#and yet bob wants to keep refusing to pay them what they deserve

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Bob Iger saying all this while also being on basically billionaires vacation really should say something, holy shit.

[the-writing-mobster]

@fransweek The prompt was flirt! Here's an excerpt from my Mafiafell story still in the works.

”The House Painter “excerpt:

Hungover. That was how she felt. She hadn't completely scrubbed away the mascara now staining her face. 

She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She needed a coffee… and there was no way she was going to make it herself. Walking to the little diner at the end of the block would be a nice breath of fresh air. She lived far away from the burlesque theater. No one would recognize her. Hopefully no men would grab her. 

Pulling on a loose, coral, drop waist dress and hiding her dark, unkempt bob with a cap to match, she was out the door. 

She hoped no one would bother her. Not with her stained face and red, puffy cheeks. She couldn't even remember crying herself to sleep, but she was increasingly aware that she must've done just that. It's a fact, Frisky. You're pathetic. 

Frisk left her small, modest apartment. A group of little girls were playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. She smiled, a skip to her step. She remembered hopscotch. The innocent memory lifted her spirits a little. 

The diner bell rang and she hummed along. She felt real in that little diner. No stage makeup. No glittery plastic diamonds covering her exposed body. No rowdy men. No. Here, there was just Annie, Bob, and the old men who liked to tell war stories and proverbs. She liked it at the diner. 

She froze. 

There was a new presence. There was a new person in the diner. No. That wasn't a person. Not in the way she knew it. 

She blinked. Tall, at least six feet and eleven inches. Wide… not fat, but he had a girth to him unseen in human men. Muscular… a black button up rolled up to this man's forearms. Revealing bone. His head was a skull. There was a shadow of something dangerous hanging onto him. 

Frisk shot fervent glances around the diner as she edged herself inside. She couldn't believe it. A monster. An actual monster. 

Now, she had lived in Ebbot for a long time. She may have been an immigrant, but Ebbot had become her city. Her dirty little city filled with all her broken dreams. However, in her long time in Ebbot City, a city known for monsters… she had only ever seen one or two, from far away. Never… never up close and personal.

She was shaking. Was she shaking? Oh God she was shaking. She began to second guess her visit to the diner. Maybe she would go back to her apartment and make herself coffee. Her eyes darted back to the door, then back to the monster. You've come this far… how rude would it be if you just walked in, saw a monster, and walked out? You're better than that.  

Frisk swallowed her resolve and sat far away, in the corner of the bar. She spared a curious look at him from under her thick lashes. She quickly looked away when his red eyelights slid over to meet her gaze. Oh God I hope he didn't see me starin'... 

How long had he been there? 

“Hey! I don't remember lettin' monsters in my diner,” barked the owner, Bob. Frisk startled at the gruff greeting… hardly a greeting. The monster glared across at him. 

“Oh. How silly of me. I didn't see a sign… Thought there were finally some sensible folk… guess I was wrong,” he growled. Frisk glanced at him, then at the window. No sign. No sign barring black people, or monsters. It was a clean window. It was why Frisk liked this diner. 

She glanced back at Bob and she frowned. The man might have been a scary sight but… she began to think of her own experiences. How would she feel if she was treated with disdain because of her work? If people found out… Her soul burst with empathy, a red glow showing through her dress and she shot up. 

“Wait! No, no… no, Bob no. He's right. There wasn't a sign,” she argued. The skeleton shot her a look, his eyes widening a bit. Bob also sent a warning look at her, but it only made her soul glow a bit brighter. 

“We have the right to refuse service to—”

“—I want him here, hm? What about that? I'll never eat here again if you do this, and you know how well I tip,” she threatened. The monster seemed to shrink the more they argued, sending fervent looks at her. Confused looks. Shocked looks… grateful looks. 

The monster watched her. Watched her as she leaned against the counter and spoke sweetly, firmly, eyelashes batting, hips swaying like some kind of siren. He didn't even know if it was intentional… He definitely wasn't complaining. He glanced up at the owner and grinned when he saw the flustered look on his face. 

“Fine Frisk… only for you… Dammit… You better not scare away any of my customers!” spat Bob as he went back to the kitchen. The skeleton narrowed his eye sockets as he watched him leave. Ass. 

Frisk gave a small sigh and sat back down, going back to reading the menu, covering her face and trying not to dart cautious looks at the monster. He was still terrifying… and he was a man… what if he took her act of kindness as a ticket to harass her? That had happened to her plenty of times. 

A silence enveloped the diner. She couldn't help but glance at him and every time she did, she could see him innocently lift his head and eyes. He didn't talk to her. A part of her was silently grateful. 

She had her coffee. He had a slice of pie. She tried not to watch him eat it with fascination. This was by far the most interesting thing to ever happen to her… and that was saying something. 

She wrestled herself away from the counter to use the ladies room, a part of her a little worried he would be gone by the time she came back. She stopped herself. Stupid. Yet, she couldn't stop herself from shooting another hidden look at him before she left. A blush spread across her face when he winked. Fuck!

After washing her hands, she composed herself enough not to race out to make sure he hadn't slipped away. Sure enough, he was still there, tapping his skeletal fingers on the countertop. 

She glanced down as she took her seat to see a folded napkin. That wasn't there before. Frisk tried to be as discreet as possible as she unfolded the napkin. She could almost feel the skeleton's gaze shifting on and off of her. Almost feel that skull grin widen. 

“Pie thank you for doing that. I hope this isn't too corny, but I crust anyone with your kind of integrity to like bad jokes. Anyway, name's Sans, Sans the skeleton.” 

Frisk snorted with laughter and immediately hid her mouth with the palm of her hand. She didn't dare look at him. That's really sweet… 

She tried to hide her smile as she grabbed a pen and slowly began to think up a good response. 

Sans the Skeleton watched her with gentle curiosity as she wrote back to him. This was just too cute. He didn't deserve this at all. Why was she being so nice? Why did he write a note on a napkin for fuck's sake? He felt like an idiot… but that little hidden laugh? He didn't know her name but he was starting to believe in love at first sight. 

She glanced up with a blush and tried to act as aloof as possible as she scooted over one seat closer to him and slid the napkin to him. She quickly recoiled back to her seat as if he'd bite and he didn't blame her one bit. 

His mouth was full of sharp fangs, he was big, monstrous and smelled like smoke. Not cigar smoke either. Fire. He'd sit far away from him too. 

Slowly, he opened the napkin and tried to fight the grin growing on his face. 

“It's slice to meet you, Sans.”  

Sans snickered at her little joke. That was good… it was rare to find such a kindred spirit in the marketplace of humor. He spared another hidden look at her. He was starting to grow fond of the Sunlight district… 

The napkin was running out of room on the side he'd been using. He flipped it over and clicked his pen, tried not to notice the excited shift of her cute, little body as he did so. He also tried to ignore the ugly looks being sent their way, but that was something he was a bit more hyper aware of. It took everything in him not to snarl at them to fuck off into oblivion. 

Frisk was inwardly squealing with delight as he flicked the napkin to her. It took everything in her to keep composed as she coyly sent him a look and then delicately unfolded the napkin. Her eyes wandered the diner as she tried her best not to appear too interested, but she was dying to read what he read. 

“Stop or I might start pie-ning.” 

She blushed, a small giggle escaping her lips. She had never interacted with a man like this. At least not since primary school, and even that wasn't nearly as sweet as this… to think it was a monster who would approach her like this. She bit her lip to hide her smile and glanced back at him. And she had been scared… 

He was battling with himself not to look at her. She was so cute. Her puns, her smile, those eyes that stole coy little looks at him. Her dress was cute, and her hair, messy. There was something wrong about her though. Streaks of mascara… puffy red eyes. Those had started to fade but the smudged makeup remained. Was she ok? 

“Okey dokey, Ms. De Là Noir, ready for your bill?” asked a plump woman with a kind face. Annie. Frisk smiled at her and reached for her pur— Her… Frisk's head jerked about frantically as she searched for her purse. Fuck… Fuck I left my purse! She thought, her face paling with fear. 

“I'll take care of it,” the rumble of the skeleton's deep growl of a voice startled Frisk out of her panic. She looked up at him with surprise as he moved a bit closer to her. Annie sent him a fearful look and gave a curt nod. 

“Oh no, you don't have to—”

“—Nah, I got it, it's ok. Put it on my bill,” he growled with a firm look. 

“Of course,” murmured Annie as she darted to the back. 

The two sat in utter, dumbfounded silence. 

He didn't know what came over him. He had never offered to pay for someone before, but she was honest to God the most charming person he had met in a long time… and she had stood up for him, it was the least he could do. 

Frisk stared at her lone mug of coffee. A new fear began to creep into her mind. He offered to pay for her. She should've fought that harder. The last time a man had paid for her, he harassed her for sexual favors. Only because she had accidentally let slip she was a vaudeville dancer and… the implications of that. Of course when she had refused. She winced as her eye ached with phantom pain. She got off lucky… 

She sent a small, fearful look at Sans. He was bigger than that man. He looked stronger. He was a monster so she knew he had magic. He was a reaper so she knew even for a monster, he was powerful. 

But he just smiled kindly, as kindly as one could with sharp fangs and black eye sockets only lit by pricks of red light. 

“Thank you…” she murmured hesitantly. He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Just returnin' the favor, kiddo,” he said. Something about the word kiddo put her at ease, but she didn't know why. 

Soon the bill came and he paid for both of them. He stood up and sent her another look. Is he leaving? She couldn't help but feel disappointed. 

He placed his black trilby on his skull and winked at her. 

“I'll miss you a latte,” he quipped one last time and she pursed her lips to hide her smile; she couldn't hide her blush. Before she could say another word, he was out the door. She looked back down at the napkin. 

“Stop or I might start pie-ning.” 

She couldn't help but give a girlish giggle as she neatly folded the napkin and carefully slid it into her dress pocket. 

Yes she definitely liked the diner… it made her feel real again. Real and sweet… real and delighted. Made her feel like she was more than burlesque. 

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twelve | Danger Mystery (Part 2 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

To those who read the previous chapter part before I fixed an issue with it:

I forgot to change the title from Chapter Eleven | Premonition to Chapter Twelve | Danger Mystery (Part 1 of 2) when copy-pasting the header format, and didn't notice until an hour of posting.

Apologies for any confusion I might've caused with that!

• • •

"Cool braids," Jerry says, smiling at Frisk. "Did you make them yourself?"

The one questioned seems less than enthused by him, though there's no denying how their face lights up at the compliment. "Toriel made them for me," they sign, going back to their bored expression afterwards. Their attitude is distant and shows how they aren’t ready to confront the past yet. They stand up and look away from him, a frown etched deep in their expression all the while. "I have to finish my homework now."

"Bring it here." Jerry tries to be cheerful, but fails horribly, smile and tone both coming off forced and awkward as he tries to hype up the situation as best as he can. "I can help you!"

Though they try to hide it from everyone else in the room, Sans can see how Frisk rolls their eyes, pouts, and then mutters something under their breath. "It's fine. I don't need any help with what's left."

They almost mimic (Y/N) in character and tone, acting just as stern and cold, if not more with how hard it is for them to pretend the opposite.

"I'd still like to know how you're doing in school." Jerry's tone changes, paired up with his expression: eyebrows creased, eyes glaring, and smile gone. "You're... You're the only one left who can tell me how things are going lately, now that (Y/N) won't answer my messages anymore."

"Why don't you ask that guy, then? You're friends, as far as I know."

Their angry gaze points at Sans as they sign the words: "Why are you friends with him?" with the most annoyed gestures possible, and quick enough for Jerry not to notice what they're doing or saying. Then, they look at their father again, seemingly running thin and out of patience with the way they look at him, a look so frigid it could put an ice skating rink to shame. "You haven't answered my question yet."

"Believe me, Frisk." Jerry huffs. "I've tried, but he refuses to tell me anything -- says it's not in his place to tell me about you and all that stuff."

"Cool," is Frisk's only reaction as they spare a look at their surroundings. "It's better that way."

The child sighs and walks away, not once looking back -- and not even as their father calls out for them by their full name.

"Come back here," he demands, standing up and glaring at the hallway Frisk passes through. "Or I'll have to ask why you've got such awful manners today. What's (Y/N) been teaching you these days, huh? You've never been like this before!"

"People change," they snap, stopping for a second to look at him. "So…" Their voice trembles as they take a second to ball their hands and direct their angry look at the floor. "So stop blaming (mom/dad) for everything, if you really want to talk to me."

They're gone for good after that, giving Jerry no chance to talk or ask questions any longer.

He's left fuming, and when he catches Sans's gaze, his anger augments.

"What the hell have you taught Frisk since I was gone? They- They were never like this with me before!”

"Never?" Sans asks, facing up at Jerry when he joins his side. "Hadn't you seen them since last Christmas before today? Ten months are enough for someone to grow and change."

"That's still too big of a change." He scoffs. "Now tell me what you did -- I deserve that much, at least."

"Nothin'." He pauses, shrugging to ignore the glare Jerry continues to direct at him. "We've been here for only two months -- three, at most. You've been gone ten."

Appearing caught in a dead-end, he sees Jerry's eyes wander from Toriel preparing some documents and Papyrus helping her out, to the hallway Frisk had walked through, and -- finally -- to the kitchen, where the clinking of cutlery’s heard as (Y/N) sets up the dinner table, while Undyne keeps an eye out for the stove and Alphys holds out a fire extinguisher near the scene. Sans has a hunch as to what Jerry's planning simply by the dour look on his face alone, so he holds the man back by the arm, saying, "Don't bring 'em into this." He's faced with a sharper glare, though he doesn't brush his hand away. "The kid's mad at you by default. Nobody else's told 'em to treat you that way."

"And how would you know?" Jerry shoves him off. "You're just some guy with a crush on someone else's spouse!"

"Ex-spouse." Sans sneers. "They aren't tied to you anymore."

"But they still have a kid to be responsible for."

"So do you."

Jerry tries to say something back, yet he falls short and stutters before giving up. "I- I'm gonna go help them out, then."

He sees the man look back to the kitchen again, longing visible in his eyes. 

"Knock yourself out, bud. Just don't go pressurin' 'em too much." The two spare a look at each other, a silent battle forming in Jerry's gaze while the monster remains stern but nonchalant. "You know what happened back at that bus. They need their time to rest."

A more empathic look softens up Jerry's visage as he nods, finally cracking a smile with it. "I know." He sighs. "But I have no clue how I didn't notice it was them you liked with how many damn comments there were about it on those videos."

"That's 'cuz we were barely gettin' to know each other back then." His confession's abrupt and appears to catch Jerry by surprise. "Wasn't until some time later that I realized what I was feelin' whenever they were around."

Jerry keeps quiet for what has to be a solid minute; it's a miracle based on how much he's wanted to communicate today, and in so short of a time. He sighs and his glare fades. A more serene look replaces his anger as he then relaxes his posture, completing a calmer self, much more refreshing to see in comparison to his previous attitude. "I promise I won't bother them too much today, but I still need to talk."

"Today only?" Sans remarks, quirking an eye socket. "So you're goin' back to zero after that?"

"Don't be stupid. I just mean I won't be as persistent today -- I know they need to rest."

The monster decides to let it go, aware he's going nowhere with how much more obstinate Jerry is. 

He sees him enter the kitchen and immediately seek after their ex, an attitude that makes him appear similar to that of a rambunctious puppy still looking for attention even after being told to back off. Sans chuckles at that thought and shakes his head, surprising even himself with how much he's becoming concerned with matters that weren't exactly his own. It’s knowing (Y/N) was tied to the situation along with Frisk what makes him want to try and intervene a bit more, though he knows better than that, taking into account how strained his relationship with the both of them still is. It's a miracle he even managed to befriend Jerry with how obnoxious and insistent he could be at certain times -- even more than Sans was himself.

...Was that why (Y/N) hadn't outright rejected him yet?

Did he resemble Jerry in attitude, somewhat?

Sans brushes that thought aside and proceeds to walk off to the hallway; the faint sounds of someone crying are heard nearby, prompting him to search for who it is.

He passes by a bedroom, a mini office, then a bathroom, until reaching the middle of the hallway. The person's crying sounds louder when he reaches Toriel's bedroom, though based on how young the voice is and that Toriel's still working with some documents back in the living room, he discards her as a possibility. He hears a few sniffles before the crying controls itself a bit more, making it seem as if the one behind that door heard his footsteps and chose not to be found out. Still, they carry on crying after some time, sniffles changing into sobs and sobs changing into loud and shuddering hiccups.

