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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHT

in which graves are dug up, walls are built, and nobody knows what happened in the bathroom that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4.6k+

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8:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: hey, do you guys remember the first night they met?

BIRDIE: you mean when we took her to the bar to meet everyone and they very clearly fell in love at first sight? no, doesn’t ring a bell.

DINGUS: stop being such a fucking smart ass

NANCE: @DINGUS What about it?

DINGUS: she just called me asking me about it. said eddie was nice until you guys went to the bathroom. apparently he acted differently when you guys came back, but i can’t remember anything about what was said?? did eddie actually start acting differently???

BIRDIE: i remember that! thought it was weird or eddie just started overthinking? i dunno. i was in the bathroom obviously.

ARGYLE 😎: oh i remember that night very clearly brochacho

ARGYLE 😎: kind of surprised you don’t, dude

JOHNNY: Oh God yeah @DINGUS you’re living up to your namesake dude

NANCE: You really don’t remember, do you?

DINGUS: @NANCE and how the fuck do YOU remember? you weren’t even there, nance. you were in the bathroom as robs put it.

NANCE: Best friend privileges. You really might want to remember, Dingus.

BIRDIE: @NANCE message me real quick?

DINGUS: hey! no fucking whispering! that’s not fucking helpful! @JOHNNY @ARGYLE 😎 what did i say?

NANCE: @BIRDIE I will. Let me call Eddie first.

—

HOUR EIGHT - 11:00 PM

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop - you were trying to sleep. If anyone asked you, you could have honestly defended yourself. The couch was uncomfortable, your back aching as you repeatedly twisted back and forth to just try and find a minute of rest. Your mind was reeling, still replaying all of your moments with Eddie leading up to this night. Suddenly, you were overthinking it all. You couldn’t differentiate between things that really happened, or things that you’d simply blown out of proportion due to your innate need to spin the narrative of Eddie being the villain.

“Yeah, I… I think she’s sleeping.”

You hadn’t even heard Eddie opening his door finally, your back facing the hallway as you stayed curled up tightly. His footsteps are heavy as he gets closer to you.

“She’s… uh, she’s on the couch.”

Immediately, you can hear a shrill voice shouting over the line. It’s hard to miss. You can imagine the way he’s wincing, holding the phone out from his ear in an attempt to not let her scolding damage his ear drums.

“I didn’t think she went to bed!” he hisses, trying to stay quiet, under the impression you’re still asleep, “I- Jesus H. Christ, Nance! Calm down, calm do-” he’s cut off as the anger over the line still leaks into the calm air of the room, “No. No, I wasn’t- I was going to let- Nance. Please, can I get a fucking word in?”

You hold your breath during his pause, and the clear scolding, Nancy’s scolding, finally ceases.

“I wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch,” he says slowly. You almost turn over, almost face him and show him you’re very much awake and not sleeping. “I didn’t think she’d go to bed while I was in there. I thought… I thought- Jesus, I thought at worst, she’d snoop through my shit. Maybe go for a walk or something. I didn’t- I just… Fuck, I needed space. It’s just been a long night.”

Nancy’s voice is no longer audible, but it’s clear he’s listening to what she has to say. You’re nearly overcome with guilt; you’ve done plenty of things wrong, but to eavesdrop on a private conversation? It might be your worst crime against Eddie yet.

Suddenly, he says, “It’s just been a lot.”

Something in his tone has changed. It’s gone soft, whispering from his lips in sudden muted blue. It’s a type of sadness you can’t quite place – it’s the kind of mourning you’d seen in his eyes in the photo.

Nancy must say something, because he hums in response. It’s obviously not good enough of an answer for Nancy over the phone, because her voice grows back to audible levels, less shrill, more stern.

Eddie answers with words this time. “I… I think I do.”

He thinks he does what?

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

He’s more sure in his answer the second time around to the unknown question. The guilt grows. Inflating, turbulating, ready to crack your ribs. The vines are no longer there to hold you together.

You’re put out of your misery when Eddie murmurs out a bye, Nance and you can hear his phone snap shut. If it were just a mere few hours ago, one hour ago, you would have made a comment about it - you would have joked again about what year it was, how maybe the two of you should get to sleep so first thing in the morning, you could drag him down to the Apple store to get a normal phone like the rest of you. But you’re not a time traveler, and Eddie is still an ocean away from you.

And you’re not a strong swimmer. The water’s were rocky, were vicious, and if you dared to try and backstroke to his side of the water, you’d surely drown. He had to come to you.

You’re praying he comes to you. Eyes tightly screwed shut, still resembling a ball on his old couch.

Please reach out for me, your mind screams, please wake me up. Please tell me to come back to bed with you. Please tell me we can forget all the words said in the kitchen. Please, please, please.

You don’t know where the pleading comes from. But whatever gods and goddesses may exist, whatever higher power in the Universe that would normally ignore you, hears out your silent pleas.

His hand is warm when he first grabs your shoulder.

It’s not rough, surprisingly gentle as fingertips press into your clothed skin and the first shake comes. It’s hardly enough to rouse a truly sleeping person. And Eddie realizes this as the second shake is a bit more firm, moving you a little more with a soft whisper of, “Hey, wake up.”

The command isn’t as harsh as you’re used to from him. It’s crushed velvet, smoothing over your skin like the blanket you’d previously pondered for, making the guilt begin to deflate. A slow release of air and the accompanying feelings of dishonesty and disloyalty leaves your chest weathered when his next whisper comes not only louder, but closer.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get up,” he insists, but all you care about is his cologne. He never changed it from that first night. Always something warm, always something spiced. And you hate it, because it’s still the feeling of coming home from a long week, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

That makes your sleeping facade crack. Your lips betray you - one twitch, and Eddie knows you’re awake, pressing you to roll onto your back.

“I know you’re awake now. Let’s go,” you can hear the dimples in his tone. You can picture the lazy smile, the shining eyes. With your eyes closed, you can pretend you never had to meet mean Eddie. When you’re not looking at him, it’s almost as if the man you initially met still exists, to have and to hold, to make inside jokes with as you let the scenery around the two of you fade to black.

You crack your eyes back open to find him looking down at you just as you’d expected, but not nearly with as much mischief or mirth as you had craved.

The Eddie you first met is gone. He’s not coming back, and you can’t live with your eyes closed. Hell, maybe he had drowned in that ocean between you two as well.

Maybe if you took the leap, just attempted to take on the waves, you’d meet him somewhere at the bottom of it all.

“I thought you said you’d carry me?” you tease.

His hand. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his palm is still searing you. You couldn’t pull away from its burn if you tried.

“I’d carry you if I had to,” he corrects, “You’re awake, therefore, I don’t have to.”

“I don’t know. I think my legs may be broken.”

Eddie says your name firmly. It takes you off guard, momentarily distracts you from the way he squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you out here.”

You decide against putting up any further fight. You’re just happy he’s talking to you again. How odd and peculiar that feeling is.

You rise from the couch and take him in. He’s no longer in his jeans, having traded out his earlier day clothes for something more comfortable. A pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, one or two sizes too big with the drawn string pulled to its limit and tied into a knot. He’s wearing a faded band shirt, loved in every way possible: it’s been cut along the bottom to shorten it in length, several holes torn along the torso and in the neck hole, the once black fabric now a stormy shade of grey far darker than the sweatpants. There’s a logo across the chest, peeling away at the edges.

“Deftones?” you ask, squinting to make out the words written amongst the logo, “What is that? A band?”

He chuckles, almost in disbelief, before he realizes you’re serious, “Wait, you’ve really never heard of them?”

You shake your head, “No, are they any good?”

You’re still making no move to stand, Eddie towering over you as you tilt back to meet his gaze. The disbelief is morphing, ever changing, pulling in and out of his features like the sea against sand. Like the waves of his self-imposed ocean that taunts you. You only dig your toes into the sand, you only stand at a far enough distance to not get your feet wet yet. You’re not ready to dive in. You’re not brave enough yet.

His chuckle this time isn’t in disbelief.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re great. I can show you them later, if you just come to bed.”

The game of teasing and begging is over, and you refuse to push your luck. He’s talking to you. Normally. You finally stand and shrug off that hand on your shoulder, finally trying to get your wits and not glance down at the waistband of his boxers.

“Okay, lead the way,” you gesture before spinning your upper body around with your feet planted in place, a soft crack coming from your back.

There’s no words exchanged in that brief walk to the bedroom; there’s nothing else to really say. The fight happened, Eddie locked you out, you’re both having to start from square one. The ocean still calls to you, and there’s nothing you can change about it.

His room is the same as it was hours ago, when you’d locked yourself into it. A little messy, a little boyish, but comforting all the same.

“A couple ground rules,” he finally breaks the silence. Oh, this oughta be good. “One, no more looking through my shit for…. Uh, magazines.”

“Trust me,” you hold up a hand in defeat, “Learned my lesson the first time. You can keep your gross Playboys.”

His brows wrinkle in minute irritation, “Gross? They’re not gro- You know what? Whatever. Yeah. Stay away from my gross playboys. Second rule, I have enough pillows we can make a… wall, I guess?”

You have to bite back your amusement, you have to remind yourself of the roar of an ocean. Maybe if you taste the salt on your lips again, you’ll remember that this is all temporary.

“Sounds good to me,” you agree.

“Obviously that means staying on your side of the bed. And it’s not a big bed, obviously, so-”

“What side of the bed do you prefer?”

“Excuse me?”

He’s dumbfounded despite the question not being a hard one. “The bed – which side do you prefer?”

“I, uh, I-” he brings a hand up to the back of his neck, a nervous habit as he rubs his curls that are matted at the nape, “The left, I guess? Or I mean, if we’re looking down at it, it’d be the right, but…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the side he’s referring to, the one closest to the wall, “You know.”

A nervous Eddie is a sight to behold. The fidgeting, the flush of his neck and cheeks, the stuttering sentences. He’s nervous about sharing a bed with you.

“Perfect,” you offer a smile, although you don’t think it does much for him considering he’s looking down at the ground in bashfulness, “I prefer the right side. I just refer to them by left or right when you’re laying down, by the way.”

You don’t have to add that tidbit – you don’t need to reassure him that your mind works in the same way as his in the slightest. But you do, and the red of his cheeks lightens.

“Cool,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” you echo.

The awkwardness can be afforded as the two of you straighten out the comforter, not needing to focus on shaking hands or fluttering chests as Eddie climbs in first and begins to rearrange his spare pillows as a barrier. His sweatpants slip down a bit lower as he does this, and you catch sight of the band of his boxers.

The band of his boxers pressing into the jut of his hips. The streak of alabaster, soft and unmarked unlike his arms, and the coarse patch of hair that interrupts the center of it all.

“Have you ever considered getting hip tattoos?” you blurt out, and immediately, you both freeze.

You really need to learn to think before you speak.

“Uh… what?” Eddie chuckles nervously, presenting an opportunity to redeem yourself.

He didn’t even have to catch you staring. You’d outed yourself.

And yet, you choose to double down, to take the embarrassment in stride as if it doesn’t phase you, “Hip tattoos. Have you ever thought about getting some? I think they’d be pretty sick.”

Your self-destruction pays off when Eddie smiles up genuinely at you. Sugar coated sweetness, a bit of authentic amusement.

“You’re right. They would be pretty sick.”

He should have mocked you for staring at his hips. He should have taken the opportunity to embarrass you and run, but the tides are shifting between you two, and you keep taking two steps closer to his ocean. The sand only grows colder and colder the closer you get to the edge, and it has your mind reaming with the possibility of what it would feel like to recklessly dive in.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to say that again, this time into the microphone,” you make a fist, an invisible microphone in your grasp as you thrust it out towards Eddie.

He laughs. He laughs, and its reverb travels through the caverns of your chest. Suddenly, you’re sipping a watered down Amaretto Sour and his breath smells of Jack & Coke, and the lowlights of the room have become treacherous bar lighting as you lean into his shoulder, sitting side by side on bar stools.

The echoes still carry as he swats away your hand, eyes squinted with the mirth you’d be seeking out since he ‘woke’ you up, “Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, a funny idiot.”

“Oh, now you’re just pushing it too far.”

“Too far? I don’t think I’ve gone far enough.”

Why don’t we ever hang out? Why don’t we ever banter like this when out with the others?

It’s so easy, easy to continue to giggle as you turn out the bedroom light before crawling into bed with him, feeling his warmth radiating even through the pillows between the two of you. Pillows, oceans – they all have started to feel the same.

Once the two of you have settled, you on your side and Eddie on his back, a nicer sort of silence blankets you. It’s almost as soft as his voice when he woke you, almost the same type of crushed velvet if you don’t reach out to it. But if you were to touch it, brush your fingertips over the material with intention and inhibition, you’d find the roughness. Roughness that mimics sand amongst an ocean’s waves, a roughness that says there’s more to be spoken about.

“The bed’s nicer than the couch,” you speak out loud rhetorically, not necessarily to him, but to the coarseness. To the sand and to the fake velvet, “More comfortable.”

“I know,” he answers to fill the space. I know, meaning he’s slept on his couch.

It makes sense. It’s his couch. But your mind runs rampant with the scenarios. Did he discover this through afternoon naps after hard shifts? Or maybe after one too many night outs that ended in collapsing face first into the cushions because he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom?

You jump when he sits up suddenly, “Fuck.”

“What’s your problem?” you twist from your position of your back facing him, squinting into the darkness.

“The photo.”

“What photo?”

“Photo evidence, you idiot! We have to send a photo to those fuckers.”

You had nearly forgotten that this is what this is; your friends and a bet are the pushing force behind this all. It’s not fate, it’s not the moon bringing two tides together. You didn’t happen upon his beach because you two decided to give this, whatever this was, a fighting chance.

You sit up next to him, crinkling your nose, “My phone’s in the living room, I think.”

“I can go get it.”

An offer of chivalry you didn’t even have to ask for.

Same as him sharing the bed. Same as him paying for your meal when you forget your wallet, or catching you when you trip up steps outside a bar. You really wish the list would stop growing.

He’s shuffling out of the bed, down the line of pillows and off the end of it, before you can even protest. You didn’t even tell him where the godforsaken phone might be besides that it’s in the living room. That doesn’t stop him.

It feels like an eternity, but is probably no more than a full minute, before he’s returning back to the room. He’s looking down at the phone, your screen lit up and basking his face in the only light in the room.

“What is it?” you can only assume the chat is messaging for a photo, by the scrunch of his brows and the small part of his lips.

“Nothing.”

That was the first thing that made your stomach drop.

The second comes when he returns to the bed, fighting his way up into his original position, handing the phone over to you as you glance at the notifications.

A notification from Steve. A private message, not sent in the groupchat.

STEVE-O: i’m sorry, i really don’t know what happened that night. the others won’t tell me either so they’re kind of useless. whatever it was, i don’t think it was you, though, honey.

Honey. Mother fucking Steve Harrington, and his need to use nicknames.

“All good?” Eddie asks, as if he didn’t just have access to this message, as if he doesn’t know what Steve’s said. You don’t know why the thought of Eddie seeing Steve’s careless nickname throws you over the edge. You just assume he’ll take it out of context, that he’ll spin it as a weapon against you.

“Fine,” you curtly reply, opening your phone and ignoring the message, going straight to the group chat and opening your camera. Your heart is still racing in terrible inconvenience as you glance over your shoulder at him, “How do we wanna take it this time?”

“I don’t know about you, but I personally just love to take it laying down-”

“Are you trying to make a sexual innuendo right now? Because if so, stop. It’s terrible.”

More giggles, more chuckles, more taunting waves of a daunting ocean that is scaring you less and less. Maybe the jump is worth it. Maybe the initial chill will break and show you warmth. Maybe it would never be cold to begin with.

At least he’s teasing you, which is a good sign. You lay down in the same position as earlier, this time Eddie propping himself up to peek over the wall of pillows so his face is in the picture.

It’s too dark to really see your faces very clearly. You can still make them out, to be fair, but it’s hard. You have to strain your eyes quite a bit to make out the mess of your hair and the indents of Eddie’s dimples.

Eddie’s dimples. His dimples. Oh God, he’s smiling.

“Turn on the flash,” he reaches over, invades your space with boy and spice and nostalgia to tap on the screen himself and do as he had just requested.

“What was the point of telling me to do it, if you were just going to do it yourself,” you grumble, trying to yank the phone out of his reach. He only leans further, pressing into the boundary of pillows, his collarbone knocking against the back of your shoulder.

Warmth. So, so much warmth. It occurs to you that it’s not just the smell of his cologne that feels like a long week’s homecoming; his touch and presence can manage to do the same, when he’s not being a pest of course.

“Shut up and take the photo,” he bickers before giving up and settling back into his pose. He even adds to it, throwing up a peace sign with the hand not holding him up.

You can’t help but tease him for it, mimicking the motion with your own hand and failing at holding back your tittering. When you tap the button to take the photo, the screen flashes white and you both immediately groan before rubbing your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Wow, bright idea.”

“Was that a pun?” Eddie stops mid eye rub, side-eyeing you, “Fuck off. That was a terrible pun.”

“I never said my puns were good!” you try to defend yourself, blinking to bring relief to your scorned irises and focus on the photo of the two of you, “I said my jokes were good.”

“Puns are jokes.”

You completely ignore him, and instead sigh deeply when you see the photo, “We need to retake it. No flash, this time. They can adjust brightness on their own time.”

The photo is terrible, truly. The photo captures the moment somewhere between your enjoyment of copying Eddie and the pain the two of you had brought upon yourselves. Squinty eyes, coiled lips. Two peace signs of two drastically differently sized hands.

Don’t you dare, you scorn your mind at that trail of thought, don’t even start that comparison.

“Why?” Eddie protests, once again beginning to lean over and take a closer look at your phone, chest brushing your shoulder again, “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine – just send it so we can sleep before they bother us again.”

You just shake your head, already reopening the camera app and being sure to adjust the settings. No blinding this photo.

“Say cheese, pretty boy.”

It’s not until you’ve tapped to take the photo that you both realize what you’ve said.

Pretty boy.

Eddie is leaning in still, just as he is in the photo you’ve taken, and both of you look far too happy to be sharing a bed. The words – the nickname, the compliment – are still formed on your lips in it. If the flash was on again, you’d see the blush of his reaction.

Neither comment on it. You won’t lean into your embarrassment for a second time tonight, and Eddie isn’t in the business of teasing you cruelly anymore, it seems.

You can hear him swallow hard before he asks, “Is that one good?”

“Fine,” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Um, yeah, it’s good. I sent it.”

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

The awkwardness is stifling. Heavy and drowning and goddamn stifling.

You toss your phone far too quickly onto his nightstand, wishing the bed would swallow you whole.

If you two were friends, it would have been mindless teasing. The same as when Steve calls you honey, or Robin rambles about how hot you look on a night out. But you two aren’t friends.

You two aren’t friends because of some mysterious change that occurred in Eddie while you went to the bathroom. You haven’t forgotten the burning question, and the longer you two lay there, the more you let it consume you rather than regret.

“Hey, Eddie? Can I ask you a question?”

He’s laying flat on his back as he answers you, hands nervously wringing on his stomach, “You just did, but sure.”

It should be a good thing. He’s still teasing you, it’s still a good thing. But all your questions die in your throat.

What happened when I went into the bathroom that first night?

Why did you turn so cold towards me?

Was it my fault?

Why aren’t we friends?

The last one doesn’t go down without a fight. It reverberates and battles you, it tries to pull you into the ocean head first.

Why aren’t we friends?

“Do you still drive a motorcycle?”

That sure was a funny way of asking what you needed to.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly puzzled by your random question, but nevertheless he says, “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.”

You’re picturing him stalking away from you again, without so much as a goodbye, straddling the bike and tucking his head away into the motorcycle. The last glimpse you’d ever had of everything he could have been to you. It’s enough to make your eyes water, your bones shake, your toes curl into coarse sand until they bleed.

The next time you hear his voice, he’s whispering your name. You don’t respond, and so he tries it again, saying it a bit louder this time.

“I know you’re not asleep. No one can fall asleep that quickly.”

“I can,” you snap, still choking on his waves and personal mourning, a yearning you need to find the grave of once more to bury – for good this time.

“Clearly, you can’t,” he shuffles, but you don’t check to see if he’s sitting up. (He’s not, he feels like his back is glued to the bed). His voice is back to crushed velvet and kindness, vulnerability and softness, a sort of home you can never return to, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

That piques your interest. You turn, laying on your back and looking at the same ceiling as him in that moment, “For what? Earlier in the kitchen? Or at the bar?” you feel his flinch, and are quick to add, “Because consider it water under the bridge, okay? You’re forgive-”

“I mean for everything. I’m sorry for… everything.”

Everything. Ten letters, four syllables. It means a whole lot more than it should be capable of.

“Everything?” your voice is hardly audible as you turn to look at him. He’s half hidden by the wall put between the two of you. But if you squint, if you adjusted the brightness, you wonder if you’d see his eyes shining with the same remorse yours burn with. You wonder if you’d see the dirt caked under his nails from also digging up graves he shouldn’t have tonight.

“Everything.”

Ten letters, four syllables, one leap of faith. The ocean isn’t as cold as you’d thought it would be.

—

BIRDIE is typing…

DINGUS: i swear to god rob. if you’re not about to tell me what the fuck i did that night, you better lock your phone and just go to bed.

BIRDIE stops typing.

