away, but not before dragging it down her shoulder, arm, and leg. "Timing is everything. You'll find that several targets scan for trackers, so be smart about when you activate it. You wouldn't want them to know your little secret."

Once his hand no longer filled her vision, she managed to shudder out the breath she had been holding. She reached for the collar, pursing her lips. He spotted the question on her face and chuckled.

"Why would we give you the power to choose when we come for you? Because we have a neat little failsafe in the event that you try to dodge us. I think you deserve a demonstration."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. The reaper logo was stamped on the back. He set it on the table in front of Sherry, giving her full upside-down view as he moved through screen after screen until he came upon a list of codes and names. He stopped and tapped on one of the pairs.

C117 - Sherry

Before she could process how quickly her identity had been synced in the reaper station, she couldn't breathe.

A cry squeaked past her throat. She coughed and tried to pry her fingertips under her collar as it constricted against her neck. Panic seized her. She fell to her knees and writhed uselessly, certain that the metal would decapitate her in its rapid compression against her windpipe.

Odessa's voice sounded far away. "You made your point, now quit it!"

"Just showing her what happens if she gets any bright ideas," Mitchell drawled.

He tapped his device. The collar sprang back to its normal, snug fit. Bracing one hand on the table, he leaned in closer to get a better look as Sherry put herself back together. Gasping, she managed to stand shakily.

"That's for trying to rough up my favorite snake," he told her in a low, dangerous voice. "If you don't turn on your tracker while you're on a job, it starts a little slower than that. You won't even notice at first. Like a frog in boiling water. Just don't even think about activating the tracker until you've recorded some evidence or found some hoarded inventory. You got it?"

Sherry stood there and trembled, reeling to process the way he referred to smuggled people as inventory.

His hand slammed down beside her and sent a shockwave that knocked her off her feet. She looked straight up as he put his face inches from her.

"I said, you got it?" Mitchell barked.

"Y-yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yessir!" She nodded frantically and pressed her back against the glass that separated her from Odessa, who looked on with wide, furious eyes.

"You done?" Odessa demanded of Mitchell. "Already collected plenty of material to jack off to later, don't you think?"

He smirked. "You know me so well."

In one smooth motion, he straightened and plucked up Sherry before she could think to be startled by it. He deposited her in Odessa's room, where she fell to her hands and knees. She didn't pause for a single second—she sprang to stand. Bolting from the room, she headed for her own, empty one. Mitchell's leer followed her path effortlessly, still laughing and watching when she reached her destination.

"Expect your first assignment tomorrow, new girl," he said. "Hope you'll leave a good review about orientation."

"I can't take this anymore. Why can't you just... just stop!"

"You don't understand, Sher. If we don't keep splitting it between us, I... You know what'll happen to me. Is that what you want? It is, isn't it? Then you'd be rid of me for good. Fucking finally, right?"

"Don't say that!"

The feeling in Sherry's gut was so familiar, it hurt like a freshly reopened wound. No matter which body she existed in, the universe demanded she be dragged into something she wanted nothing to do with. No choice but to follow through.

This time there was no family. There was no love, no urge to protect. There was only the will to see another day.

What's the point of seeing another day if this what the days are like?

As she lay in her depressing, issued bed and stared at the ceiling, she sincerely thought of running over to Odessa's room to punch her squarely in the face. Maybe Mitchell would swoop in and let the collar finish her off this time. But Sherry couldn't bring herself to budge. She stayed fixated on the fluorescent lights as the hours of the day dragged on. The lights never turned out—not even at night. Busting people for hoarding prints and trinkets was a twenty-four-hour business, but reapers could go home at the end of their shifts.

In all her waiting, she found herself becoming numb. By the time Agent Mitchell came stomping back to the Warren, she felt ready for whatever horror she was expected to carry out. At least she tried to lie to herself that she was ready. Odessa, a known liar, was certain that Sherry was an excellent one. So maybe she could convince herself.

"Four assignments tonight," Mitchell announced, reading from a tablet. "Odessa, Collin, Miranda, and Sherry."

Through the glass walls, she saw the summoned trinkets making their way to the common area. She followed suit, making sure to be as far away from Odessa as possible as they stood at attention.

Mitchell's gaze settled on Sherry immediately, seeming equal measures curious and amused as he wondered how she would react to carrying out her first job. She dropped her gaze to the floor. If some creep was going to toy with her tonight, the least she could do for herself was not let Mitchell get the ball rolling.

"Don't look so sad, Sherry," he chided. "You've got a bar tonight. Easy."

"I'll take her assignment," Odessa said as if she was commenting about the weather.

Sherry's head shot up to look across at Odessa. The other trinkets were staring too, while Mitchell raised his eyebrows steeply.

"See, that's a problem. Did you miss the part where you have your own job tonight?"

Odessa shrugged. "I'll do both. One after the other. She isn't ready yet, but the jobs need to be done, so I'll do them."

He scoffed. "What's the point of her taking up space here?"

"What space? Look around. Half the rooms are empty. Just give me more time to work with her, and she'll be as much of an asset as I am. You're risking her if you send her out too soon. Think long-term, Mitchell. She'll be worth it."

The reaper thought on it for a second, resting a hand over one of the outer walls and drumming his fingers on it. Looking more amused than ever, he turned his attention back to Sherry.

"And what do you say to that?" he asked her.

More than anything, Sherry wanted to demand what Odessa was playing at. Was this her way of apologizing? Sherry was not used to anyone taking the fall for her, but she stuffed down her shock with a cool look and mimed Odessa's shrug.

"If that's what she wants, you won't hear me complaining," Sherry said.

"Fine by me." Mitchell reached for Odessa. "As long as both jobs get done tonight."

And with that Sherry was left standing alone in the common area as the other snakes were plucked up as well. Dropping the pretense of her disinterest, she drew a deep breath and made a slow path back to her room. Along the way, she saw a couple of other snakes who had not been assigned anything that night. They rolled over in their beds, eyes open. No doubt they had heard the whole thing, but none of them had offered to take on Odessa's extra job.

Sherry spent the day drifting between her room and the common area, trying to block out the sounds of the station around the Warren. It was like existing as a ghost. Feeling real while having no significant impact on the real world.

She stared at the wallscreen as it played the news, but she may as well have been watching a broadcast from Jupiter for all the effect it had on her life. Watching the news from Zane's apartment had filled her with a weak sense of hope—at least, in those times when she could force herself to ignore how suspicious she was of his motives. Here, she was filled with nothing but sorrow, watching as the distant world went on without her.

Odessa had been taken at five in the afternoon. She was returned at four in the morning, looking as exhausted as Mitchell looked pleased. It must have been the end of his shift because he didn't stick around to torment anyone as the returning trinkets staggered to their rooms.

Sherry put up no argument when Odessa leaned in her doorway and beckoned her to follow.

"So... I'm guessing it went well?" Sherry asked once they were in Odessa's room.

She refused to give Odessa the satisfaction of immediately asking why she had taken the second job.

"I was responsible for three arrests." For all the extra privacy of her room, she didn't seem shy at all as she stripped off her skimpy bar outfit. Sherry averted her eyes to the corner as Odessa went on. "The first job was a well-off couple. They had been hoarding trinkets from bars and selling them on the side. Not part of any black market networks. Those are the easiest. They rarely have a clue what they're doing, and it's very obvious. Remember that."

Catching a flash of fabric out of the corner of her eye, Sherry peeked and saw Odessa had thrown on a sunflower dress. She did a double-take. It looked a lot like the one Zane had kept in his storage of trinket clothing.

"Independent sellers are easy," Sherry recited glumly. "And the other?"

"A low ranking distributor on the black market. He was crashing parties that had trinket rentals. Keep this in mind, too—those trinket rental services are the most notorious for losing their inventory. Too many moving pieces and rarely a solid guest list to keep track of."

Sherry nodded, sinking into the dollhouse chair as she tried to process it all. "How did you pull that one off?"

"I was alone. I made myself the easiest one for him to grab. So he did." Odessa leaned against one of the sheeted walls and crossed her arms. Her eyelids looked heavy. "It was hard getting info out of him. See, distributors are usually either batshit crazy or stoic. Still, at the end of the day, what most of them love is to feel powerful. The trick was for me to be awed and skeptical. In the end, he wanted for me to know how much of a badass he was."

Something cold warmed through Sherry as she watched Odessa rub her arms up and down like she was trying to rid herself of a lingering sensation.

"And did they..." Sherry cleared her throat. "I mean, did they touch you?"

Odessa dropped the back of her head to the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "The couple caged me. They weren't interested. The distributor... Well, he was handsy. I had to lure him to get those confessions out of him. A lot of humans are like that. They start getting physical, and their walls come down while they brag. They just need to make it clear how much stronger they are."

Humans. "I'm guessing you weren't human, then?"

Odessa fixed her with a guarded look. "What's got you so curious all the sudden?"

"What's got you so selfless all the sudden, taking my job like that?"

A scoff. "You don't know me enough to be shocked by my choices." She paused, her jaw ticking for a second. "Born and raised in a print community. That's where I get my sunshiney personality."

Sherry tried not to gawk. They had been born in entirely different worlds, and now here they both were, living in a glass cage together.

"Did you try to escape?" Sherry asked.

"To go where? The wild? Nah." Odessa pursed her lips as she reminisced. "It wasn't so bad there. I worked in a local bakery, and I was taken to the city a few days out of the month to pull weeds at a botanical garden."

A little snort escaped Sherry before she could stop it. When Odessa raised her eyebrows in question, Sherry shrugged. "Sorry, I have a hard time picturing you in an apron or surrounded by flowers."

"Well, I did have a different face at the time."

That sobered Sherry up in seconds, but she in no way apologized. "So what happened?"

"This keeper started harassing me when I was old enough to have my own place."

Cocking her head, Sherry waited for more, but Odessa just stared at the ceiling. Her gaze was beginning to look distant. Sherry supposed she could understand that. She stood, walking close enough to see the individual petals on Odessa's sunflower dress.

"Did you get into trouble with him?" she asked softly, as if it mattered at all who heard. "It's the kind of thing you hear about sometimes, you know. Keepers getting handsy with prints and getting no repercussions for it. Finding ways to get them in trouble when they don't reciprocate."

Odessa's eyes snapped to hers. "I killed him."

Sherry took a step back, her blood icing over. Her wide eyes incited a smirk on Odessa's lips.

"You were human, weren't you?" Odessa said. "You may not be as freaked as every other human-turned-trinket I've met, but you've still got that look, that way you carry yourself. Like you used to be on top of the world."

"Oh, please. I was never on top of the world."

"Yes, you were. Consider this. The poorest human is living better than the most well-off print." Still, she paused to think about Sherry's statement. "I'm guessing you didn't leave much behind?"

Taking slow steps back to the doorway, Sherry didn't have the energy to protest the shift of spotlight. The mere inquiry of her old life sent her head spinning along with Odessa's casual confession.

"I left behind plenty," Sherry said, gripping the glass doorway. "I have a twin. Had, I guess. Don't quite look alike anymore. Her name's Mia."

Odessa's poker face remained intact, but Sherry swore she saw a flicker of sympathy. "Since we're sharing, what did a sweet thing like you do to deserve what you got?"

It was Sherry's turn to be amused, though she felt like a cold knife was twisting in her gut as she made her exit. "You think you're hot shit for taking out one creep? You're looking at a convicted serial killer, queen."

"Hey, I'm here. I found your backpack, but where are you?"

"I-I..."

"Hello? Mia?"

"I'm sorry, Sher. I-I'm s-so sorry, I had to, I had to—"

"Whoa, slow down! Why are you crying?"

The next night, Odessa insisted once again on taking Sherry's assignment. And the night after that. And the night after that. Mitchell was apparently determined to saddle them both with jobs every night. The other snakes were granted periodic nights off.

There was no attempt to hide it—Agent Mitchell was thoroughly entertained. On the fifth night, he clicked his tongue and looked down at Odessa with what might have been admiration. "You know, you're this close to pissing me off, but I'm kinda curious how much you'll kill yourself to protect your pet girlfriend."

Being in the clear every night did not win Sherry any friends among the snakes. Then again, none of them seemed overly fond of each other anyway. As far as Sherry knew, she and Odessa were the only ones who visited each other, even if those visits were out of pure survival on Sherry's part.

Odessa returned later and later into the morning every time, burdened with the double assignments. The dark circles under her eyes became a permanent fixture. And yet, her performance in acquiring confessions and finding hoarded trinkets did not seem to wane in the slightest.

"Why not call the reapers earlier?" Sherry asked when she noticed Odessa massaging her neck and grimacing. She was back later than ever, which meant she must have put up with the collar tightening quite a bit.

"Holding off a little bit longer pays off," Odessa explained. Even her voice sounded sore. "More damning confessions. Plus, info on others in their network. I'm sure you've noticed that we're rewarded when we do a good job."

Sherry had noticed.

Odessa's cubicle was the most decked out. The best clothes, the most pillows, the softest blankets. The reapers didn't even bother her about the extra sheets she had tossed over the glass walls, allowing her privacy that the other snakes were denied. She did her job well, and like a prized poodle, she was given treats for it.

The reward system gnawed at Sherry over the next few days, but she had little time to confront Odessa about it. She continued taking Sherry's jobs and took to sleeping the entire time she returned to the Warren. The rage that had first taken over Sherry was slowly but surely flickering down to nothing each time she saw Odessa drag her feet to her room.

Then, out of the clear blue, the snakes were taken outside. Sort of.

They were allowed one hour of outdoor time per week. It turned out to be the necessary amount to keep the majority of them from snapping and killing each other in their sleep.

The seven of them were placed in a glass box that had been fixed outside a window. Naturally, the dreariest day of the week had been chosen. Drizzling rain pattered against the glass, keeping the occupants downcast as ever.

Odessa, for all her exhaustion, seemed the least bothered by it. She sat cross-legged in front of one wall. Her hands were braced on the floor behind her, chin tilted up and eyes shut as if she could feel the sunshine through the compact clouds.

Taking a seat beside her, Sherry curled up and hugged her knees. Instead of looking up, she watched the crawling traffic below. Watching from ten stories up made her feel less small.

"Was I just another reward?" Sherry blurted. "Just something you asked for when you did a good job with Zane?"

Odessa didn't answer.

Sherry sighed sharply. "Why bring me into this? What do you want from me?"

"I dunno, Sher," Odessa murmured finally. "Maybe, for once, I wanted to be around someone who wasn't hand-picked by reapers. Maybe I'm just fucking lonely, and you had enough potential as a snake that I could use it as an excuse to keep you. Or maybe I just think you're cute."

There was no more wrath in Sherry. Only an awful, hollow feeling. "I really am your pet girlfriend, aren't I?"

"You still don't get it. You don't have to be anything to anyone. That's the gift I gave you with this job. You choose the role you want to play. You aren't the prey anymore. You're the hunter. If you don't want me to take your assignments anymore, all you have to do is tell me."

Sherry dug her fingers into her arms, holding herself closer. "Why take my jobs in the first place? You care so much about survival and rewards. You think you're getting in my good graces?"

Odessa was quiet for so long, Sherry thought she wouldn't answer. But then she sighed. "I only meant to take the first job. It would have sucked for you to die on your first assignment. Then you didn't seem ready for the second one. Or the one after. And so on. Now here we are."

"You still don't think I'm ready?"

"You could be." Odessa kept her gaze fixed on the clouds. "Maybe I'm the one who's not ready to imagine someone getting their filthy hands on you. But I gotta say... Being a good liar is one thing. You seem a bit soft for a serial killer."

Sherry swallowed hard, feeling like she was stumbling up a staircase in the dark, knowing that one step was missing.

"Makes sense," Sherry said. "I was framed."

Odessa turned to look at her, scooting closer until their arms brushed each other. It was weirdly comforting to have someone listen instead of scoff. "Huh. Ain't that a bitch. Wrong place, wrong time?"

"No. I was right on schedule. I knew I was there to be framed. It wasn't the first time."

Clenching her jaw, Sherry stared straight ahead at the skyline. The city was loud, but it was so quiet inside the glass box, she felt as though every snake was listening in. None of them gave a shit, other than the one sitting beside her.

"Mia and I would switch places all the time," Sherry said, her words feeling strangely disconnected from herself. She had kept them in for so long. "Ever since we were kids, we would share the blame. We would keep track of whose turn it was to get in trouble. As we grew up... she was the one doing most of the bad things.

"And then, once we were adults, it was legal trouble. She could never seem to get herself back on her feet without being dragged back down by something new. It happened over and over. I would let myself get arrested for her petty crimes, and then I'd be let go. She had this terrible boyfriend who kept dragging her along. She may have loved me, but she was obsessed with him. It got to be too much. Once I realized she liked that life, I was done. I moved away, cut her off. It was more like cutting off an arm or a leg. She had turned into this awful thing, but she was still my sister.