"...Frisk?" he calls out, knocking on the door twice.

The crying stops almost abruptly.

"Who's there?" they ask.

Weren't this such a pressing situation, he wouldn't hesitate so much in responding as he usually did to that type of question. He sighs and rests a hand against the door, drumming his fingers until he replies with, "Sans."

"...Sans who?"

"Sans ta permission, je ne peux pas passer."

He can't avoid the chuckle that follows when he hears them huff -- dramatically so. Soft footsteps and a click are the two sounds that lead before the door opens, revealing a tired Frisk with puffy, red eyes and an equally reddish, runny nose. Their hair's a messy bob, and the hair ties and ribbons Toriel used to keep the braids in place are no longer being worn.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna talk."

"No."

They almost shut the door right on his face, though he backs away on time, and -- as if seeming to trigger an unlisted superpower in (Y/N) -- they appear behind him, nearly giving him a soul attack.

"What's wrong?" they ask, peering over his shoulder. It's an evident, purposeful act on their part to tease him further and pay back at him, as they're already aware of how far his crush on them's gone. Still, they know their personal space and step back after that, leading him to turn his back on the door and face them instead. "...Was that Frisk? Wh- Why are they crying? And why are their braids gone? I swear if Jerry did something I-"

"He didn't say anything about that," Sans intervenes, calming them down by pulling them along with him next to the door and lowering his voice for only them to hear. "He, uh... tried to talk with Frisk, but they're still angry at him -- understandably. But they still don't wanna talk about it."

"Let me try, then," they say, sighing. "I think it's about time they told me at least something about what's bothering them -- Not just hide away like this every chance they get."

"So they always do that?"

They nod. "Whenever I try to talk about Jerry, mostly.” A subtle scowl accompanies the frustration in their tone. “But when it's about them telling me what happened to them at the Underground, they ignore my question by doing pretty much anything else that doesn't have to do with that." A tremble shows in their body as they take a second to breathe. "But today needs to be a different story -- They can’t keep running from this."

"No!"

Sans sees (Y/N)'s patience fade from their eyes at that sound, somewhat muffled by the door, but still an evident shout from Frisk.

"Sans is friends with Jerry, and- And now you're talking with him like that means nothing to you!"

The human narrows their eyes at the door as they stand in front of it. "Sans and Jerry being friends has nothing to do with any of this." They huff. "Did you really think they would be enemies right from the start?"

"Yes! Just like how Prince Charmin Ultra Strong gets defeated by Shrenk!"

Surprisingly, they don't get any angrier and -- on the contrary -- smile at that comparison. They bite their lip to hold it back, though they still fail when they reply with, "Does that suggest Jerry's mom is gonna be a bigger villain later?"

Some silence passes. "I mean, yeah. Don't you remember how sad and angry she was when Jerry tried proposing again, but then you rejected him?"

At that, the monster's grin shows up and he finds himself blurting out, "He tried it again?"

"Yes." The moment they spare to answer his question ends as they look back at the door and say, "Of course, I remember, but you still shouldn't have those expectations, dear. This isn't a good versus evil situation -- There's a lot more to it than that." They bump their forehead against the door, seemingly giving up their strong and stern facade as they press their lips tight and try to suck up some sadness by sniffling and looking at the floor. "You- You must've realized that, too, right? Some of your new friends hurt you at one point, didn't they? And then you still try to defend me despite all the bad choices I've made in the past. I… I know Jerry screwed up-"

"-a lot," they interrupt, making (Y/N) sigh.

"-but that still doesn't mean you should compare like that."

"But what if he's a villain in my eyes, (mom/dad)?" they ask, though it's more of a statement than the former. "The only good thing he's done today is compliment my hair -- That's it! And I'm pretty sure you haven't even used any of that support money he gives you, so it's not like we really owe him anything, either."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm not dumb. That's the reason why you worked so much in the past, isn't it? You... You just sent that child support money back to him, and kept some only for emergencies."

"That-"

"You tell me not to see him as a bad guy, but you still do that by refusing any help and doing everything by yourself."

"That still doesn't mean you'll owe him any of those funds, dear. In the end, we chose to (have/adopt) you, so you'll never owe us any of that money we provide for raising you."

"So why did you reject his part of the responsibility, then?"

The kid could be a lawyer with how quickly that question corners (Y/N) in place. Their once firm, narrowed eyes turn wide and a guilty look makes their forehead wrinkle and mouth form a grimace. They don't say anything as they reach out for the doorknob and try to turn it around. "Open the door. We can't keep talking like this."

"Answer my question first," Frisk says, voice faltering midway. "Please?"

(Y/N) gives in with an exhale, chest shuddering in the process. "I…” They clench their hand and hesitate. “I didn't want to owe him anything." They rest their forehead against the door again, looking more defeated than before when they close their eyes and fight their frown away. "That's why."

Quiet remains after their response.

The door doesn't click or budge, signaling for the one waiting outside to give up for now. They walk back to the monster's side and sit on the floor; their gaze looks left and right, observing the hallway with a distinctive boredom only sadness can bring upon someone. They're almost a mirror of Frisk back when he caught the two of them dancing: knees pressed right to their chest as they hug themselves tight.

Though it takes him a while to do anything, Sans soon settles on the thought that doing something is much better than nothing right now, so he tries to accompany them by the floor. He sits next to them and offers a literal shoulder for them to lay on, the softness of his jacket helping numb the hardness of his bones. They rest their head there and close their eyes, breaths steadying the longer they stay that way. "You kinda smell like Old Spicy," they comment, chuckling. "Like my aunt's new boyfriend’s cologne." They sniff a few times and scooch a bit closer to his side. "...Sorry. That was weird."

He laughs. "Guess I'll have to try a different kind next ti-"

Click.

Followed by the door being unlocked is Frisk opening it and leaving the room. They then look at him and (Y/N) with the most appalled expression possible, similar to a scrungy cat. "You two are mushier than a bag of marshmallows left under the sun.”

Saying that, they turn around and take their leave, adding, “I’m gonna go talk with Jerry now,” before their other parent can say anything as an objection.

“Still not gonna call him dad?” they ask, though it comes off more teasing than demanding.

“Not until he earns it.” Frisk looks at the skeleton with sharp, judging eyes. “Because right now, even Skeletor’s brother is a better candidate for that.”

They’re gone in a flash after that comment, leaving Sans to process the heavy weight of those words and for the human next to him to stand up, gape, and look to where their child ran off to.

“W- Watch your words Frisk (L/N),” they shout at the empty hallway, voice masking their embarrassment by being loud. "You're on thin ice!"

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

[tailorvizsla]

[Disclaimer: I was absolutely fucking wasted when I wrote this. I’ve cleaned up all the typos I could find, but “Drunk Tailor’s Thots” and the meme stay. Enjoy.]

Title: cracks in his armor Pairing: Daddy x Reader, your tongue x his hammer (and other places), your back x his work table lmaoooo [Sadet (OC) x f!Reader] Word Count: too many (~3k ish?) Rating: absolute filth like NC-21 or something like I’d probably throw myself off a cliff if anyone saw this shit irl Warnings: no use of a condom because tailor is a hoe like that just pretend it’s okay, the ol’ in an out, you lick his hammer, stuff, plot what plot this is straight up porn, inappropriate use of a hammer, he is big meat mando we are hiding all 7+ inches of tiingilar-fed Mandalorian sausage in various holes, we’re climbing the Matterhorn and sliding all the way down to base camp coochie first, we are fucking Sadet like it’s the Dicklympics and we’re going for gold in every category Author’s Notes: just pure unadulterated thirst because who doesn’t want to get bent over and absolutely destroyed by a dude with nice shoulders and a huge dick also we’re licking his hammer BUT pretend it’s CLEAN I ain’t got time to write in him cleaning it off, it’s clean, I promise. 

[I feel like I need to apologize to @magsgotswags​ for what I’ve done to her boy, but...that would be a huge fucking lie and I am not a liar. That being said...I’ll hose him off, put his hammer through the autoclave, and make sure he eats a well-balanced meal before I send him back. 🤣]

📚 My Master List 📚

You’re not sure how this even started but here you are, bent forward over Sadet’s work table with your pants down around your thighs and his cock buried in you to the hilt. He’s got one hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the soft, buttery wood underneath you. The other hand holds your wrists behind your back as he fucks into you, his fingers like iron bands as they dig into the delicate bones in your wrists. 

Sadet isn’t big into emotions, but you know for a fact there are at least two things he loves in life – his craft and his big beautiful beskar hammer. Hazily, you wonder if it was the fact that you had cornered him to ask what his line of work entailed that caught his laser-like attention and got you into this situation. A sharp thrust forces a half-sob from your throat as his cock finds the end of you, as if he can sense your distraction from the lesson at hand. He has this thing where he likes to lecture you and test you on what you’ve retained later. It’s not fair – you both know it – but you’re whimpering so much right now you can’t even protest his treatment of you.

Even if you could, you wouldn’t. As emotionally constipated as he is, this is still the best cock you’ve had in your life and you’ve made some headway with getting him to open up a bit. You are not fucking this up. Licking your lips, you let your eyes drift shut as he continues his merciless pace, hips smacking wetly into your ass. You’re virtually helpless to do anything but take his cock. Just the way you like it.

“ – utilizes seven basic techniques [1],” he’s saying, and you feel him look down at you as he squeezes his fingers around your wrists. “Can you name four of them and tell me what each one accomplishes?”

You manage to uncross your eyes as you open them.

“D-drawing,” you gasp out. “Len-lengthens th-the metal.”

“You like length, don’t you,” he murmurs. “Continue.”

A whine pours out of your mouth as he changes his angle just a bit, pressing his cock right into that sweet spot, the one that has you squirming and throbbing.

“B…bending…”

“Mm-hmm,” he responds. “Bent, just like you right now, hmm?”

“…heat,” you manage to get out. “Allows it to b-bend. Ductile. Malleable.”

“Just like the heat of my hands makes your legs spread wide open,” he murmurs. “Bend apart like red hot steel. You feel like it on the inside, too.”

Squirming, you let out a pathetic little mewl as he slows his pace, letting you feel every inch as he draws out until his cock threatens to fall out of you entirely.

“Come on, two more,” he says. “You can do it, little one.”

You wrack your mind, trying to remember what he had been saying earlier. The wretched man stops moving entirely, letting you feel every little twitch of his cock inside you. At least now, the only thing distracting you is the heavy weight of his hands on your body.

“Welding,” you blurt out. “Welding.”

He resumes thrusting slowly, the pressure around your wrists lightening ever so slightly. You don’t need to be prompted to explain it to him.

“Welding…joins two metals,” you stutter. “The same, sometimes dif-different metals.”

“I like joining,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a thrust that forces a noise between a grunt and a scream from between your lips. “Look at us, two different types of metal here. I’d say you were copper. Soft…conductive. All it takes is one little spark and you glow for me. Takes a lot to shatter you…but I think I can make it happen.”

You bite down on your lower lip. He’s broken you before, brought you to the edge until you sobbed for him, begged him for release, promised him the world just to let you finish. He’s a generous lover but when he focuses on the task at hand – whether finishing beskar’gam at the Forge or while fucking you to the brink of tears – there’s very little that will redirect his attention from his work.

“One more,” he coaxes. “You can do it.”

Your brain sputters to a halt. No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember the rest of them.

“Can’t remember?” he asks softly, voice faintly mocking. “I’m disappointed you weren’t paying attention.”

He releases your wrists and pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. Effortlessly, he lifts you up, maneuvering you onto your back in the center of the table. Before you can react he grabs either side of the front of your pants and pulls, neatly ripping the fabric apart. Fuck, yet one more thing you’ll need to worry about later. Sadet lets out a dark noise of delight at the sight of your well-fucked cunt, glistening wet and swollen.

“Hands under you,” he orders, and you slide your hands under your lower back, pinning yourself into place. If you obey, there is a chance he will take mercy on you, let you come and forgive you for not paying attention to his lesson. As his fingers dig into your thighs, you know there isn’t a chance he is going to let you off that easy. It was futile to hope otherwise.

“Blacksmithing utilizes seven basic techniques,” he starts. “You got a few of them. Drawing, bending, welding. There’s punching, which is used to create a decorative pattern or to add a hole.”

His fingers trail up your thighs as he holds your legs wide apart.

“Speaking of adding holes…I haven’t fucked your ass yet, have I?” he murmurs. You’re not able to hide your grimace and Sadet laughs at you. “If you’re ever in the mood, I’ll happily wreck your ass the same way I wreck your cunt, little one…now where was I?”

He pauses deliberately, reaching up. The man yanks your shirt open, sending buttons flying in every direction. Your bra follows but you don’t dare protest – he’ll just offer to buy another one for you. There is something about literally ripping the kute off you that turns him into an animal.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “You weren’t paying attention during my lesson. How to punish you…”

You whine and squirm, knowing what’s coming next. With one hand, he places his hammer on the table, all smooth beskar from the head all the way down to the metal shaft. Sadet lifts it and aims the handle right into your cunt, sliding it in slowly. It’s thick and cold and he only uses it on you when you’ve really pissed him off. You deserve it though – he’s given this lecture at least a dozen times, you should know the seven steps. It’s your own fault at this point.

He keeps a tight grip around the shaft to keep it from sliding too far in and hurting you. He’s fond of making you cry but not that way – he doesn’t want to hurt you, he only wants you to cry from pleasure. When you finally relax down onto the surface of the table, he starts to rock it in and out slowly. When you reach up and squeeze his forearm with your fingers, he knows he can use a little more force, and you return your hand under your back.

“There’s upsetting, which thickens metal on one dimension through shortening on another,” he says. “Then there’s also upsetting, which is what your refusal to pay attention does to me.” He sighs exaggeratedly. “You’re a mess in armor, but...a tolerable mess.”

You whine, pussy clenching around the ice cold intrusion inside you, heart racing at the sight of the smooth dark visor floating out of reach above you.

“Can you remember the last one?” he asks, his voice almost taunting. “You can do it.”

“F…finish…finishing,” you pant out, and he tilts his helmet down at you in a Mandalorian smile.

“Good girl,” he rumbles at you. “I may let you finish, little one, if you keep being good for me.”

He turns his attention to his hammer, watching the beskar disappears inside you, only to reappear moments later, wet and drenched in your slick. He stays there until the metal is warm from your cunt before he pulls it out. Lifting the edge of his helmet up, he brings the metal to his lips and the tip of his tongue darts out, lapping up a bit of your mess. You shudder in response.

 “Warm, sweet. Soft. Tastes good,” he says. “Tastes like you.”

He gently places the hammer down onto your torso, the heavy head on your belly and the smooth metal shaft pointing toward your face. Without waiting you open your mouth and close your eyes, stretching your lips around the smooth metal handle. It’s a bit awkward like this, bobbing your head while you clean the long streaks of slick off the beskar, but he loves it in a way he can’t really explain. 

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls the shaft out of your mouth with a wet pop. Then he deftly turns it around, holding the head just above your lips. Locking eyes with the horizontal bar of his visor, you let your tongue dart out, tracing along the gleaming metal surface. His other hand tightens at your waist.

“I have something else for your mouth, if you’d like,” he murmurs.

You nod once at him, and he offers his hand, pulling you up into a sitting position. Sadet helps you down and you lower yourself onto your knees as you take in the sight of his marvelous cock: thick, long, uncut, and curving slightly up and to the left. Parting your lips, you bob your head, taking him a little further each time. He doesn’t move as you take him in until he brushes up against the back of your throat.

One hand rises to cup his balls – heavy and covered in a fine thatch of curling hair – while the other rests on his thigh to brace yourself. Peeking up at him from under your lashes, you let him sit in your mouth, tasting yourself and the faint bitterness of his cum. Sadet rolls his hips, giving you a few moments to settle in before setting a brisk pace. His fingers dig into your scalp as he tugs on your hair, guiding you on his length, not speaking a word as he simply watches his cock disappear into your mouth.

You sort of give up on controlling the pace then and go slack in his grip, yielding to him entirely. Your jaw starts to ache rapidly, but you keep your eyes on his visor, knowing that your glazed over eyes drive him wild. You can taste hints of bitterness as his precum spreads across your tongue, his pace growing faster and rougher as he chases completion inside your hot, wet mouth. His other hand curls around the back of your head and you know he is getting close to the edge.

“Wanna hear you gag,” he whispers, and you squeeze his thigh it’s okay you tell him with your hand.