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #i gotta stop with the metaphors lol #i know it would notify them that robin stops typing but i think it'd be so funny to watch her lil bubble of dots disappear #robin was ready to scream about them sharing a bed

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ipegchangbin · 5 months

Note

ipegchangbin, in the years since our last night together (lovely night by the way), i’ve reminisced often.

lovers, bodies touching on park benches, bated breath, curious hands. remember the orchard where you clutched my youth? the warm nights with love in our eyes? the grapefruit moon, the red fish in the water, your perfume, my last gift to you; a simple blushed peach. it all seems shortsighted now but i hold it close to my heart.

anyways, i had a dream the other day i had to lock myself in the bathroom during a holiday to jerk off non stop and i just couldn’t cum no matter how hard i tried, it was more like a nightmare.

can we discuss sweet changbin waking up in tears with ruined underwear after such a dream, unwavering need to hump his lover’s body beside him and play with his pussy until your cock/hands/mouth/whatever you want, grants his unabating wish to cum and spray his sweet release everywhere, and then retreat back to honeyed slumber and saccharine dreams with a smile on his dearest sleeping visage, most innate cravings quenched into next week.

love,

your fruitcake.

beloved dai fruitcakebin,

i remember you. of course i do. how could i forget, love? whenever i see peaches, i think of you and the blessed hand that gifted it to me; yours, the scent of your person still lingering as i browse grocery aisles that aren’t the same as the night we spent together. who would i be to forget you?

now about your dream…

🏷️ sub!boypussy!changbin. dom!gn!reader. cunnilingus (changbin receiving).

as sweet as his dreams are, changbin can’t help himself as he’s glued to your warmth on the bed. in his head, all he sees is the impression of your teeth revealing themselves into a menacing smile as he’s held in his seat with no physical restraints; just you, your hands, unforgivingly fingering his pretty pink pussy.

it’s too much yet not enough, your fingers — undoubtedly yours, felt by the texture and length and width — curling inwards and outwards in a way that keeps changbin’s release so close yet so far. in his head, he wants to go; in reality, he simply humps your leg, whimpering slightly in his sleep.

he grunts in real life, but in his dreamscape he’s begging for you with no clear intention. he doesn’t want it to stop but he doesn’t want to keep going without cumming. you take notice of his sweet noises in your hazy slumber-turned-wake, firstly noticing the sensation of something wet on your thigh.

his cunt oozes cream and wetness as he nears his orgasm: you devilishly stop him from cumming as your fingers harshly pull out of his cunt.

changbin wakes up with a high pitched whimper.

“y/n,” he cries out gently, clutching onto your arm. “can’t sleep.”

“mmm, can’t sleep or can’t cum?” you respond.

changbin’s eyes widen before darting down to the mess he’s making on your leg. his precum seeps through his underwear and makes it down to your thigh. you could feel his cunt pulsating, aching with pure desire chasing for you.

so you clench your thigh, watching changbin writhe by your side.

“was i noisy?” he asks adorably.

“a little, but i don’t mind.”

you take a handful of changbin’s love handles, revealed by his ridden-up shirt, allowing him to inch closer to your warmth. he responds with a roll of his hips, beady eyes returning to his wet dream as he keeps going, but you allow him to use your body.

the thing is, you don’t allow him release.

as if he’s back to his dream, your fingers find his cunt again and you rub circles on his clit. the fat bud reacts instantly, quivering as he gushes his wetness onto you. a whine escapes his luscious lips, but he attempts to muffle the next moan by kissing your neck.

you laugh with closed eyes as you squeeze his hip with your free hand.

“my lovely changbin, did you dream of this?”

“yes…” changbin’s eyes tear up and sparkle.

“you didn’t cum, right?”

he nods, gulping.

“want me to make you cum?”

changbin clamps his needy legs around yours, squeezing his cunt right on top of your fingers. he waits impatiently for you to respond but you simply giggle.

“well, i’ll make you cum after i play with you for a bit, yeah?”

he whines but takes it obediently. you always love this about him: he remains a good boy even when he grows desperate and impatient. the contrast makes your heart jump, so you don’t mind when he asks for more. he’s too adorable, with his cheeks puffed, ears beet red, eyelashes wet with tears, and a cunt leaking and aching to be loved.

one finger pushes his underwear aside. you slip two fingers inside his pussy and changbin moans fully.

rolling his body to slot himself onto your curves, changbin resists the urge to grind onto your leg and hand. he whines your name with hitches in his breath. it’s only then that you notice how hard he grips your arm but it’s never enough to squeeze. he loves that you love him.

so you pump your fingers slowly into his cunt. a wet noise follows your calculated actions, the sound of sin echoing through the bedroom as changbin feels everything. he pulses on your cunt and gushes even in the smallest of strokes. it’s only two fingers, but the chub of his pussy lips sucks you into his tight walls in waves of pleasure.

“relax.” you slowly detach from changbin’s grasp, making him clench around your fingers to signal you to stop. you raise an eyebrow at him.

“changbin, i said relax.”

he instantly unclenches and a small flood of wetness follows. his arms loosen around your body, allowing you space to move as you wish.

“can i taste my binnie? wanna see your pretty pussy,” you suggest.

the taste of his cunt is a drug that you can’t get enough of. it’s a taste that’s savory and sweet, only enhanced by the look of his folds against the curls of his pubic hair. his pussy lips are sensitive to the point that kitten licks get him to cum, and his clit appears only once he’s aroused enough — much like a flower blooming. he’s so gorgeous and he tastes like heaven.

so you motion yourself down on him, opening his legs, slotting your mouth on top of his pussy.

“y/n!” this time, he fully cries. “please! i’ll cum!”

“isn’t that what you want?” you ask, leaning your cheek against his thigh. “i’ll give it to you if you give yourself to me.”

changbin sniffs back his next cry, opting to nod in response. at that, your tongue immediately licks a stripe down his cunt. changbin instinctively closes his legs, caging your head onto his pussy.

he cums a little bit once your tongue licks back up and finds his clit, but neither of you think nothing of it once your lips attach onto it and suck.

he writhes, whining your name, one hand holding the pillow behind his head while the other grabs you by your hair. he’s still gentle with it but he pulls you closer onto his cunt, letting you savor the taste of his leaking cum while you keep going. the ache only gets worse when you cup his inner thigh with one hand, while two fingers of his other hand find his needy hole again.

guiding themselves back, his tight hole reopens for you as you pump two fingers in with the same speed in which you suck his clit. changbin’s tears fall down his heated cheeks as you fuck his wetness and cum in and out. you slowly add one more digit into his tight hole, the difference making it tighter. changbin wails and squirms lightly, soft belly bouncing as he rolls his hips onto your head.

release builds and builds until it almost explodes — your mouth pops out of his clit.

“cum all over my mouth binnie.”

you lick his cunt once, twice. then your fingers curl to his limit, then his sweet spot, then before you know it, he squirts.

shock washes over changbin as he sprays his release onto your mouth and hand. even the sheets beneath you both get wet. but before apologies reel in, you lick up his release and finger his cunt more until he creams this time.

at this point, changbin’s a sobbing mess.

he wails for comfort only to be greeted by a kiss on the cunt and a hug around his belly.

“did so good for me,” you say, licking your lips.

the warmth of your body hugging him calms changbin. his breath stabilizes slightly as you pat his hips. you readjust your position after a minute passes, just you and him slowing your adrenalines down.

you invite changbin to hug you in the same position you both started, only now, you both are messes that smell like sweat, cum, and love.

another minute goes by and changbin snores, drooling on your chest, cum oozing out of his pussy as he returns to deep, satisfied slumber.

#sub!skz #sub!stray kids #skz smut #sub!changbin #💌 ipeginbox #💬 z is writimg #<3 fruitcakebin

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cannedpickledpeaches · 7 months

Text

Insert Your Name (1)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: I wanted to write something that simultaneously includes some fun Jade moments as well as my own thoughts on some tropes. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

You’ve known the truth for a while—that this world exists inside a story. This is a world that revolves around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around you exists to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world is created for “(Y/N).”

You are Friend A. Friend A is a foolish girl who puts (Y/N) into a dangerous situation, involving her with the mafia. (Y/N) is saved by a tall, dark, and brooding man who turns out to be a mafia boss. They will face dangers in the underworld until all threats are eliminated, and then they will live out the rest of their lives in blissful peace as though they are good people. Friend A is never mentioned again after page two.

You are Friend A. You are aware of that.

So why don’t you break out of your role in this story? Why should you play your part instead of using this knowledge to change the flow of the plot?

Simply because the plot is beneficial to you.

You are Friend A. You are a core member of the Leech Mafia. When (Y/N) enters the mafia, her actions flick the first domino of a long chain of events, eventually leading to the prosperity of the Leech family and expanding their influence. Because no matter what, this story caters to (Y/N)’s livelihood.

And why should you interfere with something that will eventually pay out big for you?

There she is now, coming down the street with a smile. Her indistinct hair is in a messy bun that she always throws together in seconds. Her pants emphasize her incredibly tiny waist, and her eyes sparkle with the light of constellations when she sees you. A light blush dusts her cheeks even though she doesn’t wear makeup, and she passes all the people captivated by her on the sidewalk, oblivious to their stares, because she doesn’t believe in her innate beauty and charisma—the beauty and charisma that the story says she has.

“Oh, there you are!” Her voice, clear and sweet, rings out to you. You wave back, just as you are supposed to. “You said you wanted to get sweets from the bakery that just opened, right? I’m so excited. I love sweets! I saved up some money just for this.”

A dialogue line full of exposition. You nod and lead the way.

“Have you seen their Magicam posts? The cakes are so pretty.”

Her giggles chime like bells. “I think the strawberry one is the cutest!”

Your small talk has little to no substance. It exists only to pass the time. To be honest, you don’t mind. If this were any normal day, you would have enjoyed this. You would have visited that bakery with (Y/N), gone home with a strawberry tart, checked up on the ledgers for the mafia, and slept while fed and content. But today is the inciting incident of the story, and you have your part to play.

A dark alleyway is where these things always take place in stories. Four men smoking and muttering ominously to themselves lean against a brick wall, hidden in shadow. Their eyes follow your every step. You make sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk so that (Y/N) passes by the alley. As expected, their hands shoot out and grab her arm.

“Hey, you there.” One of the thugs licks his chops. “Got a minute to spare, pretty thing?”

Generic “bad guy” dialogue. Of course, he’s talking to (Y/N). You don’t need to do anything yet except make sure the pieces are in place. A flutter of black fabric in the corner of your vision assures you that the main lead is ready and waiting.

“Get your hands off me!” (Y/N) struggles against his much stronger grip to no avail. The men pull us into the alleyway and corner us against a dumpster. Tasteful.

“Don’t be so harsh.” Another thug whose voice scrapes like glass shards to the ears grabs your shoulder. You don’t shrug him off. Right now, your role is to lay low and let the main character shine. “We just wanna show you a good time.”

“You can fuck right off! And don’t touch my friend.” (Y/N) shows off her generically headstrong personality now. She probably thinks that she should protect you. You are Friend A, without any special characteristics, a piece of cannon fodder that cannot do anything on your own. Even though (Y/N) doesn’t consciously think that way, this is how she perceives the world. She is not wrong for doing so—she’s being sweet, in the way that she is designed to be.

You don’t have anything to do while she shoots off her scathing remarks, so you take your time to observe the thugs. Just as the story you read describes, these men come from an easily identifiable rival mafia. All four have a tattoo of a handsaw on their bodies—the symbol of the Carpenter Mafia, the current major group in the Queendom of Roses. Common soldiers, no doubt. Not anyone of importance . . . yet.

Thug Number One brings your attention back to the conversation by yanking on your hair. It hurts a little. Irritating, but you can bear with it. (Y/N) looks outraged.

“How about this? Since you’re so determined to save your friend, I’ll let her go if you give yourself to us.” He continues with his harassment by grabbing your cheeks with his grimy fingers. You inhale deeply and immediately regret it due to the smell of his breath. Your mind urges you to refrain from giving him a nice fist to the face. Not just from his treatment of you, but also from his gross proposition to (Y/N). Despite your respective roles in this story, she is still your friend. Hearing him throw those slimy words at her leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

(Y/N) puts up a struggle. “I won’t give you anything!”

“Do you think you’re in a position to make demands?”

She hesitates, looking at you with conflicting emotions warring on her features. Takes a deep breath, just as the story says she would. Then, with a wavering voice and a tough façade, she agrees.

You take your cue to run from the alleyway, abandoning her the way Friend A is meant to do. You don’t have to worry. After all, the thugs won’t be able to do anything before the male lead steps in and saves her.

There isn’t much time to waste until you get an update on the story. You hail a taxi to a neighbourhood by the sea. You tip the driver handsomely, bid him a good day, then walk another block before arriving at a mansion. There’s nobody here to greet you except the security guards at the front gates.

You scan the trees. Looks like he’s in a good mood. When he’s upset, he doesn’t usually climb. He hasn’t noticed you yet—his back is turned, his head buried in a particularly thick patch of leaves, and you’re downwind.

“Floyd!”

He turns so suddenly that you’re worried he’ll get whiplash. A grin lights up his face, and without a single reservation, he jumps right off the tree and lands smoothly on your side of the fence surrounding one of the Leeches' many properties. The sun shines across his handsome, sharp features. Of course, the twin brother of the male lead must be gorgeous in accordance with the axioms that govern this world.

“Handfish, how was it? Did Jade meet her?” Even though you are Friend A in this story, to Floyd, you are just his friend. He hasn’t given you a generic nickname like the “minnows” that he calls the family’s soldiers and staff. To him, you are an individual who is interesting enough to grant a personal nickname. Even if that nickname is “Red Handfish.”

“Yeah, he did. I saw his blazer.” You think back to the black fabric you saw before entering the alley. “I bet he’s doing the whole ‘I can’t let you live’ conversation with her.”

In the story, one of the thugs reveals Jade’s identity as a mafia boss in front of (Y/N) before he passes out. How a common foot soldier of the Carpenter mafia can recognize Jade, whose face is kept classified from lower-ranked members of the underworld, is worrying enough to warrant investigation. This could simply be a result of poor writing from the original plot, but you are also an example of the original story’s loose ends. If someone like you, who was meant to disappear after page two, can still have any significance and will instead of vaporizing immediately after you left that alley, then you can’t be too careful.

“Bet he’s being real smooth with it.” Floyd cackles, his raspy laugh reminding you of a chain smoker after five consecutive packs. “She’s gonna fall for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Of course. We’re talking about Jade.” Even under regular circumstances, he’s charming enough to lure any poor, unsuspecting fool to their demise. “They’re going to come here any minute now. Let’s go inside.”

You pass the security guards and enter the Leech property. A perfectly paved ground with colourful stones and not a weed in sight. A marble fountain surrounded by neat, rectangular hedges. And of course, the enormous white mansion with huge double doors, which in turn have proportionally huge fancy glass windows. For (Y/N) to have a “perfect” ending, the world must allow her to escape her current life of scrimping and saving by marrying her into a wealthy family.

“I wonder what the little minnow looks like.” Floyd hums, sauntering into the living room. “I bet she’d break easily if I squeezed real hard, huh?”

“Don’t do that.” The two of you sit on a velvet couch. Floyd’s long limbs sprawl out and take up the majority of the space. You settle on the far end. “And are you going to keep calling her a minnow?”

“Dunno, haven’t met her yet.”

“She’s very pretty. When you meet her, I’m sure you’ll get the feeling that there’s something special about her.”

The story emphasizes how much Floyd adores (Y/N). She is supposed to become a sort of mood stabilizer for him, keeping him consistently happy in her presence. You wonder if that will actually happen. Floyd can and will throw tantrums around people he holds dear. His mood that flips at the drop of the hat seems difficult to stabilize on just affection alone.

He shrugs non-committedly. Just as you’re about to suggest a nickname he could use, your phone buzzes.

Five minutes away. Jade’s text is short and to the point. You stand and stretch, getting ready to play Peeping Tom.

“Remember, don’t say anything about the original plot, okay?” Floyd’s unpredictable nature worries you. You know that your reminder won’t do much if Floyd decides it would be fun to spill the beans anyway, but you can’t help yourself.

“I know, I know.” He frowns and waves you off. Laughing, you move to the room across the hall. He hates being told what to do, but he’s in a good mood right now. It won’t be a problem.

The front door creaks open. Through a crack in the door, you watch Jade carry (Y/N) in his arms like a princess and set her down on the couch. Smooth, easy, efficient, the way he likes to do everything. Even though you know he is acting, his movements, the soft look in his eyes, are almost believable to you. And you’ve known him for fifteen years. There’s an odd stirring in your chest. Guilt? Envy? You tamp it down.

For a fraction of a second, you swear you make eye contact with him. If he notices you, he doesn’t show it. He seems to redouble his efforts on acting sweet to (Y/N). It might just be your imagination.

Floyd pokes around at the two of them the way he always does when he’s curious about something new. His grating laugh fills the air while Jade bandages a scrape on her knee. Good, the scene is going exactly as described in the story. (Y/N)’s first colourful and memorable experience with her future family. Her new family must be fun, rich, kind to her, and love her unconditionally no matter the circumstances. Her new family has to be better in every way compared to her current one—a mother who passed away at childbirth and a scummy father who neglects her. For an author, these are simply lazy ways to give her a tragic backstory and simultaneously pretend her parents don’t exist for the rest of the story because they don’t add to the romance.

How horrible. How could a late mother and neglectful father not affect a person? How could they simply be written off as another thing the male lead “saves” her from? And for that matter, how can the author casually write in a scene where she is cornered by adult men who are physically far stronger than her, who harass her and make disgusting comments, just so she can meet the male lead? How can they just pretend that won’t lead to any trauma?

You know firsthand how (Y/N) lives her life, because despite the story labeling you as the disposable Friend A, you genuinely have been her friend for the past year. You’ve seen her live on plain rice porridge for days to cut grocery costs. You’ve seen her wear clothes until they are threads because she can’t afford to buy new ones. Oh, but isn’t it wonderful that she’s skinny and looks good in everything?

What a load of bullshit.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twst fanfic #floyd leech #twst jade #(y/n)'s the main character but you aren't her #slow burn #you're gonna have to read some plot #before you get to the fluff #this is actually just my excuse to write something sort of meta

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

Leona, Floyd: Feud within the Family

They caught him mid-yawn in the initial art 😭 I SAID THIS TO SOME FRIENDS (not even in a thirsty way, just a casual comment) AND THEY INSTANTLY JUMPED ON ME OTL (if any of them are reading this, yes, I am calling your asses OUT for bullying/j)

I thought the Groovy was of Mufasa, Sarabi, and baby Simba but apparently it’s adult Simba, Nala, and their daughter, Kiara?? 😭 Most animated lions look the same to me, so I never would have caught that… Anyway, L*ona looks absolutely unhinged and super smug there… Bro looks like he’s talking down to someone groveling at his feet for mercy—

A Tale as Old as Time.

"Heeeeeey~"

Leona turned away from the call. Cool, nonchalant—theoretically, anyway.

"Heeey."

He pretended to be absorbed in a stone bust of the King of Beasts. The meddling source of the sound (unfortunately) followed him, much as he tried to shunt it out of his ears.

Leona sighed deeply.

Aaaah, what a pain in the ass. I’m really not in the mood for seafood.

"HEY."

A growl threaded through Floyd’s voice as he stomped over, thrusting his face into Leona’s. The lion beastman groaned. He recognized that fire in Floyd’s eyes all too well.

Determination.

“Quit runnin’ away and fight me already,” Floyd gruffly demanded.

He had been tailing Leona all day, pelting him with the same challenge over and over—alas, to no avail. Now he had the third year boxed in a dark, isolated corner. Floyd gleefully gnashed his teeth, raring to go for a scrap.

He won’t take a regular old ‘no’ for an answer. If it’s come to this then…

He’d lead his pursuer off the beaten path.

“Hmph, how rude,” Leona grunted, at last granting the eel his attention. “Can’t a man appreciate the arts without being accosted? I’d rather not be bothered while I’m in the middle of browsing.”

“You? An art aficionado?” Floyd scoffed in disbelief. “Fat chance, Sea Lion-senpai. You’ve never been into that stuff. It’s not nice to lie to your juniors like that.”

“Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Leona drawled, his voice as smooth as liquid velvet. He took to telling untruths so easily, it was an innate skill. “I’m a prince with refined taste. Can’t you tell I’m over the moon and stars to be at this exhibition?”

Floyd deadpanned. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up just like Jellyfish-chan.”

“Nonsense. I’m absolutely thrilled. In fact, i can hardly contain my excitement. It’s taking every ounce of my energy to not talk my classmates’ ears off about the illustrious history of Sunset Savanna.”

“Yeah? Prove it, then.”

Tch. Should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Leona grimaced internally.

He was careful to maintain his relaxed poise as he gestured to the painting that was mounted along the wall. “Take a look at that.”

“Huh, what is it?”

Underneath a cornflower sky and thin, cottony clouds, was a red-maned lion and his lioness. Between them, a mandrill cradled a wide-eyed cub. The composition made it clear: it was a painting of a family.

“One of the great kings of the past,” Leona simpered, irony oozing from his every word, “and one of the great kings of the future, if that furball is anything to go by. The parents must cherish their child a great deal. Spoiled and pampered like that… surely the cub will make for a splendid ruler.”

“Ehehehe~ You sound so salty there, Sea Lion-senpai.” Floyd leaned closer, taunting him. “Reciting sappy stories like that don’t suit you.”

“So I’ve been told.” Leona folded his arms and snorted. When he beheld the painting, disgust and envy curled in the pit of his stomach. “… Reminds me of my brother. His life’s always been one big fairy tale—and now he’s got a wife and a kid of his own.”

“Heh. So Sea Lion-senpai definitely feels like the odd one out.”

Leona glared at his junior. “… You don’t have a lick of tact, do you?”

“Ahahah!” Floyd cackled, all too carefree. “What’re you so mad about? ‘S not a bad thing.”

Leona watched him with a wary eye. Floyd paced lazily, as though he were a lion himself. Stewing in the shade, waiting for his next meal to skitter into his waiting paw.

“Who wants to fit in with family? That’s boring. It’s better to just do what you want and be yourself. Don’t sweat the small stuff.

“I hate it when people say Jade and I are the same or they mix us up. Jade’s Jade and I’m me. Two different people.”

“I’m sure your dear brother would shed a tear hearing you talk like that.”

Floyd just shrugged. “I don’t get it. You wanna be like that? It’d be weird.”

“But it’s not about fitting in,” he wanted to snap. “It’s about wanting to shine, to stand out, to be seen. For that moment out of the shadows and basking in the sun.”

They look at me, but they don’t see me.

They never will.