"Four years, we didn't speak. Then one day she called me up. Said she needed my help one last time. Said she'd leave me alone after that. I almost didn't go, but I missed her, and I was worried. She promised it was nothing too bad, but she had built up her record so much since I left, she just couldn't afford to get caught again.

"So I showed up where she told me to. I found her backpack in an alley. When I called her, she was a wreck. She kept apologizing, kept saying she loved me. But that she couldn't be a trinket. She just couldn't do it.

"Right on cue, I was spotted and recognized by a witness. I was arrested. The police line-up lasted for about thirty seconds before I was singled out. I was dragged in for an interrogation. That was when they told me what she did. What I did. Seven counts of first-degree murder. See, her boyfriend had been arrested for gang activity and who knows how many hits. At his trial, the jurors took less than five minutes to deliberate: guilty. He was sentenced to be a trinket. And she snapped. She blamed it all on them."

Odessa nodded, having the decency to look disturbed. "The jurors...."

"Picked them off one by one over the course of a year. On her seventh one, she was spotted, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she was found. So she called me up. Told me where to wait. I hadn't even looked inside her backpack, but buried at the bottom was the gun she had used."

"I'm guessing they didn't buy the whole 'my twin sister did it and told me to stand here'?"

"Oh, they knew something was off. But the precinct was a laughing stock because of how long it took them to find the serial killer. By then, Mia was long gone, and they had the perfect scapegoat, along with eyewitnesses to back up that they knew my face. Detectives even lifted some of her DNA from a few crime scenes. We matched."

For a long time, the two of them stayed silent.

"I was right, then," Odessa said finally, leaning her head on Sherry's shoulder. "Great liar. Terrible criminal."

As the rain began to slam harder against the glass, Sherry couldn't bring herself to shrug her off.

That evening, Sherry was fully prepared to step forward and take the job that had been assigned to her. Odessa took it before she could say a word. Mitchell was beginning to look frustrated, but apparently he was more interested in testing Odessa's limits than he was in making her play by the rules.

Odessa did not return until the next afternoon, and judging by the state she was in, Mitchell had gotten what he wanted.

He was all smirks as he dropped her into the common area. "Walk it off, little snake."

Her injuries were so brutal that even the other trinkets broke out of their disinterested fog to stare. She had a split lip and dried blood caking the lower half of her face. She clutched her side tenderly, staggering against the glass to stay upright on the path to her room. She left a smear of blood on the pristine wall along the way. Mitchell watched for only a minute before taking his leave.

Sherry rushed up beside Odessa. A couple of weeks ago, it would have been satisfying to see her this way. Now, Sherry couldn't bring herself to remember what that smugness would have felt like.

"What happened?" Sherry demanded.

"You should see the other guy," Odessa croaked, wincing a cold smile.

"Don't be cute," Sherry said, allowing Odessa to lean on her as they headed to the sheet-covered room. "Don't we have some kind of medic? They know it's a dangerous job."

"Already stopped by the clinic downstairs. This was all they could do. Or wanted to do, anyway."

Sherry looked the half-assed job up and down, gently touching the hand that Odessa kept pressed to her side. "Your ribs might be cracked. What the hell happened?"

"Reapers suspected my target was working for the rebellion. He was spotted with the same trinkets multiple times, so he wasn't selling. I got myself all set up to be 'rescued', and it turns out this guy is a high roller in a fighting ring. Once I realized what was happening, I called for the reapers to come collect. But before I knew it, I was in the pit with another trinket, and he was not interested in talking it out." She smiled crookedly. "What, you worried about me, or something?"

Making a face, Sherry nudged Odessa toward her bed. "Yeah. If you can't go back out there, then I'll have to. Now lay down, come on."

"Bossy," Odessa sing-songed. "Kinda hot."

"Did you get a concussion too, or what?"

Sherry helped her lay down, then started looking around for something to help. Water and cloth were easy enough to get, but Odessa needed far more than that. Noticing Sherry's plight, Odessa raised her head.

"Raquel's got salve." She pointed to the box of clothes in the corner. "Take her the sunflower dress. She'll trade."

Digging out the dress, Sherry hurried out the door to find Raquel. It was a surprisingly easy trade for a mini bottle of salve. Mini to humans, at least. The bottle was the length of Sherry's forearm. It seemed that pretty clothes were just as much a commodity as life-saving medication. Sherry was still wearing her standard issue institution-like set despite Odessa's offer to share.

Returning to Odessa's room, Sherry set everything down on the nightstand, pulled up a chair, and got to work. She started by cleaning away the blood, moving more gently when Odessa winced.

"How do you not have your own salve?" Sherry asked to distract her.

"Covering my walls was a big ask. Mitchell, in his infinite wisdom, says he doesn't want to spoil me. He has decided that I can only ask for one or the other."

"Salve seems a little more practical if you ask me."

"Can always trade if I need it." Odessa reached back behind her head to lovingly touch the sheet on the nearest wall. "Ever notice how everything meant to contain trinkets is made of glass? Polished, perfectly see-through glass. That's part of the punishment, even if no one says it out loud. We're always on display. Always meant to be looked at and humiliated. Sure, there's nothing I can do about the ceiling, but... it's something, at least."

Sherry had never thought hard about it, though it had been staring her in the face for three weeks now.

"Lift your shirt," Sherry instructed, helping her sit up.

"That's forward of you." Odessa smirked at Sherry's eye-roll and did as she was told, lifting her shirt enough to expose her ribs.

Tenderly as she could, Sherry spread a few fingertips of salve over the bruising area. It wasn't a cure by any means, but it would help with the pain. After prompting Odessa to lay back down, Sherry dabbed salve onto Odessa's lip. Their eyes met, and Sherry felt heat rush to her cheeks.

Odessa shut her eyes for a moment and released a heavy sigh, reaching up to squeeze Sherry's hand.

"I poisoned the keeper," Odessa said quietly.

If she had been searching for the perfect way to kill the mood, she hit the nail on the head.

Frowning, Sherry slipped her hand free. "With what?"

"I worked in a botanical garden, remember? All kinds of plants. Prints were the only ones allowed to get up close and personal with the most poisonous ones. Prints and trinkets aren't affected the same way as humans. But let's be honest, they'd send us in there even if that wasn't in the case. Anyway, I started up a little collection, harvested the oils, and mixed them."

"He... he didn't suspect anything?"

She shook her head. "I didn't do it right away. I kept thinking... if he gets worse. And he did. I tried to convince him to stop, but he wouldn't. He had firmly decided there was nothing I could do about it, so why stop? That last night, he broke my window to get to me. The timing couldn't have been more deserved."

By that point, Sherry was fixated, forgetting the salve and soaked cloth entirely. "How did you manage to get it in his food or drink? It couldn't have been easy."

"Who said anything about food or drink?" Something sinister flickered at the back of her eyes. "I rubbed the oils all over my skin."

"Oh," was all Sherry managed to breathe out.

"Yeah. Oh. He had me strip like he normally did. Then, the moment he put his disgusting mouth on me, he was doomed. He didn't even know it. He drove home and didn't show up for his next shift. They found him in his apartment three days later."

"And they traced it back to you?"

"Well, I didn't go bragging about it." Odessa touched her sore ribs absently, staring at the buzzing fluorescent lights high above. "The autopsy revealed the poison. Those types of plants weren't native to the area and were traced to the botanical garden. And who was his only connection to the garden?"

"But you didn't slip it into his food or anything! For all they knew, you just happened to have leftover poison on your skin from working in the garden. He's the one who put his mouth on you."

Odessa laughed. "Like they gave a shit. Plenty of keepers knew he had a thing for me, then he suddenly shows up dead? They even had a few of my neighbors testify about how much I hated him. I didn't stand a chance. But... the way I went about it is also the reason I'm here to begin with."

"Oh. You said that reapers usually pick snakes, right?"

"Mitchell attended my trial when he heard what I did. It didn't last long. He approached me hours before my consciousness transfer. His timing is impeccable with that sort of thing—offering a deal just when you think things are hopeless you're desperate enough to say yes to anything.

"He said I could come work for him, or I could be shipped off to whichever business called dibs on the next trinket shipment. He fed me all this bullshit about being able to stop worse people than the keeper I killed. All he needed to say was that being a snake meant I had a fighting chance. I said yes, of course. From that moment, I was his. He even picked my new face. Took me into a storage room every night the first few weeks for training."

Sherry reached for Odessa's hand and squeezed, trying to draw her out of her distant gaze despite the quiet horror Sherry felt herself. No wonder Mitchell seemed to have the greatest sense of ownership over Odessa compared to the other snakes. She was his project.

"So," Sherry said. "Ever daydream about making some poison and letting Mitchell have a taste."

Odessa smiled wanly. "I used to. Then I realized that Mitchell is our survival. He's a sadistic fuck, but we need him."

The response took Sherry off-guard. She didn't think Odessa could look or sound so complacent.

"You're not covered in poison right now, are you?" Sherry asked. Before Odessa could process the question, Sherry leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to her cheek. "Thanks for taking the fall for me. Since Mitchell's off-limits, can we at least daydream that the keeper is burning right now?"

"Now that one's a favorite."

Minutes ticked by, stretching into hours as Odessa rested. Sherry didn't realize she had dozed off in the chair beside the bed until the approach of a human rattled her awake.

"Odessa, you're out of commission for the weekend, lucky you," Mitchell announced, prompting her to jolt awake too. He smiled as his icy gaze moved between them. "Sherry, your assignment's already in, and I'm nice enough to give you a head's up. Velvet Delights. Be ready by 5 for pickup."

Cold fear drenched Sherry, stealing her breath.

"What!" Odessa snapped up to sit, grimacing at her sore ribs. "She can't go to a brothel! She's never even gone to a bar!"

"See, here's the thing," Mitchell said, leaning over to look straight down into the room until they had to crane their necks. "On file, she's been doing a hell of a phenomenal job at bars for the past three weeks. Even survived a fighting ring. No one can argue that she's ready as anyone for a brothel."

Odessa snarled, kicking off her blanket and standing to glare up at him. "Send someone with experience! You know she isn't ready!"

"Whose fault is that? She could have been more than ready if you didn't coddle her."

Eyes wide and frenzied, Odessa looked to Sherry, who had her hands over her mouth as she tried to keep a sob at bay. This couldn't be happening. She'd known that eventually she would have to work, but she had all but blocked out the possibility of being tossed into a brothel.

Drawing a deep breath, Odessa squared her shoulders and looked back up at Mitchell. "Send me in with her."

His eyebrows shot up. "You have three days off."

"Which means I'm free to volunteer. You know as well as me that brothels have the highest death rate. Always better to send more than one. It divides the attention, makes it easier to get evidence."

Mitchell scoffed, but he paused to consider it. "You really are something else," he finally told Odessa. His eyes slid to Sherry for a moment, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm starting to get a little jealous if I'm being honest." He straightened and walked off. "Ready for pick up at 5," he said over his shoulder.

Sherry put on a pretty good show of pretending she wasn't scared out of her mind. In the weeks of getting to know her, however, Odessa could spot her tells. The way she rolled her shoulders. The slight pinch of her brow and lips that could be mistaken for a determined frown. The deep breaths she took to steady herself.

Velvet Delights was upscale, almost heavenly in its angel theme, which could either be helpful or disastrous. The reaper team wouldn't be far, patrolling the area and waiting for one of them to send the signal on their collars. The owner was thrilled to have a couple of free laborers, along with a promise that his inventory would not be snatched by the scheduled suspect that night.

The two of them were ordered to stand close together on the tray. Since Sherry seemed to have forgotten how to move, Odessa went and sat next to her. They were imprisoned under a wine glass and carted into a silk-lavished room. A luxury bottle of wine towered beside them. Odessa had been to enough brothels to know this setup was a special request.

The hostess straightened the pillows, made sure the glass was centered on the tray, and locked the door on her way out.

"You were right about the glass thing," Sherry whimpered in a half-assed attempt to giggle.

"Just relax," Odessa said. "Don't draw attention to yourself. Trinkets have mysteriously vanished around this guy, and that most likely means he's selling. He won't want to damage his product."

"And if he's not selling?" Sherry whispered.

Odessa squeezed her hand. "Just leave everything to me."

"You're hurt."

"The salve helped. I'm fine." Breathing only hurt a little.

The lock scraped. Sherry jumped, letting out a noise of fright. Her breathing quickened, and she shivered with the beginnings of a panic attack.

"Don't," Odessa hissed.

The door swung open, revealing a man with brown hair. When his eyes landed on them, he broke out in a smile that could light up a room. He glanced behind himself dramatically to check the number on the door.

"Am I in the right room?" he said. "Didn't know I'd be getting two. Hope I don't get charged extra."

Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it on a lounger and sauntered to the cart by the bed. He leaned over for a closer look, his fingertips trailing along the glass, tapping.

"Though... I say it'd be worth it for you two stunners."

Odessa tried to keep a neutral expression while she read him. It didn't take long to surmise that he had a thing for power. According to Mitchell, he was a bartender at a fancy downtown club. Trinkets were an everyday fixture for him, and still he visited brothels.

He reached for the bottle and worked on opening it. Didn't waste time, this one. Neither trinket said a word. "Don't be shy, now. Let's break the ice with some introductions." He popped the bottle and smiled pleasantly at them. "I'm James."

"Lolli," Odessa said, purposely trying to make herself look smaller and vulnerable.

He gave a hearty laugh, eyeing her red hair. "Lucky me. Cherry is my favorite flavor. Well, tonight it is." His gaze slid over to Sherry expectantly.

"Charity," she squeaked out, huddling closer to Odessa.

"Precious. Does that mean you're giving?" He grabbed the edge of the cart and dragged it closer. "I'm pretty giving myself, but we'll see if you're grateful enough to appreciate it."

Delicately pinching the stem of the glass, he pulled it closer, forcing them to approach him. Lifting the bottle, he tilted it to pour wine over the upended glass. Pale red dribbles raced down the outside of their prison. Odessa bit back a sneer, knowing he had either done this dozens of times or had scripted this fantasy down to the last beat in his mind.

Still, she was hardly prepared when he thudded the bottle down and slipped his hand beneath the rim of the glass. They had no choice but to scramble onto his fingers, stuck in their enclosure like captured bugs. James lifted them to eye level.

"Sorry for the theatrics," he said without sounding sorry at all. "I have my way of sampling."

Hunger, lust, and amusement battled for dominance in his gaze. Odessa bumped against Sherry as they were suddenly lowered, bringing his mouth into direct view. Sherry gave a breathless shriek as he licked the dripping wine in front of them. She snagged Odessa's arm and urged her to back up to the other side of their prison—as if it would make any difference.

As he turned his hands to drag his tongue further along, his breath fogged the glass. Odessa tried to look more frightened than outright disgusted. So, he was the type who liked to scare his victims instead of winning them over. How original. At least she did not doubt the character she had to play now.

"S-stop," Odessa said, loosing a fake sob and covering her face. "P-please!"

He pulled away, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. "You're right, I shouldn't have all the fun."

Air rushed past them as the glass was lifted off, leaving them exposed in his palm. Odessa thought for sure they were about to get the same treatment with his tongue. To her surprise, he lowered them to the nightstand and let them slide off. Grabbing a cloth from the cart, he wiped off the glass and poured himself a real drink while Sherry huddled against Odessa.

"Oh?" James took a long pull from the wine as he observed his audience of two. "Are you two friends? Adorable. That always makes things more fun." His gaze settled on Odessa. "Lolli, wouldn't you say our friend looks awfully warm in that get-up?"

The two of them wore matching white babydoll lingerie meant to make them look like angels. Instead of halos, they had their collars. Sherry shivered in her outfit like she was sitting in a snowstorm.

"In case it wasn't obvious," James said, his voice taking on an edge. "I'm telling you to take it off her."

Swallowing hard, Odessa turned to face Sherry, nodding her assurance. They needed to do what he said, lure him to let his guard down. With any luck, they could get a confession before he stole them from the brothel. Her goal wasn't to be perfect tonight; it was to get Sherry the hell out of there.

With trembling fingers that were only partly theatrics, Odessa reached for the straps of Sherry's bra. She felt sick to her stomach, particularly when she felt Sherry recoil from her touch. Sherry's voice seemed to echo from weeks ago, accusing her of being a monster. She certainly felt like one right now, though not as fearsome as the one looming over them with his expectant stare.

"I'm sorry," Odessa whispered.

Sherry looked like she might burst into tears as she dropped her head. She made no move to resist as Odessa undid the straps and pulled her bra down her arms, leaving her topless. Reaching for Sherry's panties, Odessa stopped halfway and pulled her hands back. She shook her head, leaning into her guilty expression as she looked up at James pleadingly.