Your jaw burns now but you don’t want to tap out, you don’t want to stop, not while he’s so close. Your cunt clenches around nothing, painfully empty after his cock and hammer, aching desperately for him to finish inside you and coat your insides with his seed. As he hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit, and he groans in response. Tears stream down your cheeks as he continues. You can hear the harsh pants from his modulator and thank the gods you think to yourself – you’re not sure how much more your mouth can take right now.

Sadet pulls his cock free and strokes himself to completion on your face. Thick ropey splatters of cum coat your skin and fill your mouth, spilling down onto your breasts as he groans, a growling noise from deep in his chest. He holds you there, his body hunched forward as he pulses the last few drops onto your chest.

With his index finger, he wipes up a bit of cum clinging to the head of his cock. He tilts your head back and wipes It onto your lower lip. You dart your tongue out to lick up the mess, listening as his breath hitches. When he lets go of your hair, you sink onto the ground, body aching and trembling from exhaustion. As goosebumps prickle across your arms, you realize you’re also trembling from how cool it is over here in this corner. He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

“Stay there,” he says quietly and you nod. 

You’re not sure you’d be able to move even if you wanted to right now. As Sadet goes to the hook on the wall, you use the remains of your shirt to wipe the mess of your face. He takes down his luxuriously soft fur cape. Instead of wrapping it around you, he spreads it onto the ground next to the Forge and returns to your side. As you get to your feet, he wraps a calloused hand around your elbow and helps you up, guiding you over to his cape. Along the way, you shed the remains of your top and bra.

Sadet joins you on the cape, taking his helmet off last, and setting it down on the floor next to you. Dry heat pours out of the exchange vents, sending another prickle across your skin as he settles between your thighs. His eyes drift shut and you know he’s stopping to enjoy the heat. During the summer, he always pauses when taking that first step outdoors, taking just a moment to tilt his face toward the sun to bask in the harsh light. He opens his eyes and you smile up at him, squeezing your knees around his hips as he settles across your body. 

He guides himself inside, pushing in with short, gentle thrusts, sliding in until your bodies meet. Meeting your eyes, he starts a slow, deep pace, hitting every single one of the needy spots inside you that scream for friction. As you trail your hands up his arms and shoulders, fingers cataloguing the knots in his muscles, you sigh with pleasure. You luxuriate in the deliciously soft fur underneath you and the sweat-slick glide of his body above yours, his weight heavy and comforting at the same time. He takes it slow, trying to be considerate of you, considering everything he’s done to you in the past half-hour. 

Digging your nails into his back, you feel the thick corded muscle jumping under your fingers, sighing with pleasure. You can’t hold back your inhalation when his lips – soft and slightly chapped – meet your collar bone as he kisses you for the first time. He starts to pull away but you wrap your arms around his neck, pleading with him silently to keep going. And he does, pressing one light kiss to your shoulder after another, trailing his way to your neck. When he bites down, you moan wantonly, cunt and legs tightening around him. Your reaction seems to encourage him and he keeps going, each kiss sending a dizzying arc of pure lightning shooting through your entire body.

By the time he makes it to your jaw, you’re shaking, on the verge of coming, your head swimming dizzyingly from the sheer pleasure of his lips against your skin. His next kiss lands right next to your lips and you desperately want to turn your head to meet his lips but you know it’s not his thing so you let him decide what happens next. He hovers for just a moment as you watch him with half-closed eyes, your pupils surely blown wide open from arousal, and he leans in, his breath fanning across your cheeks. 

That’s enough to send you right over the edge and as your back arches, Sadet kisses you on the lips, swallowing your cry of pleasure. He thrusts a few more times, tongue tracing the seam of your lips before you remember to kiss him back. Your hand curls around the back of his head and pulls him in close as you deepen it, mouths open and his tongue hesitant against yours. He thrusts shallowly a few times before drawing to a halt, his lips never leaving yours as he continues the kiss.

He draws back after several more toe-curling kisses and you unlace your legs from around his waist, dropping your feet onto his calves. When he hisses and jerks forward, thrusting his half-hard cock into you, you give him an apologetic grin and remove your feet to the cape underneath your entwined bodies. When the two of you have regained your faculties, he pulls out, and sits back on his heels as you rest your hands on your belly.

He tilts his head slightly as he offers his hand. Once again, he pulls you up. You take in your ruined garments with a wry look on your face.

“I’m going to have to go back to my room in your clothes again,” you quip at him.

“Who said anything about you leaving?” he asks.

Your mouth drops open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, your eyes jumping up to meet his. After all this how can he still want more? He laughs at you as he picks up his helmet and hammer.

“I haven’t gotten to test your knowledge of different fuel sources yet,” he explains. “We have all night, sweet girl. There’s plenty of time for me to breed you.”

With that he marches you toward his sumptuous bedroom.

__________________________________________________________

[1] Traditional blacksmithing has seven basic techniques used, but can be divided into four rough categories: forging, welding, heat-treating, and finishing.

__________________________________________________________

Data:

Tailor: would 100% let Sadet smash

Kalni:

Figure 1: Meme showing the subject’s thoughts on Sadet the Armorer from the Samaki Tribe. The strong language in this image – “In conclusion, I’m a slut for Sadet” –  indicates the subject is willing and able to permit Smashing to occur.

Maggie: Yes

Kata: Yes

Izzy: Yes

-

Conclusions:

To come to an accurate conclusion, the experiment would need a bigger sample size. However, based on preliminary results, it can be concluded that Sadet is 100% Smashable.

-

Bibliography:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blacksmith#Smithing_process

-

The “You Enabled This” Tag List:

@hdlynn​ @magsgotswags​ @thecautiousengineer​ @maybege​ @nelba​

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed has taken great joy in watching Laxus become not only a powerful mage, but a celebrity as well. As any dutiful husband would, he saw it his responsibility to make sure Laxus' new found fame didn't go to his head. And what better way to accomplish that than to splash him back to reality. [Fraxus One Shot]

I'm not sure where this idea came from, but it seemed fun and I don’t write canon-focused as much as I'd like to. This is just a fun little one shot, that I hope can put a smile on your faces.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. Hope you enjoy it.

A Splash of Reality

Freed wasn't entirely sure how, but Laxus had become something of a celebrity.

It had started out during their stint working for Blue Pegasus, wherein Laxus had been forced to take an interview with Sorcerer Weekly. Master Bob had insisted on it, claiming that the guild was run on patrons as well as their jobs, and having the world-renowned Laxus Dreyar suddenly as a guildmember was big news and could stir up a lot of business. It was made an even bigger deal because of Laxus' previous aversion to anything to do with press. It was his first interview, and it had been incredibly successful.

From there, things had snowballed. Other interviewers suddenly saw Laxus as a viable target, and Bob forced Laxus to do the more high-profile ones. When Fairy Tail had returned, Laxus had been one of the main points of intrigue, partly because now he was a well-known media figure and Fairy Tail returning was big news, and party because of the rumours about Laxus taking over.

Once he had started, he hadn't seemed to stop. Not only did he do interviews, but he also done an advertisement for the creators of his cherished headphones, which had kickstarted his pseudo-career in modelling. Every interview now came with a photoshoot, and Freed was immeasurably amused about how, with every shoot he did, the amount of clothing Laxus wore seemed to be lessening and the poses became more focused on his physique. Apparently the magazines knew a body they could profit from when presented with one.

While Laxus did complain, Freed knew he was enjoying it all. The man, while private, did like attention, if only on his terms.

The amount of time the couple could spend together did lessen slightly, but Freed didn't mind that. It would be hypocritical if he did, given when they had gotten together it had been the same year he'd gained the reputation as the 'Pretty Boy with a heart of darkness', and he had topped the 'Wizard I'd Like To Date' list; something Laxus had yet to do, Freed thought smugly. Media was something a famous wizard had to deal with, and it was a lot more fun laughing at Laxus' awkwardness in interviews than it would be if he allowed himself to be angry at the late nights Laxus spent in a studio somewhere.

One such night, Freed found himself doing the dishes as Laxus returned home.

"Hey," Laxus greeted as he entered, immediately shucking off his coat. "You alright?"

"Perfectly well," Freed said with a smile, placing the sponge on the draining board and turning to greet his husband. "Did your meeting go well?"

"I guess so," Laxus shrugged. "They offered me the contract. Pretty good pay, lots of coverage, they seemed enthusiastic about it."

"I can't imagine why," Freed chuckled. "It's not as if you're the person everyone's taking about right now, and that everything you attribute your name to seems to explode in popularity. Oh wait, you're exactly that," Freed chuckled. "I expect they threw a party just because you considered it."

An underwear company had, a month prior, come to Laxus saying they wanted him to be the headliner for their new ad campaign. They had stated in no uncertain terms that they would do almost anything to have him as their lead model, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Laxus had done a photoshoot for Sorcerer Weekly where one of the pictures showed Laxus teasing his underwear, and it had been the year's most successful issue of the magazine. The company had openly grovelled to get Laxus to consider their offer, and Freed had found it hysterical. He remembered what it had been like when he'd gotten similar offers, and was thankful that he no longer had to deal with it.

"Are you considering taking it?" Freed asked as he turned back to the dishes.

"Not sure," Laxus said, walking behind Freed and pressing his lips against the man's crown, a silent greeting. "They're respectful, and they said I can pick a photographer I know which means I won't get stuck with a creep. But I'm a mage, y'know. It'd make me less credible if there were magazine and billboard with me nearly naked on them, right?"

Freed paused, and smiled. He had known Laxus most of his life and they'd been together for a good few years, so he could read the man well. The fact that he'd phrased his last statement as a question, rather than as fact, was telling. He wanted to do it, almost definitely would do it, but he just needed a push.

And unfortunately, Freed had a bit of a cruel side.

"You're absolutely right," Freed said, voice almost haughty in tone. He was grinning into the unclean dishes. "Not only would you seem a sell-out, it would also affect your guild work and your reputation. It would risk taking away the fear factor you bring to missions; you shouldn't do it."

There was a beat of silent, one that Freed relished, before Laxus spoke again.

"But there's good aspects to it," He stated, forcing a nonchalant tone. "I could get some more money for the guild, which it always needs. And it's not like it's uncommon for mages to do ad campaigns and get into modelling. I mean, Mira does it all the time and nobody questions how fucking scary she can be."

"I'll agree to that," Freed nodded slightly, looking to Laxus with a wicked grin. "If you agree that you're loving this."

This had been the unspoken aspect of Laxus' celebrity status. Before it had happened, the blonde had been ardent that he'd never get into the publicity side of mage work, and that the people who did weren't as respectable as those who didn't. He'd claimed he would never do an interview by choice, and that he would hate every moment of it if forced to do one. That might have been true at the start, but as he had gotten used to it, gotten more comfortable with it, and had created professional relationships with journalists and photographers, he'd clearly started to enjoy it. A lot. But he refused to admit it, another amusing part of the situation.

"You kidding me?" Laxus scoffed. "Wish they'd stop asking, then I'd go back to normal."

"If that's the case, I'll talk to Master Makarov and have him block all correspondence from the media," Freed offered, and smirked when Laxus' eyebrow twitched slight. "Just admit it Laxus, you've become a celebrity, and you're enjoying every second of it."

"No I'm not," He protested, collapsing into a chair at the dining table.

"Oh please," Freed chuckled. "There's a small voice in your head that is constantly celebrating every moment of this. The arrogant teenager who wanted to hog the spotlight," Freed smiled as Laxus blushed a little. "You remind me of me when I first got into the celebrity side of things."

"I ain't that bad," Laxus stated. "Nobody can be as bad as Freed Justine the Pretty Boy."

"You might be more subtle about it," Freed conceded. "But I know that if you hadn't made such a big deal about not being one of those people, you'd be just as bad as I was."

"So what if I'm enjoying it," Laxus huffed, looking away from Freed and ignoring the chuckle that got him. "It ain't like I'm doing anything wrong by liking it."

"Certainly not, you're a well renowned wizard and you have put a lot of effort into proving yourself capable and impressive. Your celebrity status just proves that it's not just magic you're proficient in, but also publicity, arguably something a lot harder to do," Freed said as he walked from the kitchen sink and towards Laxus. "But if you think I'm not going to take every opportunity to annoy you like you did when our roles were reversed, you are very naïve indeed."

Laxus chuckled slightly at that, and the minor amount of defensiveness dissipated. As a couple, they had always had a flirtatious, harmless tit-for-tat rivalry, and Freed was glad Laxus knew his teasing was a part of that.

"Guess I deserve that," Laxus conceded. "What are you planning to do then? Find an embarrassing picture of me and send it to every magazine you know?"

"I'd hardly do something so unoriginal," Freed chuckled, thinking back to when Laxus had done just that to Freed. The picture of Freed sleeping, leaning against his sword, hair a mess after a mission, drooling slightly, had been featured in every low-end gossip magazine for a week, something which Laxus and The Raijinshuu found great delight in.

"Then what?" Laxus probed, smirking. He was clearly thinking of the picture as well.

"I can hardly ruin the surprise for you," Freed chuckled. "But, overall, I simply intend to keep you humble. To make sure all the grovelling and worshipping doesn't go to your head."

"How d'you plan on doing that?"

"Well, this, for example."

Freed moved quickly. As he had walked from the kitchen sink, he had grabbed the sponge that lay on the draining board and hidden it behind his back, something that Laxus hadn't noticed. He speedily moved it above Laxus' head, wringing it out. A cold shower of dishwater dropped out of it, landing on the blonde's perfectly styled hair, and splashing onto his shoulders.

Laxus let out a loud and undignified squark, wide eyed as the water dripped down his face. He looked up at Freed with shock for a moment, before determination painted itself across his featured. Freed met the expression with a cocky smile.

"You'll regret that," Laxus stated plainly.

"I don't think so," Freed chuckled. "After such a lovely noise, I don't think anything you do could make me regret it."

Laxus strode to the kitchen sink, scooping his hand in and collecting a handful of the foam bubbles. He turned on his heel and looked to Freed, who had crossed his arms and looked at the bubbles with an unimpressed eyebrow quirk. Not put off, Laxus stepped forward and slowly stroked Freed's face over with his bubbly fist, covering the man's features. He chuckled as he stepped back, the bubbles clinging to Freed's face.

"Well I have had a taste of my own medicine," Freed said in a voice so sarcastic it was almost impressive. "And it is very bitt-"

Freed cut himself off, gaping slightly as realisation – and a glass full of water – hit him. He gaped slightly as the cup full of dishwater splashed cold against his face, part of it entering his mouth. He slowly spat the water out onto the floor, glaring at his husband as bubbles trickled down his face. Laxus loudly laughed at him.

"I see," Freed said, voice calm now. "It's war then, is it?"

"Guess so," Laxus shrugged, crossing his arms, and adopting the same stance Freed had used just a moment ago.

And so, the war broke out. Before Freed could get to the sink, Laxus had splashed another handful of bubbles and water in his direction, drenching his crisp shirt and sending a shudder through him. Freed quickly got his revenge, cupping his hands and doing the same. His attack had been more effective, and Laxus groaned at a large wet mark covered his designer clothing; designer clothing that looked indistinguishable from his other clothes, given that no designer could change his unique sense of style.

The impromptu water fight lasted for a short while, and was covered in a mixture of sounds ranging from cries of annoyance to loud and raucous laughter. Though their kitchen was something of a mess by the time the fight neared its end, neither man cared. They both faced a lot of pressure, and moments of ridiculous fun was something they both relished.

Particularly Freed, given that he was now holding Laxus by the hair, threatening to plunge his face down into the rest of the dishwater.

"You wouldn't," Laxus grunted, muscles flexing as he pushed up against Freed's grasp.

"We both know I would," Freed taunted. "Unless you concede, of course."

"Never," Laxus demanded.

"Well then, let me give you a taste of what you've got in stall," Freed laughed, and Laxus' eyes narrowed. "Tonight I had gravy with my dinner, so the water is not only cold and stagnant, but it's also got a delightful hint of soapy beef. The few specs of the dinner I didn't finish are still floating around, which I expect will make this interesting," Laxus curled his nose at that; he could already smell the mix of contrasting scents. He was fine not having a closer look. "And from your nasty sneak attack, I can say from experience that it has a disgusting taste."

"You won't push me in," Laxus huffed. "When it comes to arm strength, I win."

"Perhaps with another man, that would be true," Freed mused. "But as your husband, I know a weakness or two that I can exploit."