People played in the daytime while sleeping through the lovely night. In the savanna governed by the sun, shadows were scorned and casted aside.

Leona’s throat dried. The moisture gone, as if hungrily devoured by his King’s Roar.

He forced his voice to come again, snarky and sarcastic.

“Hmph, I never said that. You slimy bunch grew up at the bottom of the sea, where the light cannot touch. I’d think you understand what it’s like clawing and kicking and fighting every day to survive.”

And just barely making it out in one piece.

His hand drifted toward the scar over his left eye.

“… Anyway, I wasn’t askin’ for your advice. You should stick to annoying that octopunk.” Leona smirked. Again, concealing. “Keep it in the ‘family’, you know.”

Floyd stared at him intently. Then he let out a burst of laughter. “You’re a riot, Sea Lion-senpai! I don’t even feel light fighting you anymore. It’s just as fun to shoot the shit with ya.”

“That so? You flatter me. Surely there are better conversationalists in Octavinelle, with all those silver tongues.” Leona made a shooting motion with his hands. “You should run back to your school of fish to compare.”

Another fit of sporadic giggles. When they, at last, died down to an eerie quiet, Floyd’s whisper was as loud as a shout in a cavern.

“At the end of the day… we’re both beings that lurk in the dark~”

Leona grunted. “… Who needs the light anyway?”

Deep down, he knew the truth.

It was him who needed that light the most.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Floyd Leech #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Leona birthday takeover #something no one asked for #spoilers

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vaspider · 1 year

Note

How many of these far-right nut jobs attacking trans people believe the shit they spew and how many of them actually know that trans women, drag queens, HRT and queer education are all safe for kids and just don’t care?

I think there's a fundamental disconnect between the question that you ask and the answer.

They don't think that being gay is "safe," or that being trans is "safe," at all. Let's get that out of the way up front:

To the kind of person who spends their time attacking trans people, regardless of whether they do it for political expediency or out of a truly deeply held belief, being queer is a fail state for a person. If you are queer, these people think that you are failed. Fully. End of story. You might be a pitiable failure that they can pat on the head and feel good about patting on the head, because they're taking pity on you in your state of disgrace and failure and definitely going to hell, but they think you are a failure as a human being. Whatever else you do, you are a failed person. You could cure cancer and solve world hunger -- not that they actually want those things to happen either, because Evangelicals really believe that the world has to be a total shitheap for their messiah to return -- and you'd still be a failed person.

There is no "being trans" that is "safe," because ideologically, to them, the status of being queer in any fashion is unsafe, it is indicative of failure. You cannot have a 'safe' transition to them.

It's such an utterly broken mindset that it's really hard to convey it to anybody who hasn't lived in that culture or really had to wrestle with it. Asking 'how many of them know it is safe' is like asking 'how many fish breathe air.' By default, the answer is zero, because queerness to them is so completely anathema that there can't be a 'safe' in this situation.

How many of them are that kind of ideologue? A pretty high percentage, honestly. It's a very easy bigotry to carry; it requires pretty much no work. Thinking that another person's innate qualities make them a failure in a way that automatically makes you better than them is a very seductive mindset. "This person is trans, that is a failure, therefore, I am better than them," that kind of mindset means that even the most mediocre dude can feel good about himself simply by not being transgender. Like, seriously, think of the most mediocre transphobe you can think of, and then realize that he thinks he's better than you just because he's cis. Why would he ever challenge or question that thought, that maybe he's the failure and you're just living your best life?

So like... when you realize that homophobia and transphobia are an easy key to feeling better about a shitty life, and that queer people make a handy political cudgel, it's pretty clear that the answer is that 'all of them believe it,' it's just a question of whether they believe it because of religion, or because of political expediency, or because it's the only thing that gives a sense of superiority within a life otherwise devoid of achievement.

But yeah, they think that being queer at all is a fail state for a person, rather than one of the myriad manifestations of human diversity and beauty, so.

#trans stuff #answers

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azsazz · 10 months

Text

Change Your Ticket (Part 5)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,541

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Notes: ugh. i don't like this one.

_________________________________________

“What?”

There’s no way she just said what you think she said. You wouldn’t be able to hear it with the pounding of your heart and your blood rushing through your ears, you can’t even decipher her next words as the floor falls from your feet.

How would she know that? You pride Mor on her innate ability to find out most information about almost anyone, she’s like a secret agent sometimes. Once, when Feyre had had told you and Mor that her sister Elain was to be engaged to a man no one in her family liked, Mor spent two nights digging into his socials and finding out everything she could about the bastard. To this day, Elain still doesn’t know who it was that sent her those anonymous screenshots and photos of him with another woman.

But right now, you don’t think it’s possible for Mor to have found something out like this. You and Cassian have been so careful, to the extend where you’d been a little paranoid even, always checking your surrounding and planning the times you and him meet up down to the second. You’re anal as fuck about it, but it’s worked for eight months. So why isn’t it working right now?

“I know you don’t want me to repeat myself,” Mor huffs down the line, but her voice is all static, your ears ringing. Your phone is buzzing incessantly in your fingers and your arm is numb with it. You’re terrified to pull the device from your ear, not knowing who or what kind of messages you’re receiving right now.

The elevator rings, signaling its arrival to your floor, and the doors sliding open almost feel like a death sentence. On numb legs, you step forward and off the elevator, Mor’s voice still echoing in your head. You’re dating Cassian Bailey?

Bright flashes jolt you from your thoughts. Whipping your head to where the front entrance is located, you quint, holding your hand up to block some of the glare. Your stomach drops to the floor at the sight. A crowd of paparazzi wait outside, snapping pictures of you through the lobby’s clear windows.

Holy shit. This is real. This is really fucking happening.

You’re not prepared in the slightest. You don’t know what to do, your mind is racing with a thousand thoughts a second and the strobes coming from the front of your building blind you, leaving white spots in your vision, taking out another one of your senses. Mor is rambling on in your ear, shrill sounding, and if you could make out the words through your muddled mind, you figure she’s scolding you and feeling a bit betrayed by you keeping this a secret from one of your closest friends.

Outside, the people shout. Their words are muffled by the thick glass, but it only adds to the anxiety scorching your veins. The collar of your shirt tightens around your throat and your breathing turns shakey. You’re frozen to the spot, halfway out of the elevator, the doors trying to slide closed but your body against the sensor keeps them angrily pulling back open.

The people waiting for the elevator upstairs are probably pissed.

“Mor?” you ask, and she falls silent. You must not sound like yourself because Mor never lets anyone interrupt her. Ever.

“Yeah?” Her tone is cautious, obviously picking up the emotion—or lack thereof—in your tone.

“What’s going on?”

It’s the only thing you can think to say. Your mind is being hammered with thoughts and the bright lights trying to blind you aren’t helping in the slightest but your feet are frozen to the ground. You know you look like a deer in headlights and that you should move, force yourself to do anything besides stand here like a fool for them to get all of the pictures they want—

Your body surges into action, striding out of the elevator and turning down the hall, giving them your back. You can hear their pathetic pleas for you to turn around and walk their way, but you know better than that. They’re here for one thing and one thing only—to see exactly who Cassian Bailey is sticking his dick into.

Rumors and stories will be swirling by tonight. Your phone buzzes in your hand again and you’re sure these pictures are already up in the tabloids, social media, every inch of the internet they can reach. You wonder if Cassian’s seen any of it and then remember that he’s finishing up practice, so he won’t be by his phone to see all of this for at least another hour.

You’re all alone in this.

Mor sighs your name sadly, and your chest squeezes tight as you round a corner, putting a wall between you and the paparazzi. What she’s about to say isn’t going to be something that you want to hear, but maybe it will make it all the more real.

“There was a picture of you in the Morning Mail,” she explains, and your throat tightens. The Morning Mail is a stupid tabloid online that updates every morning. Most of the time it’s filled with silly stories of random acts of kindness or pranks gone wrong with the occasional post about the current celebrity gossip. You didn’t even know that many people followed the account. Mor does because she’s been on their feed a few times and it gained her thousands of followers overnight. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

You want to choke. You never leave the house in Cassian’s clothes; you make sure of that. You’ve been so careful all this time, parking down the street from his place when you visit, forcing him to take a car and get dropped off since people are surely tracking his personal license plates. You don’t sit with the other families in the stadium at the home games, and Cassian doesn’t even follow you on social media.

You’re wearing his shirt, you echo, wracking your brain for any chance you may have slipped up. Nothing comes to mind, and when you hang your head, it hits you full force; the t-shirt you’d stolen of his in your rush to avoid his more than cheeky attitude this morning. Distracted by his wandering hands, his charming smile, you’d shoved one of his on, tucking it into your slacks before rushing out the door.

“Fuck,” your voice wobbles, tears pricking your eyes and emotion thickening your throat. It’s a black fucking cotton t-shirt, and apart from the sheer size of it and how it hangs loosely from your body, you haven’t the slightest idea of how they know it’s his. But it is, and they know.

A quick glance around the corner has your heart stammering in your chest. The photographers look like a bunch of wild animals, climbing over each other trying to catch a glimpse of you. You pray that their flashes are reflecting off of the glass and ruining their photos, but surely, your luck has completely run out if this is how your Monday is going.

You need to get out of here, now.

“I’ve already called Feyre,” Mor says down the line, and you’re confused on why you weren’t the first call she’d made when she continues. “My attempts went right to voicemail, and I called you right back as soon as I let her know. We’re already on our way to your place but we can swing by if you want a ride?”

“Yeah, I—”

“(Y/N)?” Tarquin’s voice startles you as he peeks around the corner. His bleached brows are furrowed deeply, a frown painting his face when he catches the frazzled look on your face. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Ah, so he’s also seen the mass of crazies outside trying to capture a front cover photo of you.

You have a choice right now, to lie to your coworker and say that you have no idea what’s going on or who they’re trying to take pictures of, or confide in your best work friend who’s been with you since the start. Literally, you both started on the same day and have been inseparable since.

You choose the latter.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home?” you ask, holding your hand over the speaker of your phone while you talk to Tarquin. “It seems as though my car is surrounded by strangers.”

With a quick glance back in the direction to the front doors of the building, Tarquin agrees, tone hesitant and a little confused, but he’s gracious nonetheless. “Sure, I can do that. Let me bring my car around the back and I’ll pick you up there?”

You nod, thankful. “Yes, please. Thanks, Tarq, you’re the best.”

He smirks genuinely and you’d roll your eyes at his antics if you weren’t shaking down to the bone. With a wink, Tarquin makes his way through the crowd, and you can hear his cheerful voice as he shoved through the doors, obviously loving all of the attention.

“Mor?” you ask into your phone once he’s gone, “I’ve got a ride, just meet me at my place.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“So…are we going to talk about why all of those people were asking me about you and trying to get pictures?” Tarquin asks once you’ve successfully made it out into the busy traffic and away from the fleet of paparazzi surrounding your place of work.

Tarquin had picked you up at the back of the building and you all but dove into his car before any of the photographers could catch a glimpse of you. Your coworker had shoved a baseball cap in your direction, one with the Sealion’s logo on it that you reluctantly shoved on your head, slumping down in your seat so you weren’t seen.

Your phone has been buzzing constantly, and you’re worried you might actually have to get a new number with the onslaught of texts, calls, and notifications threatening to send your phone into the same shock you’re currently experiencing. Your parents have even been trying to get through, but you haven’t had the guts to answer any of them or even dare to look on any social media platform. You’ve just been staring at the screen, constantly lit with incoming messages, buzzing fervently in your lap.

You glance at the clock on the radio, blinking 5:32. How could your entire world have turned upside down in the matter of thirty-two minutes? You’ve gone from normal girl working a nine to five at a graphic design firm to Cassian Bailey’s girlfriend all because of a fucking plain t-shirt.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get over that, the fact that an oversized, black cotton t-shirt is your downfall in all of this. It’s mind-boggling to believe that someone had connected the dots that quickly, but there are some avid fans of Cassian’s that you wouldn’t dare to go head-to-head with.

“What’s there to talk about?” you speak softly, defeated. With a sigh, you shut your phone off. It’s the best way to avoid what’s going on on the internet until you can wrap your head around everything and what you plan to do about it. You’re exhausted already, just attempting to think about it. You let your head fall to the side, the leather squeaking against your head as you look over at your friend. “You heard them, Tarq.”

Everything that you’ve worked for, your privacy, your art, might all be ruined. Gaining your own following in the graphic design community had been hard, and now that you’re about to be known by the world doesn’t sit right with you. How are you supposed to make really work-related connections when people might only be seeking you out to get closer to Cassian? The thought of being used like that makes your stomach roil. Your trust issues are about to be through the roof.

You stare back out at the traffic and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Your brain hurts and you just want to be in the safety of your home.

“So, you’re dating Cassian Bailey,” Tarquin says, like if he almost can’t believe it himself. A sharp pinch to your shoulder has your eyes shooting open and your body bolting upright, only for the seatbelt to lock and nearly choke you.

Yelping, you glare at your friend, but his ice blue eyes are focused on the road. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For not telling me, obviously,” Tarquin scoffs, glancing over his shoulder and flicking on his turn-signal to switch lanes. You peek out of the passenger mirror, anxious that one of the photographers caught a glimpse of you leaving and has somehow followed you thus far.

“I didn’t tell anyone, if it makes you feel better.”

You’re answered with a roll of his eyes.

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to Tarquin, how to respond to any of this. All you want to do is crawl in a hole and hide away for the next few years. How are you supposed to go about your day normally when everything is anything but normal? You’ll be expected to show up with Cassian now, be there in the crowd for the home matches, you know people will be looking for you.

A headache splits your skull at the thoughts running rampant in your mind. There are so many things to think about now, each and every move you make is going to have to be calculated. You’ll have to think about what you’re going to wear, how you’ll present yourself, thinking about what to say before you speak. Anything you do now will reflect on Cassian’s career, and fans will be blaming you for his mistakes.

It's all too much.

“How long has this been going on?” Tarquin asks softly, as if sensing you’re stuck in your head and need help getting out. You don’t really want to talk about you and Cassian at all right now, but you shove those impending thoughts aside with a sigh, and talk to your friend.

“A little over eight months, now.”

“Is he hung?”

You splutter, choking on your saliva, and Tarquin laughs. This, this is why he’s your favorite coworker. Tarquin isn’t afraid of saying what’s on his mind, no matter how HR unfriendly the question may be.

“I’m not answering that,” you laugh, craning your neck to look out the window, hiding your hot face. The blush staining your cheeks is answer enough.

Tarquin tuts, turning down your street. It’s empty, and you breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls up to your building and there isn’t a crowd of people shouting your name and trying to take your picture. A little of the tension eases from your shoulders.

“Do you want me to pick you up for work in the morning?” Tarquin asks, pulling over to let you out.

You shake your head, gathering your things. “I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. Don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Do you think Alis will let me work from home permanently?” You ask. Alis, your boss, is a strict woman who you can’t seem to figure out if she likes or dislikes anyone that works for her.

Tarquin huffs, “I doubt it. She’s tough as nails, that one.”

“Might just have to quit then, I suppose.”

Your friend’s jaw drops and he looks at you with eyes of betrayal. “You are not going to leave me with the wolves like that! I’ll come drag your ass out of this apartment everyday if I need to.”

“But if I quit, you’ll get to take over Tamlin’s project,” you tease, and his eyes widen comically. He hadn’t thought about that one, apparently. Unlatching the lock, you slide out of the vehicle. You lean down, looking back at your coworker. “Thanks for the ride, Tarq. I’ll text you later.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Feyre and Mor meet you at the door to your apartment, their arms packed with grocery bags filled with candles, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and a lot of alcohol.

“You look like you need it,” Feyre had said when you eyed the bottle of vodka she’d unloaded on your counter.

You do.

You have no appetite, picking at the crust of your slice of pizza. Your stomach stirs sickly, the never-ending thoughts consuming you as you fill your two best friends in on the last eight months you’ve spent with Cassian, from when you’d accidentally run into him at the grocery store late one night after a horrible date gone wrong, to this morning, when you’d slipped into his shirt and hastily left for work. You’d left out the part about Cassian trying to seduce you back into bed, but your friends got most of the story.

“This is insane,” you groan, shoving your plate away from yourself with a sigh. “What the hell am I going to do?”

You hadn’t turned your phone back on, you hadn’t wanted to. You left it in your room when you’d gotten home and changed into your most comforting clothes, stuffing that fucking shirt that got you caught to the bottom of your hamper in rage.

Snuggling deeper into your hoodie, you drag the bottle of vodka closer to yourself, pouring a heavy-handed shot. The alcohol burns your throat on the way down and you grimace, focusing on the burn instead of the pricking at the back of your eyes that hadn’t gone away since you’d all but fallen into your best friends’ arms.

“First, we’re going to need to start brainstorming how to get you out of this. Thankfully, I have a little bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

And she does. Mor has been in the tabloids more than a few times, and most of the time it’s a semi-true story with made-up aspects to really make it seem juicier than it is. She was once photographed coming out of a popular restaurant at the same time actor Harry Hybern was headed in to meet with some friends, and the media had a field day with it. As much as she liked the actor, Mor was upset with the fact that he is thrice her age. You would’ve hated being on the other side of that phone call when she’d dialed the magazine that printed the article, demanding a retraction.

“What’s the first thing you usually do when this sort of thing happens?” you ask. Maybe talking to Mor about her experiences in the public eye will make you feel a little better, if not offer an idea of what you can do yourself.

“See how cute I look in the pictures,” Mor answers, unabashed.

You huff out a laugh in response, Feyre giggling into her glass. “That’s the first thing I do when I see you in the media too, Mor,” she says with a grin, “That vomit green look from the other day? Not your best work, and (Y/N)’s plain black t-shirt tucked into her slacks was so cute! I’m totally stealing that look.”

“Go ahead,” you wave her off because you’re never wearing it again.

Mor glares a little, pouting. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Helping our friend and her sudden fame. I’m thinking Cassian’s dick will take care of most of the emotional turmoil,” she says and Feyre laughs a little too hard. Mor reaches into the bag and pulls out a notebook, flipping it to the first page. “We’ll start with some brainstorming—"

A knock at the door startles you from your wallowing. Back straightening, you glance at your friends taking up the other side of the kitchen island, eyes wide and heart hammering in your chest.

“What if it’s more photographers?” you whisper, and your fingers tremble a little so you clench them instead.

Mor and Feyre share a glance, a flash of worry crossing their features as if they hadn’t thought about it.

“I’ll get it,” Feyre decides, placing her half-drunk glass on the counter as she stands. The blanket droops from her shoulders, flopping onto the back of her stool like you want to be right now, a puddle of fabric and emotions. “If it’s them, I’ll say that this is my place and I don’t know who you are.”

“Good idea,” Mor compliments, nudging your glass with the beck of her hand. She gives you a soft, encouraging smile. “Drink up, (Y/N). It’s probably not the paps, but we’ve got to get you less paranoid so you can think better.”

“Not sure getting wasted is going to help with my thinking,” you mutter, tipping your glass back anyway, “But whatever.” Mor is ready when you remove the empty cup from your lips, already pouring you more. You’re glad to have such amazing friends to drop what they’re doing and come over in your time of turmoil, and they haven’t even laid into you yet about keeping this huge secret from them.

Small victories, and all that.

“(Y/N)?” Feyre calls from the other room. She sounds shocked, almost, and the sound of it makes you want to throw the blanket over your head and cower like a fool. “It’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01

#cassian x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cassian #rugby!cassian #cassian au #change your ticket #acotar au

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magicalbats · 2 months

Text

Tell Me You're Mine (Scar x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 18,321

Warnings: afab!reader, rimming (female receiving), cunnilingus, facesitting, simulated sex through clothes, cum in pants (male), spit, implied/innate femdom, pathetic sub boy behavior, stalking

A/N: Literally was not going to be able to move on until I got this out of my system lol I promise no one fully understands just how crazy he's made me!! I see the way he looks at us and I just!! Ugh!!

⭐

Your terminal beeps, signaling an incoming call.

Thankfully it doesn't cause you to startle the same way it had the first few dozen times it started making noises at you and you reach back to press the button on the side with a newly practiced, casual motion. It might have surprised you, how little thought you actually give the strange device and its near constant presence at your back now that you’ve grown accustomed to it but, well. Your contacts list was awfully short, wasn’t it?

The projection of Chixsia’s photo ID blinks into existence before your face like a real life magician's trick, the hologram faint and irresolute against the harsh backdrop of craggy mountains and lifeless dead trees. In truth you don’t understand this technology much more than you understand anything else about this world. But just as with every other unfamiliar thing here you’ve taken it in stride and adapted to it. At the very least, you were just glad you no longer had to wrestle with the instinctive reflex to reach up and try to swat the holo icon away like it was nothing more than an incessant gnat. That had quickly proven a rather embarrassing reaction on your part.

“Rover!”

“Hey, Chixsia. Did you need something?”

“No, nothing in particular. I just wanted to check in with you and see how things were going!”

You’re not so sure you believe that and at your doubtful hum she breaks embarrassingly fast.

“Okay, okay. It’s just that we haven’t seen you since yesterday afternoon when we were trying to figure out that puzzle box the magistrate left for you. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make sure everything was alright, that’s all.”

Warmed by her sincere concern, you feel your mouth start to tug into a slow smile. “I’m fine, but thank you for thinking of me. You and Yangyang have certainly made me feel welcomed.”

“Well, of course. That’s kind of our job, isn’t it?” She lets out a bright, tittering laugh on the other side of the line, and you lift your brow in question.

“Is it really?”

Whatever she says next is lost under the creeping howl of wind that rushes through the ravine you’re standing in. The uneven cut of rocks and boulders long gouged by the elements in such an inhospitable environment amplifies the acoustic reverberation and almost seems to make it echo in the space between your ears. Wincing, you drop to a defensive crouch on the ground and peer around you in search of any Tacet Discords that may have taken notice of your position. Much to your relief though, the coast still looked to be clear.

You, paranoid? Maybe so, but it was in part what had kept you alive this long. If you were a little on edge it was for a good reason. Huanglong had certainly given you more than enough incentive to stay on your guard in just the short amount of time since you’d woken up here and you weren’t inclined to start throwing caution to the wayside just yet.