James scoffed and drained the last of his wine, slamming the glass onto the nightstand beside them. "If that's too hard, tonight's gonna be a rough one for you, babe. But I guess I'll let you off the hook for now."

Odessa breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll finish the job myself." James reached for them.

Sherry cried out in protest and latched herself to Odessa's arm, weeping. James' hand faltered as he eyed them. It wasn't pity—far from it. It was intrigue. Odessa could practically see the gears turning in his head as he took in the sight of Sherry cowering against her for protection.

He grinned. "Am I crazy, or are you blushing, Lolli?" Both. "Goddamn, more than friends, huh? I'm starting to wonder if management thinks it's my birthday or something. I'll do you a favor and show your little girlfriend how it's done, from the top."

His hand closed the distance this time, claiming Odessa as its prize. As he pulled her away, Sherry tried desperately to hold onto her, crying, "No! No!" But she fell back on the polished wood when James shook her off.

"Settle down, babe," he cooed. "You'll get your turn with her. You should be taking notes."

Odessa squirmed and whimpered in his grasp, silently relieved to have the sicko's attention focused all on her. She was no stranger to being stripped bare, but there was something particularly chilling about how expertly his fingers navigated her. He managed to be delicate and possessive all at once as he slipped off the straps of her panties and tossed them aside.

"N-no!" Odessa sobbed dramatically as he lifted her toward his mouth.

He curled his thumb in, effortlessly pinning her to his palm as hot breath spilled over her. His teeth teased at her skin gently until he found one of her bra straps. He tugged until it came loose, leaving her naked in his hand. The delicate lace was still pinched between his teeth as he pulled back to observe her. His thumb rubbed her middle up and down, testing how much pressure it would take to make her squirm in terror.

He let the lingerie fall from his mouth and flutter to the floor. "You're going to be a fun one, aren't you? Thank fuck. These high-end places usually have the prissiest trinkets."

"Please s-stop!" She dug her heels into his palm, trying to pry up his thumb. "You don't have to do this!"

"That's the best part." He leaned in again, trailing his tongue up along her side and circling her breasts while she tried to wriggle out from under his thumb. He sighed as if he couldn't be happier with how she tasted.

She could feel him start to pull away, could see that he was beginning to turn his attention back to Sherry. Odessa yanked her head up and bit his lip. He gave a start and looked down at her, jaw dropping.

"Fun and feisty," he purred. "It's like you were made for me." He caught one of her flailing arms between his teeth and bit her back. Not enough to break skin, but enough for her to let out a scream that wasn't staged.

But that did the trick. He seemed to forget Sherry for the time being, keeping Odessa clenched in his fist while he undressed. Her sore ribs screamed in agony. He moved slowly, making sure she brushed up against his body when he pulled up his shirt or unbuckled his belt. When the dizzying journey was over, he was as naked as she was. He was more muscular than she would have assumed, toned chest and abs filling her vision. She made sure he caught her staring.

A fresh grin lit up his face. "It's about to be all yours, Lollipop."

When he spread himself out on the bed silks, Odessa caught a glimpse of Sherry standing helplessly on the nightstand. Her shoulders moved up and down with visible breaths of panic. Odessa felt a fierce tug at her heart, but she didn't dare look too long, lest James get new inspiration to have Sherry join the party.

As it turned out, Odessa didn't have much of an opportunity to stare, anyway. James laid back and put one arm behind his head, observing as he dangled her by an ankle. He twisted his fingers, scrutinizing her at every frightened angle. He breathed with deep contentment, trailing her up and down his chest and abs.

Only her hair tickled at him at first, but with each stroke, he claimed more of her. Arms, face, shoulders, back, breasts, until the entire length of her was skating along the heat of his skin. When she managed to catch a glimpse of his face, she realized he wasn't even looking at her. She followed his gaze overhead and nearly gagged. There was a mirror on the ceiling, and he was fixated on the sight of himself torturing her.

She put on a good show for him, whimpering and squirming and trying to pull herself up to avoid touching him. She dug her fingers into his skin and made him groan. She screamed a few profanities for good measure, followed by desperate apologies begging him to forgive her.

He loved it. Now if she could just get him to confess.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," she babbled to herself out loud, as if she had completely lost it. "Just tonight, and he'll be gone. I can do this, I c-can do this."

He paused, stopping her halfway down the slope of an ab. "Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings. Wouldn't you want to stay with me forever?"

A sob wracked through her. "You can't have me! You'll have to give me back."

Her vision spun as he carried her in front of his face to look her over. His chuckle was sinister, but not damning. She wanted to scream in frustration. Just say you're stealing us, already! She kicked her free leg and writhed, actually feeling his fingertips get tugged from the motion.

"Fuck, you're a fiery one," he murmured low in his throat.

That was all he had to say for now. She saw the lust gathering in his eyes, the way his breaths became deeper. He sat up halfway and dragged her down the planes of his body once more, not pausing to drag her back up this time. With a sinking heart, she knew the destination he had lovingly chosen for her.

Seeming miles away, Sherry let out a shriek as she watched from the nightstand. "No! No, don't, please!"

Odessa blocked it out. She would have to deal with this before she could hope to get any info from him. It was far from her first time. As he pressed her up against his hardening cock, she shut down entirely and let it happen. His fingers guided her up and down, the motion becoming rougher by the second.

But he was more sensitive to her mood than she gave him credit for.

"Aw, what happened to all that fire?" he grunted.

Just as quickly as the pressure had started, it faded. He pulled her away from his dick, and she watched in horror as he turned his attention to Sherry's frantic form pacing on the edge of the nightstand.

"Maybe our girlfriend here will be a little more fun. It's her you want, isn't it?"

Odessa's reaction was genuine as she abandoned everything she knew about being a snake. "You keep your sick hands off her!"

But that only inspired him to move quicker. "There's the fire, Lollipop."

His other hand raced to snatch up Sherry. He laid back down, pausing to relish the violent squirms in both his fists before he placed them on his stomach. He stared down expectantly at them like they had been deposited on a stage. He raised his eyebrows viciously at Odessa.

"If you're not a fan of making me happy, I'll let you make your girl wet instead." He reached past them and started stroking himself with anticipation. "Go on."

Odessa turned to Sherry as the two of them rose and fell in tandem with their tyrant's breathing. She reached for Sherry's hand and squeezed. Biting her lip, Odessa searched desperately for some confirmation that this was okay, that they could do what they needed to continue the job. But Sherry gave her head the smallest, pleading shake as tears streamed down her face.

Not here. Not like this.

Turning murderous eyes toward James, Odessa dropped her act entirely and flipped him off. "I'm not putting my hands on her for you, you fucking psychopath."

James groaned in disappointment. "You know, it turns me on a little less every time someone calls me that."

Quick as lightning, he tore Odessa away from Sherry and dumped her in the glass on the nightstand.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Odessa pounded her fists against her damp prison as Sherry became the object of James' scrutiny.

He plucked her up under the arms, watching the panicky kick of her legs. "Oh, don't be like that. Your girlfriend didn't even want you. Don't worry, Charity, I'm here for you now."

Sighing in rapture, he leaned in and pressed kisses to her writhing body. Sherry's whimpers took on a higher octave as he nibbled at her panties. That was all the warning he gave before jerking his head back and ripping them free of her body entirely. He spat them out, eyeing her with a crooked, boyish smile.

"Doesn't that feel much better?"

He teased her with a few more deep kisses, poking his tongue between her legs long enough to elicit an involuntary moan.

"Listen to that. You love it."

He dropped her back on his chest. He nudged her to lay face down and let his hand fall over her, massaging himself with her squirms. He rubbed her down to his abs and back up again. Her muffled cries were silenced each time he fully smothered her, only to surface again when he eased up on the pressure. He couldn't seem to get enough of the rhythm.

All the while, Odessa did not stop shrieking for his attention. By the time he turned his gaze back to her, her throat felt screamed raw. He ignored Sherry's violent struggles against his chest to give Odessa a chiding look.

"No whining, now. You had your chance with her. But don't worry, I'm generous enough to include you."

James sat up halfway and lifted his hand to set Sherry loose. She slid partway down his stomach, scrambling to cling to him so wouldn't slip onto his erection.

"See?" he chuckled, giving her another rub against him. "She's crazy about me."

Reaching past Odessa, James snagged the wine and poured it over her head, filling the glass until she was swimming. Surfacing, Odessa grabbed hold of the rim and coughed. "L-leave her alone! Use me instead!"

The shadow of his hand darkened over her. "You talk too much."

His fingertip came down on her head and dunked her under the wine. He held her down for a good long time while she thrashed and tried to dodge around his finger, which only shoved her down further.

Even when he let her come back up for air, she was given only a millisecond to gather herself. He plucked up the glass and swirled his wine, making her dizzy as she struggled to keep her head up. She slammed into the side of the glass and nearly passed out from the explosive pain in her ribs.

Then he lifted the rim to his lips and took a long gulp. She was too disoriented to swim away from the current rushing into his mouth. Once he caught her arm between his teeth, she could do nothing but wait until he was satisfied with his drink.

As the wine settled back in the glass, Odessa gasped for breath and pushed her wine-soaked hair out of her eyes. She spotted Sherry crawling away on James' stomach. She made it to the sheets before he noticed, chuckling with delight.

"Oh, you like games?" The wine that held Odessa rippled at the rumble of his voice. Sherry moved faster and ducked under a fold. James gave her a head start before setting the glass down so he could poke through the sheets in search of her. "Ready or not..."

While he was distracted, Odessa frantically tapped at her collar to activate the tracker and communicator.

"He confessed," she coughed out, keeping her voice low so James wouldn't hear her. "He has other trinkets with him! He made other stops before this one. Come on, hurry!"

There was an agonizing pause in which James crowed in triumph upon finding Sherry. She screamed as she was yanked out of her hiding place.

"No shit?" Mitchell's voice crackled through the collar. "On our way."

James settled back down, holding Sherry in a fist. He kneaded her front with his thumb as he entertained himself with her weakening struggles.

"P-please," she said. The fight seemed to leave her body. She looked right at him, trying to appeal to a better nature that just wasn't there. "I don't belong h-here. I'm innocent, you have t-to understand! I was framed. Please, please believe me. S-stop this..."

He pursed his lips and nodded along as if he was listening. When she was done, he broke out in a grin so wicked that Odessa swore she felt the temperature drop. "As if I don't hear that same sob story every damn day of my life."

Sweeping his hand out, he deposited Sherry beside his swollen cock.

"Let's see what you got," he said, his voice growing huskier. "Make me happier than you did the judge, and I might be nice."

Sherry tried to run for the sheets again.

"Do I have to do everything around here?" James sighed, though he sounded pleased as could be.

His hand barreled into her and shoved her back where he wanted. He pressed her up against himself with his thumb, rubbing in tight circles. As his panting grew more frantic, he seized both her and his cock in one hand, hiding her entirely with his fingers as he began to jerk himself off. His hand pumped up and down, drowning out Sherry's sobbing screams.

"Stop!" Tears flooded Odessa's eyes, mixing with the wine. "P-please! Just stop!"

His head snapped toward her, wearing a toothy grin. "Don't think I've forgotten about my Lollipop," he panted.

He grabbed the glass and tipped it into his open mouth with reckless abandon. Wine poured in and spilled out the sides. Odessa scrambled to grab hold of something as gravity took over, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself as he tipped her over entirely. The cold glass was replaced with a warm, slick cavern.

Light vanished when he shut his mouth. The surface beneath her lurched upward. His tongue mashed her against the roof of his mouth while he swallowed the rest of the wine around her. The gulp was deafening.

Once she was the only occupant in his mouth, he began toying with her. His teeth narrowly missed crushing her limbs as he clenched his jaw and moaned from the ecstasy of Sherry's struggles. He tilted his head back, and for an awful moment, Odessa thought he was about to swallow her next. Instead, he opened his mouth and left her propped up with his tongue, allowing her a view straight up at the ceiling mirror.

In the reflection, she saw how he parted his fingers around Sherry, giving her a chance to shriek freely. Then he pressed his fingertip to the back of her head to muffle the sound again. An answering groan quaked around Odessa.

She gave a wordless cry and tried to grab his teeth and haul herself out of his mouth. His tongue practically wrapped around her and reeled her back in. He shut his mouth again, rolling her around and sucking on her like a piece of candy.

To her shock, he stuck his fingers in his mouth to grab her by the ankle and pull her out. Losing no rhythm with Sherry, he leaned over to the freshly-refilled wine glass and dunked Odessa headfirst inside. He swirled her around and yanked her out just as suddenly. Holding her over his open mouth, he let wine drip onto his waiting tongue.

Odessa couldn't muster the energy to plead or hurl profanities at him. The hold on her ankle vanished, and she was dropped back toward her dark prison. She managed to twist in the air, landing on the corner of his mouth with her legs halfway out. His teeth came down on her torso, gnawing with dangerous pressure. She tried to wrench her way free, but it was no use. While she was pinned, his tongue returned to greet her, and his finger nudged her the rest of the way in.

James gave another deafening moan of appreciation as he savored her wine-soaked skin.

The noises became more consistent, and his movements quickened. He was heading toward climax. Odessa couldn't help but feel a tiny measure of relief as she curled herself away from his teeth. It was almost over.

Then, to her horror, his tongue began nudging her toward his throat.

In that instant, there was no doubt in her mind that he meant to swallow her as the finale of his pleasure. She scrambled to pull herself away, but there was a shift in gravity as he tilted his head back again to thwart her pitiful struggles.

"NO!" she howled, but the sound went nowhere. The harder she tried to pull herself up, the further she seemed to fall. Her legs slipped into a steep drop.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Suddenly, she was tilted back to the center of his tongue.

"Occupied," James snapped, teeth gnashing against Odessa's shoulder.

The door banged open. He was so startled that he bit down on her arm. A wail of pain tore out as an incisor cut her. It was a miracle that the bone wasn't crushed.

She felt him cringe at the taste of blood. He plucked her out of his mouth. She coughed herself ragged while his fingers pinched her by the diaphragm and spine. Snagging Sherry's limp body, he used the same hand to toss the sheet over his nudity.

"What the fuck is going on?" James roared, making Odessa slam her hands over her ears.

It all happened in a whirlwind.

Odessa and Sherry were confiscated by Agent Taylor while Agent Mitchell gave orders to the others. They were kind enough to let James put some clothes back on before he was dragged into a corner for rapid questioning.

The trinkets were placed back on the cart tray, but it seemed everyone forgot to give them the privilege of clothing. Sherry looked ready to faint as she stumbled over to Odessa and threw her arms around. She wasn't crying, just breathing heavily. She pressed her hand to Odessa's wound to help staunch the bleeding. Odessa sank with her and held her close, knowing that things were not about to get any easier.

As everything unfolded around them, Odessa found herself looking at Sherry's face. Her gaze was fixed on James across the room. Where there should have been fear, there was pure, unadulterated hatred. She hadn't even looked this angry when she found out the truth about Odessa's role in her capture.

She looked like she would kill if given the opportunity.

"Are you okay?" Odessa whispered.

Sherry blinked and shook her head as tears began falling. Sniffling, she surprisingly chuckled. "Sorry, I know I'm going against lesson one. No benefit to crying here."

Giving a small sob herself, Odessa tucked a lock of hair behind Sherry's ear. "Hey, don't tell anyone, but I was crying half the time. Didn't do me much good, either."

"I'm telling you, I don't know about any other trinkets!" James insisted, pulling their attention back.

Mitchell, looking like he had just won the lottery, walked over to the cart. "Where are the others?" he directed at Odessa.

When she didn't answer, his smile dropped. He leaned in closer, expression darkening dangerously.

"There are no others," Odessa said, figuring she may as well rip off the band-aid.

Mitchell went perfectly still. "But you got a recorded confession?"

"Nope."

And with that, James was released with a heartfelt apology and an assurance that he would be compensated for his night at the brothel, along with a promise that the agency would negotiate with the owner about a few free nights.

"You're lucky if I don't sue the shit out of you," James snapped, making his way to the door.

But Odessa doubted he would. He had to be a black market dealer, or a skilled independent seller at the very least. He wouldn't dare draw the attention of a lawsuit. Even if he didn't complete his fantasy that night, he was walking away with the knowledge that reapers were on his tail, and now he could act accordingly.

Odessa swore he winked in her and Sherry's direction on his way out.

Mitchell sent out the rest of the team while he remained in the room with Odessa and Sherry. He loomed over the tray, looking ready to break them both in half. His hands even flexed at his sides as he gathered himself.

"What the fuck was that?" he managed finally, each word coated in malice.

"He was going to kill us both," Odessa said calmly.