Freed's fingers grazed against Laxus' waist, and a tickling sensation flushed through the blonde. His eyes widened as he reaffirmed his grasp on the sides of the sink, because Freed had barely been trying to tickle him and he was now only an inch away from the water's surface. If Freed really wanted to do this, Laxus would be powerless.

"You have one last chance to admit I win," Freed chuckled, breath hitting Laxus' ear. "Or it's bath time."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Very well," Freed grinned. "Enjoy yourself, Mr Celebrity."

And with that, Freed's free hand attacked Laxus' weak spot, his muscles buckled, and his face was shoved into the disgusting water below him.

~~~

"You've made a decision then?" Freed asked.

He walked out of his bathroom wearing nothing but a robe, his hair a slight mess after a quick towel dry. After Laxus had been pushed into the sink, Freed had been declared the victor of their water fight, and the two had retreated to the shower to clean off. Laxus had left the bathroom before Freed, claiming he was going to call the underwear company and give them a definitive answer while Freed readied himself for sleep.

"Yeah, just got off the phone," Laxus said, smiling at Freed and shifting the covers so his husband could climb in. "Told them I'd do it, they seemed pretty happy about it."

"I imagine so," Freed chuckled. "I hope you don't become disillusioned by it all, because glamour shoots can be a tiresome bore. I'd certainly rather you endure it than me."

He climbed into the bed, automatically leaning against his husband and curling up around him. Laxus wrapped him in his arms without a second thought, smiling a little at the scent of Freed's distinctive shampoo. He nuzzled his nose into the man's hair for a moment, before resting his chin on the man's head.

He grinned to himself before speaking again.

"You were right, they really would have done anything to get me working with them," Laxus mused, seemingly out of nowhere. "I went to them with a pretty big demand, and they actually went with it. Kinda shocked."

"As I said, you're a big name," Freed shrugged, covering himself with the duvet. "What did you want from them?"

"Double the pay."

"They really were desperate," Freed chuckled. "What they offered before was generous anyway."

"Well, I guess they saw the perks of it," Laxus chuckled, and smiled a little wickedly. "I mean, when I say they doubled the pay, I might have been misleading. Because while they're paying twice as much, it's not just going to me."

"Then who is it going to?" Freed questioned.

"You, of course," Laxus smirked, and Freed froze in his arms. Laxus tightened his grip slightly. "You see, I told them just how much my stud of a team captain – who was the fantasy guy of the whole nation a couple years ago – wanted to get into modelling. How he missed the spotlight, and wanted to show off to the world. And when I told them in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be doing anything without him, they seemed very happy to do what I wanted."

"You didn't," Freed said, voice hollow.

"Oh I did," Laxus chuckled. "So it looks like I'm not going to be the only celebrity living here from this point, huh?"

"You bastard," Freed grunted.

"Damn right I am," Laxus grinned, taking Freed's chin with his fingers and turning him so they were face to face. He smirked at the man, who was doing a mix of a glare and a pout. Laxus leant forward, kissing Freed with a victorious expression. "I guess I win after all, Pretty Boy."

[hurricanerin]

Poise & Rationality Ch. 1: Chime

A profuse thank you to @hysteria87​ for being a solid pal and beta and making me a bomb graphic.  And shoutout to @liquor-belle​ for unintentionally signing on as my crisis management team and beta as well.  Annnnd to both of them for handling my 7 week long neurosis featuring this story.  Both of them are hardcore talented, please check them out.

Hi Dark!Steve Fandom!  Thanks for your patience!

Pairing: HYDRA!Steve x OFC

Rating: Explicit.  Always, always explicit.

Warnings: Rape/noncon/dubcon, smut, forced pregnancy, emotional manipulation, power imbalance.

Length: 5.5k.

Summary: Shield has fallen, leaving Eden at the feet of the villainous Steve Rogers, Hydra's newest recruit.  She walks on eggshells, trying to survive in a new reality where she’s at the mercy of her closest friend, one where she can keep her heart locked away from this mess.  The problem is that the ex-Captain’s flirting and gentle teasing has turned carnal and new intentions clear: she is his and he’s going to have her.

P&R Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist.

It felt like a bad dream, really; the defunct Avengers held captive at the overtaken compound while the newly triumphant Hydra made themselves comfortable.  Shock collars, laced with gamma radiation and programmed to trigger in the event of excessive exertion, kept the fallen heroes docile as their minds rotted with hate and failure.  It would have been a kindness to use Loki’s scepter to cheat them into blissful unawareness as they knelt to their enemies.  

The newest of whom was Steve Rogers.

Captain America was dead.  The infamous shield rested amongst Hydra’s other freshly acquired treasures, his star spangled suit torn to shreds, and the righteous hero’s wholesome affect demolished beyond recognition.  In his place stood a hardened, jaded man, lied to and taken advantage of ten times too many by the entity he had believed in with every ounce of his being.  But, when government property and intelligence were held at a higher value than humanity again and again, when Shield repeatedly chose to prioritize the safety and preservation of weapons over the lives of civilians, Steve had finally walked away from everything: the scene, the victims’ bodies, Shield itself. Three days later, Hydra attacked the compound in upstate New York, led by the rogue First Avenger. All Avengers were taken alive and divided amongst the Hydra elite.  

Some higher ups chose more practical uses for their new playthings.  Hydra monitored Tony, even more volatile due to Pepper’s disappearance, with a team of twenty while they forced him to improve Hydra weapons tech.  Bruce, clad in a collar unique to his makeup and under the watchful eye of fifty of Hydra’s finest, was stuck in the lab conducting heinous experiments on future super soldiers.  Natasha, Clint and Thor also served in sectors reflective of their own talents.  Steve stuffed down the guilt twisting in his stomach and instead focused on the satisfaction of knowing that Shield’s puppets were neutralized.

The Captain’s personal vendettas didn’t end with the five originals; he spread his bitter anger throughout the extended squad of heroes. Save for a smattering of team members he recruited, the Avengers as a whole suffered.  He made certain that Eden, a recruit with only two years on the Avengers crew, endured a fate just as miserable as the rest.  She was his protegee and had been attached to his side since her first day on the team.  She deserved to be punished like the others, forced to watch the world they had worked so hard to protect fall to shambles.  

Eden had had Steve wrapped so tightly around her little finger by the time he left for Hydra that when she refused to change sides, she had …wounded him.  Badly. She deserved retribution, but Steve didn’t have time for petty discipline and the thought of anyone but himself marking or marring her skin made him see red.  If someone were to physically punish Eden, it would be his fingers pressing bruises into her arms, his teeth leaving angry red imprints on her neck, his lips pulling purple marks to the surface of her chest.  

No. The situation didn’t call for that. Not yet.  For now, he was content humiliating her; keeping her close to his side, as she had been since her first day at the compound.  Eden now served as his imprisoned assistant and glorified scullery maid.  A combat-trained scullery maid capable of absorbing and neutralizing the energy of a nuclear bomb, but a maid nonetheless.  Most importantly, she was his.  

 Of all the people in the world to be assigned, Steve Rogers was the last who required cleaning up after.  Even as Hydra’s Captain, he kept his rooms immaculate.  In doing so, he unintentionally maintained that air of humility that had made him Captain America, which infuriated Eden.  He would be so much easier to hate if he weren’t still Steve.

Smoothing the surface of the flat sheet over his mattress, she exhaled softly.  Like the disciplined soldier he was, Steve made his bed every morning, but he liked new sheets every other day.  Changing his linens provided a brief reprieve from the boredom of being confined to his apartment all day, for which she was grateful.  Humming absently to herself, she spread the slate-colored comforter over his bed.  She honestly wasn’t sure which she preferred: solitude; time wasted alone in his giant space where she was plagued by listlessness, or suffering his company, in which she was tortured by watching the man she revered so ardently betray his own credo.  

When a series of beeps and chirps sounded from the other room, followed by the thunk of reversing deadbolts, Eden’s heart pounded and she haphazardly dragged the bedspread over the mattress and tossed the remaining pillows onto the bed. Rushing from his bedroom, she didn’t bother with the lights as she hustled into the living room.  Steve discovering her in his room rarely ended well. He would stare at her, pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates as he made no effort to conceal the erection growing in his trousers.  He’d toy with her until the tension in the room grew unbearable, and then she’d break and find an excuse to flee.  Though they hadn’t acted on their mutual attraction prior to his betrayal, the power dynamic between them was vastly different now.  She wasn’t sure she was allowed to refuse his advances anymore, and she didn’t care to put herself in a position to find out.  So far, he had been lenient.

Trotting straight to a cart filled with decanters of alcohol and snatching the scotch, she paid little mind as she nearly missed the tumbler, hastily pouring as the front door released and Steve strode into the room. Wiping her wet hand on the skirt of her dress, Eden silently approached him and held out the crystal glass, neglecting to make eye contact.  Once in his grasp, she fled with as much subtlety as possible, taking refuge beside the antique cart.

A stack of papers muffled the clatter of his heavy P220 as he dropped them to the kitchen table.  Gaze flicking over her, Steve took a long draw, disappointed, as always, at the alcohol’s lack of effect.  Though Eden’s eyes refused to meet his, she did pay attention to the way his scruffy throat bobbed as he swallowed, which earned her a grin.  Her attempts at feigned disinterest were endearing. Actually, at the present moment everything about her was endearing.  Appealing. Fresh from a testosterone-filled debriefing meeting, an aching tension filled him from chest to groin, begging to be released.  However, their tango wasn’t simple.

Licking a drop of liquor from his lip, he nodded in her direction.  “How was your day, Eden?”

Her lip curled before she dropped her gaze to the ground, letting her hair fall forward to shield her face.  The simple act caused a pleasant throb in his lower abdomen.  The more she hated him, the more he wanted her. There had been a magnetism between them before the takeover, before his ultimate betrayal.  Back when he was good. As his altruism had faded while hers remained, as his world had darkened and decayed, Eden had stayed a small beacon of… not light, but comfort.  Someone he returned to at the compound and used to soothe the festering rage and simmering disappointment Shield fostered.

It was Eden who had coaxed him into sharing his doubts regarding Shield’s intentions and she had never judged him for it.  She had listened, challenging him with the occasional question or opinion.   He had never doubted her fidelity, but everything changed during the takeover. The expression on her face when she saw him flanked with Hydra soldiers that day of the attack made his stomach sink. Steve had trained her, made her what she was.  She was his confidante.  He thought Eden’s loyalty would survive something like his transition to Hydra, but he was sorely mistaken.  She had turned on him, just like almost everyone else.  

Eyes flicking over her body, clad in his designated 1940’s tea dress, Steve rested his hip against the leather sectional.  His face hardened as he drained the tumbler and tried again.

“How was your day, Eden?”

Once more, ignored him.

“Respond, Eden.”

Focused on her hands, she picked at the cuticle of her thumb.

Pursing his lips, Steve sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve a slim remote.  He saw Eden freeze in his peripheral, but she still refused to look up.  With an exasperated exhale, he pressed one of the buttons, frowning as the woman cried out and crumpled to her knees, tugging at the collar around her neck and leaning into the wall for support.

“Damnit,” she panted.

“I don’t like it when you ignore me, Eden.”

“I don’t like it when you betray your family, humiliate and hold us prisoner, but here we are,” she grit.

Steve’s face softened as his gaze focused on something she couldn’t see.

Family.

The Avengers were his family.  Had been his family.  Hydra would never fill that void.  He knew that going in.  For as much as Steve Rogers had changed, that basal, primal need to create a family he could protect and provide for still ate at him.  It was the one thing in the world he wanted.  He had given everything to defend the earth and its inhabitants.  Was he not due what he desired most?  

Eyes focusing, they honed in on the seething woman bracing the wall.  Even incensed and in pain, Eden made his thick cock swell.  Family.  He had entertained the idea featuring her, of course.  It was impossible not to when they spent so much time together.  He had briefly substituted several of the women he worked with, but he always came back to Eden.  She fit all his requirements; wide hips, a hearty body, strong maternal instincts, and more than capable of defending herself.  How her superhuman talents would factor into her offspring had yet to be determined, but he doubted the results would be adverse.

Natasha would kill anything he planted inside her just to spite him.  She was self-destructive.  But Eden… Eden was flawed in a completely different manner, in harmless ways, such as stubbornly insisting she was always right or that her way was best, but he had sway over her.  She was headstrong with a temper, but both were easily tamed.  In training, she yielded beautifully to him.  Sometimes it took him physically besting her to get a point across.  If that carried over to their relationship, then so be it.

He knew Eden may try to escape with his baby because she feared for his or her safety, but that did not concern him.  He would prove to her eventually that once she submitted to him, there was nothing to fear.

With a tired, distracted sigh, Steve collapsed onto the sofa, discarded his glass on the cocktail table and absently rubbed his chin with a thumb.  Frowning, he tugged at the hair on his jaw, feeling the length.  He turned and examined himself critically in the mirror mounted on the wall behind him, running his fingers through the heft of his beard. He could feel the odd stray hair and the undefined neckline bordered on untidy.

“I want this trimmed,” he said without facing Eden.

Biting her cheek to keep from scoffing, she crossed her arms and raised a brow, only to be met with an austere glance in the mirror’s reflection.  Steve nodded in the direction of his bedroom.

“My shaving kit is in the bathroom, bottom left cabinet.  Go get it.”

Releasing an irritated sigh, Eden dropped her arms to her sides.  

“Yes, sir.”  

Her voice was demure but the ire in her eyes gleamed with disdain.  Pushing off the wall, she slipped into his bedroom and to the ensuite.  She knelt and rummaged through the cabinet, retrieving the worn bag.  Steve watched impatiently from a kitchen chair as she dropped her prize unceremoniously on his kitchen counter.  

“What are you waiting for?”

Gritting her teeth, she unzipped the leather pouch, fishing out its contents and laying them on the table: a plastic comb, a few guards, clippers, beat up disposable razor, and a tube of shaving butter.

Eying the pile, the corner of her mouth pulled upwards. Forgetting herself, she couldn’t stop the jibe from tumbling out from between her lips, “The traditional Captain America doesn’t have a straight edge?”

Steve’s body stiffened.  He inhaled sharply, releasing his breath through his nose.  Forcing his corded muscles to relax, he shucked off his long sleeved tactical shirt and held it out for her to take.  “I don’t have time for nostalgia.”

“Seriously?” Eden muttered to herself.

His movements froze and his gaze met hers.  Heat bloomed across her face and chest at the invitation in his eyes to provoke him further.  She held his stare for a moment longer before he called her bluff, and Eden looked away.  Suddenly very busy folding his uniform, she focused on her task until he stretched his arms behind his head.  With a loud, satisfied groan, he extended his hands into the air, then rubbed a palm against the skintight material of the thin, white cotton t-shirt plastered against his chest.

Aware of the nearly irresistible temptation to stare at Steve’s body, Eden set her jaw as she delicately placed his still-warm shirt on the counter.  Planting a hand on her hip, her eyes flicked back and forth between Steve, his beard, and his array of tools.  She motioned at the table.

“This is going to make a mess.  There will be trimmings everywhere.  Let’s do it over the sink.”

“Here is fine.  My maid will sweep everything up later.”

Gritting her teeth, she marched to the table, snatched the clippers and comb in one hand and wrenched his chin upwards with the other.

“I haven’t done this in a long time.  It may not be good,” she warned.

“I didn’t expect you to have done this at all.  Whose beard have you trimmed?”

She hesitated, running the comb down through the scruff on his cheeks to wrangle unkempt hairs, then turned on the clippers.  If his arched eyebrow wasn’t enough indication, Steve clearing his throat made his desire for a prompt answer abundantly clear.

“An ex owned a barbershop,” she said over the noise.  “I wanted to know what he did all day, so he taught me.”

At the mention of her being with another man, Steve visibly bristled.  

“I see.”

Using her fingertips to angle Steve’s jaw as needed, Eden couldn’t fight the blush staining her cheeks.  His eyes followed her everywhere as she guided the guarded clippers down in the direction of the hair growth on his cheeks.  His pensive gaze was overwhelming, and given the amusement in his eyes, he knew very well the effect he had on her.  She opted to ignore him.  

Confident that she had trimmed enough without taking away too much bulk, she flipped the switch off to change the guard.  She needed one that would leave more length for his neck and chin.  

Steve cleared his throat, breaking her concentration.