“Woah, what is that?” Chixsia’s voice rings out over the connection, the hologram weakly flashing when the signal falters. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” Yes, she had, but you weren’t about to tell her that. “It was just the wind. Nothing to be concerned about, promise.”

A single beat of surprised silence passes over the connection. “Where are you that has wind like that?”

“I’m up in the mountains. I decided to take on a commission since I had the free time anyway, and the money was good.”

The little white lie comes out smooth and natural, thanks in no small part to all the rehearsing you’d done on the way up here. You still feel a distant pang of guilt at having to deceive Chixsia of all people but it couldn’t be helped. If she knew the truth behind your solo trek out into the wilderness there was a very real possibility she might take that as her cue to rally the troops for a search and rescue party, and you couldn’t have that. Not yet.

“Huh? But why would you do that? If you’d needed money you should have just said something! I’m sure the magistrates office would have been happy to provide for your living expenses while you’re here.”

You shake your head, momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t see it through the audio-only call. “I don’t want to burden anyone more than necessary or freeload, and Jinzhou has already done so much for me. Besides … isn’t there a saying about how idle hands make for troubled minds, or something like that?”

She offers a brief sound of consideration in response, mulling that over. “I’m not sure if that’s exactly how it goes but I get what you mean. Still, are you sure everything’s alright? You seemed a bit distracted when we went our separate ways yesterday. You’d tell us if you needed help, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would.” This white lie isn’t so small and it comes out with more difficulty as a result. But you’re quick to mask it under the guise of being predisposed, and you’re not quiet about it as you climb to your feet before spinning around in a slow circle to survey your surroundings. You make sure to tread carelessly while you do it so that the sound of your footsteps might reach her all the way back in the city. “Not to rush you, Chixsia, but did you need anything else? I have to go.”

“No, no. That was all. If you’re sure everything’s okay then … I guess I’ll let you get back to it.”

The note of disappointment in her voice is unmistakable, and it makes you smile again even when you try very hard not to. “Relax. You have my word that there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got everything under control over here. And hey, the next time we go out for lunch it’ll be my treat. How’s that sound?”

To your relief, she perks up immediately. “It sounds like a deal! You’d better not forget you said that, Rover! I’ll hold you to it!”

“I will, I will. Bye for now, Chixsia.”

The line drops mere seconds after her enthusiastic parting and you let your shoulders slump once the holo ID blinks out. That should at least take care of your alibi, so there was that. You can’t help but wish it had been just about anyone other than the guileless junior officer though, because she seemed much too naive and trusting to pull one over on in good conscience. Oh well. Necessary evils and all that.

Breathing out a terse huff through your nose, you crane your head back to look up at the craggy side of the ridge and squint against the low setting sun. Still no signs of, well. Anything at all. Even the last Tacet Discord you’d run into had been miles back and was now long forgotten. But that’s not what you were out here for. If Chixsia or anyone else had pressed the matter you would have readily used the excuse that it was just part of the job you’d taken on and you were hunting down some monster or another. You were relatively certain that they would have believed that story without much fuss, especially when this world seemed to have more than its fair share of them. It was at least commonplace enough not to draw suspicion.

But you were hoping to lure out a demon of a completely different breed, and you were certain no one would believe you were serious about it even if you did tell them. They’d think you’d gone crazy, hit your head somewhere along the way and were now suffering the debilitating consequences. For all the sense this foolhardy plan of yours made, hell, maybe you did take a too hard hit to the noggin at some point. That seemed about as likely as anything else.

You knew you weren’t imagining the feeling of being watched though. That unmistakable sensation of eyes on you, tracking your every move, has followed you everywhere you go in Jinzhou since the first moment you came to. Strolling along the busy streets or wandering into the quieter residential neighborhoods, passing through one of the bustling markets or making your way out to the militant outpost at the edge of the city. It doesn’t matter where you go, that feeling always remains.

The one and only place it seemed to fade to a distant afterthought, you’ve noticed, was inside the City Hall building, but you couldn’t exactly hole yourself up there for the rest of your life. It just wasn’t feasible, for starters, and you weren’t entirely sure yet if you could place all of your trust in them anyway. It’s hardly any wonder then that with no other choice and the time to spare while you awaited the magistrates return, you’d finally decided to take matters into your own hands.

“Let’s see now. If I were a shameless stalker, I wonder where I'd hide.” You murmur under your breath as you turn, examining the way you’d come for any hint of another person trailing you from behind. In all honesty you already knew the identity of at least one of the culprits but you didn’t want to jump to pointing the finger at him without sufficient evidence first. He probably didn’t deserve that leeway but you were still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in this.

Not because he’d given you any reason to believe he wasn’t that kind of person, but because you’d long had the sense that there were at least two separate individuals keeping tabs on you, if not more. One was almost imperceptible and easily ignored save the periodic chill in the air that seemed to suggest their interest in you was less than innocent or friendly.

The other was Scar.

All red hot and static charged, his laser focused attention was hard to miss even when he was doing the utmost to conceal himself and his heated stare. But once he’d revealed himself to you out in that desolate, abandoned village you’d been able to easily discern him from the other on multiple occasions now. He was still following you, yes, but so was that icier, less obvious presence. Hiking out into the unwelcoming mountain range hadn’t dissuaded either of them but neither had they made their move yet. Curious. Were the two conflicting forces perhaps acting to repel one another and keeping them both mutually at bay?

Turning that over in your head, you complete one last full circuit survey of the surroundings in hopes of spotting at least some hint of another presence in the ravine with you. An out of place shadow on the ground, a clatter of misplaced rocks or perhaps even a tuft of haphazard hair its owner doesn’t conceal himself fast enough to hide. At this point you would have been happy with anything at all if it just reassured you that you weren’t going crazy.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing. There wasn’t a damn thing that looked like it didn’t belong or warranted any amount of doubt. In truth the area almost seemed completely void of life save your own and the occasional bird you could make out far in the distance when they flew by overhead.

So not even that troublesome man wanted to show himself, huh? What a predicament this was turning into. You’d thought for sure he at least would have jumped at the chance as soon as you were alone and hopefully draw the other out of hiding in the process.

Oh well. You still had plan B to fall back on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sun is dipping low on the horizon and casting everything in a bright ultraviolet glare by the time you reach the river at the far end of the ravine. It’s situated in a natural alcove cut out of the rock face by the constant buffeting of elements; wind and rain, and the freezing snow of winter which had left myriad cracks and uneven dips littered across the ground. The rising jut of the ridgeline made for a relatively fortified spot to set up camp for the night where it would be difficult for anyone or anything to sneak up on you and catch you unawares. After doing a preliminary inspection to ensure there weren’t any wolf or bear dens you’d be encroaching on, you deem it to be as safe as it was likely going to get.

While you work to get settled in, unburdening yourself of your supplies pack and erecting a small campfire to hopefully cook a fresh fish or two on later, you remain keenly aware of the eyes that still linger on you. Even all the way out here you couldn’t escape them and for the moment at least you weren’t quite sure which party they belonged to. Was it only Scar who had followed you all this way or had both of them taken the bait?

Hopefully you would find out soon enough.

The minutes crawl by, quiet and uneventful, save the hopeful crackle of the kindling catching on dry wood.

Finally deciding that you were satisfied with the modest flame you’ve managed to build up, you make a casual show of finding your feet and stretching your arms high over your head. You weren’t overly confident in your own acting abilities but if Scar really was somewhere out there watching you from a distance then believability probably didn’t matter much. Frankly you were just surprised he’d shown even this much self restraint.

Turning away from the makeshift camp with a small rag in hand, you shuffle over to the edge of the riverbank where you relieve yourself of your sword and then your terminal. Your shoes and utility straps quickly follow, then your tunic dress. The last thing to go are your bottoms, leaving you standing there completely nude. Your nipples stand up in stiff, achingly hard points against the cool mountain air as you take a first tentative step into the water. It’s cold but not freezing, and you merely let out a soft hiss when you force yourself to wade further out into the slow moving stream despite its unwelcoming chill.

Was this a stupid, reckless and irresponsible plan? Undoubtedly. There was no telling what dangers you were inviting by doing this but it was the only option you could think of that might be too tempting for your voyeurs to resist. If they wouldn’t come out of hiding when you were armed and ready for them, then perhaps the vulnerability of your nakedness would do the trick.

Fighting back the clatter of your teeth, you slowly sink down to submerge yourself up to your waist. A bit of awkward shifting soon locates a relatively smooth rock for you to perch on, and you try to relax into the crisp water as you set in to wash your body clean. This at least isn’t wholly feigned. Your skin was sticky with clammy sweat after the long trek so you were glad for a bath even if nothing more productive than that came of it.

The following stretch of moments is still and serenely picturesque, save the distant cries of a lone raven and the periodic sound of splashing while you wash. It would have been rather nice if only it was just a little bit warmer. You wanted nothing more than to rush through it and hurry back to the fire as quickly as possible, but you force your hands to work at a deliberately sedate pace so that you might give whoever was watching you plenty of time to work up the courage to act. Honestly you hadn’t thought Scar of all people would need that kind of consideration but …

At last, a soft yet sudden clatter of displaced rocks sounds from somewhere just behind you and jars you from your thoughts. It takes a great deal of effort to stamp down the urge to turn and look, but you do your best to pretend as if you hadn’t noticed it while you scrub the rag down the length of your thigh. This was a delicate situation. If you reacted too soon you ran the risk of spooking them and scaring them away. But if you reacted too late after they were already right on top of you then there was a very real chance they might succeed in overpowering you. Clearly you’d just need to trust that your instincts would see you through this and hope for the best.

So you wait, counting off each individual second in your head until the next sound reaches your ears, a little closer this time. Pebbles disturbed on the ground, you think, and nothing more to indicate what it might be. The thought that it could be a Tacet Discord crosses your mind and almost makes you spin around to check but you refrain, too determined to get to the bottom of this stalking situation to give in. You just sorely hoped this foolish gamble of yours paid off.

But the longer it goes on the less likely it seems that it might be Scar watching on from the shadows. He hadn’t seemed the cautious type anyway, but he certainly wouldn’t have had any reason for such reticence after already showing himself to you as boldly as he had once before.

It must have been the other one then, you decide. But why were they still lingering back there instead of taking advantage of the ample opportunity you’d practically handed them? You couldn’t make sense of it.

Then you finally hear it. The unmistakable thump of footsteps. Heavy boots that tread the ground on long, confident strides and steadily approach the riverbank at an unhurried, almost casual pace. That realization makes your instincts go absolutely haywire as anticipatory jitters settle low in your gut and set you to vibrate. Somehow there was a certain familiarity in that canter, defying all logic and reason, but you’d thought —

“Oh, Rover ~”

Every single hair on your body immediately stands on end to accompany the chill that races down your spine. Heart rate quickening, you carefully twist around to look behind you as calmly as you can manage it. Instinctively you wanted to lunge for your sword where it was resting only a few feet away and take comfort in its grounding weight in your hands. Logically, however, you knew that any sudden movements had the potential to escalate the situation far beyond your control so you try your best to stay level headed.

And sure enough, it is indeed Scar making his way across the barren ground towards you. In the flesh and just as arrogant as he’d been back in that ramshackle village, you’re more than just a bit chagrined to find. Except he’s not alone. And it’s not the mysterious woman who’d shown up to retrieve him after his Elysium broke.

Breath catching in your chest, you stare wide eyed at the person hanging motionless from where Scar’s holding onto the back of their jacket. Based on the build you think it’s a man and the toes of his shoes drag bonelessly against the ground behind him, arms hanging just as limp in the front. Either dead or knocked out cold. For his sake, you sorely hoped Scar had shown him some amount of mercy and it wasn’t the former.

Your body is so tense, the muscles locked up in preparation for a fight, that it almost hurts as you shift further around to face him and his onward approach head on. It doesn’t seem to bother Scar one little bit though, his lack of concern obvious when he merely grins down at you in response. Undeterred and utterly shameless.

Stepping right up to the edge of the bank, he finally saunters to a stop and carelessly tosses his burden down at his feet. You track the unknown man with your eyes, but he doesn’t stir even when one of his arms flops out to land half in the chilly water. Like a puppet that’s had its strings cut.

You quickly snap your attention back up at the Overseer, fearlessly looking into that leering face of his. “Who is that? And what did you do to him?”

“What, not even a friendly hello first? How very cruel you are, Rover, but that’s alright. We have plenty of time to properly greet one another in due time. And as for your question … if you’ll recall our last conversation he’s exactly what I warned you about when we first met. I told you there were multiple factions fighting over you and vying for your attention didn’t I, my dear?” Tipping his head to one side, Scar peers down at you consideringly. He may have been smiling but the glint in his mismatched eyes seemed to suggest that he wasn’t particularly amused right now. How curious.

“You should listen to me next time.” He goes on. “I’m not in the habit of speaking so idly that my warnings can go unheeded. I only speak the truth. At least when it comes to you, anyway. I meant everything I said before.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Scar. Who is this person?”

He gives his head a slow shake, laughing low under his breath. “Yet another inconsequential insect, that’s all. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about. They’re always buzzing around you like flies, aren’t they? Well, you won’t have to concern yourself with this one again. I already took care of him for you.”

Realizing that this wasn’t getting you anywhere, you take a deep, calming breath in through your nose and let it out from your mouth. You’d just have to attack this from a different angle. “Is he dead? Can you at least answer that?”

“Not yet he isn’t ~”

Alright, well. You didn’t very much like that sing-song tone coming from him. “That’s good to hear, but why did you attack him?”

Cooing softly, mockingly, Scar draws his brows up in an affected, put upon look of feigned pity. “Isn’t it obvious? I was willing to play nice up until this one here decided to enjoy the little show you were putting on a bit too much, that’s all. Oh, but don’t fret over the likes of him. You needn’t concern yourself with such trivialities. He’s just a peeping Tom. A pervert. He only got what he deserved.”

You pin him with a doubtful look at that, frowning. “What does that make you then? Something tells me you didn’t mind the show much either.”

“Me?” A surprised guffaw bursts out of him, his body language abruptly shifting towards restlessness as he brings a hand up and places it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Rover. Really, you do. I’d never sink to such lows. I’m not without my pride, and you’d do well not to forget that. If you’re going to come to me it’ll be willingly and without any tricks. No deceit. That’s what I promised you the first time, isn’t it? A fair and honest exchange?”

Pausing, Scar takes a moment to drag his heated gaze over the curve of your bare shoulders and neck, and the spot where your arms are loosely crossed in front of your breasts. It’s more to protect them from the chill than from his attention when it was clearly already much too late for that but it seems to delight him all the same. His grin widens, stretching across his face in eager slow motion to settle into a look of giddy anticipation, unnerving you deeply, before he goes on.

“I don’t need to stoop to that kind of spineless behavior. I wasn’t the one fisting my damned cock from the shadows while you touched yourself out in the open for all to see. If it was my attention you wanted you’ve got it. But I’m not about to sit by while someone else gets off thinking about putting their hands on you. Either you’ll have me or you’ll have no one. I hope that’s clear enough for you, little lamb.”

You’re more than just a bit blindsided by that declaration and you simply stare up at him in bewildered silence for a long stretch, mouth slightly agape. Of course this doesn’t come as a complete surprise though. You’d gotten the sense that Scar was a truly exhausting individual from your first short encounter with him but it was clear now that you hadn’t understood the full scope of it. He’d already decided that you were his (or would it have been more accurate to say that he was yours?) without stopping long enough to consider your choice in the matter. And it was starting to look like he just might be the most jealous prone man you'll ever meet in this lifetime or the next, considering the unconscious person he’s thrown at your proverbial doorstep with all the pomp and ceremony of a wild cat gifting its favorite human with a fresh kill. The entire thing was completely absurd.

It was also perilous and indescribably risky, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t turn it back around in your favor though. You had to at least try.

“I won’t say I’m flattered but I can understand where you’re coming from. It’s hard watching someone else covet what you also want, isn’t it?” You say, trying for reasonable diplomacy. “But does that mean no one else is watching us right now? Were you and him the only ones following me?”

He issues a sharp bark of laughter in response. “Hah! You really are something else, aren’t you? I practically rip my heart out and give it to you on a silver platter but you’re still more concerned about everyone else than you are with me. Ahh, and yet they call me the cruel and twisted one, don’t they?”

At Scar’s dramatic, over exaggerated sigh, you shoot him a wry look. It’s an effort not to grudgingly smile at his antics but you manage to refrain, somehow. The very last thing you needed was to encourage him any further. “Just answer the question, Scar. I might be inclined to be a bit more welcoming if you do.”

Chuckling, he drops the act entirely now and lifts his arms up to indicate the side of the mountain as a whole, like a ringmaster directing his stage. “That’s right, Rover. It’s just you and me now. There was someone else but I’m afraid they ran off to hide elsewhere once I made my move. They don’t like the Fractsidus very much, you see, and they’d rather not have to deal with me if they can help it.”

Turning his attention downward, he reaches out to nudge at the unconscious man’s ribs with the toe of his boot. Still, the unknown individual doesn’t so much as groan in response even when Scar pulls back and gives him a solid kick that makes you wince, and it worries you more than just a little bit. You were going to have to do something to distract Scar and lead him away before he followed through on his unspoken promise of finishing the job he’d started. It was the right thing to do even if that man had been stalking you right along with everyone else.

“If you want my opinion that was probably a smart move on their part. And with them out of the picture that just left this pathetic little rat to deal with.” His laughter rising in pitch, Scar delivers another mean kick to the man, half rolling him over onto his side from the force. “I’m sure that’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? How many people have been keeping tabs on you?”

A distant note of surprise curls through you. So he knew then. There was no reason to hide it or beat around the bush in that case. “Do you know who the others are? Can you tell me which faction they belong to, or at least this one?” You ask, indicating the man with a nudge of your chin.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. I’m more than happy to continue our game, especially when you’re like this …” Sedately turning towards you again, dull gray and red eyes pointedly drop to indicate the swell of your breasts. He must like what he sees because his smirk takes on a sharper, more predatory edge.

And you almost catch yourself scoffing, very tempted to remind him that he’d just implied he wasn’t a pervert only a moment ago, but then his gaze travels back up to your face. The way he looks at you, pupils blown wide and soft with an emotion you can’t quite place, as if you’d personally hung the moon and the stars in the night sky, kills the thought before you even get the chance to give it voice.

“But an equal exchange is not so one-sided.” He continues, his tone warm with something not unlike reverence now. “You’re smart, Rover. I’m sure you understand that any healthy relationship involves some amount of give and take, don’t you? That’s what I want from you more than anything else. Just a fair chance.”

You hesitate at the sly purr that creeps into his voice at the tail end and the strange feeling it ignites low in your gut. He certainly knew how to appeal to your emotions — or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it the natural inclinations of your flesh and blood body. There was no denying a strange sort of chemistry brewing just beneath the surface no matter how much you wanted to reject it but you had to keep your head on straight. Scar was much too dangerous for you to throw caution aside, particularly when you were naked and unarmed. You didn’t stand a chance in hell against him like this.

“That’s nice of you to say but I’m not sure if I have anything I can give you. What do you want in return that you would consider a fair trade?”

“You.” He insists, putting so much emphasis on just that one single word you almost believe him. “We want you. Always you, my dear. Nothing more and nothing less. You’re the goal, the prize. The much sought after trophy everyone wants for themselves. They need you for their own objectives, their own ends, but I merely want to stand at your side, together. I can give you anything you could ever want or dream of having if you’d just pick me.”

Frowning, you give your head a slow, solemn shake. “But how can I possibly trust you? There’s so much I just don’t know yet and … what Yangyang said didn’t exactly paint a flattering picture. You have to understand how things look from my perspective.”

As if someone had flipped a light switch, he sobers at the drop of a coin. Where only just a short moment ago he’d been looking at you with fervent, almost fanatical intention he now draws in on himself and effectively shutters his expression from your watchful gaze. It would have been incredibly disconcerting had you not already seen the contrast of his hot and cold temperament first hand, how wildly he swung from one extreme to the next and without any discernible rhyme or reason dictating it along the way.

You half expect him to launch himself at you in retaliation, to force you into submission and take you by force, and you weren’t foolish enough to think that there was a whole lot you could’ve done about it when you were so woefully defenseless. But then, to your mounting surprise, he merely draws a slow inhale that makes his chest visibly expand before speaking, perfectly calm and reasonable again.

“I suppose that’s fair. Disappointing, yes, but it doesn’t come as a great surprise. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to get to you in time before they did and you’ve had all those annoying little birds chittering away in your ear ever since you woke up. It’s no wonder you hesitate to trust me. I don’t blame you for that, little lamb, but at least give me a chance to show you just how sincere I really am before you start making any final decisions. That’s all I ask.”

Your stomach plummets into the ground as you look up at him in real surprise, blinking owlishly. Give him a chance? When that extended olive branch might cost you not only your life but your very soul? Surely he was joking. “I'm not sure I understand … didn’t I give you plenty of time to plead your case back in Qichi village?”

“This is different. It’s just the two of us here now, which means no more pesky interruptions from your nosy little friends or mine. We can talk for hours if we want, or even until the sun rises.”

Thoughts momentarily drifting to that mysterious Fractsidus woman who’d shown up to retrieve him, you wonder if Scar is really as alone as he was making himself out to be. You’re not so sure you trust it. But when you don't respond he just silently holds out his hand to you in offering, a simple enough gesture that stops your quizzical pondering in its tracks.

You don’t jump to take his outstretched fingers though, and for good reason. Instead you warily eye the sharp red claws that form on the fingertips of his gloved suit, the considerable size of his palm and the undeniable power he clearly wields, lurking just below the surface. You knew too well that readily falling right into the clutches of the enemy like this might be the very last mistake you ever make, but … this would work as a sufficient distraction to get him away from that unconscious man, wouldn’t it? And you were tempted, oh so very tempted for much less charitable reasons too. There was a sick sort of curiosity simmering like a pot left to stew on low heat in the back of your mind.