She was prepared when the weight of his hand fell on her, but nothing could help the pain of her ribs crushing against her lungs.

"Like I give a shit," Mitchell hissed. "Snakes die. That's how it goes."

"If you're willing to let your best snake die over one creep, you're a fucking moron."

He pulled out his work phone, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. She took the deepest breaths she could manage, though it wouldn't do her much good. He was going to choke her until she passed out—it wasn't the first time. But when he finished tapping at the screen and looked down at her with relish, her collar didn't tighten.

Sherry gave a shrill squeal. She fell to her knees, clawing at the collar. Odessa gasped and bucked uselessly, every one of her injuries smarting as she fought.

"Quit it!" Odessa pleaded. "It's not her fault! I made the call!"

"She's nothing but a distraction to you," he said grimly. "Maybe this will show you what happens when you let your precious little wants get in the way."

He let her up, and she rushed to Sherry. It wasn't mercy; he intended for Sherry to die in her arms.

"If I lose her, you lose me!" Odessa shouted. "I'll fuck up every job, and you can choke me to death, too! Now stop!"

Mitchell let it go on for a few more seconds, but he did stop, looking weary. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Odessa? You ruined a perfectly set-up sting because you couldn't let your girlfriend take a little punishment."

"It won't happen again. I know she can survive now. I'm going to train her until she's perfect, for real this time."

He paced in front of them while Sherry wheezed and leaned against Odessa for support.

"The station's not gonna go under just because two little snakes are gone," Mitchell said, coming to a stop in front of them. "Either she's an asset or a problem. She'll make it clear which one when she goes on her first solo job."

With that, he scooped up Sherry, leaving Odessa alone on the tray. At first, she was confused as she watched Sherry get handed off to Agent Taylor in the hallway. But as Mitchell shut the door behind him and started taking off his jacket, she knew precisely what was happening.

She wanted to collapse and sob and beg that she couldn't take anymore tonight, but she was better than that. She held her ground as he loosened his tie and gave her a deeply possessive look.

"Well, my shift's over just about over," he said. "It's been a while, hasn't it? You want to keep your cute little girlfriend? Convince me."

At dawn, Sherry padded to Odessa's room. It had been stripped bare of incentives, including the sheets on the walls. It was as empty as Sherry's now. Her clothes were standard issue. A small spot of blood seeped through the cloth bandage on her arm. She couldn't trade for salve. She had nothing.

Well, not nothing, Sherry decided. She could have been confiscated just as easily.

Sherry crawled up beside Odessa, whispering an apology when she startled her. Odessa lay with her back to the doorway, curled into herself. No blankets. No pillow. Just the two of them. Sherry wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"Hey, queen," she whispered. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing that hasn't happened before."

"That doesn't mean you're okay." Sherry slipped a hand to Odessa's ribs. "Sorry," she murmured when Odessa flinched.

"No, it's alright." Odessa placed a hand over hers, using it to rub a slow circle on the sore spot. Then she guided Sherry's hand higher and left it on her breast. Sherry squeezed gently and ran her thumb up and down. As right as it felt, Sherry stopped herself.

"Aren't you tired of being touched?" Sherry murmured.

"You're not them." Odessa's voice sounded tight. "You're soft. You could never hurt me."

Moving Odessa's hair out of the way, Sherry pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, trailing up until she reached her jaw, her cheek. Her lips brushed Odessa's ear. "Tonight may have been a bust, but on a normal job, it must feel good to put away sick fucks like that bartender," she whispered.

Odessa gave a weak laugh. "You're buying into the bullshit, huh? Saving the world? You realize we're not helping anyone, right? Just sending off our 'rescues' to a different circle of hell."

"At least the sick fucks are joining them along the way."

Odessa turned in Sherry's arms to face her more fully. "Rebels join them just the same. Tell me you know that."

Sherry was quiet for a moment, feeling an odd sting of guilt for something she hadn't even done yet. "I know."

She reached for Odessa's chin and gently guided it closer. Their lips touched softly at first, then fell into deeper, more frantic kisses. The fluorescents beat down mercilessly on them. Anyone could watch, but they didn't care.

"I think I'm ready to start doing my job," Sherry said between kisses as they leaned their foreheads together.

Odessa snorted. "I can't tell if you're lying."

"Then I know I'm ready."

[mortyvongola2-0]

Proof of Strength

Chapter 1: Whiff

Pairing: Alpha! Kylo Ren x Omega! Reader

Genre: a/b/o fic, slowburn, multichapter, 18+

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: language, sexual themes, lying, and a/b/o dynamics.

Read it on AO3

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The First Order offered great opportunities. You were poor and downtrodden when they showed up, claiming to have solutions to your poverty, that they would clothe, bathe, and provide food for all in exchange for hard work. Their propaganda promised a beautiful future, where no one would ever be as poor as you were again. Immediately, you wanted to join but there was one rather large problem. The First Order only hired alphas and betas. And therein lied your problem, as you were neither an alpha nor beta. You were an omega.

 Omegas were rare, as the gene mutation required to be an omega was even more recessive than the alpha gene. They were less independent, they required protection and mass amounts of supervision during their heats, and the biggest difference in strength was in their upper bodies, as omegas do not require the upper body strength of an alpha or even a beta. In exchange the lower body strength of an omega was much more prevalent then for either other designation. Being an omega was also a lot harder to hide then being an alpha, the hormones of an omega heavily influence those of other designations, which was most likely the reason why the First Order did not hire or train them.

 Nowadays, alphas found omegas to be more of a chore than anything. It used to be that alphas and omegas were fated to bond, that they would thrive well when mated with one another, but as more and more betas arose the less alphas wanted to put in the extra effort to take on an omega. You understood, if you weren’t an omega you wouldn’t want to have to be stuck with what the rumors made you sound like either. But, to you, there would always be something special about the bond between an alpha and omega. Others called you an idealist, or a romanticist, but you had seen that special bond firsthand. Your parents had that bond, so strong and beautiful, and you wished for that same sort of love.

 You scratched at the scent gland on the left side of your neck as you stared at the First Order poster on the wall. The wind blew your scarf into your face along with some grains of black sand. I could get away with it, you thought. This shouldn’t be a problem. You clicked your tongue and tugged the poster off the wall. My family needs the money, and everything else they’re offering doesn’t sound too bad. Can’t imagine it being any worse than this. You rubbed a dirty finger under your nose and began to walk back out and into the streets, the poster now shoved into your satchel and a hum on your lips, images of infiltrating the First Order playing continually in your mind’s eye. This’ll be fun.

 ~

 This is most certainly not fun, you thought as you crawled, much slower than everyone else, along the thick mud. The First Order really knew how to whip its people into shape, that’s for sure. You had passed their physical exam, as the differences between omegas and female betas bodies were very minimal hormone wise, and you made sure you had been suppressing with steroids long enough beforehand to not have to worry about being caught, besides hardly anyone tested for steroids anymore. Most designations didn’t suppress and if they did it was with more herbal remedies, as steroids were seen as archaic and more dangerous than helpful. The biggest differences between omega and beta, however, were all anatomically the same as an alpha. A bonding gland and six scent glands; one on each side of the neck right under the jaw and closer to the ears, one in each wrist, and one at each junction where pelvis met pubic area. But luckily for you, they didn’t do any full body scans and your bonding gland was smaller than average, so it could be easily passed as a simple knot or inflamed muscle on your shoulder.

 However, passing the physical labor portions, like crawling, climbing, heavy lifting, pushups, and even shooting, those were the tests where the true difficulty for you was. You were barely scraping by, and it took all your effort to be passable in these areas of strength. Unfortunately, that meant you were at the very bottom of your class, but at this point you were far too invested to give up. Passing was still passing; no matter what place you were. Though your testing scores and stamina more than made up for what you lacked. You were a quick study so your grades placed you above average testing wise, which balanced out with your physical scores, rounded you out to a nice average.

 You were very aware of how suspicious your weaknesses could make you seem, so you did your best to tone down the strengths of your lower body as well as worked really hard to increase what you could do with your upper body. And after a little more than a year of training, you were officially inducted as a member of the First Order, smack dab in the middle of your class. You were so proud of yourself and were extra relieved when you learned that your position put you far away from the frontlines.

 As time passed your work ethic brought you more and more promotions. Seven years after your graduation saw you as a lead programmer and the promotion after that brought you to your station on the Finalizer. You loved your job. The only downside to it was the amount of exposure to the Commander as well as the General of the First Order. Both of which were very strong alphas, probably the strongest you had ever seen. The stronger the alpha the better they could smell and the more reactive they were to omega hormones and pheromones/scents. You had to avoid them like the plague, as despite your monthly steroid suppressions they would still be able to catch a whiff of your scent. If you got too close your cover would be blown and you’d be removed, or worse killed, for your lies. Just thinking about it had you close to hyperventilating.

 “You alright?” Your coworker, Lee a beta, asked you and placed his hand on your shoulder softly. That snapped you out of your trance and you turned toward him calmly. You hadn’t realized that you’d been spacing out. Earlier that morning Kylo Ren had almost gotten close enough to smell you and that had thrown you into a frenzied inner monologue of please don’t take a deep breath, please don’t take a deep breath, please don’t take a deep breath!

 “Leave her alone, she literally almost bumped into the Commander this morning,” your other coworker, Avery also a beta, said in response to Lee. She pointed her fork at him and leaned forward on her elbows “Her life is probably still flashing through her eyes. She’s lucky he ignored her.”

“Ah man, that is lucky,” Lee mumbled and put his hand back down beside his plate. He picked up his eating utensils and used them to take a bite of the meat he had chosen from the dinner line. “Kylo Ren has been aboard for quite some time, why do you think that is?”

 Avery shrugged then pushed her plate forward, no longer interested in her dinner choices. She used her fork to emphasize her hand motions. “I don’t know, but the General has been really on edge because of it.”

 “Heh, he almost exploded this morning after Kylo Ren destroyed one of our consoles. I’d never seen so much color on his face before,” Lee snickered. You snorted in response, remembering the steaming General in all his angered glory. The feud between the ginger and the helmeted knight was no secret, they fought often and loudly. Hux with his sarcasm and snarky attitude and Kylo Ren with his blatant disregard for all of the rules and commands the General had in place. It was quite comical really, like a well-rehearsed routine. You slurped up your soup thoughtfully.

 “What I wouldn’t give to sit on that pale face,” Avery said in a playful lilt. You promptly spit out your soup and Lee choked on the water he had started to sip at.

 “Kriff, Avery, don’t say crap like that when I’m eating,” you grumbled and started to wipe up the mess you had made. She snickered and crossed her arms over her chest triumphantly, unashamed of her hazardous mindset. You could see it now, the General chuckling as he shoved her out the airlock for embarrassing him. You shivered.

 “What? I’m serious,” she said with a smirk. “He is one attractive man. You can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

 I’m too busy thinking about the ways he’d murder me if he got close enough to smell me, you thought and shook your head at her. “Nope, can’t say that I have.”

 “You’ve seriously never thought about it? What about for any of the other officers? Is there not an alpha you would pretend to be an omega for?”

 “Avery, give it a rest. Not everyone is as crazed as you,” Lee muttered. “Besides, don’t you think they would rather have an actual omega then someone pretending to be one?”

 “But there are hardly any left, plus I remember someone talking about how much of a hassle being bonded to an actual omega is.” That irked you. You doubted anyone, let alone any alpha, on this ship had actually met an unsuppressed omega let alone bonded with one.

 “Well you could still be a bit more respectful.” You nodded in response to Lee. Respect would be nice, you felt like you were owed at least a little of it due to your success in hiding who you were and proving that omegas were more than capable of caring for themselves. “Leave your weird fetishes for your diary log.”

 “How do you pretend to be an omega?” Curiosity had gotten the better of you.

 Lee sighed loudly and placed his hand against his forehead. “Why would you encourage her.” Avery, in response, beamed at you and leaned forward; both of her hands pressed against the table and fork long forgotten by her plate. “Pretending to be in heat is of course the main thing. Except, be a bit less needy and it’s not like you can actually last for as long as a real heat. You can also say a bunch of stuff about scent, and bonding, and blah blah blah, pretend to be weaker and in need of protection, it’s a lot of fun if your partner is into it.”

 “Gross,” you muttered and took another slurp of your soup. Heats in general were gross. They were long, lasting anywhere from 5 to 14 days. It started with a fever, general sluggishness, difficulty breathing and a foggy mindset, eventually your body would start the reproductive response. Slick would start to pool around your entrance and your glands would swell to the point of discomfort, it hurt quite a bit. An urge to lesson discomfort through orgasm would grow and eventually everything would begin to blend together. Pheromones would  be released in order to attract any nearby alpha and force them into a rut. The only things that could lessen the immense discomfort were sex and medications, but those were short term remedies, as their effects would dissipate rather quickly. Unless the sex involved a knot then, and only then, the discomfort would dissolve long enough for an omega to take care of themselves. Part of the reason why they required protection during their heats was because they risked dehydration and malnourishment the longer the heat went on.

 You had never had sex, let alone with an alpha, so you weren’t entirely sure how clear minded you became after knotting. Even now it had been many years since your last heat, but you could somewhat remember struggling through them earlier on in your life. “I don’t think so but, whatever. I’ve got to get back to training some new recruits.” Avery yawned and stood. She grabbed her tray and started walking toward the exit. “See you guys later.”

 “Bye,” you stated and waved in response, now trying your best to remember what struggling through your heat felt like.

 “She needs to keep quiet about stuff like that,” Lee told you quietly. “The First Order is very strict about relations between officers. She could get in real trouble for just saying some of that stuff.”

 “Then you need to be careful too.” A smirk crawled onto your face and you wiggled your eyebrows at him. “Did you think you and Miss Vanya were being discreet?” A light blush dusted his tan ears. You chuckled at his embarrassment and shook your head. “I didn’t need to hear the two of you in your office, but I did. You’re more of a screamer than I thought.”

 “I um, I just realized I still have a project I need to finish, so I’ll uh- we’ll talk later,” he scrambled to clean his area. “See you!”

 After he scurried off you kept your smirk and finished your soup. You checked the time to make sure you still had a bit before you needed to head back and lazily began to clean your space. A yawn escaped your lips as you started your trek back to your office.

 Lee and Avery were good people, very smart and hard workers. Avery had been your friend since your initial training, she had helped immensely with trying to get your upper body in shape. The two of you had been separated after initiation and reunited when they assigned you to this ship. Avery was now the trainer assigned to your section, working alongside or sometimes directly under you to help the newer programmers meet First Order standards.

 Lee had trained you in your original position when you first arrived on the Finalizer and now, he was directly in charge of the stromtrooper training programs and battle training designs. You were proud of him, even though his position meant you couldn’t see him as often. He was at Captain Phasma’s beck and call, coming up with the ideas that your department would bring to life via code. Again, you snickered thinking about his embarrassment at your discovery. You were determined to never let him live it down.

 Once you reached your office, you punched in your code and the doors easily slid open. Your main job was to receive orders and delegate the coding and programming to those under you. The paperwork was immense, and you hardly ever got to do any of the actual programming that you enjoyed, but you enjoyed the raise and respect the position brought you. Besides, if someone else didn’t understand or finish their work, it was up to you to do it so there were occasions when you got to do what you enjoyed, however rare they were. You slid into your desk chair quietly and got to work.

 Later in the evening, after your shift had finished, you entered your quarters and immediately knew something was wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing, and your omega instincts were kicking into gear. Predator, your mind supplied. The faint scent of alpha pheromones tickled your nose and you shivered. The suppressants dulled your sense of smell, so you could not identify who it was, but you knew what they were. You took a tentative step forward, hands trembling and body on full alert. Who would have access to your quarters? Higher command had access, generals, captains, commanders. An alpha and a higher up, oh no. They must know. They’re here to kick me out, to kill me, they know!

 You took a few more steps forward, right outside the open entrance to your bed. They were in there, in your room, the smell was stronger in that direction. There was no sound, so they weren’t moving, but they were in there. A cold sweat broke out all over your body and you could take a guess as to who it was. It had to be the Commander. He was the only one who had been close enough to you to get a good whiff of your suppressed omega smell. Kylo Ren was absolutely going to murder you, no question. Still trembling, you resigned yourself to your fate, and finally stepped into your measly bedroom.

 And there he stood, in all his black and murderous glory. Kylo Ren was standing against the left wall, his visor was turned toward you, effectively intimidating you further. You almost squeaked under his intense scrutinizing and judging by the way his chest rose and fell a bit more deliberately, you knew he was taking in your scent. He took a large step forward; you took a frightened step backward. That cycle continued until you were no longer able to back up. He had you back up against your refresher door, his helmeted head literally pressed into the crook of your neck, one hand at you hip and the other holding your head back to further expose your nape. Your instinctual response was submission and following that instinct you craned your head away and further into his hold, effectively exposing your scent and bonding glands to him. I’m going to die, he’s going to strangle me, and I will die.