“Do you want kids, Eden?”

She froze, almost dropping the plastic piece in her hand. A deeply personal question from Captain America wouldn’t have warranted a second thought.  But, since the takeover and her accused betrayal, Steve had been cold, withdrawing from her completely.  Her heart ached at the naïve hope bubbling up in her chest that the inquiry was meant as an opportunity to connect.  That man didn’t exist anymore.  Giving herself a mental shake, she cleared her throat and frowned in thought.

“Um, well—I guess—I—”

“It’s not a difficult question.”

Shooting him a nasty glare, she snapped the guard onto the clippers and flicked the power switch.  With a huff, she positioned herself in front of him, yanking his chin upwards and running the clipper comb through his beard.

Eden pursed her lips.  “I don’t think I’d be a good mom,” she admitted.  “My career is so much more violent than I expected, I don’t think a child should grow u—”

“You’ll be a good mom,” Steve interrupted.

The conviction in his voice caused her to falter.  With an uncomfortable laugh, she shook her head.

“I don’t know anything.  While my friends had babies, I spent my early twenties learning how to control myself around sources of energy so I didn’t accidentally blow up a city. I learned to fight and devise exit strategies and collaborate with a team.  If I have been around them, the children I’ve seen have been victims of awful circumstances.  I wouldn’t know what to say to a kid I haven’t rescued.”

Steve was contemplative as she removed the plastic guard. Her thoughtful reflection only made him desire her more.  The urge to claim her, before another Hydra member did, before an opposing force banded together and stole her away, clouded his vision.  There was only one solution: He’d plant his baby in her belly now and tie her to him forever. Eden would never allow her child to be taken from her and if she ran from him with the baby, he would find her. No matter where she went, he would find her.  She would be his by right.  They would be his by right. Mother and child tethered to father forever.  His indestructible family.  Untouchable, with two gifted parents that would do anything to protect their children.

Steve shifted uncomfortably in the chair, tugging at his tactical pants as his erection grew at the thought of her swollen with their baby. For their first child, her movement would be restricted to the compound.  She couldn’t be trusted, not yet.  But by their second, he’ll have trained her by holding their firstborn over her as leverage to obey him.

Oblivious, Eden used the bare clipper to clean up his untidy neckline, neaten his scruffy cheeks, and trim around his lips.  When she brushed away clippings littering his mouth with her fingers, he fought the urge to take them between his lips.

Eden started to hum, and it was clear her mind was deviating from their future.

“I’ve seen you with them,” he noted.  “If you can handle traumatized kids during missions, you can handle your own.  Practiced or not, you have maternal instinct.”

Eden’s ears glowed as she finished his sideburns.  Whether Steve allied himself with Hydra or Shield, she knew he wanted a family.  His approval of her ability as a mother was significant, she just couldn’t figure out where he was going with it.  Opting to ignore his comment, she gingerly placed the clippers on the kitchen counter, as if doing so with little noise would allow her to slip away unnoticed.

“All done,” she said softly, casually brushing beard hairs off her dress as she backed away.

Eden yelped when he snatched her wrist.  It took everything in her not to react instinctually, the way Captain America had relentlessly trained her body to respond when attacked.

“You’re not finished,” he said tersely, lifting his chin and rubbing the pads of his fingers along the short, prickly hair at his Adam’s apple.  “There is still stubble.”

“I’m not using that rusty razor, I’ll give you tetanus,” she nodded at the disposable in his bag.  Though Steve was correct, using a straight edge or razor would give an even closer shave than the clippers, she was not going to be responsible for infecting Hydra’s newest member.

Steve noiselessly raised his pant leg and slipped a black combat blade from a hidden ankle sheath, then handed it to Eden handle-first. Not a straightedge, but just as sharp.

“I just cleaned it,” he nodded at the weapon.  “Don’t get it dirty.”

Don’t make him bleed.  It was the most impassive threat she’d ever heard, but as deadly as if he’d held the blade to her own throat.

Eden fingered the knife handle, watching Steve’s face uneasily. How could he careen from thoughtful parent to menacing so effortlessly?  Was this a challenge?  Did he want her to attack him?  He had trained her; Eden’s uncanny talent for disarming enemies in place of killing them had always made Steve proud.  He knew her every tell and every strategy in her repertoire.  Besides, he’d never actually kill her; he found too much satisfaction in toying with her.  He’d hurt her though.  He had the self-control to dominate her physically without causing her bodily harm.  The toll it would take on her heart was another story.  Whatever he was planning, she wanted no part of it.

She held the knife back out to him, shaking her head.  “It’s too hard to get the right angle.  I’ll cut you.  Do it yourself.”

Steve’s mouth twitched.  He patted his thigh.  “Sit. You can do it from here.”  He leaned back, arms spread along the back of the chair, lap open.  The epitome of inviting.

Eden’s face warmed as she set her jaw.  Hesitating, her eyes flashed before she abandoned the knife on the counter and stalked further back into the kitchen.  Immediately Steve reached for the remote, his thumb on the button to activate her collar.  About to press down for blatantly disobeying him, he stopped when all she did was snatch a hanging towel and meander to the sink to fill a bowl with hot water.

When she turned to face him her eyes widened, brows furrowing into an expression of saddened anger as she saw the device in his hand.

“Can I keep going?  Or should I put these down so you can zap me?”

Though he only felt a tinge of guilt, it was more emotion than he could afford.  Hardening his expression, Steve dropped the remote on the table and raised his hands in the air.  

“My mistake.”

Again, he had to display that wretched humility that had made him Captain America.  Why hadn’t Hydra purged him of it?  Why couldn’t he just be bad?  Breath stuttering as she exhaled, Eden stowed her items on the counter next to Steve’s shoulder, swapping them for the weapon.

Flipping the knife in her hand, she squeezed her fingers around the handle, inhaled and gingerly padded forward.  Her breath caught as Steve’s iron grip cupped her ribcage and hip, lifting her to perch sideways on his thighs.  She caught herself, one hand grasping at the thin white t-shirt he wore, the other plastered flat against his pectoral, the knife sandwiched between her palm and the solid wall of muscle.

Her fingers tensed when his chest rumbled beneath them with a laugh, goosebumps rising on her arms as his nose found its way against the hypersensitive skin of her neck.  Steve made no effort to mask his groan as he inhaled the familiar fragrance of her jasmine shampoo, mingled with the scent that was intrinsically Eden.  When she stiffened in his arms, he guided a warm palm up the expanse of her back, pulling her even closer as he used a knuckle to brush her hair from her face.  

“Things have always been easy between us,” he mused. “It feels good to be this close, doesn’t it?  

Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes lowered, focused on his chest.  

“Of course,” she shrugged.  “This is normal.  It’s no different than training,” she all but whispered.

Shit.

Between his voice in his ear and his hands on her body, her brain wasn’t functioning.  Eden needed space.  She hadn’t smelled his familiar Old Spice deodorant, that faint note of sweat, or the pure musk of Steve since before the takeover.  Her sole mission had been to convince her brain that the man working for Hydra who looked like Steve wasn’t Steve, at least not her Steve, so she could make it through each day.  If she did that, Eden could maintain emotional distance while interacting with his imposter.  She doubted sleep would ever come easily again, not with him in the next room, but she could at least survive the daylight hours without a complete breakdown.  But now he was touching her, talking to her like nothing had happened and she couldn’t ignore who he really was.  

Steve’s thumb nudged her chin upwards to expose the underside of her jaw.   Eden was caught so off-guard by act that the emotion bubbling in her throat froze and she sobered.  She swallowed hard as she felt him lazily trace the tip of his nose along her jawline, before creeping lower and pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of her throat.  She couldn’t breathe properly, but her head was painfully clear as his scruff burned her delicate flesh and his lips pulled gently against the tender skin of her neck, leaving a purple mark.  

The sound of her breath hitching was deafening, and in case she weren’t positive that it was, feeling his lips morph into a triumphant smile against her throat confirmed it. Steve easily pried Eden’s clenched fist from his shirt and looped her arm around his shoulder.  She was putty in his hands.

Neither of them missed how the position brought them closer yet, pressing her breast firmly against his sculpted chest.  Aside from the minor shiver that racked through her, Eden ignored the sensation of her pebbled nipple rubbing against his solid mass. Steve, however, did not let it go unnoticed.  He released a pleased grunt and nodded at the knife in her hand.

“You have a job to do, Eden.”

She hated when he said her name.  All it took was hearing those two syllables and her lower belly tightened, flooding with heat.  She clenched her teeth with enough pressure that something in her jaw popped.  Taking a deep breath, she regrouped, then studied his face, analyzing the best way to proceed.

Truly, she did her best to maneuver herself with as little friction as possible.  But in reaching to drag the shaving butter, steaming bowl and rag closer, she shifted and her bottom ground against the existing bulge beneath her, eliciting a hiss from Steve.

Eden froze in a mixture of terror, embarrassment, and arousal.  When Steve repositioned himself beneath her, it was her turn to stifle a moan.  She was fairly certain the way he ground his erection against her ass was payback. Unprepared for the retribution, the quiet gasp she uttered echoed in the silent kitchen.   Eden swallowed back a whimper, closed her eyes as she collected herself.  Straightening with mock confidence, she wrung out the steaming washcloth, smeared a dollop of shaving butter on the back of her hand and turned back to Steve with the utmost delicacy.  

His harsh exhale puffed against her cheeks and she disregarded his smoldering gaze, stubbornly setting to work.  It was impossible, however, to ignore the warmth radiating off his body. The contrast in their body temperature beneath her cool palms sent goosebumps rising up her arms as she twisted to face him.  Keeping her face blank, she wet his cheeks, upper neck, and sideburns with the cloth, then worked the butter between her palms and applied it using as little bodily contact as possible.  Unfortunately, she could only limit so much.  Her task required her to run her fingers along his Adam’s apple, cheeks and the neckline of his beard to massage the product into his skin, ensuring there was a lubricating layer of cream between his flesh and the knife.

By all accounts, her hands should have trembled too badly to wield the weapon.  She followed Steve’s gaze to the steady knife as she directed his chin once again with her hand.  The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to smirk, but he couldn’t quell the regard in his eyes.  She realized he was proud that she had stayed as composed as she had.  Her lower half throbbed, trained like a dog to respond to pleasing him.  At this point, it was a visceral reaction.

Cold blue irises tracked her every move as she lifted the blade, frowning at it before pausing to study his face.  She had no more reason to dawdle.  It was time to use the knife.  Taking a sharp breath and holding it, she gently pulled the skin of his neck taut and dragged the edge of the knife through the layer of cream, only just scraping the surface of his flesh.  It slid easily against his skin, slicing away the rough stubble until it met the edge of his carefully shaped beard.

Eden looked to him for permission to continue, but he only raised an expectant brow.  Pursing her lips, she said a prayer to whoever was out there, thanking them for the fact that he was letting her work for the moment.  She moved an inch to the left, and repeated the act.  Mechanically she shaved Steve’s neck and jaw, moving towards his chin.  As she reached the center of his neck, she scraped the knife across his skin, and he swallowed.  The unexpected, fluid roll of his Adam’s apple beneath the weapon at an exaggerated degree hit the blade at just the right angle.  The skin split, blood welling at the shallow broken seam.  Steve didn’t so much as flinch, but Eden’s entire body froze, her breath leaving her lungs.  Her brain felt like a fuzzy TV channel.  She couldn’t think.  Only her eyes moved, darting towards Steve’s face as she tried to gauge whether or not she had just signed her own death sentence.

When his only response was to clear his throat impatiently, she shook her head.  Her thoughts were so loud her head was about to burst and her frantic inhalations sounded like those of an overheated dog.

“I can’t do this,” she said breathlessly.  “I can’t.  Please.”

He moved without warning, fortunate that she had the training to keep the knife steady this time.  In a blink, she straddled him full on, her hands once again bracing his shoulders in confusion as he settled her body over his lap chest-to-chest, this time with her core positioned over the bulging hardness in his pants.

“Oh,” she gasped as his erection aligned with the soft cleft of her center, her eyes glazing over.

Steve groaned, his head tipping back and exposing his neck even further.  At some level, Eden registered the dribble of crimson gathered at the site of the miniscule cut, but out of fear for her life, she only watched it gather idly.

After a determined exhale, Steve swiped at it, distractedly glancing at his thumb after he swept the blood away before refocusing his gaze on Eden.  Unfazed, he confidently settled his hands on her hips, squeezing to gain her attention.

           “Now, your angle is better.  Finish the job.”

She started to position herself towards him, then stilled. Even the slightest pressure forward pressed her center against him.  Fighting the urge to whine, she squeezed her eyes shut.  With an uneasy breath, Eden shook herself.  He wasn’t just going to allow her to leave his lap without finishing. Whether she was willing or not, he would make her complete the task.  

Refreshing the used dish cloth in the bowl of water, she used it to dab at his wound and clean the knife of stubble and excess shaving cream. She hesitated for a moment before adjusting the tension of his skin, then launched back into her chore quickly, more concerned with finishing promptly than the risk of inflicting another nick or two.  Her physical position was beyond precarious; the intimacy of touching his face was already overwhelming, but the feeling of his cock exactly where she wanted it when they were separated by mere barriers of fabric and fundamental ideological differences was unbearable.

Eden didn’t want to think anymore.  Retreating into her mind, she went on auto-pilot.  Scraping and wiping, she worked methodically until her assignment was nearly completed.  It wasn’t until then she that realized that once she did finish, she would be left straddling Steve’s lap without an easy way down and no work to occupy her.  Torn between the incentive of not having to endure the intimacy of touching his face and the dread of the unknown, Steve forced her hand when he started rubbing his thumbs back and forth against her thighs, buffered by the cloth of her dress. She stiffened, unable to squirm away in fear of upsetting or further arousing him, but incapable of staying stationary due to the threat of his wandering hands.  

The look of amused satisfaction that came over Steve’s face frightened her.  It also made her slick center throb.  Certain she resembled a panicked deer with wide, leery eyes, she wet her lip, eyes flicking to the weapon in her hand.

“This needs to stop,” she warned.

Silently he dared her to break his gaze as his fingers traced the hem of her dress.  Eden was keyed up on adrenaline, so focused on Steve and his predatory gaze that when his palms confidently made their way under the skirt of her dress and up her warm thighs, her reaction was instant.  Clutching Steve’s knife in her fist, she made a lightning-quick move to hold the weapon to his throat.  The clap of his palm catching her arm sounded before she felt his grip on her.

“Eden,” he sighed.  “I’m disappointed.”

Ch. 2 What a Shame >>

 Tag list: @whatsitgonnabeangelina​ @kakakatey​ @patzammit​ @maynay43​ @readermia​ @the-kinky-friend​ @monarchofallisurvey​ @averyrogers83​ @atthediscowithoutpanic​ @smollest-soybean​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @theofficialwifeeeofpietro​ @rania @suzieqsez  @liquor-belle @sophiria @titty-teetee @mcudarklibrary​

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 8

“Yes, suffer more!” A girl hiding behind a pillar said, watching her evil plan coming into motion. Emiyo watched from the sidelines expectantly, curious.

Emiyo waited and waited, but still, nobody screamed or howled in pain. She scanned around the packed food court and saw people going about their usual daily lives, laughing and having fun. Everything seemed normal, making Emiyo furrow her brow in confusion.

“Yes! Their suffering is so perfect!” The girl said again, her fairy partner smirking in satisfaction. The girl was a tiny thing, standing shorter than most pre-teen-aged girls. Her hair was bright pink, cut into a quick bob.

“Am I missing something?” Emiyo intensified her search, but found nothing but an average day at the mall.

“I don’t see anyone dead or unconscious.” Nyx flew around, searching for anything out of the ordinary. “It must be so subtle it’s invisible!”

“What, come on!” An annoyed teenage boy with pimples said behind a counter at a burger place. “I just filled that!”

“Hey, what gives? Where’s the ketchup? I’m in a hurry!” A customer said. “My movie starts in ten minutes!”

The boy winced. “Sorry, sir. I’ll get some right away.”

“Victory!” The girl said, her fist pumping upwards.

“Victory in what, exactly?” Emiyo asked behind the girl, who yelped in surprise.

“Emiyo, uh, hi! You aren’t usually out in the field.” Himari said, wearing a nervous grin on her face.

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you!” Liam, her partner, gave a reassuring smile.

“You never answered my question.”