But could you really justify this? Could you rationalize it and make peace with it later on when you were lying in bed at night, awake with only your own thoughts for company?

Seeing your obvious uncertainty, Scar’s expression pinches slightly at the corners. “Let’s just forget about everything else for a moment. All the different factions and sides, the players and the pawns. Your role in all of this and mine as well. I’m offering myself to you with transparency and honesty, Rover. Give me a chance. I’ll say please, if that’s what you want.”

“And how am I supposed to know that this isn’t a trap? Surely you must realize I’m at a sore disadvantage right now.” You grumble, indicating your naked breasts with a pointed shrug of your shoulders and Scar outright laughs, the low rumble in his voice belying the excited surge of fast pumping adrenaline he must feel.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? You won’t know until you find out for yourself. Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” He gives his fingers a coaxing wriggle, inviting you to accept his offer. “Come on. You look cold sitting there all alone. I can help you warm up and I’ll even promise to be on my best behavior if you just try to meet me in the middle. I don’t think you’ll regret it ~”

“Your best behavior, huh?” You drolly echo him, hardly believing that such a thing even existed. He seemed the type who was nothing but trouble through and through. You’d be far more surprised if it turned out that he actually did have the capacity to be agreeable than the reverse but, well. You were starting to prune. It was definitely time to get out of the water and you’d much rather do so peacefully than have to fight him tooth and nail while you were cold and stripped bare.

Somehow you didn’t envision that turning out very well.

Sighing, you finally relent and shift forward so you can push up onto your knees. It’s hard to fight the feeling that you were making some horrible, monumentally egregious mistake as you reach up to take his offered hand which securely closes around yours like an iron shackle. He could seriously hurt you or even kill you easily enough now that he had you in his hold like this. You knew that perfectly well and you brace yourself for the pin to drop but then, to your growing astonishment, Scar merely tugs you to your feet with a truly unexpected amount of gentleness.

Honestly you hadn’t thought him capable of such care, but he shows you none of that now familiar manic glee or the thirst for destruction you’d glimpsed once before as he pulls you towards him. His eyes remain locked on your face, unreadable beyond the soft note of satisfaction that creeps into them when he takes half a step back so he can guide you up onto the bank with him. The ground is hard and chilly under your feet yet you hardly notice it at all, so highly tuned in to the man standing before you that you don’t even give it more than a passing thought.

The sun has almost completely set, you abruptly realize as the two of you come to a halt, the last few lingering remnants of day quickly fading under the encroaching gloom of twilight. Shadows play at his face, further highlighting the intensity behind his eyes when he looks at you, plain and unguarded. There’s something else shining in them too. A silent, wordless plea or perhaps an oath.

It was almost as foolish as your plan to lure your stalkers out of hiding using your own body as bait, and yet you felt strangely inclined to trust him at his word. Scar would behave himself as long as you gave him the chance he seemed to want so bad, of that you were sure. He’d even said as much to you before, back in that village, hadn’t he? That he wasn’t going to make you hate him just yet. And you didn’t. Not really. You were understandably cautious of him and his motives, and the power you suspected he’d only shown you a very small fraction of, but he hadn’t given you a real reason to consider him your enemy. Perhaps he would in due time, when this tentative and shaky truce between you and him reached its breaking point, but for now at least it couldn’t hurt to hear him out again.

Could it?

“There.” He says, pinning you with a pleased little smile. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Thank you.”

“There’s no need for formalities between us, Rover. Don’t thank me. Just accept me and what I can give you.”

Narrowing your eyes at him in warning, you make a halfhearted attempt to tug your hand from his and it really doesn’t come as much of a shock when he refuses to let you go. But in the spirit of playing nice you quickly give up without a fuss, simply resigning yourself to the fact that he was going to continue to hold on until he was good and ready to release you. If such a time ever even came. “You know I can’t blindly do that. You haven’t given me a good reason to trust you yet.”

“Ooh, are you getting impatient with me, darling? I told you I’d show you my sincerity, didn’t I?” Taking another backwards step, he slowly pulls you further away from the river and you complacently allow it because … you’re actually not sure why you do it.

For all intents and purposes you should have been wrenching away from him and the suggestion of heat you can feel even through his glove. You should have been lurching for your sword, or at least your clothes, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you shuffle after him and tip your head back to look up at his face, searching for any signs that might indicate his next move. Scar was far too unpredictable to even guess at his thoughts, his inner workings and motives a complete and total mystery to you even now, but his actions were a slightly different story.

Although still sporadic and off kilter, you can see the intent in his body language before he does it and you instinctively brace when his opposite hand reaches out for you. All he does is touch you with it though, the gesture somehow halting and possessive at the same time when he carefully palms over your bare hip. Like he was testing the waters, you realize, but he was a bit too eager to truly be cautious about it.

Looking really quite pleased when you neither slap at him or squawk in indignation, he lets his hand settle into place with a vague squeeze to the plushy curve. That implausible heat coming off of him immediately settles into the skin and starts to warm you from the inside out, just like he’d promised he would, and you suck in a shuddering breath of relief. It felt good after the chill of the river.

“You’re so soft, Rover. I like that.”

Perfectly casual about it, you drop your attention down the front of him to regard the black zipper on his suit. “And you look rather hard where I’m standing.” You murmur, earning another low chuckle from him.

“Mmm, is that so? And do you like it?”

Steeling your courage and resolve, you bring your gaze back up to his. “Scar, this is … I’m willing to talk to you but I think this might be a step too far. I’m sorry.”

He cocks his head, puppy-like both in the gesture itself and in the way he seems to be hanging off your every word with that sappy expression plastered across his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think you were the instigator here and he the hapless victim being coerced. It was so ass backwards it bordered on laughable.

“Aw, come on. What do you mean? I’m not going to hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about. Should I prostrate myself at your feet and swear a solemn oath to make you believe me?”

“It’s not exactly that, just … we’re supposed to be enemies, aren’t we? Or something like that, at least.”

A quick laugh huffs out of him to accompany the slow shake of his head. “That’s certainly what they want you to think, isn’t it?”

You lift your brows in question but he decides to forgo a proper answer and silently drags his palm up along your side to cradle around your waist instead. Static electricity rushes along the path his hand took and you almost find yourself swaying unsteadily on your feet at the sheer magnitude of that electrical current. You were starting to understand now. What made this truly dangerous wasn’t just the opposing sides and their ideals, the life or death battle you might someday have to face off against him in or even anything as grand as the fate of this world. It was so harrowing because the chemistry was very much there and it was real. He knew it too. Had likely known it long before he’d actually appeared before you in that abandoned village. The only real question was; would it be enough to truly sway you?

You’re not quite ready to give up the ghost just yet, you decide, and yet you don’t fight it when he finally releases your hand so he can slide his other palm around your middle as well. He simply holds you in place like that for a drawn out moment, peering down at you with an expression just short of dopey, like he was committing every inch of you to memory. The complexion of your skin, the size and shape of your breasts and the tightly coiled peaks standing up on them. Any blemishes, beauty marks or scars are laid bare before him and yet nothing seems to give him pause or dissuade his interest. And you’re suddenly acutely aware that that’s exactly what it is too. Real, genuine, vibrating interest in you. It was — very close to being overwhelming, having someone look at you like that.

But then he leans in, bending at the waist so he can close the gap between your height and his, and you’re so sure he’s about to kiss you that you turn your face away to deter him. But all he does is chuckle at the reaction, smoothly tucking his nose in behind your ear where he proceeds to take a deep, savory inhale to taste the scent of you without missing a beat. A sensitive shudder works up your spine and you almost whimper at the sudden, potent flood of molten heat that sweeps through you in a rush. This was really bad.

“Just relax, Rover.” He drawls, warm breath tickling along the side of your neck. “I won’t force myself on you like some kind of animal or try to make you take responsibility for what you do to me. Ahh, and you do drive me crazy, make no mistake about that. But that’s not your burden to bear, is it? I know it’s not your fault.”

“Of course it’s not. I never intentionally tried to lead you on so there’s nothing to take responsibility for.” You just barely manage to whisper, struggling to stay grounded in reality when every fiber of your being wanted to give itself over to the temptation he offered. It was crazy and stupid, and so incredibly ill-advised, but with each passing second you were finding it harder and harder to keep up the pretense. More than anything you wanted to take a bite of the forbidden fruit he was holding out to you in humble supplication, a placating offering as much as it was a consecrated sacrifice.

No, you didn’t just want it. You needed to devour it, every last morsel and crumb until there was nothing left except the smoldering, charred ash of that which had once been. It felt like you were going mad and having him in such terribly close proximity like this was not helping your resolve in the slightest.

“Hah. Well said, my dear. You certainly are sharp.” Straightening up so he can look you in the face, Scar lets his mouth stretch into a victorious, slashing grin when he sees the way you shudder at the loss of his body heat, mistaking it for something it’s not. “Ooh, but don’t be nervous. I’m a man of my word, you know. You’re safe with me. Much safer than you are with those useless Jinzhou dogs. You can trust me, Rover. I only want to show you exactly where my loyalties lie, that’s all. You’ll let me do that much, won’t you?”

You send him a slow look of confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re even talking about. What do you mean by that?” You really don’t understand half of the things that come out of his mouth. He was loyal to Fractsidus, wasn’t he?

But Scar once again chooses not to provide you with a proper explanation, which you probably should have been accustomed to by now. You were beginning to suspect that this was all too commonplace for him and you almost struggle against it when he uses his hold on your waist to gently nudge you into turning around. The way he tauntingly coos at you under his breath is shamefully persuasive though and you soon give in, spinning in place like an obedient if not begrudging little thing until you’ve fully turned your back on him.

It was an exceedingly foolish decision to make. He could have easily grabbed you around the throat and squeezed until your airway was crushed, or even snap your neck with very little effort to show for it. You should have known better. You did know better.

Yet neither of those things happen.

Instead of ending you right then and there, you feel Scar shift behind you and bend close. The ends of his hair brush against the nape of your neck just so, seconds before he places a brief, lingering kiss to the jut of your shoulder. You startle at the contact but he doesn’t seem to pay it any mind other than a short lived, savory laugh at your expense.

Following the gently sloping line of your shoulder, he gradually makes his way up to the base of your neck one lingering peck at a time, then higher still to ghost over your quickened pulse. Through it all his hands remain stationary around your waist, neither demanding reciprocatory attention from you nor roaming about to explore your body any further than what he could touch with his mouth. He just holds you in place, cradling you there against him. It’s not exactly what you would have expected from someone like him, someone who seemed perfectly content to just take whatever he wanted without remorse; and you have to suck in a slow, faltering breath to steady yourself when he works his way back, starting to kiss a hot path down the curve of your spine now.

Mouthing at the center line of your body, Scar hunches even closer so he can continue down between your shoulderblades, charting a steady and unhurried path towards your waist. You aren’t entirely sure what to make of it but quickly decide that you don’t hate what he’s doing enough to put a stop to it. His hands did feel good on your skin, and so did his coarse lips. Perhaps you were too easily swayed but that was a problem for you to sort out and unpack another day. You certainly didn’t have the time or the brain power for it right now.

Especially not when, without so much as a word of warning or an explanation to go with it, you feel him drop to his knees behind you. It’s unmistakable, from the distinct sound of his long coat hitting the ground to the way his denser frame goes from looming right behind you one moment to being about level with your hips the next. The suddenness of it makes your heart lodge itself in your throat, and you let out a small squeak of surprise as you half twist around to look back at him.

“H - hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

As expected, you find him peering up at you from where he’s knelt in the dirt with those big, soft eyes he only ever seems to make at you. It was as absurd as it was disconcerting, and you absolutely hate the way it causes your resolve to weaken even more. He looked good down there, you’re more than just a bit horrified to realize. Almost too good for you to keep pretending like you didn’t want to continue on in this manner with him.

“Hush, Rover. You want proof, don’t you? You want a reason to trust me? Then let me give you one.”

“I don’t really see how - -“

You cut yourself off with a sharp, harried gasp when his hands abruptly start to move. First they slide forward to tauntingly rake down your front, leaving the faintest sting of scratch marks across your stomach before dragging back around to possessively paw over the curve of your hips. He pauses there to give you a tight squeeze, nails sinking into flesh but not quite breaking the skin yet. The threat of it is there though. That silent promise that he could easily tear into you if he really wanted to sobers you slightly, but he doesn’t do it. Instead he just eases up his hold on you enough to palm over your thighs, down and then straight up the backs of them until his splayed fingers finally press into the underside of your ass.

Heat immediately rushes into your face when understanding dawns but he doesn’t grant you enough time to protest before he’s cupping both cheeks to knead and lift the weight of them. You shuffle your feet, embarrassed, but even trying to angle yourself away from him does very little to deter Scar from his goal. He just pinches your backside in a tighter hold, letting out an appreciative, rumbling sigh as he slowly spreads your ass open to expose you to his voracious and hungry gaze.

You suddenly feel extremely lightheaded. And not only because of the first waft of cool air against your most private of areas but also the innate knowledge that he was looking at you completely uninterrupted like this. The pudgy seam of your cunt, the tight pucker of your asshole. All was laid bare when Scar was holding you spread open like that and the fact his face was only mere inches away didn’t help the self conscious siren that goes off in the back of your mind either. Your one and only consolation in such a deeply humiliating situation is that you were fresh out of a bath and as clean as one could possibly get when they were washing up in a river, which you certainly hoped was clean enough given the circumstances.

“You … I thought you said you weren’t a pervert earlier?”

He offers up a soft laugh at that, his warm breath once again fanning across your skin, except this time it suggestively tickles over …

“Oh, but I didn’t say that now did I, darling? I merely told you that I wouldn’t tolerate any other perverts getting off because of you. I never claimed to be a virtuous saint myself.”

The suggestion of that alone is downright comedic but you can’t quite find the wherewithal to laugh about it right now. Not when you were focusing the vast majority of your energy on simply staying upright and balanced while also doing your best to keep your legs pressed together at the same time, hoping to preserve at least some of your remaining dignity.

But it was an awkward and uncertain stance to take, and it leaves you swaying almost dizzily on your feet even as you reach back to blindly swat at his head. You’re well aware that you really ought to have been shoving him away, kicking and swinging at him in a flurry of righteous indignation. Unfortunately your heart just really wasn’t in it though. Your lack of conviction didn’t make it any less embarrassing, being spread and ogled like that, but there wasn't much you could do about it when your body starts to respond in kind. You were getting excited. Damn him.

In the end all you succeed in doing is fruitlessly smacking at the side of his head, yet he still lets out a rumbling sound of encouragement in response. Like he wouldn’t have minded it much if you’d put more intent behind it, and you just quietly seethe through your teeth in response.

Fumbling to get your hand up again, you mercilessly shove it into his hair and close a tight first at the root so you can yank his head back, putting at least some space between you and him. Twisting around at the same time, you pin Scar with an incredulous, flustered look. “Are you serious? This is the big ace up your sleeve? There’s no way you actually think that’s going to work!”

Noising a brief, decidedly unbothered sound of agreement, Scar makes a show of licking his lips before tipping his neck back to nudge into your fist. That tawdry motion just further exposes the jagged Tacet Mark carved across his throat and draws your attention to it even when you try to ignore its exigent pull. The picture he paints kneeling there on the ground is lurid and provocative, off putting and yet tantalizing in the worst possible way. Inviting, almost.

And it works. God help you but it achieves exactly what it was likely meant to, and a warm pulse starts up between your legs with a slow, anticipatory clench. He was sick, no doubt about that, but so were you for humoring him like this in as much as you have.

“You’re right. I don’t actually think this is going to sway you over to our side or even make for a very convincing argument when all is said and done. I might be crazy but I’m not stupid.”

At your bewildered look, he chuckles a low sound under his breath.

“I already said it once before, didn’t I? You’re smart, Rover, and I’m well aware just how smart you really are. If something as simple as this was actually enough to convince you then I wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to talk to you up to this point, now would I?” He goes on, imploringly tipping his head to the side and half dragging your hand along with it where you were still gripping onto his hair. “Just believe me for once, won’t you? I really meant it when I said to put everything else aside for the moment. This is just about you and me right now. Forget about sides and factions, and all their troublesome rules. None of that matters here as far as I’m concerned. I only wish to show you that I’ve been nothing if not sincere this whole time and perhaps even earn myself a sliver of your trust while I’m at it.”

You swallow hard when his fingers idly dig into you with a palpitating squeeze, sharp nails threatening to cut and render flesh. He doesn’t do it though. Whether that’s because he knew doing so wouldn’t earn him any favors in your book or because he simply wouldn’t do it to you, it’s impossible to say. But the fact he refrains, regardless of the reason why, goes a long way in assuring you that this wasn’t going to end in a bloody showdown. And if it would get him to stop holding your cheeks open any quicker then you were willing to go along with it.

“Fine. I’m listening.”

A gravelly, almost animalistic sound rises from him at your acquiescence and you watch in something not unlike fascination as his expression shifts, discarding that big eyed puppy dog look in favor of something much more rapacious. Eyes sharpening with an edge of that familiar manic glee, Scar roves his attention back down to regard the shameful spread of your body. His hands adjust, loosening and then tightening in a better grip around the meat of your ass so he can give it an appreciative, taunting jostle. You whimper softly in the back of your throat and tip forward on your toes, trying to stamp down the urge to start squirming. It was very hard not to do when he was staring at you like that, with only a short few inches separating his nose from your vulnerable groin.

But you don’t pull away or move to stop it as he leans in to deliver a soft, fleeting peck to the meat of one cheek before turning his head so he can do the same to the other. There’s a note of unmistakable reverence in the way he kisses your body, like you were communion and holy relic all wrapped into one. It might have been flattering, it may have even gone to your head and inflated your ego under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you stark naked out in the wilderness with a man who was supposed to be your enemy prostrating himself at your feet like an altar. You’re deeply frazzled by the whole thing, not having expected this particular outcome when you’d decided to take his extended hand.

That flustered, jittery nerves feeling only grows stronger when he pecks his way up to the starting seam of your backside, kissing at the top and then slowly working his way down that naturally formed line. You realize what he’s aiming for perhaps a little too late and you suck in a sharp breath of surprise as his lips press into the tight pucker of your hole. Startled goosebumps erupt all over your skin to accompany the soft mewl you involuntarily let out, rocking unsteadily on your feet, but he seems not to pay it any mind.

Just lingering there with his mouth pressed right up against your asshole, Scar issues a quiet groan that seems to reverberate and echo through you a million times over. Your own excitement quickly starts to climb, the sensation of eager slick forming at the proper entrance of your cunt prompting you to cautiously inch your legs apart in hopes of inviting him to direct his attention lower.

But of course that doesn’t work. Scar was the farthest thing from cooperative even when he was putting on a show and insisting he was a good boy — would be a good boy for you if only you’d give him the chance. It was laughable in retrospect and you probably should have seen this coming considering who you were dealing with. Yet you just hiss like a spitting, incensed cat, neither trying to swat him away or extricate yourself from his hold when he purses his lips, kissing at your hole before opening his mouth wide and then sealing it over your entrance.

The first meaty wet swipe of his tongue flicking out over the wrinkled pucker in a broad swipe makes you jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Trembling from your head straight down to your toes, your hand comes up to press over your mouth and silence the truly embarrassing sounds that were trying to crawl their way out of your constricting throat. To be looked at there was already bad enough, but being licked was somehow even worse. And the fact he does it without shame or even any remorse only seems to highlight your own pinpoint self-conscious reaction.

You shift to the side, hoping to dissuade him, and he just follows you. Presses his face more firmly into the space between your cheeks and delivers a wet, smacking slurp to your ass before pulling back a fraction of an inch. Letting out a heady sound that falters at the tail end and peters out into a hungry moan of pleasure, Scar quickly shoves his mouth up against you again and he’s right back at it. His surprisingly supple lips eagerly locate that tight pucker so he can kiss it deeply, encouraging your body to respond.

And it does, with truly startling results. Not only was your cunt starting to weep in sympathetic pleasure, becoming soft and sticky for him, but your hole also begins to puff up under the periodic suction he applies to it. The feeling is a strange one, not exactly pleasurable in the strictest sense, but there’s no denying the effect it has on you when the physical proof was so obvious and stark.

Choking on a half strangled noise, you twist your upper body around and reach back to snag another fistful of his hair. You were torn between either shoving him away or pulling him further in against you, but you finally settle on gritting out a soft, “I can’t believe you’re actually doing that …”

He pulls back at the sound of your voice, not the halfhearted tug you give to his hair, and he laughs a thick, deeply masculine sound into the scant space. “And yet you’re happily letting me do it, Rover! Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

A fresh flood of heat spills into your face but you couldn’t exactly deny it or say it wasn’t the truth. You were allowing this to happen. It didn’t really matter if it was vaguely mortifying, having someone lick you in such a personal and private spot, because you weren’t doing anything to stop it. Even you were a bit surprised at your own lack of protest but fine, if that was how he wanted to play this game then so be it.

Decisively, you shove your discomfort and uncertainty aside. Quickly readjust your hold on Scar’s haphazard shock of hair, get a better grip on it and then pull him back up against you again. That he allows it, simply rocking forward on his knees to let you guide him straight back into the cradle of your backside surprises you slightly, but in reality it probably shouldn’t have. He was quite clearly a shameless, unapologetic heathen of the worst kind, and if this went on for much longer there seemed a high probability that he was going to start rubbing off on you too. He already was, in a way.

Because you find yourself arching your back and jutting your ass up a bit higher, pushing into him. It’s supposed to be petty and maybe just a little bit mean but he only laughs out another half smothered sound before tipping his head so he can seal his lips over your asshole more securely than before. His tongue mercilessly lashes out to lap across the dip in the center and coat you in an obscene amount of drool that slowly drips down and off his chin. But if he’s at all concerned about how messily he’s eating you out he certainly doesn’t show it. Doesn’t even seem to acknowledge it as far as you can tell, and you soon find that you’re choking on a sharp inhale when he directs his tongue to the middle of your slackening pucker.