 And all at once, he pulled away.

[engineeredfiction]

Heart Shaped Glasses Part 1

Word count: 1,200

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie have been throwing eyes at each other for YEARS. He’s newly single and he’s coming to the big city to see you with Pope.

Fun fact: This was suppose to be a one shot, one part...and now it’s not. I normally work with numbers and code and I need a cheap creative outlet before I go mad. Please leave me feedback if you will be so kind, I’m an engineer not a writer and I have no idea what I’m doing.

PS: Wash your hands and stay safe out there!

Part 2

********************************************************************************** 

You met Francisco Morales through your former college classmate, Pope.

You helped him get through calculus and two beat the crap out of each other during martial arts classes. Over the past decade and then some you both would catch up over some drinks whenever you two were in the same vicinity.  Sometimes his friend Francisco, or Frankie, would join him. The three of you always had a good time together and over the years the three have bonded over the fact you have jobs you cannot talk about and often joke about the duality of such work. So when Pope announced he will be in DC for work and Frankie was joining him.

 Pope texted,

 “Frankie is coming with. He’s in need of a change of pace. He broke up with his woman. Splitting time for the little one. He needs a change a pace.”

 Pope and Frankie flew into Dulles that Friday. The plan was to meet him at the Natural History Museum. You wore your standard casual attire, comfortable flats, skinny jeans, and a close-fitting top. You waited for them by the pedicab stand. Even after all these years you could pick him out from a mile away. When you two locked eyes smiles grew on your faces.

 An immediate embrace followed a mutual exaggerated run and mock Valley Girl scream.

 “So good to see you! How was the flight?”

 “Uneventful.” Pope replied.

 “Hey Frankie.” You give him a quick hug. Frankie is a rough diamond; he is far from the people you’ve dated or dallied with previously. He’s dressed in relaxed jeans, button down plaid, sneakers, and his wild hair kept in place with a baseball cap. Not a look that’s attractive to you at first. He grew on you like one adapts to eating blue cheese or a strong dry wine. The more you saw him over the years the more your gaze lingered on his full lips, his olive toned skin, and his mop of hair, and the more you wondered what he would be like to have sex with.

 The feeling was mutual, without a doubt. You would catch him out of your peripheral looking at you. He would quickly look away when you turn your eyes on him. Sexual jokes and innuendos were rampant, but nothing ever came to fruition because he was in a relationship. You have only seen this woman through social media, but you respected boundaries, and this is one you don’t cross.

 The three of you strolled the museum floors taking in some exhibits and passing others. You caught Frankie fixated on a pair of Neanderthal skeletons. You give him studious look over through the legs of a wooly mammoth display. It gave you some sort of cover in case he caught you staring.

 You two locked eyes.

 Shit. He caught you. You felt the heat in your cheeks and quickly pretended to be staring up at the large creature in front of you.

 “Nope get out of the room,” you thought to yourself.

 You change your direction and went into the next room. Frankie followed you but kept his distance at a slow pace. You’ve tracked people down before, several people. You know he’s following you, but you don’t let him know. You approached a display housing a variety of human skulls through the centuries. You stretched and arched your back. You caught his faint reflection in the glass. You took your time to stretch your neck slowly. He was attempting to not make it obvious.

 You locked eyes again in the glass reflection, but this time neither of you bothered to look away.

 The evening was spent at Jack Rose Saloon. Mahogany wood coated the room from the walls, shelves, tables and chairs. The shelves surround the perimeter of the room displayed a small portion of the 2,500 types of whiskey the saloon carried. The dimmed lighting lent an air of mystery and intimacy. The three of you sat in a corner booth long after dinner with nursed glasses of assorted whiskeys. Any time there was a lull in the conversation either Frankie or you would steal a glance at each other.

 The saloon was closing and the three of you settled your bills. Pope excused himself to the toilet. The two of you were finally alone. The two of you held your gaze without a word. The sounds of the bar staff drown out. You focused on your slow breath, the movement of your chest rising and falling, his lips…

 “I could never have said before what I’m about to say to you now. You’re very attractive,” Frankie broke the silence.

 “Thank you.” You’re impressed by his daring move.

 “I think about you often. Quite often. I think you may feel the same way? I’m going to be bold-“

 “You’re going to ask to come home with me?” You leaned back into the booth away from the candlelight with a sly smile. “I don’t take people back to my home. It’s my own personal space.”

 Frankie nodded slightly and you could see the restrained look of rejection had swept over his face.

 “But I don’t mind going back to a willing party’s place.”

 The tables have turned. Frankie leaned in closer. “We each have our own rooms.”

 “The Hilton on Connecticut Avenue, correct?”

 “Room 907.”

 “Well then…it’s date.” You jested as you took the final swig of your whiskey.

 Pope and Frankie were already in their rooms for a good thirty minutes when you got into your Uber. You gathered your bearings. Fucking beautiful people and never seeing them again, not a problem. But this was a friend of Pope’s and by acquaintanceship a friend to you. This will have to be handled with tact and respect regardless of the outcome. He may even brag about bagging you, that bothered you for a hot minute. No Pope wouldn’t judge either you harshly for a romp in the hay. He might even encourage it if he was aware. No, he’s aware. You wiped your palms on your jeans.

 You wondered again what Frankie would be like during sex. “Rough? Adventurous? Boring? Gentle? Kind? Does he have a weird fetish? Please don’t let be scat or infantilism,” you pondered.

 A few deep breaths, “No, you’re doing this, you’re going to his room, you are in charge. You’re always in charge and that’s what makes you comfortable.” Your pep talked ended as your Uber pulled up under the Hilton’s canopy.

 You strode into the lobby of the Hilton with purpose and rode the lift to the ninth floor. You zeroed in on room 907 down the hall and gave a solid knock on the thick door.

[ceresoktavia]

A pleasant shudder ran through the devil’s body as he recalled what his Lady had just done. How she had tortured this insolent piece of flesh with his past, using the ghosts following him to create spirits. That and her earlier stopping an escapee by crushing his skull with her bare hands was enough to set his blood aflame.

Her malicious grin, how she petted the snake-like revenge-spirit affectionately while she watched the man wreathing and screaming in pain...

And he had thought Shalltear’s fetishes were messed up. Evidently his were on par with hers, since the memory of the thing he had witnessed made him want to lay with Lady Marlianken again. Over and over again he tried to remind himself of the things wrong about his want for the Supreme now occupying the shower in his tent on the farm.

It was maddening. He knew she was fine with him wanting her, he knew she would enjoy it to the fullest. After all she had made it clear; all he needed to do was ask! It was also clear that she wouldn’t say a single word if she felt the need. All because she refused to do anything she considered taking advantage of her position.

Demiurge’s tail lashed around wildly, as he tried to keep his nature in check.

It was simple. All he needed to do was go in there and he’d be able to have her again. Feel how she raked her fingernails over his flesh; hear how she moaned for him in this unabashed manner...

The devil shook his head. He needed to focus on something else! She was his Lady, he respected her greatly. Not just as the Supreme Being she was, but also as the woman he came to know.

Desperately clinging to rationality, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Distraction! He stood so sudden, his knees popped. With quick steps, he made his way for his working space, only to freeze in place as he passed the door to the bathroom.

His ears twitched and he strained his hearing. His mind was playing him tricks just now, right?

No it didn’t!

Behind the loud rush of running water he could clearly hear it: wonderful muffled moans.

Rationality instantly went out the window. No longer capable of thinking, Demiurge undressed without really paying attention to anything more than the sound of his Lady trying to hold her moaning back while standing in his shower. Barely undressed, he already reached for the doorknob and turned it.

He was greeted by thick fog and the sight of her back through the glass panel keeping the shower and the rest of the bath separated, just as her wings flared open and she shudderingly came undone.

What a glorious view!

Hungrily licking his lips, he got closer. The succubus wasn’t recognizing his presence. She was just standing there, fingernails of one hand buried in the tiles, leaving small holes, panting and the hand between her legs shaking. She supported her weight against the wall, her legs shaking crazily.

How he loved to see her like this; soaked to the bone and wrecked by an orgasm.

As he reached her, he carefully traced his hands over her shoulders and she jerked, but instantly leaned back into his touch. Grinning, he traced he lips along her neck without really touching it, only to sweetly whisper into her ear. “You should have said that it’s this bad.”

Her only answer was rolling her hips back, pressing her rear against his hard member and the devil groaned. Cupping her chin, he forced her to turn her head and what he saw in her eyes at the same time shocked and aroused the devil.

The playful, cheeky woman he knew was gone, only the succubus overrun by bestial need was left. Again she bucked her rear against him and the devil nearly lost his mind.

“Demiurge ... please ... it hurts ...”

He drowned her words in a passionate kiss and his free hand trailed down her body and between her legs, joining hers, encouraging hers to massage her clit while he slipped his fingers inside her.

The demoness moaned into their kiss and the devil allowed himself to let go of her chin and gently hold on to her throat instead, before he released her lips. Pulling her back flush against his chest with his tail, he kept pumping his fingers in her and gently nipped on her ear, relishing in the sounds of her moans.

“I know ... my apologies for making you wait.”

In front of him, his Lady shuddered and bucked into their joined hands working her over the edge, his name falling from her lips and he barely managed to restrain his urge to crash her frail body into the wall and just take her.

Having sex with her was always a special occasion, he wouldn’t dare ruin it by ending himself too fast!

But damn she was already so deliciously weakened. Her wings pressed against his abdomen as she shuddering came again, but they no longer possessed enough strength to push him away. Trembling she dropped against him, her legs threatening to give out. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, pulling her hand away from her clit and she winced and yet again bucked against him.

This needy side of her would one day end him for sure!

“Marlianken ...” He growled. “Will you surrender to me?”

“Yes!” Her voice sounded so desperate, Demiurge had to actively fight his own greedy nature for control.

“Then let’s have it this way: You’ll use your racial magic to get me back up every time I say it. Agreed?”

“Yes! Please ...” How it was possible for her to sound even more desperate and needy was beyond the devil. Cubi overrun by their nature were beyond anything he understood. But he perfectly understood that his Lady needed him to fuck her senseless and he gladly gave her that.

Without further words, he pressed her fragile body against the wall, roamed his hands up over her body and pinned her arms down next to her head. Bucking into her, he signalled her to stand on her tiptoes and she instantly did. The devil nipped on her exposed neck before tugging on her earrings with his fangs, as he slipped his cock between her legs and rubbed it against her with slight pressure upwards.

Blindly searching for entrance, he growled lowly into her ear and she whined a moan in return, moving her hips to help him in his search. The second he caught onto her entrance, it was her pushing down. No hesitation, no time adjusting or anything. Just her blind need to be taken and it had the devil almost burst from just that alone.

She was so hot, so slick, still tightened up from coming more often in a row than he felt comfortable imagining, since she had been alone in that shower way too long before he had managed to scrape up the guts to join her.

That needy impatience was something he had encountered once or twice back when they were all alone, when he himself had been experiencing the curse of Cubi heat and even through the rush of it all; he managed to scold himself for making her wait. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how torturous it was to withstand it, and he hadn’t had the doubtful pleasure of experiencing the effects of sexual-withdrawal Cubi could experience.

“Easy… “ Still he growled, his demonic nature drowning out his rational mind. “I’m going to take good care of you.” Again he nipped on her ear and she shuddered and bucked into him, no longer able of giving any other answer.

Carefully he started thrusting into her, his hands wandering up her pinned up arms to her hands, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

[femininechrist]

Just as I wouldn’t approve of people messaging girls and encouraging them to get skinnier for their fetish I don’t want to be messaged and encouraged to get bigger for your fetish please leave me alone

[80s-roger]

a night to remember 1.2 - r.t × f.m × ♀️reader

summary: you’ve been dating Roger for a couple of years, everything’s wonderful, including your sex life which is amazing but you were feeling a gap at it. maybe because you always had a crush on Freddie but his sexuality kept you away from dating him. however he’d never say no as a guest to yours and Roger’s bed.

portray: ‘84 | Freddie and Roger, female reader around her early 30s

warnings: MFM, DP, oral, protected sex, swearing

word count: 3,4k

masterlist

i don’t even know how did I come up with this, god forgive me, I just love Freddie and Roger one shots. make sure to provide yourself holy water after it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger laid next to you exhausted after his hard roughs inside you. He was trying to catch his breath. You couldn’t deny that sex with his is amazing, it’s just that you needed something more. Something Roger wouldn’t agree with. Freddie joining you. As a few minutes passed, Roger found his tempo again asking you.

“How was it?”

“It was nice.” You answered.

“Just nice?” He was triggered.

“I mean it can be better.” You moved your shoulders staring at the void.

“I consumed my entire energy fucking you. How can it be better?” He asked, turning his entire body, facing you.

“It’s not enough actually.” You awkwardly said.

“Not enough? What do you mean?” He asked again confused.

“I mean I want more action.” You were too shy you wanted to have a threesome.

“Jesus Y/N, be more clear. I’m not a psychic.” He moved his hands frustrated.

“Fuck, I want a person to join us.” You finally said. His eyes were wide opened.

“What the fuck y/n.” he gasped. “Do you have any friend of yours to join us?” He referred to your friends, your girl friends. He’d obviously ask for a female partner. He hasn’t lost his fetishes. You raised your eyes irritated.

“You wished it was one of my friends. Actually, my darling, it’s a friend of yours.” You ironically said. He was shook.

“A female friend of mine?” he asked, thinking of any females. “You want Jess to join us? Have you seen her tits?” He eagerly said to you and jealousy appeared on your face.

“No Roger, I want Freddie to join us. Have you seen his dick?” You finally said the person, attacking your partner with his same words, just changing the name and the genitals instead of the muscles.

“No fucking way y/n, I’m not sharing you with my bandmate, let alone with a male.” He refused shaking his head and sitting his back on the bed.

“And why should I share you with a female if you’re not sharing me with Freddie?” You fixed your position and you started disagreeing.

“But why Freddie? Why a threesome actually? Aren’t you satisfied of me?” He shouted, feeling triggered. If a female isn’t sexually pleased by him, he gets really mad and tries to fix it later, the same way.

“I am Roger! I just want to get experienced on that type too. I want Freddie to join us! He wouldn’t say no!” You begged him. Roger rolled his eyes.

“I know he wouldn’t say no! It’s just so weird of you to say, but hey, I can’t just have him on bed. I can’t give my dick to a man, I fucking can’t! He freaked out, his sexuality was screaming.

“You won’t! I just want to try Freddie’s dick too.” Your tone got lower.

“You’re a dirty hoe, aren’t you?” He teased, coming closer to you. “You want two dicks inside you?” He asked surprised. “Isn’t mine enough?”

“Stop the tease! I just want Freddie to join us.” You looked at him.

“Fine, but in one condition.” He raised his pointing finger.

“You want a female the next time, don’t you?” I asked prepared.

“Yes. Say yes and I’m saying Freddie to come over tomorrow night.” He eagerly said.

“Fuck you, fine.” You exhaled. At least, you’d try out how’d it be like with another female. You were curious. That would be Roger’s dream come true, no doubt. He kissed your lips and turned side to finally rest his eyes and so did you. You were thinking how’d you be divided while being fucked by Roger and Freddie.

the other night

You were preparing yourself, making up yourself and dressing sexy with very few clothes on you. Roger would be home any moment with his band mate, Freddie. Freddie was surprised when he got this request. He didn’t bother having a threesome with you two. He liked you externally anyway.

flashback ten hours ago:

“You look a little nervous, Rog. Do you want to tell me something?” Fred asked the drummer while smoking his cigarette.

“You know, um, y/n…” He silently said.

“y/n what? Is she okay?” He worried.

“Yeah, of course. She just… um asked me something yesterday night after… You know.” He was so awkward trying to tell Freddie about your wish.

“Be more specific dear. What did she ask? I can help.” He smiled at Roger trying to make him feel more comfortable.

“This may sound weird to you but she wants a threesome. She wants you.” He finally said, with his arms placed on his waist.

“Fuck.” Freddie was shocked. “And she wants it for…?” He asked, accepting the suggestion.

“Tonight. Are you into it Fred? You know, you don’t have to do this. I personally don’t support her suggestion. She makes me feel like I don’t complete her sexually.” He confessed to his best pal.

“Darling, you know how beast-y my nights can be. A cute fluffy threesome with you and your girlfriend, wouldn’t hurt me.” He laughed. “And don’t ever say that you don’t complete her. You’re a good lay, this is what you are bro.” He encouraged him.