“You know, magical girl stuff!” Himari said. “Causing all the suffering I can.”

Emiyo gestured to the calm food court, her patience thin. “What suffering?”

“Lots of it! We stole all that store’s condiments.” Liam replied. “Remember how annoyed that man was? He might miss the beginning of his movie! Now that employee needs to refill the condiment stand! What a bother, right?”

Himari gave an emphatic nod. “Right! And that worker got yelled at! No one likes that!”

Emiyo fought the urge to rub her temple, feeling a headache coming on. “This is your idea of suffering? Really?! Suffering is having your body crushed and living in never-ending agony. Suffering is losing everyone you’ve ever loved and having nothing to live for. Suffering is living in a nuclear wasteland!”

“That boy seemed pretty miserable to me,” Himari muttered under her breath.

Himari coughed, regaining her confidence. “I think you’re a little confused. I’m actually playing the long game!”

Despite herself, this piqued Emiyo’s interest. Perhaps she’d misjudged the girl?

“Yeah, nuclear wastelands are great and all, but it’s tacky and too easy.” Himari puffed out her chest. “I’m destroying worlds with a thousand cuts!”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. I’m causing countless small instances of suffering so they’ll build into something greater and more explosive. People will bottle up their frustration until they burst and cause untold havoc!”

Emiyo’s eye twitched. “This is your brilliant plan, really?”

“Totally evil, right?” The girl and her partner gave an emphatic nod.

In her head, Emiyo’s headache intensified. “No wonder the suffering levels in your universes have only increased by .00000000001 percent.”

“I’m playing the long game.”

“For two hundred years?!”

“The very long game.”

You incompetent little! Emiyo wanted to throttle the girl but kept professional calm. An outburst would be unseemly. “If this is the caliber of sector 8’s magical girls, no wonder the suffering levels haven’t increased much.”

Of sector 8’s magical girls, Himari is one of the few remaining who still lived. Emiyo had found the others dead, killed by the rebel. Why didn’t she save Emiyo the trouble and kill Himari too? It’d be so easy!

“Look, I’m currently assessing the entirety of Sector 8. When I get back, your universes’ suffering better increase by at least twenty percent!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just accelerate my plans somewhat.” Himari pulled out a small vial, smirking. “I plan to put this into the water supply!”

Hope sparked in Emiyo’s heart. Poisoning water was an excellent way to spread fear and panic!

“It makes the water taste funny. Not horrible, but still unpleasant.” Himari said. “It will force people to buy bottled water instead! What a needless expense, right?”

Emiyo put her face into her hands and screamed.

---

Takako howled in pain as her opponent tossed her onto the padded mat.

“Are you okay?” Seina asked, concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” She said, rubbing her bruised arm. Even without her magical girl powers, Seina hit like a truck. Takako returned to her feet, determined to go again. Her pride refused to leave until she’d scored several points against her rival.

“Darn it.” Takako cursed as her back struck the padded floor once again. “I’m much quicker than you. Yet, you keep beating me!” Somehow, the girl seemed more like a wall than a person, deflecting back everything Takako threw against her.

“That’s because you aren’t sticking with what I’ve been teaching you.” Mr. Kiyojiro said. “You always go for the dirty move rather than the practical one.”

“But it’s totally predictable and lame!” Takako waved a dismissive hand. “Not my style at all.”

Seina smiled. “I suppose, but you always leave yourself wide open. You aren’t working on your defense enough.”

Takako turned away. “Whatever. My genius is too brilliant for you to understand.”

Seina sighed, but a slight smile appeared on her lips. “Okay, Maeko. Fine. Want to go again?”

“Always, best out five?”

Despite her best efforts, Seina still won most exchanges, moving with lighting precision. Yet, Takako didn’t mind it. Instead, it only pushed her to work harder. She hadn’t been this excited in decades. Usually, she found her magical girl duties dull, but she enjoyed the challenge Seina presented. The fighting made her feel alive. It’d be a shame when Seina inevitably died in days ahead, but Takako would enjoy her company until then. They chatted as they walked across town, enjoying the scenery. People were working hard to rebuild, invigorated with a new purpose after the vampire’s fall. Despite herself, their grit and determination impressed Takako.

“Is that the new school?” Aiko looked down towards the skeleton of a building from their vantage point.

Seina flinched. “Yes, Lotus High School.”

“No way! The Prime Minister named a school after you?” Aiko beamed with pride.

“Yeah,” Seina replied, with little enthusiasm. “They wanted to call it Kamiyama High School, but I vetoed that idea. And the statue.”

Aiko rolled her eyes. “Please, you deserve some recognition! You saved the world!”

“I guess.” Seina said, still unhappy. Uncle Kenji is adamant I should attend it once it’s finished. Isn’t that the worst, going to a school named after you?”

“Don’t worry, I'll be by your side if anyone bugs you about it.” Aiko puffed out her chest. “Never thought I’d ever attend high school. I’m so looking forward to it. Do you think it’ll be anything like those mangas Maeko likes?”

“I hope so,” Seina said. “Clubs, romance, lunch on the roof, meeting with friends every day. It sounds nice.”

Takako rolled her eyes. The dullest, most ordinary things always infatuated Aiko and Seina. What next? Wanting to attend cram school too? Even thinking about it gave Takako bad memories.

“How about you, Maeko?” Aiko said. “What are you looking forward to in high school?” The two girls looked at her expectantly.

Shows what you know. I’m too old to care about things like high school! She paused, realizing, despite being several hundred years old, she’d never attended high school. Soon, both Seina and Aiko would have a much higher education level than her. Takako had run away from home long before high school age. Not that she cared, of course. Takako was smart enough without it.

“Eh, seems boring if you ask me,” Takako said, not impressed..

“How can you say that after the vampires basically starved us of any education?” Seina said, irritated. “I had to learn basic reading and math in secret! Uncle Kenji had to risk his life to teach me how to add!”

Takako took a step back, surprised by the usually meek girl’s angry outburst. “Okay, okay. Sorry,”

“I’m sorry too.” Seina said.” I lost my temper. It just frustrates me what basic things the vampires denied us. We were just things to them, not even people!”

“I know what you mean,” Aiko said, nodding. “But the vampires can’t stop us now! Humanity can’t be stopped!”

“Right! Oh, I can’t wait for high school to start!” Seina said dreamily. “Mr. Kiyojiro’s tutoring is great, but I want to learn from a real teacher! Uh, no offense, Mr. Kiyojiro.”

“I’m not offended.” Mr. Kiyojiro said, finally joining the conversation. “Teaching from random textbooks is awkward.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not a great teacher.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Any chance to learn!” Seina replied, trying to reassure her bodyguard and tutor. “You’re doing an excellent job teaching me Japanese. It’s my favorite subject. And I’m not too shabby at English either.”

“Private tutor, you’re lucky. I just wish I could understand half of my lessons.” Aiko rolled her eyes. “Ms. Inouye still hasn’t created a coherent study plan yet.”

“Hey, the adults are working hard to teach you youngsters.” Mr. Kiyojiro said. “A few kinks in the plan aren’t unexpected. You’ve already lost too many years. How can you become proper adults without the proper education?”

“No argument here.” Aiko said, and Seina nodded.

“Sure, but being a proper adult means getting a job and paying taxes and rent.” Takako said, piping in.

Mr. Kiyojiro coughed into his fist. “Well, yes. But, that’s part of growing up. You can’t stay a child forever.”

“Except, Seina will stay a child forever,” Takako said, pointing out the flaw in the bodyguard’s logic.

“Not in my heart. I can get a job anyway!” Seina said, retorting the point.

“You actually want a job?” Takako asked in disbelief. It sounded like such a needless bother. “You’re a magical girl! There’s nothing stopping you from doing whatever you want.”

“Yes, actually,” Seina replied, puffing out her chest. “I’ll still be an adult, even if I appear ten!”

Colten’s eyes lit in awe. “You’re so responsible, Seina!”

Takako snorted. “Stupid if you ask me.”

“Trust me, Maeko,” Seina said. “Being a magical girl isn’t as appealing as it sounds.”

“Whatever. Well, I better get going.” After all that hard training, Takako wanted to gorge herself on shaved ice and watch some anime.

“Later!” Seina and Aiko waved as she left.

“You’re too comfortable with those two,” Lilha said from an alleyway. “You’d almost think you’d become friends.”

“Friends? Not likely.” Takako was too evil and hardhearted for such nonsense.

“Good,” Lilha replied. “Come. There are matters we need to discuss. It won’t be long until we’re ready.”

“You’re acting already? I’ve barely learned anything. Mr. Kiyojirois still teaching us the basics!”

Lilha raised an eyebrow. “Are we meant to wait years while you play with Seina?”

“We are both immortal.” For someone who was ageless, Lilha certainly was impatient. “Is it that important for you to return to your nightmare world?”

“We are vampires. We rule.”

“Okay, but why ban schools? Why make children work 70-hour weeks?” Takako couldn’t resist asking these questions any further.

“The humans needed to know their place. My husband was always adamant about grinding them down as much as possible.”

“Why? Aren’t these policies more likely to cause humanity’s extinction?”

“It wouldn’t get that far. We’d keep them alive. They are our pets.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why?”

“You’re a magical girl. It’s your job to make people suffer.” Lilha gave her a pointed look, making Takako hesitate. It was true. Why was she caring about this?

“Well?”

“Have you lost your nerve? Don’t you hate Siena as deeply as I do? I’ve seen how she humiliates you. Are you happy always being her inferior?”

Takako stood straighter. “I’m the strongest. Always will be. We will kill Seina.”

“Good. I see no further use in having you train with Seina. You’ve learned enough. I fear you’re getting too cozy with her. It’s time we enact our plan.” Lilha shone with excitement. “By tomorrow, Seina Kamiyama will be dead!”

Takako nodded, realizing her doubts were foolish. This was what they’d agreed upon. She glanced back, watching Seina talking and laughing with her friends without a care in the world. It left a strange bitterness in Takako’s heart. But no, for the sake of the magical girls and Starlight Dream, Seina’s death was necessary. After giving the girl a final look, Takako focused on the task at hand. No more useless doubts or distractions.

---

“A day out? Sounds great!” Seina said. Mr. Kiyojiro had given them the day off, and they were debating how to best spend it.

Aiko beamed. “I know this cute little place that’s becoming really popular. It’s super trendy!”

“Clothes shopping?” Colten sighed from his perch on Seina’s head. “Okay.”

Seina patted her fairy friend on the head. “It won’t be long, then we’ll get some ice cream.”

Colten perked up. “Really?”

Aiko snorted in amusement. “You spoil him too much. Yes, I promise it’ll be quick. I haven’t forgotten you, Colten. I have some activities planned for you too. There’s this street performer I heard about that might interest you. He does Kamishibai.”

Colten’s eyes lit in excitement. It also piqued Seina’s interest. Since DVD players and working TVs were still rare, the art form had reemerged on Osaka’s streets to entertain people. Though because of her training, she hadn’t caught one yet. The art form used still pictures accompanied by the performer, who narrates the story. Her fairy partner bounced on her head, unable to contain his excitement, making Seina giggle.

“Kamishibai?” Maeko said, showing genuine interest. “I haven’t seen one of those in forever.” Mr. Kiyojiro nodded in agreement, also genuinely interested.

Seina blinked. “Really? How?” The vampires were strict about punishing anyone who dared defy their edicts. Even singing could get you killed. Maeko’s past was so bizarre. Did her taskmaster even do his job?

Maeko coughed into her fist. “When I was really young. You know, before the vampires.”

Seina nodded, embarrassed by her misunderstanding. Unfortunately, most of her memories before the darkness were scarce and blurry. Worse, they consisted of people she’d rather not consider. Their presence tainted her childhood worse than anything the vampires had done. It sent blazing furious hatred through her and almost brought tears to her eyes. Why had her parents’ betrayal hurt her so much? Despite trying to forget them, thoughts of them returned at random moments, hurting her all over again. Sensing his partner’s distress, Colten rubbed her back, calming her.

“Are you okay?” Maeko said, worried by Seina’s sudden change in mood.

“It’s fine.” Her parents didn’t matter anymore. Besides, she had a new family and they wouldn’t hurt her as they had.

“There’s this ramen stand that recently opened up. I’d like to try. Would you mind having lunch there?” Mr. Kiyojiro said.

“Sounds great. Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” Seina felt guilty for dragging her bodyguard around town without his input. Was he as bored by girls shopping as Colten was? But Mr. Kiyojiro only waved his hand, indicating his wishes didn’t matter. After some consideration, Seina decided she’d at least allow him to pick where they’d eat supper too.

“I have a suggestion.” Maeko had been quiet throughout the entire conversation, drawing everyone’s attention. “Before going anywhere else, there’s this manga shop nearby I’d like to try. I heard it sells brand new manga. I’m curious if the rumors are true.”

“Sounds fun.” Aiko replied. “It will give Colten something to read while he’s waiting!”

Brand new manga? That sounded interesting. It brought a smile to Seina’s heart. Little by little, humanity was reclaiming their lives. The vampire’s reign was becoming a distant memory.

“Is this the right place?” Aiko glanced around, eying their surroundings with curiosity. They’d entered a part of Osaka that still remained mostly abandoned. The streets were empty, but Seina couldn’t help but feel she was being watched. Yet, when she looked, she spotted no one around. Odd.

“Just down this alley, and we’ll be there,” Maeko said, pointing towards a colorful sign that showed the shop’s name, Shinobu Manga Emporium. Seina peeked down the alley and saw an open door, seeing shelves of colorful manga ready for purchase.

A sense of wrongness overcame Seina, and she stopped her step. The feeling of being watched intensified, but she still couldn’t locate its source. Aiko picked on her anxiety.

“Is something the matter?” Aiko glaced around, a worried expression on her face.

Maeko snorted. “Nothing’s the matter. It’s just a manga shop.”

She gave her bodyguard a meaningful look, and he nodded in agreement. He’d also sensed the prevailing wrongness. “How about we go somewhere else? This place seems kinda sketchy.” Before Maeko could offer a retort, Seina jumped aside as a humongous axe flew towards where her head had been a moment earlier. It flew past and crashed into a nearby building leveling it with a resounding crash.

A large vampire emerged from literally nowhere, brandishing an axe almost larger than his body. “You got lucky. Next time I won't miss.” Several more muscular vampires emerged, surrounding them. Aiko screamed in terror and hid behind Seina.

Maeko rubbed her temple. “Jentin, you idiot! Your eagerness alerted her to the trap. Never mind. We do this the hard way instead!” Much to Seina’s shock, her friend pulled out a brooch similar to hers. “Change Change, Magical Love Genocide Dress Up!”

What the heck was happening? The veil of illusion disappeared, revealing a face she hadn’t expected. “Takako?”

The dark magical girl smirked. “Is it that shocking? Now be a good girl and die.” She pointed her black pistol point-blank towards Seina’s midsection and fired

[mythrilhusk]

Our World - Chapter One

Technoblade-centric; obligatory Greek Pantheon/The Office AU, No shipping, Not RPF

2.4k words, slightly funny (maybe?), AO3 Link, 

Features ND/Schizophrenic!Technoblade  - (Written by myself, an actually schizophrenic/neurodivergent person... Neurotypicals/Non-psychotics should not attempt this.) 

CW: Intrusive thoughts/visions/urges, auditory hallucinations

Elysium's smallest company branch rests unobtrusively in the town Oneiros, buried in some backwoods county. Technoblade reads through the list of employees once more as his taxi weaves through a mountain pass. His equipment sits on the seat beside him, while the rest of his luggage bounces in the trunk. 

Elysium's CFO, some guy named Eret, hired Techno on the spot when he came to the interview. Seemed kinda desperate, but eh, so was Technoblade. 

H's not entirely sure why they would only hire one guy to do this job. Eh, work is work, and they sure pay well enough. They're providing an apartment, too. An actual roof over his head will be nice, for however long Techno can keep the job. He bets a week, tops. 

The narrow road crests over the top of the mountain, revealing the town beneath sprawling in the valley. The Elysium office building juts out of the south side of the town, an ugly block of concrete and glass. Technoblade wrinkles his nose in disdain, silently agreeing with chat as they mock the displeasing aesthetics.  

When his taxi pulls up into the parking lot, Technoblade piles his luggage and equipment on the sidewalk before paying the driver. He adds a tip, too, though he can barely afford even that much. The driver's pale cheeks stretch in a nervous smile as he clutches the money; he's too afraid to protest the miniscule tip. Techno doesn't make an effort to smile back, too busy ignoring visions featuring the bloody crunch of the man's neck between his thirsty teeth. 

The taxi peels away, leaving Technoblade alone in the chilly mountain air. With ringing ears and a heavy huff, Techno gathers his stuff and heads into the building. 

The receptionist plays on his phone, ignoring Technoblade even when he raps his knuckles atop the boy's shaggy brown hair. "Tubbo," He grunts, recalling the appearance from the employee list. 

Tubbo starts, staring up at Techno with wary intensity, like a tiger cub encountering a wild boar for the first time. Techno smiles wryly at the boy, who must still be younger than eighteen. Chat clamors for blood, urging him with the weight of his knife, but Technoblade doesn't entertain them. 

"Technoblade." Tubbo regains his composure and holds out a hand. "I'm so glad you're finally here, big man, we've been waiting." 

"Why the rush?" Technoblade snorts, ignoring the proffered handshake. Physical contact irritates him. 