Poking, prodding and teasing at it, he takes a moment to just taunt you with the suggestion before at last pressing the fleshy wet tip into you. Your body rejects it at first, clenching tight to keep him out, but the loosened state of the muscle quickly gives way when he worms his tongue right into the vulnerable center to just dip inside the rim. The sensation rips an undignified squeal out of you, every single hair follicle suddenly standing on end as you rock forward with such a powerful jolt that you almost tip yourself off balance.

Scar is quick, however, and he unlatches his clawed fingers from the death grip he’s had on your cheeks in favor of reaching up to anchor around your waist instead. You’re not entirely sure if his intention had been to steady you or to stop you from escaping, but you still breathe out a terse sigh of relief anyway.

His hold on you quickly proves more of a curse than a blessing though, and that relief promptly morphs into mute horror when he uses your love handles to yank you back against him. You almost stumble and fall, blindly reaching down to latch onto his blocky wrists, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He just keeps tugging on your hips until he’s got you effectively straddling his face, all but sitting on him now. That just leaves you desperately trying to find some semblance of balance in such an awkward, bow legged position and you almost don’t succeed.

“Hold on! Y - you don’t need to do that, I’m not going anywhere!”

His response is completely muffled to the point of being unintelligible, effectively lost under the weight of your ass (forcibly) settling on top of his mouth. Your face feels hot enough to catch fire as you unsteadily glance down at where his hands are squeezing deep gouges into the meat around your middle and your wide splayed legs. Your toes just barely manage to touch the ground and find some semblance of stability like this, bare feet bracketing his pelvis and effectively drawing your attention to the demanding tent behind his front zipper. The sight of it makes your eyes go big and round, and very nearly stops you in your tracks. If you’d thought he looked hard before, he was downright galvanized now. You almost couldn’t believe it.

Scar was really enjoying this that much?

He shifts underneath you then, ripping you from your gobsmacked thoughts when he rolls his tongue up against your hole and begins to prod at its center again. Seething, you give a weak little jerk in an attempt to dislodge yourself from his grasp but it’s no use. He’s horribly sturdy under you, even with the majority of your weight balancing on his nose, and you quickly realize that you have no chance of getting yourself free at this point. Damn him.

“Seriously,” You groan, impatiently sucking on your teeth. “If you’re so determined to do this then … at least lick more towards the front while you’re down there.”

His responding chuckle jostles you slightly but you don’t find anything about this particularly funny. Not when you were effectively trapped in a balancing act and just the briefest loss of focus seemed like it would send you sprawling out on the ground, and probably take him right along with you. Scar may have been unexpectedly strong given his lithe, largely compact frame but he was hardly in any position to catch you when he himself was bent back at an angle meant to accommodate your height. He wasn’t that much bigger than you, in truth. It was in part what had made fighting him before not seem like such an insurmountable feat when you’d already fought monsters that were at least double his size many times before.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s only a little bit taller than you and only a little bit wider when he somewhat roughly manhandles you further back until you can feel his coarse lips brushing just over the seam of your cunt. You outright gasp at the sensation of sticky slick smearing against his chin and his mouth, yet it doesn’t seem to bother him any more than the spit had. And now that he’s found a pocket of empty space between your thighs, he laughs. Low and seedy, thickened with something dark that you dare not name, the sound of it sending a reverb of excited tremors racing through your system.

“Ooooh, little lamb,” He chortles, seemingly torn between moaning in pleasure or cackling in delight. “All you had to do was ask! I told you, didn’t I? I’m doing this for you. Everything has always been for you! If you want this sweet little pussy of yours ate then that is exactly what you’ll get!”

The intensity in his voice, the strength of conviction in that declaration, makes something uneasy curl inside of you. You’d almost forgotten he was crazy. A maniac and a twisted sadist, according to Yangyang, and of which you had no doubt. Your guard had been lowered far too much, you quickly decide — but when you try to dismount from him, in earnest this time, Scar merely tightens his hold around your waist. It’s easy enough for him to keep you in place when you couldn’t quite find enough traction to kick off from the ground, and all you can do is let out a low, keening mewl as he tugs you down to close that hair's breadth gap between his mouth and your cunt.

All at once his lips are suddenly on you, kissing and nipping at sensitive skin while his tongue intermittently lashes out to taste you. He’s more like a starved beast than a man in that moment as he laps up slick and eager juices with a hungry voracity, pressing so deeply into you that you’re not quite certain how he isn't suffocating himself like this. You’re hardly in any position to worry about that right now though, your heart hammering out a wild rhythm against your ribcage as you precariously teeter there and viciously dig your nails into his forearms in a desperate bid to keep yourself upright. You aren’t sure what kind of material his suit is made out of but all it does is softly creak under the force of your grip and you never break the skin below no matter how hard you try.

But Scar doesn’t even seem to feel it at all, much too preoccupied with working his mouth further up your cunt so he can locate the delicate pleasure button nestled within. And his tongue is like a maddened serpent, aggressively spearing through soft, satiny creases and folds until he at last knocks against the spot that makes you involuntarily jolt. You freeze on top of him, startled at the intense sensation that zaps through you all at once, and he huffs out a victorious breath against your pussy.

Tongue curling out and up, he presses it flat over the apex of your slit and almost leisurely undulates the wet muscle to massage at that hypersensitive spot. Your breath snags, making you sway in a dizzy, lightheaded swoon. It nearly catches you off guard how good it actually feels. All warm and sticky, soft and yet the pressure is applied firmly enough to make your thighs quake around his head. The building pressure in your loins abruptly doubles and then triples, eagerly gushing yet more arousal to coat his face. It wasn’t just pleasurable, it was downright exquisite.

“Ohh! That’s … oooh, Scar! Right there!”

He hums a faint sound of acknowledgment, the resulting pulse running through your cunt to make the nerve endings tingle. You don’t have to see his expression to know he’s quite pleased to hear you moaning his name like that. In fact you’re certain he’s very smug about it, the bastard. He probably thinks he’s won, that his gambit had actually worked and you would be persuaded by his poor excuse for charm. If you’d had the oxygen for it, you would have laughed.

Unfortunately he’s a little too good at eating you out and the ministrations of his tongue effectively rob you of the ability to breathe. It’s hard just to think. All you can do is softly wheeze, struggling to keep your weight centered in the middle, but that too has its own drawbacks as well.

Perched over his mouth like this there’s very little wriggle room for you to lift up and give yourself any reprieve from what he’s doing. Gravity just forces you down and the need for stability keeps you still, which leaves your pussy resting flush with his tongue. There was no escaping it even if you’d wanted to, and your hips give a tiny, restless nudge to grind against him when the internal pressure rapidly swells.

Luckily he takes that as his cue to stop fooling around and he sets in to attack your clit in earnest now. His tongue curls back to zero in on it, swirling the fleshy nub with tight, narrow circles to knock it from all sides before flattening the wet muscle. The way he proceeds to grind into that receptive bundle of nerves sends intense, shuddering shockwaves throughout your body and you awkwardly arch to jut your tits up into the air. Scar’s hold on you doesn’t so much as falter no matter how hard you shake though, which is a relief as much as it is a horrifying thought in the back of your cotton stuffed mind. You were more certain than ever now that he’d taken it easy on you back when you’d fought in his Elysium dimension.

It was obvious that he hadn’t really wanted to hurt you back there when he so clearly could have but then … why? Why did he want you so much that he was even willing to go this far?

“Nnghhn, please Scar … I don’t know how much longer I can stay like this! Just — put me down!”

He issues a faint growl in response, one that you think is meant to tell you to forget about it. But then, to your reeling surprise, his hands carefully push you forward a step so that you can slide off his face and settle more squarely on your feet. A trembling sigh of relief shudders out of you even as his palms drag back over your hips to squeeze the meat of your backside and spread you open again. Whimpering at the rush of cool air that comes in to waft over your cunt and emphasize just how much of a sticky mess he’s made of you, you gratefully sink down to kneel on the ground and settle between his spread knees.

The muscles in your thighs are very grateful for the break and it doesn’t come as much of a shock when he simply follows after you, huffing a gruff sound as his hands descend upon your ass. His vibrating, almost jittery excitement is nearly palpable, almost perfectly mirroring yours, and you don’t protest when he roughly pushes you forward to elevate your lower half, angling your cunt right up at him.

“Fuck, just look at that pretty pussy. You’re perfect, Rover. I want to lay the whole world at your feet, entire kingdoms and dynasties reduced to ash, but even that wouldn’t be enough. You deserve to have it all. Everything you could ever want, anything at all, and only I can give it to you. I’m the one you should choose!”

“What I really want right now is for you to shut up.” You murmur, rocking back into him with a pointed nudge. “Be quiet and finish what you started, Scar.”

“Oooho, and it would be my pleasure.” He snickers, the undeniable amusement in his voice commingling with something much darker, more primal. It sounds like the husk of a death rattle, almost, but you don’t get the chance to linger on that thought.

He’s bending close again to put his mouth on the fleshy seam of your body but this time you don’t have gravity working against you, forcing you to stay still and complacent. Moaning softly, you arch your back to better present your cunt to him and he takes a quick, appreciative swipe along your slit in response. Then he’s tonguing you open, working messy folds and creases apart so he can slip inside pudgy lips and find that thrumming nerve cluster again. You outright choke when he knocks it, pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing as stars erupt across your vision.

Your fingers dig into the ground underneath you as you allow yourself to stiffly relax into the blinding onslaught of sensation that comes with him eating you out from the back. He’s just as enthusiastic and borderline aggressive about it as he’d been when you were all but sitting on his face. You were starting to realize now that this was just his default setting and he didn’t seem to know anything else or how to tone it down. It was something you’d likely have to work with him on, if you decided to humor this absurdity beyond just this one unexpected encounter.

And given how talented he was with his mouth, you were feeling oddly inclined to keep this shaky truce going.

“Ohh! God, you’re a messy eater …”

Laughing a brief sound, Scar seals his lips over your pulsing clit and gives it a surprisingly gentle suck, almost as if in way of an apology. You didn’t believe that for one second though. He didn’t seem the type who was ever sorry about much of anything, but certainly not something like this.

Seething through your teeth, you stiffly lower your front closer to the ground so you can nudge your cunt further into his mouth, encouraging him to keep going. And he does, but not without giving your clit one last savory, lip smacking slurp. You sensitively jerk at the sound, internally wincing, but he’s already unlatching himself so he can press his tongue into that meaty little nub and trace nonsensical patterns over it, dragging it back and forth, back and forth. Up and then down.

Your thighs quickly start to shake when the bubbling pressure in your loins rapidly swells with his ministrations, edging so close to the precipice that you can all but taste it in the back of your tongue. Mewling as quietly as you can manage, you numbly reach up with one hand to cup your own breast in a blind fumble. The gesture was perfunctory at best when you were already inching dangerously close to release but your fingers still distractedly tweak over the nipple anyway. It’s stiff and aching, and the idle stimulation just rushes straight to your gushing cunt. You were so close.

“Ooohhnnghh … keep going. Just like that.”

Shaking his head almost like a wet, mangy stray, Scar nuzzles further into you and settles somehow even deeper into your pussy. He opens his mouth wide, the drag of his rough lips against you making you shudder seconds before he presses his tongue flush to your slit and drags it straight up through your labia. Following the naturally formed crease, he dips right over your entrance and then higher still to take another sticky lap at your asshole. Your breath catches at the sensation, eyes staring wide and unseeing at the spot where your unoccupied hand is splayed out on the ground. He doesn’t pause long enough for you to tell him to knock it off though, and all you can do is let out a startled groan when he rudely shoves his tongue into your ass so he can fuck you with it.

Your teeth clench tightly at the static shock that rushes through you, absolutely hating the way the muscles in your lower half weakly pulse in response to the intrusion. His hands, so big and warm, possessively groping at your backside prove equally distracting, especially when he pinches and spreads you open again, making it even easier for his tongue to spear past the loosened ring. You’d never felt anything like it before, had never imagined it would feel this good, and you finally let out a hiccuping sob of frustration when the first real warning tremor makes you seize.

“Scar, please!”

Groaning a wild, animalistic sound, the Fractisdus Overseer pulls back and slides his squirming tongue from your hole. He pauses just long enough to deliver one more smacking peck to the loosened and puffed up rim before kissing his way back down your cunt, nosing at you as he goes.

It was hard to reject the idea that he was very much like a dog after all, albeit an aggressive and untamed one; but a dog nonetheless when he was so shameless about the whole thing. Clearly it didn’t matter which part of your body it was or how much of a mess he made in the process. Like some deep seeded, primal urge was spurring him on, he operated with one goal and one goal only in mind, and that seemed to be the simple need to get as close to you as he physically could. Almost like he was scenting you, or perhaps coating himself in your smell. Both seemed equally likely.

But if that really was his goal then it was certainly working. There was so much accumulated slick and spit coating your pussy that when he presses into you again a soft, wet squelch rings through the air. Your toes instinctively curl as if in preparation, as if you were bracing yourself for something much bigger to nudge at your entrance and push in, but all that slots against you is Scar’s nose while his mouth settles back over your clit. He licks you with broad, steady strokes of the muscle for a moment but quickly switches gears to flicking it back and forth, battering at that fleshy little nub with a single mindedness that almost makes you go cross eyed. The pleasure is so immediate and so intense that you give a violent jerk, hand falling away from your breast to smack against the ground and gouge your nails into the cool earth. It’s suddenly ten times harder to draw a full breath than it was only a moment ago and, hips juddering, you rear back on his face with a wounded, faltering bleat of pleasure.

And the chord snaps, just like that. It’s so sudden that it catches you unawares and you lurch, letting out a series of half stifled yet frantic gasps as the spasms of release hit you full force. But he keeps you pressed right up against him no matter how much you buck or twist, his hold on your hips downright painful now. Sharp fingertips dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to draw little pinpricks of blood. The distant nick of inhuman claws slowly sinking into flesh serves as a constant reminder of just how dangerous this was for you, a tiny distant voice in the back of your head saying ‘I told you so’, and yet you can’t quite find it in you to care very much about that right now.

Not when you were soaring on a high so exquisitely satisfying it makes the backs of your eyes sting with sensitive tears. Luridly moaning now, you quake through the rest of your orgasm and savor the blinding starbursts that shoot off inside you in quick, pulsating succession. Your pussy clenches uncontrollably against his face, practically drowning him with arousal, but Scar just keeps lapping at you throughout the height of your pleasure until you finally start to come down from it an extended beat later, piece by excruciating piece.

It’s only when your breathy groans start to take on a dire, vaguely frazzled edge does he at last pull away with a thick growl of his own. You feel him lean back then, giving you some much needed space, and you gratefully blow out a spent exhale of relief even as he starts to busy himself with using both hands to knead at your upturned ass. If it kept him content for the time being then you were fine with it. You desperately needed a chance to ground and reorient before dealing with him any further.

Which you would. Very soon, once you got your breathing back under control.

Honestly you hadn’t expected him to be good at that at all, let alone that good.

“Oh, Rover,” He sighs out, almost dreamy and punchdrunk, the sound of his rough hewn voice drawing you out of your reverie. “I do hope you enjoyed that half as much as I did but I’d be happy to give you an encore if you’re still not quite satisfied yet. Just say the word and I’ll do whatever it is you want ~”

“Tch. I bet you’d like that.”

“I would.” Scar readily agrees, giving your ass a slow, anticipatory pinch, and you volley right back with a low scoff in return.

Gathering yourself together, you carefully push up and twist to glance back at him with what you hope is an unamused look. Somehow you’re not the least bit surprised to find his lips and cheeks damp with a vague sheen you can just make out under the moonlight, bits of hair sticking to his forehead where he’d gotten a little too messy with it. He looked like a wet dream come to life, if you were being honest, but no way in hell were you about to tell him that.

“You sure are confident. Who’s to say I even liked the first round enough to go another with you? Maybe once was enough.”

“Aww, don’t say that. I know it’s not true, for starters. I have the evidence to prove that all over my face, don’t I?” He lets his mouth curl into a lazy but no less smug smirk, very much looking like a mischievous feline who’s eaten one too many canary’s. “Besides, you were certainly moaning my name in the most deliciously sweet voice only a few minutes ago. You don’t have to be shy with me, little lamb. Enjoying it isn’t a bad thing and it also doesn’t make you any less fierce in my eyes.”

“What do you want me to say to that? Should I thank you for it?”

A short lived laugh makes his shoulders rise and then fall. “No, not at all. That’s not what I want to hear right now.”

“Then what do you expect from me?”

“I want you to say you’ll be mine.”

The candid way he says it surprises you a great deal and you quickly shrug off your own satiated afterglow to look at him. Really look at him this time. It was still the same man you’d met in that abandoned village, still the same person who’d forcibly separated you from Yangyang before hand feeding you clues through a dark tale of sacrificial sheep and shepherds. His eyes had lost that sharp, manic tinged edge though and he was now intently watching you with a noticeable fondness reflected in his expression. It softened his whole face and made him look nearly boyish. Unassuming, in a way.

You’d almost forgotten your earlier revelation, that he seemed truly interested in you and not necessarily what you were. Granted you hadn’t quite figured what that was yet but …

“Why do you want me so bad, Scar? There must be a reason.”

He gives his head a slow shake, trying to stifle a fresh peel of laughter. “There are many reasons to want you, Rover. Don’t underestimate or sell yourself short. I’m sure you’re the one we’ve been waiting for. I’ve been certain of it since the moment you woke up here. More importantly though, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re one I’ve been waiting for. Can’t you feel it too?”

You send him a quizzical frown but it’s obvious he isn’t going to elaborate any further than that. It’s clear in the way he just tips his head to the side, peering over at you with a sense of peace bred from reverence, or something close to it. Almost like … it was almost like being in close proximity with you had a calming effect that helped chase away at least some of the madness for a time. He didn’t look crazy to you in that moment. If anything you almost got the sense that he was so painfully sincere that it bordered on fanatical, as if you could do no wrong in his eyes and there was no low he wouldn’t sink to if you asked it of him.

Perhaps his demonstration had accomplished what it was meant to then, because you believed him. Against your better judgment and common sense, you were now certain that he at least fully believed what he was saying so you had no choice but to believe it too. He probably didn’t deserve your pity if even only half of the things you’d heard were true and yet …

Finally letting out a slow breath through your nose, you lift your hand and reach back to gently touch his shoulder. At your careful push, he leans further back, letting his hands fall from your ass to rest in his lap instead. You’re not entirely sure why you do it but, swallowing down your nerves, you go up on your knees so that you can kneel between the spread of his legs and then lean into him.

Scar blinks at you, clearly surprised, but he doesn’t pull away or protest when you get right up in his face. He just tips his mouth towards you, those mismatched eyes locked on yours with a burning intensity that probably would have stopped a lesser person in their tracks. You’re decidedly lacking in self preservation tonight though because it doesn’t even give you pause, and you simply press your mouth to his in a lingering, featherlight kiss.

A sudden puff of air escapes him in a rush at the contact, even for as brief as it is, and sends a static jolt through the both of you. Your pussy gives a muted, distant flutter of interest at the soft whimper he noises, sounding so needy and tender that it almost shatters your resolve. But you manage to cling to it somehow, determined only to get him back for the mess he’s made of you and nothing more. It was probably a bad idea to get any more tangled up with him than you already were.

No, it was definitely a bad idea. Possibly even the worst one you’d ever flirted with.

But that knowledge doesn’t stop you from following through on this impulsive decision, and you soon disengage from him so you can shuffle further back into the space between his legs. A quick glance over your shoulder shows him just as hard as he’d been the last time you’d looked, the strain of his erection making the black zipper protrude from the rest of his slate-gray bodysuit and rumple the curious fabric in the most fascinating of ways. You could feel more than just a passing interest solidifying in the back of your mind and you were awfully tempted to throw caution aside, to pull on that ridiculous zip and find out exactly what was hidden inside.

Instead you rear back, lift your ass and then plop it down right on top of that aggressive tent, and he outright chokes as if you’d just sucker punched him. One clawed hand comes up to take bruising hold of your already sore hip, the other braced against the ground to steady himself. A truly unnatural snarl rises in his chest to make him sound like some sort of half crazed beast, but he doesn’t try to shove you off or question what you’re doing. He doesn’t even seem to know what to do with it now that it’s (quite literally) fallen right into his lap; his breath coming a little quicker as he turns his attention downward to take in the sight of you sitting atop his cock with wide, borderline fanatical eyes.

Stiff and halting, Scar experimentally rolls his pelvis up into you, and the demanding nudge of him between your legs nearly makes your mouth drop open in a heated groan. Right there. He was right where you needed him the most, pressed up tight against your entrance to tease the suggestion of real penetration. You badly wanted it, you’re more than just a bit ashamed to realize. Your pussy felt terribly empty and in need of a good stretching, of which you were certain he not only could provide but would be happy to. The only thing standing between you and that particular end to this foolhardy encounter was the thin layer of his suit but it would have been oh so very easy for you to simply unzip it and claim your prize for yourself.

You probably would have even given in had the situation been just a little bit different, if the context of danger wasn't an ever present threat under the surface of every encounter with him. But you’re on a self appointed mission and you merely grind your cunt down to drag over his straining erection, gasping softly when he digs right up into your sensitized clit in the process. Gods, this was so very risky.

“Rover.”

“Shut up.” You snap, not even bothering to hide your irritation with him, with this whole ordeal as you start to gingerly move. Whether by virtue of his smooth bodysuit or the obscenely wet quality of your cunt, you find yourself easily gliding over that flexing bulge with a sinfully smooth motion that begets an equally easy rhythm. This was much too simple, too comfortable, for someone who was supposed to be your enemy. “You said you would do whatever I wanted, didn’t you? Well, I want you to stop talking. Think you can handle that?”

Scar lets out a strained, largely distracted laugh, his attention clearly focused on the meaty press of your pussy lips where they drag over the firm outline of him. “My, my, I had no idea needing to get fucked would make you so short tempered! Although I am flattered you want to use me for your own pleasure in this way, I think I should probably remind you that I can do a much better job of … seeing to your needs if you’d let me take it out first.”