“I told her if it happens tonight, we’re doing it again with a female.” Roger arrogantly said.

“Classic Roger. You’re chasing that chance.” He laughed.

“So are you coming tonight?” He asked.

“Yes of course, count me in.” He nodded. “And um, how will the roles be like?” he asked.

“You’re definitely not touching me. She wants you to fuck her but I’m afraid I’m gonna be pretty competitive on it. I can’t handle it.” He said.

“I wouldn’t touch you Roger. What are you talking about. Alright, we’ll try to have her divided.” He laughed and Roger left out an awkward giggle.

End of flashback

Roger and Freddie were at the lift talking.

“Fred, I’m so uncomfortable with this.” he confessed to his friend. “I don’t like sharing her with men.”

“Darling, you told her the next time it’d be a female. How do you think she felt with that?” He asked.

“Uncomfortable?” He answered with a question mark.

“Exactly, she felt like she wasn’t enough for you.” Freddie was defending you.

“Alright but why didn’t she care about how I felt that moment? It’s not always her Fred!” He shouted moving his hands.

“Ladies first, remember?"He smiled and Roger turned his head annoyed. "Listen, I will focus on her, I wouldn’t do anything on you. She asked me, she’s having me.” he pressed his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

“And what will I do? Jerk off watching you two get along?” He angrily said.

“For fuck’s sake Roger, you know her turn ons, do what you always do, just let her feel me too.” He winked.

The lift’s doors opened and Roger inserted the keys at the door. He was nervous. He didn’t want you to be touched by another man, let alone his best pal, Fred. He knows you asked for it but it’s not something to easily agree with.

“Y/N?” He asked searching for your figure.

“Bedroom!” You yelled back. Roger and Freddie looked each other. Roger was neutral while Freddie was smiling.

“Someone’s in there asking for sex.” Freddie giggled.

“She’s begging for sex.” he replied and they both walked in the bedroom.

You were laying on your bed, wearing a black, up to the thigh, satin nighty and some hot lingerie inside it. Roger’s masculinity jumped out, looking at you from head to toe, getting already hard. Freddie’s eyes were wide opened. Watching a female body ready to be satisfied turned him on.

“Someone’s eager.” He looked at Roger, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from you.

“Hello boys.” You smiled at them and Freddie approached. “Hello Fred.” You smiled up at him, walking like a naughty girl to him, until the edge of the bed. You bit your lip and he raised his eyebrow.

“You’ve literally never walked on me this way before Y/N!” Roger whined while looking at you and Roger, ready to make out.

“How about you shut up and join us Rog?” You said back and Fred laid next to you, pressing his lips against yours. His hands travelled through your back, caressing it.

Roger couldn’t help seeing you being entirely touched by another man. He took off his leather jacket and his shirt beneath, and sat next to you. You were in the middle, in heaven.

“Alright Fred, you touched enough.” Roger’s jealousy was either a turn on or a turn off. There was no middle ground. You did love dominating Roger but you also loved having Freddie’s hands at you.

Roger’s hands, turned your face at him, you could see his jealousy in his eyes. You eagerly smiled and he passionately kissed you while Fred removed his shirt, staying shirtless. His big palms, went under your nighty, at your breasts area, squeezing them gently while his mouth was placed on your neck, leaving you gentle kisses. You were experiencing at the same time a passionate and hard Roger, with a gentle and soft Freddie. You wanted same level everywhere.

“Slow down Roger, you’re ruining it.” You whispered between the kiss you both shared.

“I feel like I am ruining your sex. You just want Freddie to fuck you.” You interrupted your kiss and so did Freddie. You were all looking at each other.

“I want him to fuck me. And I want to fuck you.” You eagerly said and they both looked each other with a positive vibe.

“Your girl needs some Mercury magic, let her have it dear.” He said to his friend and took off your nighty, leaving you on black lingerie. “You’re so sexy baby…” He said to you staring at your little-to-the-imagination fabrics.

Roger’s hands pressed your thighs, squeezing them like he always do. They laid you at the bed, where the pillows are placed. These two hot boys were standing in front of you, Freddie between your legs, kissing them inch by inch and Roger climbed next to you, taking your bra off without sudden moves. It all had to happen slowly. You had your breasts exposed to Fred and Rog but you felt comfortable around them. Roger was caressing them and began leaving kisses at that area. He sucks your nipples every time he has the chance to. He returned to your neck, leaving you soft kisses while your left hand was playing with his blonde hair and your right hand, at Freddie’s who played with your underpant, teasing you.

“Roger, look how much she wants it. She’s already soaked, her panties betrayed her.” He laughed rubbing your area without removing your panties yet.

“Freddie you’re such a tease.” You softly moaned while Rog left your side, going down there next to Freddie.

“Let’s take off her panties.” Roger looked at you, feeling your anticipation.

“Not yet. No wonder why both of you had sex the night you met.” He joked and you looked at Roger angrily. Roger told him about it. Of course he did.

Freddie was kissing your thighs and below your belly button. He was grabbing your panties pulling them up and down but without removing them. You really wanted one of them to eat you out right now.

“Fuck Freddie, just take them off.” You said with your face turned red.

“Someone’s impatient here.” Roger laughed, removing his black jeans and so did Freddie. They were taking their jeans off, staying only on their boxers. You could see their boner with the fabric on it. You were all so wet and hard.

“Imagine not wanting it Roger.” You teased him. He got the point. “Imagine not seeing me getting fucked by your friend.” You raised your eyebrow and so did he.

“Imagine not having my dick sucked by you.” He teased back and you smiled. He walked through the night stand grabbing two condoms.

“Here take one.” He offered one to Fred. “Take them off, impatient slut.” He said to you pointing at his black boxers. “I want you to wear this condom around my dick.” He demanded and you agreed.

He was standing on his knees at the edge of the bed. Your spread legs were exposed to Freddie, waiting for him to finally take them off. But you know how impatient Roger can get when it comes on sucking his penis so you had to play with your rules.

“I’m not sucking your erected dick until that bad boy sucks my pussy.” You eagerly said, squeezing his penis without taking off his remaining fabric.

“Fuck.” He murmured inside his lips. Freddie looked at him.

“Can you handle a little tease Rog?” He asked.

“Have you ever had your cock sucked by Y/N? I don’t think so. You better take these panties off.” Roger impatiently said and Freddie finally removed your panties.

“You’re such a bad girl Y/N, you think you’re the one who gives orders tonight?” Freddie asked, rubbing your clit with his thumb. You closed your eyes in pleasure.

“I give orders tonight Fred.” You said back and took Roger’s panties off. His dick was standing still, almost at his stomach area. You teared the condom’s package off and placed it around Roger’s grease gun. You gave a fast lick over his prepuce.

“Oh my God, fuck.” He moaned. “Suck it baby.” He closed his eyes with his head high.

Meanwhile Freddie, began sucking your wet pussy. His experienced tongue, made slow licking circles around your small lips and your clit.

“You’re such a dirty slut, you don’t deserve to be gently treated. You can’t play with testosterone.” Freddie winked at you but the pleasure waves, made you insert Roger’s length inside your mouth, reaching your throat. Roger’s hands, pressed your head against his cock, moaning and swearing.

“Fucking hell Y/N, take it all inside your slutty mouth.” He loudly said, making eye contact with you. You were on the edge of choking. The gulping sound made Freddie and Roger cum before the actual time. You removed his dick from your mouth, licking it, clearing it from your saliva spits. You grabbed his dick on your hand, jerking him off.

“I’m gonna cum babe.” He loudly moaned.

“I don’t care.” You said, sucking his dick again. “You can get another orgasm again when you see Freddie fucking my pussy.” You eagerly said, jerking him fastly. You were torturing him.

“Holy fuck!” He loudly said cumming. You smiled at him and suddenly moaned when Freddie inserted two fingers inside you. Roger was distracted, watching two fingers and a tongue fucking you.

“Jesus, Fred!” You moaned. Roger bit his lip, going next to Freddie, rubbing your clit with fast moves. He kind of revenged you for making him cum, before fucking your brains out.

“Make that slut cum.” Roger said to Freddie when he was moving his fingers inside you until some white liquids came out from your pink area. Roger gave you a few licks.

“You’re a creampie, darling, aren’t you?” Freddie sweetly asked, sucking them.

“Of course she is.” Roger looked at you eager.

“Shit Fred…” You moaned with your eyes closed.

“I am sure you can handle another deepthroat, can’t you?” Freddie asked removing his panties.

“She can handle a lot, right baby?” Roger looked at you being a mess. He enjoyed torturing you. You could clearly read his thoughts: you wanted a threesome, this is how it’s going to be.

“Roger you’re ruining everything!” You groaned at him.

“I know. Include your thirsty pussy.” He winked and grabbed your legs around his waist.

“Damn Roger, carefully.” Freddie said, while wearing his condom.

“Trust me, she likes it. She’s just arrogant, right baby?” He smiled at you. His hands rubbed your sensitive clit. You automatically shook your legs but Rog immobilized them by holding them. “Freddie, hold her hands.” Roger said to Freddie and there he was, above you, holding your hands so you wouldn’t move. He kissed your neck and your lips. You were sweating already. “I know you love fucking you with your legs around my waist. You like it when I take control.” He said and looked at you.

“Just start, stop giving me that look!” You said to him, when he was shaking his penis before entering inside you.

“What look?” He teased.

“The look of wanting me to hit you.” You aggressively said. “Fred, do something!” You said at your other partner.

“Darling, he said we’d share you. He didn’t agree with the idea though.” He smiled down at you.

“He doesn’t seem to be annoyed at the view of me being held by you while he’s ready to fuck me, does he?” You asked looking at Fred.

“No, I like the view.” He laid on top of you, when his thrusts began. They were smooth and slow at first, but seconds later they got fast and hard. “If you weren’t that wet, I wouldn’t move so fast baby.” He moaned at your ear. He stood back again, watching your entire body bouncing at his thrusts. “Suck her tits Fred.” He said to his friend and Freddie grabbed them and sucked them hard. You loved the feeling. You could tell how experienced they both were on bed. “Do you want to cum?” He asked and rubbed your clit.

“Yes!” You loudly moaned.

“No! Not yet.” He took his penis off you, standing next to you, watching you rubbing your clit.

“You wished darling.” Freddie said giving another kiss to your lips and taking your hand away from your clit. You wanted him to fuck you. “First you’re going to suck my cock.” He winked at you. You looked at Roger.

“Don’t look at me. Do what he says. I will watch.” He had his dick in his palm, moving it slowly up and down.

Freddie laid at the bed watching you putting his dick inside your mouth. Roger’s view was your side body. He was so horny at that moment, he’d go for round three. Freddie smacked your butt cheeks, leaving hand marks. “Suck my cock darling, you do have the skills.” He eagerly said to you when your head was moving up and down, until the base.

“She’s a good girl. Let her finish.” Roger said, pleased on the view.

“She really is a good girl, now we’ll let her cum.” He helped you sit on top of him, so you’d ride him. “So your boyfriend is gonna watch you getting fucked by me?” He asked.

“Yeah…” You whispered out of your breaths and turned your gaze on Roger.

“You wished.” Roger eagerly said, laid on bed. You looked at Freddie. “You won’t ride me baby, turn over. Lay on top of Roger.” Freddie said to you and put you in all four. Where they really wanted to fuck you at the same time?

“You do have two holes we want to take advantage of.” Roger smiled up at you, with a winning smile. He kissed you. “Freddie, don’t you dear touching my dick.” Roger sarcastically warned Fred and he rolled his eyes.

“Fuck, this is going to hurt.” You whispered down at your boyfriend.

“You wanted a threesome.” He moved your hair at your back, uncovering your face.

He put his dick inside your pussy, moving slowly, his hands caressing your waist. Freddie was right behind you, placing his dick at your ass. “Fuck!” You shouted. “Quiet, dear, I’m trying to make it less hurtful.” He gave your butt a little spank.

By the time it was good, you didn’t hurt. You had two dicks inside you, filling you up entirely.

“You look like you’re about to cum. I know this face.” Roger teased you. “Cum baby.” He kissed your neck until you closed your eyes, leaving yourself endure to the pleasure tsunami.

“Cum now darling!” Freddie said, removing his dick from your asshole.

“Holy fuck!” You shouted and finally laid in the middle of these two hot men.

You needed a moment to catch your normal breath. You were all silent at the moment. Until Freddie broke it when he enlightened his cigarette.

“That was amazing girl.” He said to you.

“Indeed. Thank you for accepting the offer.” You laughed and Roger groaned. “Still not satisfied?” You asked down at him.

“Girl next time.” He demanded and grabbed a cigarette from his night stand.

“Jesus, fine.” You groaned.

Freddie was wearing his clothes after smoking. You wore your tiny robe, following him to the main door.

“Thank you for letting me have a good time.” You smiled at him. “I wanted it for a long time.” You giggled.

“Well, just give me a call.” He made the phone gesture with his fingers and kissed your cheek before leaving.

“Tell me he’s gone!” He shouted from the bedroom.

You walked back at the bedroom, Roger covered his penis with the sheet. He looked at you staring him unsatisfied. “ What?” He asked.

“You’re a mobile grumpy man.” You said laying next to him. “You didn’t even let me enjoy it.”

“I don’t like other men touching you. How much clear can I make it?” He asked, placing the cigarette at the other side. “I barely wanted to do it.”

“But you did it because you love me.” You caressed his chest. “And Freddie is mostly attracted to men so nothing’s going to happen between him and me.” You reassured him.

“I am so embarrassed to look at him tomorrow.” He covered his eyes.

“He won’t be embarrassed though, you did a thing friends don’t do. Fuck the other’s girlfriend. Together. Not separately.” You teased him and he looked at you shocked.

“I think you need a little punishment. Maybe the last round wasn’t good enough for you.” He laid on top of you, ready to give you another shot.

[writeyouin]

Connor X Reader - Do You Dream? Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Defying Expectations 

A/N – Somewhat of a short chapter, but I’m finally pleased with where this story is going.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

It wasn’t long till Gavin came to pick you up from the park but every second spent in silence with Connor dragged painfully on, laden with anger and sadness. You squinted as Gavin’s rusted Buick headlights fell over you. Gavin got out, grinning smugly at the pair of you.

“Bye,” You said sullenly to Connor, not sure what else to say in lieu of the previous events.

“(Y/N), wait,” Connor said, reaching out for your wrist before he thought better of it and held himself back. “You don’t have to do this…”

You shook your head, frowning morosely, “I just- I can’t be around you right now.”

“What are you two ladies talking about?” Gavin asked cockily, swaggering over.

“Just give me a minute, Gavin.”

Connor stepped in front of you, whispering quickly, “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll find a place temporarily and you can stay with Hank. Just please, don’t go with him.”

“Connor, don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll… I’ll see you at work. You coming, Gavin?” You asked, upon going over to the Buick.

“Sure, sure, just give me a sec.” Gavin approached Connor with a wicked grin, talking in a hushed tone so you wouldn’t hear, “Thanks for giving (Y/N) to me, plastic. This’ll just give me time to work on her. I hope you’ll think of us two rolling under the covers while you’re left alone, worthless and broken.”

Connor grabbed Gavin’s arm, speaking through gritted teeth, “You better take care of her. If anything happens- If anyone hurts so much as one hair on her head, I will personally see to it that you suffer.”

“If anyone hurts her? From what I’m seeing here, it’s you who hurt her.” Gavin yanked his arm back, “I’ll do a damn better job than you at taking care of her. Plastic prick.”

After that vicious exchange, Gavin left Connor standing alone in the park as he got back into his car and drove you towards his apartment.

Gavin thought he was being reasonable. He had let you spend the twenty-minute drive to his place in silence. Now, he wanted the answers he was due.

“Alright, what happened with the plastic?”

“Don’t call him that,” You reprimanded glumly, lacking any of your usual fire.

“Cut the shit (Y/N). Just tell me what happened, then you can go inside, get the VIP tour, and I’ll leave you alone for the night.”

“I don’t know, Gavin. Things just got complicated.”

“With the plastic or the drunk?”

“Please, don’t talk about my friends like that.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and got out of the car, surprising you slightly when he opened the door on your side. “Fine, whatever. You won’t answer my questions about them, at least tell me why you called me up to stay at my place.”

“Who else am I gonna stay with, Gavin? You’re working the case with me, you don’t live with anyone that could be endangered by the Flayer, and since I have to stay with a cop… Shit, who else am I gonna stay with? Captain Fowler?”

Gavin snickered, leading you into the apartment block and up the stairs, “It’d be one hell of a slumber party, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, Fowler could braid my hair while we talk shop.”

On the first floor, Gavin unlocked the second door, letting you in to what you expected would be a dingy apartment. Once again, you were surprised to find a neat living room with plush brown carpets, several family photos, and a generally warm vibe.