Tubbo drops his hand. "We just really like documentaries about ourselves, yeah?" 

"K." It's not his place to question a gig, although chat goes wild with suspicion. "Where am I staying?" 

"Oh, right, you'll be staying with Philza. Heh, try not to piss him off. Or do, it'll be funny." Tubbo waves to the rest of the wide room. "Phil! Your roommate's here!" 

"Fuck off, mate, I told you bastards, I don't want a fucking roommate." Techno recognizes the man who speaks as the dude in charge of customer relations: Philza. His golden hair glints with hints of fire, setting off his blue eyes, as merciless as the stars. 

Chat froths, raging for blood, blood, blood, but Techno mentally bats them away. "K, welp, I was promised boardin' with this gig. I don't really care where; just get me a place to stay." Technoblade shrugs, baring his teeth in a smile that's just south of friendly. 

Philza smiles too, showing off his fangs. Tubbo holds up his hands, saying, "Woah, woah, here. Phil, it's your turn. It's not gonna last long, anyway." 

"Heh? Turn?" Technoblade chuffs, even as the cacophony that is chat hisses, technodead, technodead, lmao, RIP- Shut up, chat, we are not dead yet. 

Philza's grin widens maliciously. "Oh, did Eret not tell you?" 

"That dude told me the bare minimum, man, I dunno, I dunno what you expected." 

"You're not the first film crew he's hired," Tubbo says with a faux apologetic shrug. Before Technoblade can protest the use of crew to describe one man, Tubbo continues with the barest hint of a smirk. "But the other ones died, just like you will." 

Technodead, technodead, EEEEEE, RIP, RIP, F, EEE, lmaooo, F, rainbowchat- "Get outta here," Techno drawls, narrowing his eyes. Not for the first time, he wishes chat had a physical embodiment he could punt. "Technoblade never dies." 

"We'll see," Philza muses, his eyes twinkling with the apathetic amusement of an ancient god toying with mortals. Hazing, that's all this is. Phil hands Technoblade a business card. "Don't be late." 

Techno scans the card, appreciating the flaming torch insignia etched into the bronze-inked paper. Ares, god of war... Chat hisses the allusion, seeming in awe of this man who has taken a god's symbol. Techno flips it over to find the address, and then raises an eyebrow at Phil. "What time?" 

Philza picks up a stack of papers from the massive copy-printer and strides back to his desk. "Before evenfall." 

Welp, that's that interaction over with. Technoblade notes how all the other office workers are studiously ignoring him. He turns to Tubbo. "Where's the boss?" 

Tubbo puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Are you, are you going to complain to our manager, mister?" 

"Yeah," Technoblade plays along. "I'm giving you a three star review." 

"Oh, that's not bad." 

"Out of ten." 

Tubbo's visage darkens, and Techno gets an uneasy feeling like a hurricane is about to hit. The feeling passes, though, as Tubbo pouts. "I deserve more than that, man! Give me six stars, at least!" 

"Tell ya what, if you show me where the regional manager's office is, I'll raise my review to seven stars." 

"Done!" Tubbo cries, and points to an inconspicuous pair of doors on the other end of the room. "One leads to Manager Puffy, the other leads to Manager Schlatt. Choose wisely, good sir." 

Techno hums approvingly, then draws out his pad of stickers from his coat pocket. Tubbo's eyes widen and he gasps, bouncing excitedly as Techno sticks a sparkly gold star to his forehead. "Good work, nerd." 

Tubbo just stammers, plopping back into his chair with a blissful expression. Heh. Stickers work every time. Chat begs for stickers of their own, beg to be called nerds, beg for even a little taste of blood, but they don't deserve any rewards after being so bad all day. 

Techno strides over to the managers' office doors. Each has a whiteboard on the front, with various scribbles over them. One has a fluffy sheep, and says in swirly script, //The captain is IN//. The other has various dicks doodled on it, and the only word written is, //Candice//. Chat breaks down in immature giggles. Technoblade opts for the former. 

He knocks politely. A woman's voice replies, "Enter." 

Opening the door, Technoblade scans the room. There's a full bookshelf covering one wall, and a low bureau across the opposite. A bay window sheds light across the manager's desk, tinted by the grey-green curtains. 

A woman rises from her chair, her expression hidden by the sunlight behind her. Her waves of hair-- half brown and half silver-- sparkle with the dewdrop diamonds haphazardly woven in. 

"District Manager Puffy?" Technoblade bobs his head to her. 

"Call me Captain Puffy," Puffy replies, and her teeth glint in a wild smile as she tosses her head. "You're the new film crew Eret hired?" 

"Uhh, apparently." Technoblade appreciates that she doesn't hold out her hand to greet him. "He never specified what kind of film he wanted, though, so-" 

"Don't worry about that," Puffy tuts, "I'll give you instructions when you're settled in." 

"K." Technoblade can respect this kind of person. Chat has been subdued and pouting for the past few minutes by his refusal to give them any sort of attention. He takes mercy on them and stares at the model ships on the bureau, letting them coo over the complexity and aesthetic. 

"Uh, Mister Blade?" Puffy's voice intrudes on his appreciation of the ships. 

"Just Techno is fine." Techno refuses to look away from the ships, since they're keeping chat happy for the moment. 

"You'll be assigned a desk tomorrow, and you'll be given tasks around the office to, to acclimate and get to know your coworkers. Later, you can start filming random candid moments. We want a sort of documentary detailing our office lifestyle." Puffy hands a paper flyer to Techno. 

Glancing through it, Techno frowns. "What exactly does Elysium sell?" 

"We need a better PR team, which is why we've hired you. Elysium strives for the betterment of lives and the strengthening of minds." Puffy completely fails to answer the question. Chat calls her a sussy baahka, and Techno shoots a pointed glare at the bookshelves. He's definitely not giving chat any stickers tonight. 

Puffy seems ready to dismiss him, so Techno bobs his head once more to her and opens the door. A strange noise, like the crashing of waves against a rocky shore, resonates through the air, halting him. Her eyes snap wide, glittering with something cold and unforgiving, yet somehow comforting and protective. "Pray to your god for mercy and it shall be given." 

Technoblade chuckles, smothering the fire lit behind his eyes. "I'm kinda an atheist, Brizo; if there are any gods out there, they'll be begging me for mercy." He realizes too late that his extensive knowledge of the ancient Greek religion has escaped his tongue. Chat screams with excitement as they put together the allusions to the referenced spirit, Brizo, patron of sailors and prophecy. What a bunch of nerds. 

Captain Puffy stares at him, her smile twinkling: sun rays piercing through storm clouds. "Of course, Hades." 

Technoblade smiles back at the retort-- he's always been partial to the god of wealth-- and he bobs his head in deference to her once more. Any fellow partaker of old stories easily gets put in his good book. Puffy bows back, and Technoblade takes that as his cue to leave. He closes the door behind him.  

Spotting the break room, Techno makes his way towards it, weaving through the desks. He pulls out his last, wrinkly dollar and slips it into the vending machine, then selects one of the bags of cookies. Sitting down with it, he inspects the coworker who's followed him in. "Tommy, right?" 

The youth-- the sole employee in HR-- scowls, his ocean-blue eyes narrowing with scorn. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Technoblade??" 

"Heh?" The teen's aggressive tone sets him on edge: hands itching and teeth aching and eyes burning for blood, blood, blood- no. No more of that. "Tommy, I just, I just got here? What are you upset at me for?" 

"I'm just askin', Techno. Who do you think you are?" Tommy juts his chin out challengingly. "There can only be one boss man here." 

"You wanna be the boss?" Technoblade rips open the bag of cookies. 

"Well, obviously." 

"Best me in single combat and we'll see." Technoblade is only jesting, of course. Even if the kid agreed to the fight, it would be unfair. 

"Yes! Meet me in the parking lot in thirty minutes, idiot, and I'll fuckin' wipe the pavement with your ugly face!!" Tommy whoops and skips out of the break room before Techno can explain he was only joking. 

Great. He's going to be fired for challenging a coworker to a fight, now. This will officially become the shortest job he's ever held, beating his last record by three hours. Technoblade munches his cookies and refuses to listen to chat as they bully him for making such a mess of his last chance. 

When he's finished his cookies, Technoblade goes down to the parking lot, figuring that if he's going to be fired, he'd better do it in style. 

Tommy waits for him, the breeze whipping through his blond hair. "No weapons, no magic, just me an' you, Technoblade." 

"K." Technoblade shrugs, not seeing any point to telling the teen that magic doesn't actually exist. It was probably a sort of ironic joke, anyway. 

Tubbo stands on the sidewalk, cheering for Tommy. Another teen leans on the wall behind Tubbo, seeming paler than should really be healthy, with a mop of black hair covering their ears. 

"En garde!" Tommy cries and leaps to punch Techno.

Swaying to avoid the blow, Techno jabs Tommy in the gut with his knuckles. The youth staggers back, face distorted in pain. Technoblade remains relaxed, raising his hands. "Feel free to back out any time." 

"Fuck you!" Tommy roars and charges, fists flailing. The picture of waves recklessly dashing themselves against an implacable cliff comes to mind. 

Technoblade deflects the first fist and takes the wrist of the followup, twisting his arm behind his back. Tommy shrieks in rage and attempts to rip his arm away. Techno releases him and steps forward. "Sorry, but you ain't winnin' this." 

"I will fucking end you!" Tommy once more flies into the fray. 

Technoblade decides to go slightly harder on him. He sends Tommy stumbling with a single smack to his shoulder. When Tommy tries to flail fists at him again, Techno trips the boy. Tommy's back slams into the pavement, air whoofing out of his lungs. 

"Y-you fuckin'-" Tommy wheezes for air. "I will not lose to you-" 

"Looks like it's too late for that," Technoblade chuffs, watching the boy as he struggles to his feet. 

Tommy sneers at him. "I, I'm feeling fuckin' merciful today. I won't kill you this time." 

"I suppose I can return the favor." Technoblade smirks. He turns his back on Tommy to rub in how little of a threat the teen is. Not that Tommy will understand the gesture, but it boosts Techno's ego and makes chat jeer. 

Tubbo and the other youth, a sales rep by the name of Ranboo, stride over. "That was sick!" Ranboo cries, eyes aflame with hero-worship as he stares at Technoblade. 

Tubbo smiles implacably as he pulls Tommy to his feet. "Win next time, big guy. I lost five dollars to Ranboo on that." 

"Fuck you, Ranboo," Tommy snarls, clinging to Tubbo's arm even as he's standing. "Bet on me, next time!" 

"But you lost! I think that's pretty funny." Ranboo glances back up at the windows of the office. Several pairs of eyes seem to be peering down. Great. An audience to Technoblade's last few moments of employment. 

Tommy grumbles as he storms to the doors, "I'll fucking beat you next time, Techno, see if I don't!" 

The phrasing seems odd, in that it implies Technoblade isn't about to be fired for beating up his teenage coworker. 

[lotusss-flowerbomb]

But I Hate You (4)

PART 4

Florian Munteanu x reader

Warnings: SMUT!

A/N: I know y’all have been thirsting for the smut and I hope it was worth the wait. Lol 

Word Count - 2,814

********

The night before it was time to leave they convinced you to come to a club with them. You tried to decline, but Kay made a big deal about it, so you went just to shut her up.

Of course the moment you stepped inside, the women noticed the guys immediately and flocked right over to them. You were led into a VIP section by a bouncer away from the swarm. Not that it mattered, Kay and Michael went right back down to the dance floor and after a while, Florian dragged you down with him.

You were all having fun until once again, the groupies closed in. You went to the bar and had a drink to get away from it. That damn jealousy was relentless. Some guy sat next to you and began talking.

"So your boyfriend likes the attention he's getting huh?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" You looked to him. He nodded in Florian's direction. "Oh, he's not my boyfriend."

"I'm Drake," he stuck his hand out for a shake. You took it and introduced yourself. "So, you just on vacation with friends?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to be on vacation with a friend, but the guys decided to crash." You said.

You fell into comfortable conversation with the new face. Telling him about your work in real estate and he told you about how he was actually on a work retreat and snuck away from the group to be there. He had gradually leaned in closer the longer you talked. But suddenly you saw Drake's gaze shift. You looked behind you and Florian was making his way over and the scowl on his face let you know that he wasn't coming to be friendly. The man next to you had visibly shrunk in his seat.

He wedged his large body in between the two of you and completely ignored the other man's presence.

"Flo, move, don't be rude." You said to him.

"Come on, we're leaving," he grabbed your arm practically dragging you off of the barstool. He reached into his pocket, threw way too much money on the bar and led you out, but not before he turned to give the mystery man scathing glare.

"Let go of me. What is your problem?" You pulled away once you were outside.

"Get in the car," he instructed as he opened the door for you. Rather than cause a full scene, you dipped inside and he followed behind you.

The car ride back was quiet. You pulled out your phone and sent a text. Just as the car pulled up to your destination, his phone started ringing. You hopped out and went inside without him. You could hear him on his phone outside as you undressed and hopped in the shower.

By the time you got out, he still hadn't made his way inside. You were sitting on the bed putting on lotion when he burst inside the bedroom.

"Hey!" You snatched the towel up and covered yourself. "Closed door means do not enter!"

"You told my mom?!"

"Yep," you shrugged. "Don't man handle me then."

"Wow," he said with disbelief.

"Don't you 'wow' me, Munteanu. You snatched me off of a chair and rudely interrupted a conversation I was having. You scared that poor man to death!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed you. He shouldn't have been so close whispering all in your ear."

"You had women grinding all up on you for most of the night and the second you noticed that someone else was paying attention to me, you get jealous."

"Of course I'm jealous. I don't even care about those women, but I don't want to be rude to fans either." He said.

"Oh please," you tried to move around him and out of the door. "Move."

"We're not done talking."

"Yes, we are, now move." He stayed planted in front of the door. You turned to get your phone. "Now, I can tell her you're keeping me trapped —"

He snatched the phone from you and went to the other side of the bed.

"This is so childish!"

"No, what's childish is you running away with my stuff," you hopped on the bed and ran across it. He held the phone out of your reach, so you threw a pillow. He lost his balance trying to dodge it and fell on top of you.

Completely forgetting that you were in a bath towel, you wrapped your legs around him and reached for his hand causing the towel to slide down and expose your breasts.

He rolled over onto his back taking you with him. He stopped moving for a moment and you followed the line of his gaze. His dick springing to attention pressing against you through his pants. You scrambled to cover yourself.

"You're such a pervert, you did that on purpose."

When you moved off top of him, he snatched the towel off.

"I'm tired of playing with you," he grabbed you and threw you on the bed. He pressed his body to your back keeping you pinned to the mattress. His warm breath on your neck caused you to shudder.

He ran his fingers down your spine and in between your legs. You clamped your thighs together denying him access. He bit your shoulder earning a shaky moan from you. He tried to touch you again, but you still didn't open your legs.

You turned your head and gave him a sly smirk.

"Oh, you're going to make this hard for me?" He asked. He ran his tongue across your neck and then bit you again. He smacked your ass. "Open them," he demanded.

Your resistance to him was weak. You spread your legs apart allowing him entry. He brushed a thick finger lightly across your pussy.

He slid it in between your plump folds and just barely pressed at your waiting hole. You mewled as you tried to push back on his finger, but he kept moving back to keep his touch light.

"Either fuck me or leave me alone," you said.

He chuckled in your ear, "Do you think you're in control here?"

"Of course I am. I'm always in control."

"Wrong," he smacked your pussy. You clenched your thighs shut, so he smacked your ass again. "Did I tell you to do that?"

You hurried to spread your legs again and brought yourself to your knees. He started back up with the feather light touches. When he wouldn't apply more pressure, you decided to do it yourself. Sliding your hand down your stomach, you started playing with your clit.

He watched you. Enjoying every bit of the show. He watched as your pussy became wetter and wetter with every stroke of your fingers.

Florian removed his pants and shirt as you pleasured yourself. Stroking his hard dick as he watched you.

"Smack that pussy for me. Let me see how wet it is," he directed.

You pulled your finger out and followed his command. First rubbing it to spread your wetness around and then slapping it lightly. He watched as your slick fingers met your flesh.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees behind you. He ran his tongue over your clit and then sucked it into his mouth. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He continued to eat your pussy from the back until you felt the all too familiar pull of an orgasm building in your stomach.

"Yes, yes, yes, don't stop! Don't stop I'm gonna cum!" You yelled.

Florian kept a steady pace of his tongue going on your trembling frame. He waited until you were right on edge and then stopped. He slapped your ass hard as he stood.

"What the fuck, Flo?? Why did you stop??" You turned to him.

"Ah, dragă meă, I feel like you're still under the impression that you are in control here." He grabbed you and turned you on your back. He spread your legs wide and palmed his dick just before rubbing himself up and down your slit. You watched as he coated himself in your juices.