Huffing, you ignore him and bring your hands down to brace against his taut thighs, aiming to giving yourself better leverage. It works, you’re quite relieved to find, and the motion of your hips becomes a bit more sure, less tentative. The quiet moan that escapes from him reaches your ears a moment later, the sound rushing straight down to your cunt. This clearly had the potential to backfire in the worst possible way if it went on for too long. You already felt much too tempted to simply reach down and fish his cock out, angle it up at your entrance and sink down on him straight to the base. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction or another reason to be so smug and cocky about everything.

And given the way his narrow hips quickly start to shudder and tense up underneath you, you’re relatively certain that it won’t. He was either unaccustomed to such physical exchanges, of having a hot, damp pussy dragging right over his cock, so close to skin on skin contact it was borderline torture for both of you, or he was embarrasibgly weak to being on the receiving end of your attention specifically. It may have even been some deadly combination of the two working in tandem with each other.

But you had to give him credit where it was due and in this at least Scar certainly deserved the reward you were giving him. No matter how much he sensitively twitches or groans, still so vocal even when he wasn’t talking, he does not try to press the matter any further or coerce you into it, nor does he resort to simply forcing you into doing things his way. He just grips you so tight it hurts while he needily thrusts his pelvis up from the ground to meet your stilted motion and maintain the rhythm, which went a very long way in earning him a few points in his favor. Evidently he could be rather obedient when he wanted and you quite liked that side of him, you had to admit. Maybe even liked it a little too much, if the deluge of fresh slick oozing out of you was any indication.

“Nnghn … if you keep doing that - -“

“I know.” You cut him off, heart rate quickening to match the increasingly eager way you grind against him. “This is payback for what you did to me. Just — finish and get it over with.”

“Hah! Oooh, you really are just full of surprises, aren’t you? Who knew such a precious little lamb could be so petty.” He drawls, trying for confident and unbothered, but there’s no missing the jittery quality of his voice. Like it was taking the vast majority of his self control to keep him in check.

You feel pretty proud of yourself for that, even when he gives your hip a too tight squeeze before digging his nails in and spreading that cheek from the other so he can look at your asshole while you ride him. Pleasurable shockwaves slam through you at the sharp yet short lived sting from his fingers, your head rapidly turning muddled again when his heavy, masculine groans drop another octave. You knew your hole was still wet with spit after his feast, puffy and darkened from all the attention he’d given it, and that knowledge has you shuddering almost as much as his responding moan does.

You hadn’t thought you’d get off on something like that quite so much but it seemed Scar was rather adept at teaching you things about yourself. It was ridiculous.

“Ooughn, damn. You really know how to get revenge, Rover. I must admit I’m … ahhn, I’m impressed.” The threadbare quality of his voice, the way it falters and fades out despite his best effort to keep it steady, makes it glaringly obvious as to what effect this was having on him. His excitement was so palpable you think you could probably reach out and touch it if you really wanted to, if you dared. It was foolish, it was stupid, it was just asking for more trouble from him but —

That temptation ultimately proves far too great and your pulse stutters an eager beat under the skin as you twist to look back at him. Hungrily, you take in the disarray of his hair and the unexpectedly sincere flush that colors his cheekbones, his pinched brows. He suddenly looked more like a helpless, overly sensitive young man in the prime of his life than the heartless maniac Yangyang had made him out to be. Even the impulsive and sporadic side of him you were now accustomed to dealing with was nowhere in sight. Scar was completely at your mercy like this. He either wouldn’t or couldn’t take the upper hand and flip the script on you even though you were quite certain he could if he really wanted to.

Was this the loyalty he spoke of? Was it the reason he looked at you, only you, as he did, like you were some sort of ideal come to life or a golden idol he would worship until his dying breath? You weren’t sure if there was much of a difference in his mind and even less sure what you thought about that, but it made you feel decidedly powerful. Inflated with the the knowledge that he seemed to hold you in such high esteem. Like you were the physical embodiment of his deliverance.

Like you could save him.

Slowing the motion of your hips to a sedate, leisurely crawl, you allow yourself to just barely nudge your pussy against his rock hard cock in favor of focusing your attention on more interesting matters. You feel emboldened unlike ever before as you reach back to lightly touch fingertips to his neck and lightly tease the skin there. Scar groans in response as if it felt indescribably good to be touched like that before tipping his head back to expose the jagged line across his throat. At the same time his pelvis rolls up into you, a needy whimper slipping out of him, and the significance is clear. Despite his pushiness, he was actually rather submissive when you started reciprocating. How fascinating.

“Nghnn, Rover -!”

His desperate gasp spurns you on and you reach higher up to thread your fingers through the back of his hair, closing a tight fist at the root. When you tug at it he quietly seethes but acquiesces without so much as a hint of resistance, obediently straightening up until he’s hunched right up against your back. His big, wet eyes immediately zero in on your mouth and, whining softly, he starts to lean in as if to kiss you while his arms snake around your waist, tightly clutching you in his lap. You put a quick stop to it though, yanking his neck back to halt his forward momentum, and the pull on his scalp draws another whimpering moan out of him. It was clear he was right on the edge of release, close to begging for it by the looks of it, but you had something else in mind for him.

“Open your mouth.” You intone, tugging on that surprisingly soft hair again to make sure he was paying attention.

Perfectly docile now, Scar’s lips part and stretch wide to show you a pink tongue and pretty white teeth. He’s watching you intently, almost trancelike in the way he stares into your face from only a scant hair's breadth away. It was clear that he was eagerly awaiting your next command and he issues a breathy, keening sound when you deign to grace him with a small smile.

“Good boy. Now stick out your tongue.”

This he also does without question, unfurling it from his mouth to pant at the air like, well. A dog. You might have found it pathetic had you not seen him in action before, had you not already gotten a brief glimpse of what he was capable of. Instead it’s resoundingly gratifying, having this powerful man at your mercy and knowing he was completely wrapped around your finger like this. You can hardly contain your own excitement as you lean in close to him.

And spit into his mouth. Straight towards the back of his throat, and he positively quakes in response when the wad of saliva hits its mark.

Mismatched eyes rolling skyward, Scar stiffly twitches underneath you as his cock flexes, pressing almost aggressively up into your cunt with a trembling pulse. The distantly vague sensation of something warm and damp makes itself known between your legs in a slow oozing rush that seeps up into you, and your chest practically caves in with the realization that he’d cum. Just like that. And what’s more, it seemed to be a rather powerful orgasm for as little stimulation you’d provided, given the way he roughly shakes through it, his teeth clenched tight and seething.

It’s over much too fast, far quicker than yours had been, and he practically deflates against you with a haggard, wounded little sound only a short moment later. Slowly, you let up your hold on his hair and he gratefully ducks his face into the crook of your shoulder, letting out a territorial, rumbling growl even as he nuzzles into you.

“Don’t get comfortable now,” You murmur. Bringing your hands down, you carefully push at his arms where they’re still locked around your middle but of course he doesn’t so much as budge, and you give a soft click of your tongue. “I still haven’t decided if I trust you or not yet. As far as I see it we’re still on opposing sides.”

He issues a quiet, halfhearted laugh against your skin, his shoulders hunching around your slighter frame. “Ahh, so cruel, even now. Don’t tell me that didn’t earn me even a bit of consideration?”

You think about that for a brief moment before deciding that the truth couldn’t hurt. Certainly not after everything that just happened between you and him. “You’re cute, Scar. I’ll give you that. But important decisions can’t be made so lightly. There’s more to trusting someone than physical attraction.”

“I know, I know.” Sighing heavily, he gives you one last affectionate nudge with his nose before sitting up and letting his hold on you loosen, arms falling away to grant you your freedom. It surprises you more than anything else that’s happened out here on this desolate stretch of mountain, which was quite a feat, considering, but you weren’t about to question it.

Shifting forward, you gingerly push up off him and climb to your feet. You can’t quite stop yourself from peeking over your shoulder though, and a fresh buzz of arousal tears through you at the sight of Scar kneeling there, big dopey eyes staring up at you, while a very noticeable wet stain bleeds into the front of his suit. It was impossible to tell how much of that was actually from him and how much of it was where your messy cunt had settled, but you quickly glance away before curiosity can get the better of you. Once was already more than enough for one night.

“Are you going to keep following me?”

“But of course. You are the one we want, after all.” He snickers low under his breath, like his heart wasn’t really in it at the moment. “This may not be what you want to hear, but my interest in you stretches well beyond just a single tryst. I could have you ten, a hundred or even a thousand times and I’d still want you all to myself, little lamb.”

Frowning, you hesitantly turn to look down at him again. “But why? You still haven’t explained that yet.”

“Oh, Rover, my darling. Do I really need to explain it? You’re you. That’s more than enough for me.”

It’s clear you’re not going to get a straight answer out of him, probably never would, and you roll your eyes at him in annoyance. “Alright. I probably should have expected that response, I guess. Is there anything else you need? Thanks to you I need to have another bath and then take care of … wait. Where did that guy go?”

Humming softly, Scar casually follows your line of sight over to the riverbank. The very unoccupied riverbank where only your small pile of possessions was, thankfully, still sitting right where you’d left them.

“Hmm, looks like he got away while we were focused on other, far more important things. No need to be concerned though. I don’t think he’ll be volunteering to keep tabs on you again anytime soon.”

Stomach plummeting into the ground, your hands fly up to clutch your suddenly very hot face. This couldn’t be happening. You’d intended to distract Scar to keep him from killing that unknown man so you could still follow through on your initial plan of questioning him when he woke up but instead he’d distracted you. Dammit! This entire trek out into the wilderness was a complete waste of time and energy, and you were right back where you’d started. Square one with no results to show for it.

And that was to say absolutely nothing of what he was going to tell his comrades about you and the Fractsidus Overseer. Double damn!

⭐

Crossposted: here

#wuthering waves #scar #wuwa scar #self insert bullshit

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xxchromies · 1 month

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My post about different kinds of women was never meant to leave radblr. Most people who have never been a part of that wouldn’t understand the criticisms of certain things, like acrylic nails. Acrylic nails are not an innate part of womanhood and they are CERTAINLY not innate to women of color! I have mixed feelings about it because while it’s kind of funny to see people misinterpret my post SO severely, it’s also frustrating. And people are calling me a fascist. Which is obviously brain dead. But it still hurts to see even if it’s stupid and untrue. I thought including different types of hated women, including those hated by Republicans and liberals, would make made the message more clear. I thought it would make people understand that I don’t just mean women I disagree with politically. I mean any women that is highly disliked by any particular person. I also included women at varying degrees of “problematicness”. You’re right, liking Stanley cups is harmless. But people hate these people anyway, they call them materialistic and stupid. They are all hated women, it doesn’t matter why or to what extent.

I just think it’s so interesting that the choices I intentionally made in the hopes I’d get my message across better led to people misunderstanding my post more. It makes me sad.

#radblr #radical feminism #terfsafe #radical feminists do interact #terfblr

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honeycrispjamz · 6 months

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Something that really aggravates me is the fact that some people think Misty is completely at fault for her actions towards and with Coach Ben.

It is obvious to me that she already starts out the show with some severe abandonment issues, and the attraction to an older man and her innate need to have him need her in all ways possible is— alarming, to say the least. Seems clear to me that if she isn’t a victim of csa, she is definitely susceptible to that kind of abuse. Her curiosity towards Ben and sex seems less fueled by an actual, sexual attraction to him and instead a desire to be wanted and seen by anyone, and through trauma a child can be taught that the easiest way to get attention is to take it through any means possible. When a child has exhausted every avenue for love and attention, they will turn to extreme measures.

Should Misty have touched Ben in the cabin? Absolutely not, and his reaction was valid. Should she have poisoned him? Also no.

HOWEVER, I don’t believe that Ben’s fear of her is a good excuse for him to “play along” with this CHILD and her delusion. Think about how easy it could have been for him, an adult that is obviously impressionable to Misty, to sit her down and have an honest conversation with her. To tell her, “no, I don’t want you. But I don’t need to want you for your existence to be worth something. You are worthy of love and attention, and I’m giving you that love and attention by sitting you down and having this real, vulnerable conversation with you.”

All Misty needed was to be heard, not to be played along with. If Ben would of seen that, and talked to her, I truly believe she would have listened. That isn’t to say she isn’t already destined to become someone who manipulates others and uses her pitifulness to her advantage, and I’m honestly not sure how things would have played out if Ben had this conversation with her. But I think it was needed, and I think Ben is somewhat of a coward for not doing it.

#yellowjackets #misty quigley #coach ben #I said what I said #csa ment tw

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frvnkcastles · 1 year

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TAKE ME WITH YOU ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You show Frank your appreciation for keeping you going.

Warnings: Suicide ideation (both reader and Frank mention having suicidal thoughts), feminine nicknames, hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: Today is the last day of Suicide Awareness Month and I really wanted to do something for it because it really means a lot to me as someone who lost a friend to it but also struggles with those thoughts on most days. I’ve had a good couple of weeks lately but it’s still something I deal with and Frank has helped through so much. If only I could actually thank him. But I guess this is the closest thing to it :) I hope this resonates with some of you, I’m proud of you for being here <3

On the second-to-last night of September, you were filled with nerves from your head to your toes, your eyes constantly glancing at the clock to see it tick closer and closer to eleven — the time Frank had promised to be home. You had tried to open your mouth about what was on your mind in the morning when you were still melted together under the sheets, and again before he had left but his sweet kiss on your lips had rendered you silent. Now, you had decided you weren’t going to shy away from being vulnerable, even at the risk of crying.

You knew he was a safe space, he was your safe space, but you always hesitated talking about the truly dark and sad inside you. Maybe it was some innate fear you’d be pushing him away, or maybe you worried about worrying him — either way, it often took him probing a little bit for you to open up, but tonight, you insisted on being brave all by yourself.

At exactly eleven o’clock, Frank’s key turned in the lock of your door, and you perked up on the living room couch and watched your tall, scary man drag himself indoors with heavy boots. As soon as the door was shut and he faced you, a tired smile crawled up to his face and remained there when he crouched down to undo the laces of his shoes.

”Hey, sweetheart. Been waitin’ all night, huh?” he figured you out pretty quickly, and with a sheepish chuckle, you shrugged. He shook his head but made his way to the couch where his first priority was kissing your forehead. ”’M sorry for keepin’ you up”, Frank added, and with your hand brushing against his fingertips when he slumped down next to you, you tutted at him.

”Don’t be sorry, baby. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway”, you swallowed before averting your gaze from his deep, dark eyes to his built figure. ”Are you okay?” you asked before proceeding any further, and to reassure you, Frank lifted his hand to the back of your neck and softly caressed your hair there.

”I ain’t bleedin’ out tonight, baby. What’s on your mind?” he questioned with an attentive stare, and when you met his eyes, you could see him trying to figure you out; detailing your expression, hoping to find out if something was wrong.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you reached behind your back to grab the small gift you had wrapped for him last night. You handed it over to him without a word, and with surprise washing over his bruised face, he took the silver present while his other hand dropped around your shoulders to keep you close.

”Shit. What’s the occasion?” he asked, blinking, and you could tell he was sucker-punched by your gesture. He had been learning how to be better with affection — in fact, he had become almost clingy with you, but he still couldn’t quite comprehend… this.

”Well”, you cleared your throat, ”I don’t know if you knew but September is a month for… for, uh, suicide prevention and awareness. And I guess I kinda just wanted to thank you, because you keep me going. You’re the best preventative means I’ve ever had.” You chuckled quietly and looked down at your hands while continuing, ”I didn’t think I’d make it this far. But you give me a reason to stay alive, and I’m really… really grateful.”

Silence landed between you and you swallowed so thickly you could have sworn it was audible, but before you could panic that it was all too much, you gave a weak gesture at the gift. ”You can open it now”, you encouraged, and realizing he still hadn’t, Frank looked away from you and down to the small package he began unwrapping.

It was almost funny seeing his big, rough hands manhandle the tiny gift, but he did his best, and eventually, unveiled the small jewerly box inside. He glanced at you, but proceeded to lift the top of the box to reveal a silver chain with your initial hanging from it. He was indescribably gentle and feather-light when he picked it up, his dark eyes glued onto the piece as you waited with bated breath.

”Maybe it’s a little corny—”, you began, but Frank cut you off with one hand grasping yours tightly.

”I love it”, he stated simply, glancing between you and the necklace. ”I really fuckin’ love it. Yeah, this is…”

You licked your lips and nodded. ”I just thought… whenever you need the reminder, I just want you to know you’ve saved my life over and over again. You do so much for me, you have no idea”, you whispered, and tightening his hold on your hand, Frank swallowed, and you could see him fighting off tears.

”C’mere”, he spoke eventually, quiet and fragile, and you didn’t fight back when he pulled you into a tight, warm hug. You closed your eyes and breathed him in as his arms wrapped around you firmly, and you could feel his lips grazing your temple. ”I love you, y’know that?” he murmured against your hair, and struggling not to cry yourself, you nodded.

”I love you, Frank.”

He continued to hold you for a while, but eventually, the two of you wound up getting ready for bed and before you knew it, the next day came. You had to drag yourself to work early on, but you were energized by the sight of a sleepy Frank still dozed off on your pillow, his new silver chain shining in the sunlight peeking through your curtains.

Still, as the day went on, you couldn’t help but begin overthinking. Had you been a little too dramatic? Was it too much pressure to put on one person? The questions piled up and by the time you were going home, your nails had been chewed down to nothing and your lip was mere moments away from bleeding.

But Frank? He had been nothing short of honored. And so, when you walked through the front door, you were met with the scent of your favorite dish, your favorite playlist playing through your little radio while your favorite guy stood in the kitchen where your favorite flowers awaited. At the sound of the door closing, Frank turned around and grinned at the sight of you speechless at the doorstep, your bag falling on the floor and your eyes wide at what you were witnessing.

As if it was any other day, Frank swooped you in by the waist and kissed you deep and slow, taking your breath away in an instant. You lifted one hand to his cheek, holding his face close to yours even when your lips disconnected, and you could feel his smirk against your cheek.

”Welcome home, sweet girl”, he murmured, and unable to hold back a smile of your own, you kissed him once more.

”What’s going on?” you wondered, your curiosity getting the best of you, and so, you let go of Frank and stepped into the kitchen where the flowers smelled heavenly and the food was almost ready.

”Think I shoulda been a lot more… I dunno, receptive last night. Really means a fuckton that you shared with me, sweetheart”, Frank voiced from behind you, and with anxiety rising in your chest once again, you twirled around to face him.

”I was starting to worry it may have been too much”, you confessed, and with a scoff, Frank landed both hands on your hips and pulled you in closer.

”Nah, I’m just a dumbass, baby. Really, I… I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be able to help ya out. Y’know, it fuckin’ breaks my heart to even imagine a world without you. ’M so grateful you’ve stuck around”, he insisted, and when you looked down shyly, he immediately lifted your head with his thumb and looked into your eyes.

”I mean it. You’re so goddamn important to me and I’m so glad you’re here with me. If you ever feel like… ya know… not being here anymore, all you gotta do is tell me and I’ll be by your side, no matter what. There ain’t a place I’d rather be, aight? You’re my girl and whatever you need, I’mma give it to you”, Frank continued, and with your lips pursed into a weak smile, you whispered a thank you. A tear rolled down your cheek, but Frank was quick to wipe it away with his thumb.

”That really means the world to me, Frank”, you promised with a kiss left on his cheek, and nodding, he took your hand in his and squeezed.

”I know I don’t, uh, talk about it much, but shit, I get it. I really do. There are days when I wanna just disappear, when I want it all to just stop. Days when it feels like too much and there ain’t any cure for it. But then I see you or hear your laugh or smell your perfume and, fuck, there it is. That shit makes me wanna hold on and see what’s comin’ next. As long as you’ll be here to see it with me”, Frank admitted in a quiet but firm tone, every word coming straight from the heart.

You wiped your eyes but there was no stopping the tears. You hugged him tight and felt the cold chain against your forehead as you did. ”How’d we get so lucky to find each other?” you whispered, and with a quiet laugh, Frank shook his head.

”Shit, I really dunno, sweetheart. But I ain’t ever gonna take it for granted”, he hummed before chuckling, ”guess this is our day, huh?”

You smiled up at him. ”I like that”, you whispered, ”our day.”

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years

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Bow to Me [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (15) Reveals and eroticism are rife at Stark's Renaissance Faire. (w/c 4.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language.

The veil fastened to your forehead by a simple gold band billowed around your shoulders. Heavy skirts fluttered around your ankles, an approaching banner of war. Thor’s eyes grew wide with alarm, seeing your determined stride through a maze of colourful bunting. There would be no escape this time. He threw a fresh candy apple to the side mid-bite, taking off with a comical run to the nearest high topped tent. It was thirty minutes into Stark’s annual family fun-day. The theme this year? Renaissance Faire. And you were already prepared to go medieval on pretty much everybody in attendance.

Several wide-eyed children looked up at you in awe as you strode between them, the heavy folds of your skirts swishing purposefully on your way to confront the cowardly god. “Fhor is afwaid of her.” one of the children lisped, to a chorus of hushed woww’s that followed you like a breeze. You smirked, lifting the luxurious panel of the costume tent to reveal a cowering Thor trying frantically to conceal himself with ye olde dust sheet. “Desist, woman!” he whined dramatically, stretching out a hand with the sheet hanging limply, the other shielding his eyes. “Do not tempt me with your corseted bosom and coquettish wiles, I beg of you. You know not what you do!" You folded your arms, trying not to laugh. “I’m not trying to make you break the Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense, idiot - your dick is safe as far as I’m concerned.” you said, watching Thor’s eye squint between parted fingers. “You know of this?” he mumbled warily. “Oh, I know of this.” you smirked. His arms fell to his sides, a look of bamboozled relief on his face. “Thank the gods.” he murmured. “I thought for sure when I saw your fiery demeanour out yonder that you had finally come to your senses and decided you must have me.” he looked at you with sudden panic. “Not that I would-I wouldn’t...oh, do not tell my broth-” You raised a hand, his words fumbling to a merciful stop. “I need to ask you something.” you said slowly, hoping he could sense the need for some semblance of sincerity. Thor's brow furrowed. “Loki said I needed to speak to you, it’s weird – so, well he can see...he says- um, flashes of things in my head and I wondered…” you trailed off, feeling suddenly foolish under Thor’s blank stare. “Go on.” he gestured expectantly, arms folded. His brows were raised, as if you had said nothing of any note at all. It was your turn to frown. “Well, what the fuck is up with that? It’s rude.” you snapped. Thor chuckled. “You are in love with him. Obviously.” he scoffed, turning over his shoulder to glance at himself in the mirror. He smoothed a rogue blonde strand, pouting. “Why do people keep saying that?” you huffed, brushing the front of your dress as heat rose in your cheeks. “Everyone knows I can’t stand him so I don’t know why you’re both obsessed with-”

“Mother used to do it to me all the time…” he continued, ignoring you as he re-adjusted the short velvet cape clasped to his shoulders. He had dressed as a king for today’s festivities. Because of course he had.