He walked you down the narrow hall, pointing out rooms, “Kitchen. Bathroom. My room. And that’s the magical mystery tour. That’ll be ten bucks.”

“Sorry, I’m short of change. I could give you a sucker punch instead.”

“Phuck off.”

You heard a light mewling behind you and turned to find a Sphynx cat sniffing at your heels. “Never figured you for a cat guy.”

“Her name’s Meatball.”

“Who turned her inside out?”

Gavin petted Meatball under the chin, “Don’t listen to the crazy bitch, Meatball. It’s a bold fashion statement.”

“Any more pets hanging around, or just the reject gremlin?”

“First off, she’s not a gremlin, she’s my sidekick. Second, Cagney and Lacey are around here somewhere, probably hiding from the bitch who keeps insulting my girl here.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” You nodded along, finding your first real smile of the night. It seemed that you had Gavin all wrong. Maybe at work he was an ass who used insults to look tough, but perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

“So… You don’t have any of your things with you.”

You tucked your hair behind you ear, avoiding Gavin’s gaze, “No. I left it all at Hank’s place.”

“I’ll get your shit together tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“In the meantime, I got an old hockey jersey you can wear. You know. If you want to. And I know it’s late so if you go into my room, you’ll find it, second drawer in the dresser. I’ll set up the sofa bed.”

You nodded and made your way into Gavin’s bedroom. Previously, you had imagined Gavin living in some kind of seedy Quentin Tarantino set. Instead, you found a fairly regular room. The most elaborate thing it held was a dart board which you were unimpressed to find pictures of androids on. Hastily, you tore the pictures off, throwing them into the bin in the corner. Just because he wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, you wouldn’t accept any form of xenophobia from Gavin. All the same, it was too late for an argument with your host, so you got changed into the way oversized jersey; it was far too big even for Gavin and you couldn’t help thinking that he probably saved it for those tiny women he fetishized.

Folding up your day clothes, you wandered into the living room, expecting some kind of sleazy comment about the jersey that only fell down to your knees. Instead, Gavin had set up the sofa-bed where he was perched gingerly on the edge. Upon your re-entry into the living room, he stood up giving you a cursory nod.

“Hey, so uh- I tend to wake up late. You can get whatever you want from the fridge. There’s a lock on the bathroom door. The front has the best damn security I can afford, and uh-” He put his hand on your shoulder, “We’ll catch this fucker, (Y/N). Then you can live your normal life and shit.”

Gavin left you after that and just before he entered his bedroom you saw two Bengal cats run from under the sofa bed after him.

“The elusive Cagney and Lacey,” You mumbled to yourself. Then, looking at the sphinx cat on top of your pillow, you added, “So, you’re staying with me, Meatball?”

Meatball purred enthusiastically as you stroked her head, only arguing slightly when you shifted her from the pillow to the blanket.

“Sorry girl, you gotta share.”

As you slipped into the bed and tried to get to sleep, you wondered why Gavin bothered to act so awfully in work. You wanted to find out who was the real him, and you hoped it was the version you had seen since he took you to his apartment. Maybe there was a chance the two of you could be friends after all.

Two weeks into living with Gavin and he had defied all of your expectations. Late into the evening as the two of you sat pouring over the most recent victim of the Fornication Flayer, you had to ask the question that had been on your mind since you first crashed on his sofa.

“Why aren’t you like this at work?”

“Hm? (Y/N), I’m always this good looking. You just haven’t noticed.”

“Come on Gavin. You’ve been nothing but nice to me for two weeks. No flirty comments, nothing mean to say about my friends, working from home to reduce any risk to me, making sure to get everything from Hank’s. I don’t get it. Why do you act so rough at work?”

Gavin grabbed his empty coffee mug for something to do that would allow him to avoid the question. “You want another coffee?”

At Gavin’s evasion, you decided not to press the matter. You guessed that he was just insecure in himself and used toxic masculine bullshit as a way to hide his true self. “Alright. I get it. You don’t want to go into it, but at least tell me what your damage is with Connor. He’s not a bad guy, y’know.”

“Just coffee for me then. Got it.”

“Come on, Gavin. Is it all androids, or just him?”

“Hey, what do you want from me? I just don’t like the prick. Besides, it’s fun to wind him up by toying with the things he likes.”

Although you didn’t like the insinuation that Gavin knew Connor had a crush on you before you did, you let it slide. At least he’d only called Connor a ‘prick’ instead of a ‘plastic’; that showed real improvement on Gavin’s behalf. With a bit more work and encouragement, you were sure you could change his opinions on androids, if not Connor himself.

“Ugh,” Gavin sneered. “We’re outta milk. You wanna come to the store with me?”

You appreciated it whenever Gavin asked you that. Since the store was only across the street, he allowed you the choice of staying in the apartment or going with him whenever he had to grab something. It was a privilege that Hank and Connor hadn’t allowed under their constant surveillance routine.

“You go. I could use a few minutes on my own.”

“Right, so you can throw that big surprise party to thank me for being awesome,” he snickered.

“Excuse you? This party is for Meatball, who is indeed not an inside out gremlin, but a big sweetheart who keeps your other two monsters in line.”

“Pfft. Whatever loser. Keep the door locked and don’t talk to strangers.”

“Okay, mom.”

“Don’t you speak to your mother in that tone, young lady. Go to your room.”

“I don’t have a room.”

“That’s right. And you won’t get one until you learn to appreciate your mother!”

With that playful exchange over, Gavin left, locking the door behind him. You stared at your datapad, flicking through case files and the analysis of the latest victim. It was horrifying to stare at yet another corpse of someone who looked just like you, but you did it anyway, trying to find anything from a stray hair or a boot print that might lead the DPD find the murderer.

There was a crash in Gavin’s bedroom and you groaned at the sound of hissing cats. “I swear, if that’s Cagney and Lacey again, you’re grounded for life cats.”

Sure enough, it was Cagney and Lacey, hissing at poor Meatball who had scrambled onto Gavin’s dresser, smashing the lamp in the process.

“Oh man… Why do you two bully this hairless freak so much? Don’t worry, Meatball. It was an accident. Just a case of lamp slaughter. We’ll get you the best damn jury Detroit has to offer.”

A knock at the door startled you and you stood in utter silence, feeling your heart pound against your chest.

“(Y/N), open he phucking door,” Gavin’s unmistakable voice called. “I dropped my keys down the damn drain.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, “How in the world is this idiot not dead?”

Upon opening the door, you only had a few seconds to take everything in. There was a man at least three feet taller than you wearing a tuxedo and a full venetian mask to hide his face. A voice modulator sat cosily on his throat and when he spoke again, he still sounded unpleasantly like Gavin.

“How very nice to meet you in person, detective.”

There was no time to run, fight, or even slam the door in his face as the Fornication Flayer pulled a syringe from behind his back and plunged it into your neck.

“There, there now. We’re going for a little ride. How does that sound?”

Unconscious in the Flayer’s arms, you couldn’t respond. Your only hope was that someone might spot you and come to your aid. If not, you would most certainly be the next victim that the DPD investigated.

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[jirarhenare]

J’ira Rhenare; LFRP Balmung

basics ––––

NAME:  J’ira AGE: Early 20′s RACE: Seeker, Miqo’te GENDER: Cis-Female SEXUALITY: Demisexual MARITAL STATUS: Single SERVER: Balmung

physical appearance ––––

HAIR: Long, lush and thick - the length draws down to her bottom. Black. Usually swept into a high pony tail that still manages to reach mid-back. EYES: Gold HEIGHT: 5′3′’ BUILD: A short thing with soft round features. Olive-tan skin kissed by the sun. By sight alone, it’s no real secret that she’s a bit top heavy either, cursed (in her opinion) with a sizable chest and hips that balance proportions which end with a very long, solid black tail.   DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Freckles peppering across the high parts of her cheeks.  Horizontal (2 inch) scar crossing the bridge of the nose. COMMON ACCESSORIES: A fanciful silver flask that is bejeweled with a single citrine gem. A few dedicated scrolls of maps, medical supplies, compass, her bow and quiver, along with a spare dagger.

personal –––-

PROFESSION: Courier & huntress. HOBBIES: Chocobo-racing, gambling, traveling, drawing, mapping, drinking and archery. LANGUAGES: Common, bits of Xaelic and Thavnairian. RESIDENCE: Ul’dah, renting a room. FEARS:  Drowning. Claustrophobia.

relationships –––-

SPOUSE: None. CHILDREN: None. PARENTS: Mother, Father - Alive. SIBLINGS: A few, but they share only her father’s blood. OTHER RELATIVES: Several dozen aunts and uncles.

traits –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathetic / unemphatic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / un-cultured / in between loyal / disloyal / in between faithful / unfaithful / in between

additional information –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

possible hooks –––-

She’s a bit of a snoop. She enjoys learning about the ins-and-outs of the more seedy folk of the world. That includes criminals and terrorist groups.  It’s good to know where others stand. She’s gotten into some shit with getting caught before too. ( Thanks RNG. )

Need something shipped? A letter, a package, medical supplies? J’ira is your gal. She’s a courier that runs BLACK ARROW EXPRESS! There are fliers stamped abound in all of the major cities. Everything is confidential, no questions asked! Just have that gil ready.

As a Tribal-turned-City-Cat, she has more know-how than the average Tribal Seeker on the workings of the cities and modern world. If her people need help getting acquainted, she usually doesn’t mind lending a hand.

J’ira technically committed murder. She killed a man. She may just have a bounty on her head. Blackmail is also a possibility.

She can drink. A lot. Maybe she’s bested you in a non-formal drinking contest before. Or maybe she’s just been seen packing down the rum in a local bar.

Originally of the VIPER CLAN, she ran away from them after killing the up and coming Nunh. Details are not so nice (and triggering) on why, so if you’re interested in learning them, please contact me.

Always looking for friends, enemies, rivals, business rivals, and character development!

what i am looking for ––––

Basically, I’m not picky so long as it makes sense. Lore-bending is okay with me. I like mature/dark themes, I encourage violence and horrible things. However, I try not to make it the main focus. I literally just want character dynamics and development with a sense of accomplishment. I love friends too. You have a meme? So do I.

oocly, I am ––––

working. A lot. East coast, NYC time.

friendly as heckle.

not here for your weird fetishes and drama. Leave it at the door.

never going to mesh IC / OOC, because I’m not crazy and I know what to expect in a game.

you can contact me via ––

IN-GAME or MSG me here. Discord available to friends and trusted RP-partners.

@balmungrp @balmungroleplayers @mooglemeet @crystalxivrp @ffxiv-balmung-rp

[tiredloserr]

Fun fact: Heterophobia Is real because of the popularization of Gay culture so 👀 We belong @ Pride events

okay, so i know that youre either sending this to a) irritate me or b) you genuinely don’t understand what you’re talking about. if it’s the first one, please just leave me alone and go find a more constructive way to spend your time. i really don’t know what you’re trying to prove by annoying me. if it’s the latter, i’ll explain where i’m coming from on the issue and why heterophobia isn’t real and why cishets should definitely not be at pride. and if you don’t care, great! unfollow me or block me or whatever honestly. and yeah, this is going to be long and probably a little rambly because im tired and angry.

tldr at the bottom, but anon, please read the whole thing so you can understand where i’m coming from

heterophobia is not real because there is absolutely no where in the world where you can potentially be killed for showing affection for who you love of the opposite gender (unless it’s like incest or pedophilia, but that’s not the point of this answer). marriage between the two sexes has never been illegal unless you count interracial couples, but even that was a matter of racism and not “heterophobia”. like, literally any conflicts that there might be or have been for a straight couple occur because of other outlying factors in the relationship. not because they’re straight.

you can still be imprisoned or killed or hurt because of same sex attraction in places in the world. even if it’s against the law to do so, people still will because they hate us and in recent history (literally just last century) they would get away with it the majority of the time. one of the most disgusting things that has happened due to homophobia is that we lost an entire generation of gay/bi men and trans women due to HIV and AIDS. there was a wide spread deadly disease that was killing men and women in droves and the government did not care or put forth any real effort to stop it because it was primarily happening to gay men. if something similar to that happened to straight, cis men at that time, you can bet your ass there would be non stop work and research and information put out to stop or slow the spread of the disease.

same sex marriage was legalized less than five years ago (in the US). and even after it was legalized, many states tried to ban it again. heterosexual marriage has never been banned. you didn’t have to fight for your right to be able to love and marry whoever you want because you’ve always had the right to.

the “popularization of Gay culture” is the result of so many lgbt+ fighting and dying for the same rights and privileges that cishets are born with. gay culture is being “popularized” because people are finally realizing that being lgbt+ isn’t a mental disorder and more people feel safe to come out and be themselves and explore their attractions. and yeah it’s also becoming popular because corporations realize that they can make more money by slapping a rainbow on their products and calling themselves progressive. and even in this time of gay culture being “popularized” people can still be aggressively homophobic and transphobic and not face a lot of repercussions unless tons of attention is brought to it and people really work to make consequences happen. hell, a politician publicly suggested that he would drown his children if they happened to be gay. when has that level of hatred ever happened only due to the fact that someone is straight?

heterophobia literally only exists as a joke that lgbt+ people make because we’re tired of straight people getting to determine how we are able to live our lives and how we are able to show affection for the person or people that we love. and unlike homophobic jokes, heterophobic jokes do not do anything to harm you or take away your rights or freedoms. heterophobia isn’t real because you aren’t going to be harmed just because you’re het. people not wanting cishet people at pride is not “heterophobia”. we want to be able to celebrate our identities that are still ostracized away from those who so often are the ones to invalidate them. pride started as a riot because the police were literally trying to take trans women and mlm to jail for acting on their attractions even though they were in a private establishment and should have been free to do so. pride has always been about fighting and striving for equality for all gender identities and sexualities that are still demonized worldwide. it has nothing to do with cishets. you guys get to celebrate your attractions the rest of the 11 months of the year. why do y’all even want to go? there’s really nothing there for you. you’re not going to find a straight flag or a “straight and proud” shirt, so why do y’all insist on inserting yourselves into everything that isn’t about you??

listen, there isn’t anything wrong with being straight, but you have to stop acting like lgbt+ people are discriminating against you just because we want to be treated like humans and like our attractions are normal because they are. pride is our place to celebrate how far we’ve come in fighting for our rights and it’s our way to celebrate those who have come before us. cishets shouldn’t be at pride because it’s not about them. your identity has been accepted and celebrated for centuries and you didn’t have to fight for them.

cishet children and teenagers don’t have to worry about being potentially kicked out of their homes or losing their families due to who they love. cishets don’t feel forced to “come out” about their attraction since it’s viewed as the norm. cishets don’t have to hear that their attractions are evil and will get them sent to hell. cishets can hold their significant other’s hand in public without worrying that it may get them targeted for harassment. cishets don’t have to search through hundreds of movies and tv shows to see representation of their attraction that isn’t fetishized or shown as evil or killed off for shock value. cishets don’t have to fight for their right to have or adopt children.cishets do not get discriminated against and they will most likely never get discriminated against. heterophobia is not real.

tldr: lgbt+ people getting rights and slowly becoming more equal to cishets is not discrimination. heterophobia isn’t real because heterosexual relationships are accepted and encouraged worldwide and no amount of jokes online will probably ever change that. no straight couple has ever been discriminated against on only the basis of being straight. pride is to celebrate lgbt+ people getting more rights and is to celebrate those who came before us who paved the way and is no place for cishets. heterophobia is not real.

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

lust (kinds of love)

Tony Stark x Reader

Part Four of the Kinds of Love Series

Summary: you and tony haven’t discussed your tryst. at all. in your head, you’ve rationalized it as a fluke -  a drunken slip up. so when you’re home alone and tony gets back from a stark industries function, drunk, you’re not entirely expecting the way the night goes instead...

Characters/Pairings: tony/reader, james rhodes, friday

Warnings: smut, like a lot of smut, adult language, drinking, the reappearance of my apparent billy idol-during-sex fetish, tony is the hands-iest guy ever

Word Count: 3,745

Prequel - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 -

MARVEL MASTERLIST

“FRIDAY, can you play my second night-time playlist? The one of Spotify?” you asked the room as you opened the freezer, lips pursing as you considered its contents. You had the New Avengers facility to yourself for the night and had helped yourself to the contents to Tony’s bar around eight. It was after ten now, and you’d had three self-made margaritas and were happily buzzing just enough that ice cream was now the only thing that mattered to you.

You rolled your eyes at your options but helped yourself to a tub of Ben and Jerry’s all the same. Stark Raving Hazelnuts. Sure, you were living with him, but even when he wasn’t at home, you never could escape Tony Stark.