“I understand your misgivings. It is rather inconvenient. For instance, if you wish to conceal that it was you who mistakenly defecated in the pantry and your mother asks you who defecated in the pantry and you are trying to think of anything but defac-” “-OK, Thor.” you cut him off with a snap, heart thundering. “...But in my defence” he continued unwaveringly, straightening his garish plastic crown. “I was a mere five hundred at the time. Just discovered ale, you see.” he said, turning with an innocent grin which faltered when he saw your steely stare. You frowned as Thor cleared his throat. “Even you mortals have an innate barrier to the invasive sight of others, something you enact as easily as breathing.” he said, traces of mirth ebbing. “When a person feels love, that barrier falters – and recipients of that love who are gifted with magic can, you know...” “See into their thoughts?” you finished. Thor shook his head. “Read their emotions, things that make them feel. Like empathy, as overrated as is it. Or guilt – such as the guilt one may feel over allegedly defecating in a pantry.” You rolled your eyes. “Well it’s bullshit. I can’t love him – he’s awful.” Thor nodded sagely, straightening his velvet tunic. “My brother likely shares your disquiet, in all honesty.” he muttered, adjusting his crown. “In truth, I thought he would be more unbearable when this eventually happened, but he has maintained a surprising amount of decorum. You should thank him.” “Thank him?!" you snorted incredulously. "I don’t think so.” Thor preened, as moments passed in silence. “Wait…” you said slowly. “He’s never been able to do this before?” Thor shrugged, swishing his cape theatrically across his chest. He looked at you blankly as your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean...no one’s ever loved him? How is that possible?” you whispered, hearing Thor chuckle. “You speak of love often for someone who is not, in fact, in love.” he said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “In answer to your question...those who may have developed those feelings for him became...distracted.” Thor shuffled on his feet, gaze drawn back to himself in the mirror. “Distracted?” you murmured curiously. “Yes.” he replied. “By me. An unfortunate consequence of being the unquestionable biological jewel of the family, one cannot blame them really.” You suddenly remembered the conversation which sparked their sword-fight in the training hall last month. ‘Since when did you respect the Covenant of the First Seed, brother?’ Loki had spat with fire. You remembered the casual indifference painted on Thor’s brow, radiating a confidence that was severely lacking in his present state. ‘I see not how it is my fault that you could not satisfy your lovers, Loki.’ the blonde in front of you had said. “You fucked his girlfriends? Thor, that’s sick.” you hissed, shaking your head. Thor chuckled again. “They came to me, my Lady. In their glances across the dining hall with red jewels in their hair. Flashing garters a deep shade of maroon that would make Borr himself weak. The Ordinance of the Colours is no trifle. You know yourself the power of my seductive prowess. How could they resist?”

You grimaced. “Well, I did.” you sniped, folding your arms. “Yes…” Thor conceded thoughtfully, before flicking his hair back. “But you are also in love with my brother so your unnatural tastes cannot be accounted for.”

Your mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the rage in Loki’s hands and teeth as he tore the red dress from your body the night of the shareholders party. The venom in his eyes as he watched it explode in the air in a burst of green light. The way his stare hardened at the sight of your cleavage cupped in crimson lingerie, the ancient sword conjured as deathly sharp as his cheekbones to set his brother away from you. It wasn’t Asgardian bullshit. It was more than that. And for the first time, you felt something stronger than anger. Guilt. You swallowed, chin raised defiantly as Thor’s smug gaze trawled your features. It wasn’t often he found himself on the stronger side of a debate. You ran a finger nonchalantly along a rail of cloaks hanging to your side, before inspecting the tip for non-existent dust. “Not that he does but I mean theoretically if he loved me, just you know...out of interest...I should be able to hear his thoughts, right?” “No.” Thor scoffed disbelievingly. “That is a ridiculous notion. You are not gifted.” “Right.” you said, lips hardening in a tight line. Thor sighed theatrically. “If it alleviates your malaise, I have never seen him show so much hostility towards someone he has not slaughtered moments later.” “Why would that alleviate my malaise?” you sneered, feeling your stomach flutter. “And I don’t have ‘malaise’ for god’s sake” you spat, unconvincingly, fidgeting with the loose belt at your waist. “Its not like I want him to love me I was just you know, checking.” Thor looked up coyly beneath pale lashes, a smug glint in his eye that he had doubtless learned from his infuriating brother. “My lady, if my observation does not betray his heart, then truly I do not know what does.” You stared at him mutely. He sighed again. “It is nuanced, I grant you. My brother is a frustrating creature. Believe me, I empathise.” He turned back to the mirror, admiring himself. “Rogers gave me a book this yuletide, regarding your 'Love Languages' by some alleged scholar or other. Well, my brother’s love language is... hostility.” he announced, pleased with his assessment. You rolled your eyes, fully aware the butterflies in your stomach had become a flock of sparrows. “Did you read the book?” you said flatly, hoping Thor didn’t catch the twitch of your jaw as you tried to contain the twist of nerves in your chest. “Well, no.” he said incredulously, face softening before he gave a knowing wink. “But that does not mean I am wrong.” You heard the quick succession of approaching footsteps outside the tent. “Thor! Come!” a familiar voice roared, thick and rich. “Preparations for the joust are a disaster. They intend to use horses, of all things – allegedly there are no flighting moose...on Midga-” Loki bristled, one arm frozen in drawing back the tent’s curtain.

Thor straightened the lapel of his obscenely luxurious padded tunic, tilting his toy crown askew. “What think you of my regalia, brother?” he drawled regally, spreading his hands wide to the sides. “I think there cannot be two kings.” Loki snarled bitterly, resting a hand on the hilt of a sword slung by his hip. A dull one, you hoped.

He too was dressed in costumed finery; a lapel of ermine cupping his chin above a perfectly fitted tunic of such rich green it was almost black. An ornate golden chain hung in a semi-circle around his shoulders, making a crescent on his broad chest. You ran your eyes down his long body, a pair of pale hose snug to his endlessly muscled legs. He was positively poured into them, the opaque fabric smoothing the raw animalistic power hidden beneath their cover. They ran down to a ridiculous pair of heeled, buckled shoes. Green, naturally. Loki shifted his stance, feet pointed to the exit. You watched the bulge of his thighs ripple, femurs outlined exquisite against the sinful tights which clung to carved limbs like a second skin. Your eyes lingered on his bulge, the lower curve just visible beneath the hem of the tunic. Saliva evaporated on your tongue. You tried to swallow - begging yourself to forget every historical sex scene you had ever rewound as your fingers pulsed on your clit. The god’s hair fell in luscious waves, set against the white fur tucked beneath his jaw like black paint on snow. He was beautiful. And he too, was wearing a crown. Because of course he was. “You are correct brother, there cannot be two kings at this revelry – but by a happy accident I only see one present.” Thor winked at you again. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a flirtation I observe, brother?” Thor paled. “No, he’s fine.” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat beneath Loki’s glare. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since your last tense encounter in the Snack Shack six days ago, every raise of your hand during meetings causing a mighty roll of his eyes akin to the old days. The weight of your interrupted conversation hung heavily in the air. Wafting like cigar smoke. Stifling.

Suddenly Thor barged towards his brother and turned sideways to exit the tent, the width of his ridiculous puffed sleeves causing him to shuffle awkwardly past his stoic sibling. Loki shot you a cold glare, nodding expectantly towards the exit for you to follow him. You sauntered casually towards the gap, taking no mind of the smouldering gaze rolling appraisingly over your medieval dress like treacle. Loki held the curtain of the tent high, his arm stoically positioned above your head as you finally felt the waft of a fresh breeze on your heated cheeks. “Agent.” he murmured in unnecessary greeting as you passed, making you pause. The scent of him invaded alongside the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Wood smoked leather and dusky sandalwood. Pine. It clung to his onyx curls; hanging like a un-repentant traitor on every stitch of gold thread wound into the tight tunic snug against his torso. You could feel his eyeline trail down the valley of your cleavage as easily as if it was his tongue. “You’ve been ignoring me.” you said quietly, eyes fixed on Thor standing ahead; hoisting up his hoes with an exaggerated squat. People were staring. “Have I, Agent?” Loki purred, craning down from his position. His lips grazed the tip of your cheekbone as he spoke. Was he smelling your hair? “I didn’t think you would notice. Considering how little you think of our interactions.” he murmured. You could hear a snarl behind his teeth, barely masked venom blossoming on the cusp of each word like brewing tea.

You tilted your chin, the space between two pairs of parted lips excruciatingly small. Raising your eyes to meet his, you found no warmth there. No playfulness. Not today. And to be honest, after what Thor had told you, you didn’t blame him. Loki’s eyes narrowed, readjusting his grip on the fabric panel held aside above your head. “If you have nothing further to say, Agent…” he sneered sarcastically against your ear. His body curved away from you, ensuring that not a single part of his achingly erotic form touched yours. Loki’s haughty condescension sliced through the melting desire in your core, a weirdly comforting irritation usurping it. The thick golden chain hanging against his collarbone glinted in the afternoon sun, vying for your attention. Self-centred, presumptive arsehole, you flamed, feeling renewed warmth seep across your skin. Does he expect me to tell him I fucking ‘love’ him while his brother is rummaging around his crotch twenty feet away? Your gaze locked onto the sight of Thor’s face twisted in confusion as he tried to arrange himself covertly beneath the hose. Loki’s conceited confidence made you boil, a confusion of emotions competing in your addled brain making you feel nauseous. “You’re wrong.” you managed to say, voice strained. Loki chuckled mirthlessly beside you. “We’ll see.” he replied ominously, as you began to walk forward. You didn’t know why you had stopped in the first place. The chiffon headdress fluttered around your chin. Now that the adrenaline of searching for Thor had dissipated, you could finally take in the surroundings of Stark’s much anticipated event. A calculated distraction, you would admit. Swathes of bygone-era dressed guests moved in groups from stall to stall. The faint pluck of a lute troupe audible over the buzz of the crowd, humming like birds in the rustling waves of trees surrounding the clearing. Stationary wagons holding every manner of historical food and beverage you could think of were dotted about. Tony had really spunked the budget this year. Silently, you walked sandwiched between two simmering gods towards the only group of familiar faces; hovering by the food carts.

“What were the three of you doing in the costume tent?” Wanda said coyly, wriggling her eyebrows. You shook your head subtly. Loki frowned. “I think the better query is why Lang is sporting that counterfeit phallus.” he drawled, drawing his eyes judgementally over the protrusion from Scott’s hose-clad hips. The subject of his jibe’s eyes widened, a gargantuan roasted turkey leg covering the lower half of his face. “Wha-?” he mouthed, meat flicking into the air and hitting Nat on the forehead. Scott swallowed with difficulty, gesturing at his crotch with a free hand. “Hello?! It’s a Ren faire! Cod-pieces galore am I right? Everyone’s got em. You’ve got one for god’s sa-” He stopped mid-sentence, gaze lingering once more on the draw of Loki’s hypnotic groin outlined perfectly beneath the tights. You traced the curves of your sometime-lover’s bulge covetously, remembering the smack of the shutters against your lower back as he railed into you like a furious, feral animal; fucking for survival. God, had it only been a week? It felt like years. Loki shifted his stance, folding his arms as he widened his hips. “We both know that I do not require such auspicious modifications, Lang.” he said slowly, a smile tugging his lips as Scott’s cheeks flushed.

“Please tell me we’re not talking about Laufeyson’s ding-dong again…” Steve whined over your shoulder, making you jump. He sashed into the centre of the circle, hands folded together beneath the long brown draping of his sleeves. A wooden cross hung around his neck, a thick rope of cream tied to his waist. Gone was the shock of radiant blonde hair, and in its place a questionable skullcap complete with dark bowel-cut. Friar Rogers. You lowered your eyes to the ground, feeling your chest begin to contract with laughter. For a moment, you saw Loki’s feet shuffle closer; just a little. Steve’s blue eyes widened pleadingly, every inch a man of the cloth. “Can we please try to keep lewdness to a minim-” “-I think what Tuck Shop is trying to say is that there are children, children.” Tony chided with amusement, as he sauntered out of nowhere to take his place beside the good Friar. Deep lines on his forehead danced with barely contained mirth. Or maybe he’d just been at the mead. A resplendent crown sat jauntily on his head, a tunic of red tinselled satin and silver thread replacing his trademark t-shirt and jeans. In one hand, he held a ridiculously large steak on a stick. In the other, a tankard. He took a sip, as Steve glanced around, flinching as a juggler appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the crowd. Tony burped, before posturing thoughtfully. “Although, I think collectively we can agree we’re all obsessed with Laufeyson’s ‘ding-dong’.” he quipped, raising an eyebrow around the circle. “I mean...it’s worth its not un-sizeable weight in free PR, for one thing.” Steve flushed an alarming shade of crimson, cut off comically at the base of his skullcap. Loki sighed with theatrical exasperation. “Stark, you declared that I was to be the King in today’s farcical proceedings.” he said petulantly, with no attempt to hide his irritation. “Did I?” Tony gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. Thor snorted. “I think not, brother.” he scoffed. “The crown should fall in direct lineage to those who are worthy. I would be willing to concede my post as King of this fete if you would but grant me your renewed Oath of Most Assured Recompense in return?” he goaded, making Loki’s jaw clench. You heard him inhale sharply- “-No more Oaths!” you snapped, making both brothers jump. “This is ridiculous. You can both be kings, no one cares.” There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group. Tony raised his hand incredulously while Loki and Thor let out a simultaneous derisive snort. “Both?!” the blonde boomed, shaking his head. “My, my it truly would never have worked between us.” he said wistfully. Loki rolled his eyes as Rogers backed slowly out the circle, seeming to glide glacially with tiny steps beneath the sway of his shit-coloured robes. “Well then one of you change.” Nat growled, as you started to feel the antsy crawl of awkward tension tingle up your arms again. Thor laughed. “There is not one garment in the tent from whence we came that would fit over one of my mighty calves, Romanoff. Tis’ my brother who shall have to concede.” “Did they really think I’d give anyone else the King job at my own damn party?” you heard Tony scoff loudly to no-one. “Asgardians, I’m tellin ya…” You saw the muscle in Loki’s cheek bob as he ground his teeth. Tony bit into the speared steak in his hand, enjoying it all immensely. The dark god’s eyes flashed, a glimmer of something sparking heat between your legs.

“Fine.” Loki snapped, “As it happens I came prepared for such traitorous shenanigans. A lifetime of dealing with you, brother, has taught me to always save my best for when you show your hand.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and a sceptical Thor. “Besides…” he purred slowly, stalking his gaze in your direction. “I have found that people are quite willing to bow to me... even without a crown.”

He grasped one of the golden tips with his thumb and forefinger, thrusting the ornament to the ground at Thor’s feet with a flick of his wrist. You saw a green glow lap at Loki’s feet, moving slowly upwards. He could do this in a millisecond if he wanted, but he was putting on a show. His twee buckled shoes melted to thick black leather, rolling up his calves like armour. Edges appeared below the knees, shifting inward to coat his carved thighs in matching trousers which, somehow, gave the illusion of being even snugger than the cream tights. You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away as a wave of wild fur blossomed around his torso; bear or fox or- “-Wolf.” Loki purred rakishly in your direction, his tongue taking its time over the syllable like a seductive bark. “Urgh, I love it when he does that.” Wanda cooed huskily, giving her face a dramatic fan. You rolled your eyes, shuffling with your arms folded. Suddenly your corset felt tight. Very tight. In the seconds your gaze had been averted, a thick leather belt had appeared around Loki’s midriff, cinching the fur. Heavy pendants hung from his neck, glinting in the afternoon sun against bare skin. The wolf fur ran in a deep V to his naval, every inch a slutty medieval bandit. Christ, you thought. I’m fucked.

“This will suit my new posting for the festivities all the better, anyway.” Loki sneered towards his brother as Tony took another gulp of mead. He flicked his hair over his shoulders, the haughty slice of his jaw making you flinch as it pointed to you. “I find that women prefer characters’ with a little more...depth. Isn’t that right, Agent?” Wanda elbowed you in the ribs playfully as Thor squinted; bamboozled. “What does that mean?” he scoffed. “I thought you on greeting duty, of all things…over yonder.” He tilted his head towards the line of families queued at the entrance, excited children jumping up and down. You saw a young girl burst into tears as a manically grinning Friar Steve loomed over her, draped sleeves hanging from arms stretched in greeting before her mother snatched her away. Loki smirked. “I have been re-assigned.” he said, glinting eyes making a flutter shuffle in your belly. His thumbs hooked into the thick leather belt, tugging downward. What you wouldn’t give to feel the smart of that leather whip across your ass as he took you against a tree in the wilderness beyond the faire’s boundary. Maybe he will, you thought as a thrill flooded soared beneath the anachronistic lace panties you were wearing. Loki’s lashes fluttered upwards, his lip curling before those ethereal features hardened again. He had been colder than usual this past week, and you had a feeling that today would be no different, given the circumstances.

“Yah – he’s on the archery range now.” Tony interjected casually, breaking the stare you didn’t know you were burning into the profile of Loki’s jawline.

Nat shook her head. “What the fuck? Where’s Clint?” she said, glancing around the bustling thoroughfare. Tony shrugged, talking through a mouthful of ye olde steak. “Said he didn’t feel like it today, his voice sounded a little hoarse on the phone.” Nat’s brow arched, swinging her eyes suspiciously towards Loki. The god rocked on his heels, a tiny shrug making his shoulders bounce as he tried to contain the smile pressing at his dimples. “I didn’t know you could shoot.” you scoffed, fidgeting with the veil hanging by your collarbone. “You never asked, Agent.” he drawled innocently, running a hand through his perfectly waved hair. “But truly...are you surprised?” Nat suddenly yanked you to the side of the group. She cast a quick glance back to the circle closing in on Loki, admiring his new outfit. Scott was rubbing a palm repeatedly down his pelted chest while the god smirked, pleased with himself. “He’s done something with Clint.” she hissed over your shoulder. You frowned, leaning back incredulously to see the concern etched plainly on her face. “He wouldn’t…” you whispered, glancing at a resplendent, wolf fur clad Loki stretching his ridiculously long arms to Scott's unbridled awe. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you guys, I don’t give a shit.” Nat said quietly. “Go with Laufeyson, find out where he’s put him. Barton could be passed out enchanted off his nuts in a port-a-potty and we’d never find him.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read her face. “Nat I…” you started, fully intending to stand your ground. Suddenly there was a low whistle. Both of you twisted around, seeing Loki drawn to his full height; hair flowing over the puffed collar of his furs with his thumb and forefinger slotted in his mouth. The curve of his ass in the aged leather trousers was obscene, thick thighs creasing the material as it fought against its master. Christ, how you wanted to sink your teeth into them as you buried yourself between his achingly long legs. There were screams from the crowd before it parted, a panicked flurry of feathered hats and veils and skirts flying in all directions as citizens fell over themselves. A beautiful black steed cantered through the fray, completely un-phased. It was absolutely huge, the massive muscles of it's broad chest flexing with each long step. It’s smooth coat gleamed, rich tones of deepest blue flashing amongst the inky hairs as it trotted over and stopped with its nose pressed against Loki’s palm. “Shall we, Agent?” Loki purred knowingly snapping his fingers and making a vibrant caparison unfurl on the waiting stallion. The luxurious material fell in folds, dark emerald and vibrant gold with Loki's insignia woven through the fabric. A saddle and reins manifested snug to the huge horse, who whinnied in approval. Words failed you, seeing an ornate curved bow appear in Loki's grip through a wash of flickering magic. He slung it casually over his shoulder, palm stretched toward you expectantly. You vaguely heard Scott’s murmurs of besotted admiration as a sharp nudge from Natasha in the kidneys made you stumble forwards, automatically grasping towards his hand. Before you could protest, the air was knocked out of you as Loki’s fingers gripped around your waist, throwing you up. Your ass landed sideways on the saddle with a soft thump. You scrambled to grip the reigns, steadying yourself. With a graceful bound, Loki swung himself up behind, winding arms encasing you before his nimble fingers caressed the leather reigns from your grasp.

The disbelieving stares of the gathered Avengers crawled in your periphery as his forearms tightened around your ribs. Loki's elaborately constructed garment did nothing to disguise the hardness of the muscle beneath, thick ropes of pure power shifting as he settled. You could feel the slide of traitorous arousal leaking between your thighs, desperately wet and needy for the infuriatingly smug god steadying you against his spread leathered femurs. “You can be my first student, won’t that be fun?” he smouldered darkly, the whisper of his sweet breath skating over the delicate skin beneath your ear. He chuckled softly against your cheek. "Someone has to break me in before I am unleashed on the unsuspecting public, surely." You sighed, a quiver of anticipation betraying the roar of desire between your legs as you pressed them together, hanging off the side of his steed. The horse stamped once. Impatient, like his master. “And Agent…?” Loki murmured through a smirk, the deep baritones making you squeeze your shoulder-blades together against the expanse of rippling masculinity beneath the wolf-pelt. “I have quite the lesson in mind.”

Continued in Bow to Me: Quivering Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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