“Of course, Miss L/N,” came the friendly, automated response. “Would you prefer to begin with a particular song?”

“Just stick it on shuffle, please,” you said, grabbing a spoon out of the drawer as the first chords of Grand Funk Railroad’s remastered edition of I’m You Captain/Closer to Home started playing. You bopped your head along to the beat as you made your way to other side of the kitchen island when your book lay open. Hopping up onto the stool you’d just vacated you spooned some into your mouth.

“Eh, not bad,” you said to yourself, digging the spoon back into the tab as you considered the label. Tony smirked cockily up at you from under the logo, surrounded by stylized swirls of ice-cream and nuts. You blamed the tequila for the tiny smile you gave it in return. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself, Stark. It’s no Triple Caramel Chunk.”

It had been a bit over two weeks since you’d woken up in Tony’s bed, and neither of you had addressed it since that morning. You’d showered and dressed, caught on your way out the door by Tony, still in a pair of sweats and without a shirt. He’d presented you with fresh brewed coffee, toasted bagels and scrambled eggs, and you’d hidden your blush and agreed to a hurried breakfast together before you rushed off to your other life at N.Y.U.

You’d seen him sparingly since then; the two of you were kept busy by your own personal and professional commitments. Every time you saw him you considered bringing it up before you remembered his recent breakup with Pepper, or the age difference, or your superhero careers. So, you just carried on like nothing had happened, stuck in a stalemate of just being friends.

“…I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free…”

You looked up as a new voice joined the one on the speakers. Tony strolled into the room, a crooked grin on his face and his voice pleasantly lilting. He was wearing a tailored, two-piece suit, the charcoal material complemented by an emerald tie and pocket square. The tie had been loosened slightly and the top button undone, baring the base of his throat and the barest hint of his chest. His smile widened as he spotted you. “Hell, gorgeous.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. It was clear from his too-loud voice and carefree smile that he’d been drinking. “Have fun tonight, Tone?”

He shrugged, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch at the bar. “Missed you.”

“Oh, please,” you rolled your eyes with a smile standing. You rested the small of your back against the edge of the counter. “I’m sure your night was way more fun than mine. Unless you think a night alone with Chaucer is a riot,” you added, gesturing to your book. Medieval Lit was kicking your ass.

Tony smiled at you over the lip of his glass, moving towards you. He stopped a foot or so in front of you. “No, but if I remember correctly, a night with you can be pretty exciting.”

You snickered, tucking hair behind your ear. You felt a light blush rise in your cheeks; this was the first time either of you had broached the subject. “That was smooth, Tone. Nice.”

“Cheers,” he replied, raising his glass before taking a drink. He glanced up at the speaker closest to him before meeting your gaze again, head tilted to the side. There was a slight, drunken edge to his movements and to his words, but he didn’t stumble or slur; it was just a… looseness. A kind of relaxed. “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover. Paul Simon. Are you thinking of leaving me, sweetheart?”

You raised a brow, giving him an amused smile, your fingers gripping at the edge of the counter. You released it with one hand to take his glass from him, holding his gaze as you took a sip.

“Is that what we are, Tony?” your voice was soft, almost intimate, but you couldn’t help the uncertainty that underscored it. “Are we lovers?”

“Is that what you want us to be?” he asked quietly, closing the distance between the two of you at an almost casual pace. Butterflies rose in your belly as he came to a stop in front of you, a few sparse inches between you. You could almost feel the heat of his body on yours as he took the glass from you and set it on the counter. Tony’s eyes were hooded, his gaze heavy; the way it travelled down your body before returning to your face made you clench. They met yours, flickering back down to your lips for a few, lingering seconds. His tongue slipped between his lips, wetting them.

“Tonight was terrible,” he said. Your lips crooked in a small smile and you reached out to touch his tie, almost as if you were considering the material.

“I’m sure it was glamorous.”

“Glamorous…” Tony repeated, watching your face. “Sure, it was glamorous. And dull and predictable just like every event I make an appearance at lately. Is it wrong that I just wanted to be here?”

You shrugged, your eyes still on your hands. You straightened his tie idly and smoothed your hands over his shirt. “Nothing wrong with wanting to be at home. I mean, it’s where the heart is, isn’t it?” you joked.

Tony let out a quiet, breathy laugh, cupping your cheek in his hand. You met his gaze again. “Not ‘home’ here. ‘Here’ here. With you.”

“Tony…” you said, swallowing. Your whole body was buzzing having him so close to you. “How much have you had to drink?”

He reached towards you, and your breath caught. But his hand passed you, and he held up the Ben and Jerry’s you’d abandoned so he could read the label. His lips curved in a wide, self-satisfied smirk.

“Don’t get too excited, Captain Ego,” you snarked dryly. “It’s the only flavor you had.”

“Mm-hmm,” his smirk didn’t falter, and he slowly placed it back on the countertop beside his glass and stepped in again. His body brushed against yours, warm and firm and familiar through the expensive material of his suit. One of his hands grazeed over your hip, gliding under your tee shirt to settle on your waist.

Tony leaned in to whisper to you, his breath tickling the sensitive flesh of your throat. “How’d I taste?”

The husky resonance of his voice sent a tingling sensation through the small of your back, and while the memory of his hand in your hair and your lips wrapped around him flickered in your mind, you couldn’t help but scoff at his words.

“Oh, now I know you’re drunk, Tony,” you laughed, smacking his chest. “There is no way that a sober Tony Stark would ev—”

Tony cut you off, his lips meeting yours eagerly, roughly. His fingers tightened on your waist, his other hand moving to your shoulder. You whined against his mouth, fingers curling around his tie again to encourage him closer.

You could feel his smile on your lips and his growing need against your thigh, and you felt your own want fluttering inside you. The counter edge was digging into your back as he pressed against you, but you ignored it, lost in the sensation of having Tony Stark kissing you once more.

“Tony…”

He pulled away from your lips to mark your throat with his teeth, the hand on your shoulder moving into your hair. You gasped at the teasing pain, felt his other hand slipping over your hip. It glided down your thigh, circling over your knee and slipping up between your thighs to part them. Even through your tights, the sensation was a wonderful torture.

“I told you I missed you,” he whispered, his teeth and tongue teasing your earlobe for a moment. His knee pushed between both of yours and he pressed his thigh against your centre. Tony’s hands found your hips again, urging you to move with him, against him. You sighed the beginnings of a moan as you ground against him.

“You saw me a few hours ago…” you mumbled, cupping his face in your hands and bringing his lips back to yours. He ground your hips against him, groaning against your mouth as you brushed against his crotch. He peppered kisses along your jaw desperately, fingers digging possessively into your flesh.

“Not like that,” he replied softly. Your shirt was riding up, your tights bunching in his hands. You braced your hands on his shoulders for leverage, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Missed you like this…”

Your breathing grew ragged as the coil inside you tightened; even through layers of fabric, you could feel the heat building.

“Having you like this…” he tugged your shirt collar to the side, burying his teeth in your collarbone for a moment before lathing his tongue over the mark he left behind. His breath was hot against your skin, intoxicating, and his fingers slipped between the two of you to slide against your centre and find your clit. “Touching you like this…”

“Fuck, Tony…” you moaned outright, and he grinned, kissing you again. You gripped at his hair, desperate for release.

Tony rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy. “Tell me you missed me, too, sweetheart. Please…”

There it was… sweetheart; the pet name made honeyed by his voice. You’d been craving it since you’d left that morning, but it hadn’t left his lips since.

“Tell me you missed me…” he murmured again, his fingers increasing their pressure on your clit. “Tell me, please…”

“I missed you,” you gasped, riding his hand. You were so, so close… “Jesus, fuck, Tony, I’ve missed you…”

His lips found yours again as you came, your whole body shuddering against him. He withdrew his hand slowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. He withdrew enough to meet your eye, pushing hair away from your face gently. “That’s my girl.”

You flushed at his words, bracing yourself against the counter for support.

“Now turn around.” He said roughly, guiding you by the waist. Your hands don’t leave the counter, gripping it, and you whimper as you feel him press his body into your back, the length of him against your ass. He brushed his fingers over your shoulder, pushing your hair over your shoulder to bare the column of your neck to him.

You shivered as he pressed his lips to your throat, his hands skimming down your waist to your hips, his fingers hooking into your tights.

“Tony…?” you asked hesitantly as he pushed your tights and underwear down over your backside.

“You trust me, sweetheart?”

Your memory flickered to that desperately lost look in his eyes your first night together as he told you he didn’t know who to trust.

“You can trust me, Tony. You can trust me.”

“Always.”

“Then relax,” Tony says huskily, his hand sliding up your spine and under your shirt. He presses down, encouraging you to bend over, your stomach on the cool surface of the bench. He leans over you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I got you, baby.”

You feel a flush of heat rekindle inside you at the new pet name, and a moan escapes you as he grips your ass with one hand. You hear his zipper lower slowly, your breath catching as you feel the head of his cock slide against your slit, brushing against your clit before settling at your entrance.

You whimpered, pushing back against him. He stopped you, his hands tightening on your hips.

“I need to hear you say it, Y/N. I want to hear you… oh….” He broke off in a groan as you wiggled your hips, and he gave your backside a light swat. “Behave yourself, sweetheart.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you joked breathlessly, and he chuckled.

“Come on now, sweetheart. Let me hear it…”

“Please, Tony…” you relented, your voice almost a whine. “Please, I need you…”

“Good girl,” he murmured, and you could picture his smile. The two of you let out long, heady moans as he slowly sheathed himself inside you. his hand flattened against the middle of your back as he withdrew, pushing you into the hard surface as he withdrew, almost entirely.

He thrust into you again, agonizingly slow, and you heard him hum appreciatively. “You really do have excellent taste in music.”

It took you a moment to register the opening lines of Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell, and you shivered as Tony pushed into you again. You might have rolled your eyes if he could see your face. “Tony, please, just fuck me already.”

“Your wish,” you could hear the roguish grin in his voice, and he thrust into you, hard. “FRIDAY, turn it up.”

Tony’s fucked himself into you hard as the volume rose, his thrusts almost in time with Idol’s beat. His hand fisted in your shirt, holding you in place and pulling at the material until you felt the collar bite into your throat. Your hands searched blindly for something to grab hold of as you felt the tension build in your lower belly again; your wrist hit his glass, sending it and the Ben and Jerry’s to the floor.

It shattered, no doubt sending broken glass and scotch everywhere, along with the half-melted ice cream, but Tony seemed undeterred; he gave a guttural laugh and another smack to your ass, slightly harder this time.

“Unh…” you grunted at the sensation, your eyes rolling back in your head. His hands took hold of your wrists, bringing them both to the small of your back.

“I thought I asked you to behave yourself,” he growled, holding them in place with one hand, the other returning to your waist. The hold arched your back and your breasts bounced with each thrust; even with your shirt and bra still in place, the movement made your nipples brush against the cool surface of the counter.

“Tony, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you bit out through clenched teeth, and he cursed, his fingers tickling your waist. “Oh, my god…”

His thrusts slowed immediately, and you whined, attempting to push back with your hips as he slipped out of you. His hand met your ass again with a smack before he gripped the cheek, massaging it lightly. Tony leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as he spoke in your ear.

“I need to see your face, sweetheart.”

“The couch?” You suggest, and he kissed your shoulder by way of answer, helping you stand.

“FRIDAY, take it down again,” he said, and the music became a quiet backing track to your actions. You still had your slippers on, but Tony took hold of your thighs, encouraging you to jump up and wrap them around his waist so he could carry you over the broken glass to the couch.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he told you as he lay you down, pulling your tights off completely. He tossed them to the floor as you pulled off your shirt; you parted your legs for him eagerly. Tony knelt between them, still fully dressed, and your breath shuddered as he pulled off his tie, his gaze holding yours.

You reached down to palm his erection as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt; his eyes closed and his breath caught. “You fucking wreck me, you know that?”

You smiled coquettishly, fingers sliding over his cum-slick cock. “How do you think I feel?”

Tony chuckled as his lips met your again; this time the kiss was languid, slow and sweet. His tongue mingled with yours, your fingers curling his sweat-damp hair. His hand travelled over your thigh, hooking your knee up over his hip. You kissed your way along his cheek and jaw to his ear, rolling the lobe teasingly between your teeth. He sighed into your neck at the sensation.

Tony angled his hips to slide the length of his cock between your labia, brushing against your clit with every slow stroke. He touched your hip, your waist, your breasts, with gentle fingers, each touch leaving sparks tingling under your skin. His lips never left yours for long, his goatee tickling your chin, then your cheek as it he pressed a kiss to your temple.

You arched under him; your whole body ached with need. This was somehow more agonizing, more arousing, more intense than the way he’d pounded into you; every whispering sensation left you burning for more.

You pushed your hips up into him, a moan catching in your throat as he slid into you again. Tony’s lips fell to your shoulder, parting against your skin. Bracing himself above you with one hand, the other came to rest possessively on your hip. His nose skimmed along your throat before his lips met yours again.

Hands gripping at his biceps, you hummed into his kiss, breaking away only when his hips found the right angle. Your head fell back, your moans answered only with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the mix of nonsensical adoration and filthy commendations Tony murmured against your throat.

“…perfect…” he whispered, teeth grazing against your sweat-sheened skin. “…so fucking perfect…”

His hips broke their rhythm as the two of you steadily built to climax, your voice hoarse and your throat dry as you came. Tony’s fingers tightened on your hip as he followed you, the arm bracing him shaking slightly. He rolled off of you almost immediately, kissing your temple again, and you giggled lightly as he managed to roll you onto your side and pull you into his chest.

His arms curled around your waist, and one hand gave your breast a teasing squeeze before you swatted it away. His answering laugh tickled your neck and danced through your back, and you pulled away only long enough to make you both more comfortable; a cushion tucked under your heads and the throw from the back of the lounge thrown over you both.

Your legs tangled with his as you settled again, and you smiled as he settled his face into the crook of your neck. You felt his nose bump lightly against your hair, and his lips on your shoulder. You covered his hands with yours, almost experimentally, a blush building in your cheeks as he interlaced your fingers.

Infamous playboy Tony Stark was a cuddler.

“You okay?” he murmured. You arched your neck, turning your head to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. He smiled as you settled back in his arms, releasing your hand for a moment to pull your hair away from your neck. “Good. FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” The AI replied, and the lights dimmed until the room was dark, and you closed your eyes.

You felt Tony’s lips move against your skin again in a faint whisper. “Missed you.”

***

“Mr. Stark,” FRIDAY’s pleasant voice pulled you from your sleep. You were still tangled on the couch with Tony, one hand still intertwined with his. The throw was halfway onto the floor, and the room was bright with natural light. Tony groaned beside you. “Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes has just arrived home from his outing with his old squad, sir.”

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to extricate yourself from under Tony’s stubborn arm. You’d gotten up in the middle of the night for water, and part of you blessed yourself for putting on your underwear and Tony’s button-down. Although, still not the best welcome-home image for Rhodey to walk in on Especially since, except for the throw, Tony was still completely naked. “Tony, for god sake…”

The bastard snickered sleepily against your back, and you froze as you heard Rhodey’s footsteps echoing over the marble floors.

“Tony, you in—what the hell did you do in here man?” you heard him call out, exasperated.

The man beside you sat up, running a hand through his hair. He yawned, grinning at his old friend over the back of the couch. “To be fair, that was Y/N’s fault.” You smacked him, still hidden from sight. His smirk widened as he looked down at you. “Wasn’t it?”

“Y/N…?” Rhodey asked in confusion, and you sighed.

“Damn it, Tony…” you sat up, giving Rhodey a sheepish smile, one hand trying to tame the back of your mostly-sleep mussed hair. “Hi, Rhodey.”

“Hi?” he replied. He had this amazing ability to look both confused and tired at the same time. “What am I looking at exactly? Are you two…?”

“Uh…”

“What you’re looking at is an attractive woman in a ridiculously overpriced shirt,” Tony said blithely, his arm snaking around your waist. You blushed, fastening another button over your chest. “Which I’d very much like to get her back out of, so—”

“Tony!” you admonished, the burning in your cheeks deepening. You were never going to be able to look Rhodey in the eye again. He ignored you, securing the throw around his waist and standing. He pulled you up with him, his arm slipping around your waist again, and you tugged the hem of his shirt lower.

“—you’re gonna have to tell me about your night with the rest of the Village People later.” Tony continued, his hand squeezing your side. “After we’ve showered.”

With that declared, Tony wrapped his hand around yours and tugged you away from the couch with a wink. You gave an embarrassed giggle, following him hastily out of the room without meeting Rhodey’s eye. You were halfway down the hall before you heard him shout.

“The Village People didn’t even have anyone from the military!”

.

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @magnificentmariposa @lol-you-thought @mikariell95