"Put it in, Flo. Please?" You asked.

"No, you don't deserve it. Not yet anyway," he said before pulling you up. "You like to run your mouth and I don't think you've ever had anyone shut you up." He forced you to your knees.

The sound of his voice and the look in his eyes kept you from protesting. He was done playing games with you. All the mouthing off that you do? He was about to put a stop to it. All the attitude you've ever given him? He was about to fuck it right out of you.

Your pussy throbbed with anticipation. You sat on your knees and looked up at him, eagerly awaiting his instruction.

"Open up," he tapped your lips with the tip of his dick.

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. He rubbed his tip on your tongue. The mixture of your slick and his precum invaded your taste buds. It took all of your willpower to stay still and not wrap your lips around him. He cradled your chin in his hand as he admired you.

"Go ahead," he said giving you permission to start sucking.

Your eyes drifted shut when you slightly closed your mouth. He guided himself in and out of your throat slowly at first. You placed your hands on his thighs for purchase when you felt him increasing his pace.

He moved his hand to the back of your head and held himself in your throat. You could feel the tears pricking the corners of your eyes after a few seconds, but you refused to push back. He pulled out slowly and you sucked in a heavy breath. He pushed in again. Holding you a little longer this time.

When he finally started pulling out, he placed his hand on your chin again, so he could see your eyes. You blinked and the tears fell, causing your mascara to run a little.

"Fuck," he said and tapped your face with a light slap. He slid his dick back inside of your mouth. You took control and bobbed back and forth. He watched as you worked him. Listened as you moaned.

He pulled away from you when he felt himself about to cum. Grabbing his spit coated cock, he pumped it as you held your mouth open waiting for him to deliver. Your hunger caused him to tip over the edge.

Florian moaned loudly as his seed spilled into your mouth. He was jerking so hard that some of it got on your face. You didn't care.

"Ahh, let me see."

You stuck your tongue out to show him then he swiped his thumb across your face to add the bit that he'd missed. You sucked his thumb and swallowed his essence without having to be asked. He froze. Your actions catching him by surprise.

Your heart skipped a beat, you didn't know if you had done a good thing or a bad thing since you didn't wait for his permission.

"Come here," he wrapped his hand around your throat and crushed his lips to yours. Once you were fully standing, he scooped you up and laid you back on the bed.

Without breaking the kiss, he guided himself inside of you.

"Oh my god," you exhaled into him. He paused to give you time to adjust to him, but you wanted more. You pushed your hips forward to take more of him in. He drove into you giving in to your silent plea.

His gait steady as he rolled his hips. Giving you exactly what you had been dreaming of since that first searing kiss.

"You feel so fucking good, dragă. Like you were made just for me." He spoke closely to your ear.

"I am. All for you. Only you," you crooned.

He pushed your knees up to your chest and repositioned himself.

"All for me?" He said and started slamming into you harder. "Then I want to hear you say it. Is this my pussy?"

"Yes!" You screamed. You wasted no time letting him claim you. If you could get fucked like this regularly, you would shout that shit from the mountain tops.

"Yes, what? Tell me, whose pussy is this?" He slammed into you harder. You felt your orgasm building. Walls clenching around him as you clawed at his hands.

"It's your pussy, Florian. All yours!" You pledged.

Your body quivered as you erupted with your words.

"Good girl, prințesă. But I'm not done with you yet," he pulled out and dove in between your thighs. He'd denied himself your sweet nectar the first time around by not letting you cum. He wasn't going to deny himself again.

You heard him moaning as he lapped up every last drop.

"I knew you'd taste good," he said just before turning you over and placing you on your knees.

He drove into you from behind, holding onto to your hips as he joined your bodies. You gripped onto the sheets and arched your back, so you could feel all of him.

He reached around you to rub your clit, never losing his rhythm.

"Fuck me, Flo, yessssss!" You howled as the pressure started to build again.

"That's it, prințesă, cum for me again."

Your pussy squeezed tight around him again. You bit the sheets as your orgasm rocked your body. He smashed into you harder and then released inside of you.

You both collapsed onto the bed trying to catch your breath. He leaned in to kiss you before going to the bathroom and returning with a warm wash cloth. He cleaned you first and then himself. After discarding the cloth, he came back to lie next to you.

You reached out to caress his face. Never in a million years did you think you'd be naked in the same bed with this man and not dry heaving about it.

He grabbed your hand and kissed your palm. His eyes were the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

********

On the way back home, you Florian tried to pretend that nothing had happened. Kay could see right through your parody. She'd caught the two of you stealing glances at one another more than once.

She really knew something was up when you didn't protest to Florian taking you home instead of her.

"It's fine," you shrugged," he did crash the trip. The least he could do is make sure I get home safely."

"Mmm hmm," she'd said before hugging you goodbye.

********

When you arrived at your building, he brought your bags up. He'd barely put them down before you were jumping into his arms.

He slammed you against the wall and made quick work of his button and zipper, so he could pull himself out of his jeans.

"I'm so glad you wore a skirt," he reached under it and moved your panties to the side.

"Why do you think I wore it?" You breathed.

He slid into you and fucked against the wall.

"Fuck, I wanted to do this the entire ride home," he nipped at your collarbone.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on for the ride. He panted into your throat as rocked in and out of your sweet cavern.

"Yeah, baby, give it to me. Give it all to me," you chanted as you felt his body shift gears. "I'm gonna cum too."

He picked up his speed and soon couldn't hold back anymore. His release racked his body and yours followed. He held you up until you both came down from your orgasmic highs, then he slowly lowered you.

He kept his arm wrapped around your waist, "Can you walk?" He asked smugly.

"Of course I can walk," you playfully slapped his shoulder. He let you go and you wobbled a little, "It's the shoes," you claimed.

His phone started ringing in his pocket. He smiled at the name on the screen before picking up. He started speaking in German. You tried your best to translate, but you gave up. You didn't know an ounce of German. He fixed his clothes just as he finished his call.

You couldn't help the pang of jealousy that pricked at you, but you repelled the urge to ask who he was talking to.

"I have to go, dragă. I'll call you later," he leaned over to kiss your cheek.

"Okay," you put on a fake smile.

You watched him leave. You should have known that when you got back home, you'd be back to your regular lives where a relationship between the two of you didn't really exist. The time you'd shared was fun while it lasted.

[beetlebitchywitch]

Yes, Professor

So our discord server might have come up with some professor AU’s for the Conglomerate and we might’ve gone a weeeee bit feral. So here’s what came of me deciding to target @realmonsterboyhours with two of her favorite boys, Zhuk and Bajo. Enjoy!

(If you’re unaware of the Conglomerate, a Mafia!Beej AU with 5 iterations of him, click here to get the full rundown courtesy of @monsterlovinghours

Warning: NSFW, some degradation, double teaming, spanking, just a fun time to be had

“Professor?”

“Hmm? Ah yes, come in, dorogoy.” 

You hesitated in the doorway to his office, taken aback for a moment by the lavishness of the decor before you slowly entered, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. You took a deep breath, thankful that your professor’s eyes were trained on his tea as he raised his bobbing tea bag in and out of the steaming mug. The truth was, Professor Zhuk had always intimidated you. Though he was a physically imposing man, it was his regality that truly made you feel small next to him. He spoke with an air of confidence and intelligence that no other professor could match, save for-

...Oh dear God. 

“Buenos dias, querida,” Professor Escarabajo said from the plush armchair in the corner, a playful smirk playing on his lips. You stopped in your tracks, your brain sprinting to try and catch up with this unexpected turn of events. You knew you had to see Zhuk to speak about your grade in his Marxist Literature class, so why would the head of the History Department be waiting for you as well? You felt your cheeks stain a light pink despite your desperate attempts to keep yourself in check, already shrinking under the intensity of the professor’s mirthful gaze. 

“This is my colleague, Professor Escarabajo,” Zhuk said cheerily, seemingly unaware of your growing nervousness as he gestured to the other man. “He will be joining us for our brief meeting. I hope that this won’t be a problem?”

You avoided his gaze, simply nodding as you sunk into the chair across from the two of them, thankful for the plush softness enveloping your body. After a moment, you felt composed enough to meet Zhuk’s gaze with a polite smile, folding your hands in your lap to disguise the telltale tremble of an intimidated woman. 

“Not a problem at all, sir,” you replied softly, thumbing over the soft fabric of your skirt. 

“Excellent,” he said, sipping at his tea- Earl Grey, you suspected, given the earthy aroma- before fumbling with his little gold reading glasses, sliding them over the bridge of his nose as he read through a few papers strewn across his desk. 

God, what you wouldn’t give to be those pa-

No. Stop. You couldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts in front of the man you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Christ, watching him command a classroom, demanding the attention of his students with a booming voice as he masterfully took you all through the intricacies of some of the most complicated literature you’d ever read...it made you want to throw yourself out of your chair and beg him to fuck you in front of the rest of the class. 

But you couldn’t think of that. Not here, not in his office, not in front of another professor. You pinched your leg softly, hoping to distract yourself away from the fantasies that could only be making your cheeks redder by the second. 

“Now, it seems you’ve been struggling on your reflections for Marxist Literature,” he said, looking over what you assumed to be a stack of the assignments you’d managed to turn in on time. “Tell me how I can be of help to you, moy dorogoy.” 

You felt like you were short circuiting, your mind lulled by the sweet timbre of his beautifully accented voice, especially when he called you something in Russian that you were aching to know the meaning of. Gulping, you straightened your body in the chair, attempting to look as professional and put together as you knew you could never be in their presence.

“Well, Professor, Marxist Literature has honestly been a challenge for me,” you replied, hoping honesty would truly be the best policy. “I find it hard to look at literature from a Marxist lens when I’ve learned so little of his political theory in my classes up until this point.” 

“Ah, should I tell Professor Scarabee that he’s slacking off in his teaching?” Escarabajo asked, his golden eyes alight with mischief. Your stomach lurched, oh God you were going to vomit, you couldn’t handle even the gentlest of teasing from this professor who was somehow just as handsome as Zhuk, except rougher, clearly looser, and apparently feeding off of your evident nervousness, if the look in his eye was anything to go off of. 

“No, no, not at all!” you stammered. “I haven’t had the pleasure of being taught by him, but I’m sure he’s great at what he does, Professor Escarabajo.” 

“Please, querida,” he said, his playful smirk softening as he gave you a little wink. “Call me Bajo.” 

“Bajo…” you replied, and, despite everything, giving him a little smile of your own. 

“Yes, well…” Zhuk said, clearing his throat to regain your attention. You snapped back, your stomach churning with anxiety as he stared you down. “I am happy to provide you with a few extra lessons, dorogoy. In fact, it seems to be fate that Professor...Bajo was here with me today. He just so happens to know quite a bit of Marxist political theory, yes?”

“Indeed I do,” Bajo replied, lounging back in the plush chair. “And I have nowhere to be. Will you allow for a bit of extra tutoring, pequeña?” 

This felt like something straight out of a romance novel. Two gorgeous professors giving you a private study session behind closed doors? You nodded, shooting them a thankful smile as you tried not to let those kinds of thoughts into your mind. You needed to learn about Marx, and your professors were kind enough to help you, so you wouldn’t waste their time getting distracted by the demands of your body. You pulled out your textbook and sat back in the chair, ready to finally get some work done. 

Of course, the world seemed to be against you from the start, because you simply couldn’t grasp a single thing the two of them were trying to teach you. It felt like your brain had turned to mush, the difficult political concepts sloshing around inside your skull and never finding a place to stick. Your answers were sloppy, your insights poor, and with every passing minute, you could feel the tension in the room grow. Zhuk was a patient man, you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, but there was only so much even he could take. You could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, which only served to discombobulate you further. Finally, when you couldn’t even form an answer to the simplest of questions, Zhuk tossed your papers frustratedly onto his desk, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Dorogoy,” he began, his voice deep and tense in a way that made your muscles clench. “We are doing all that we can to help you, but we are of no use to you if you refuse to pay attention.”

“N-no!” you stammered, feeling hot shame flush your cheeks once more. “That’s not it!” 

“Then what is it, pequeña?” Bajo grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep, slow breaths. “Because I refuse to waste my time trying to help a student who won’t repay the favor by actually listening.” 

“That’s...I-I…” you fought the urge to curl in on yourself, your fingers digging into your sides as you tried and failed to put yourself together. Suddenly, Bajo stopped, looking down at you curiously before a broad grin spread across his face. 

“Look up at me, querida,” he demanded, putting two fingers under your chin to lift your face so your eyes met. Your cheeks were already shamefully flushed, but the minute you looked into his deep, golden eyes, they grew even redder, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants. You could see the satisfaction in his gaze as he let go of your chin and turned to Zhuk. 

“I believe I see the problem, amigo,” he said slyly, striding back towards his chair and taking a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leered at you. “The only thing distracting our student from us...is us.” 

“What are you talking about, Escarabajo?” Zhuk replied, looking you over quizzically. “She seems fine to...oh.” 

You looked up at him with a soft gasp at the last word and were startled by the look in his eye. What started as confusion slowly morphed into realization, and realization quickly and readily became hunger. He looked at you like a man starved looks out over a Thanksgiving feast, and though it sent a shiver down your spine, you couldn’t look away. Could this be real? Could the man you spent class after class fantasizing over be looking at you like he wanted you back? The very thought felt shameful, and yet...right.

“So you see it too, hmm?” Bajo asked, startling you out of your reverie. “How naughty of you, mariposa. What ever are we to do with you?” You watched as he looked at Zhuk, his eyes silently asking, begging for permission. Zhuk nodded, letting his eyes flit over to you, frustration still present despite the ever-growing presence of lust, lust, God, you couldn’t even deny it. 

“Get up, dorogoy,” he commanded, and the unwavering dominance in his tone had you scrambling from your seat before you could even process what you were doing. You watched fearfully as Bajo strode confidently over to Zhuk’s desk, reaching into the desk drawer to pull out...a long, wooden ruler.

...Christ.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you, tonta?” he said bitingly, smacking the ruler threateningly against his palm. You could feel your legs tremble as you nodded, sniffling under your breath knowing you were about to get what you deserve. “Good girl. Over the desk.” 

You hesitated for a moment, a rush of mixed feelings taking you over; fear, shame, excitement, curiosity, desire...it was that last one that got your feet moving, and when you reached the desk, you bent over and braced your arms against the dark wood, the slight breeze against your bare legs making the blood rush to your cheeks once more. You kept your eyes trained on the desk beneath you, shivering at the sound of Bajo’s deep, foreboding chuckle. 

“What an obedient girl,” he mused, touching the ruler to your thigh and dragging it up to flip your skirt back, revealing your black, lacy panties. You jumped as his cold hand took hold of the waistband, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass in a way that somehow made you feel more exposed than if he’d taken them off altogether. You could feel Zhuk’s eyes on you, watching silently from behind his desk with his arms crossed in front of him, and you felt it best to sneak a glance at his face. You nearly choked on your tongue at the sight of him, gazing intently at the roundness of your ass like he didn’t know whether to kiss it, smack it, or make love to it. You never imagined your professor looking at you in such a way...well, no, you did, but you never expected those thoughts to come true. 

“You will count them for us. Do you understand?” he finally said, his words dripping with a stoic desire that somehow fit him just right. You nodded nervously, your fingers already curling against the wood in anticipation. You heard the whistle of the ruler through the air before you felt it, smacking against your ass loudly though still drowned out by your even louder cry as the pain radiated across your skin. Still, you remembered their command and were afraid of what might happen if you did not obey. 

“O-one…” you whimpered, your voice thick with unshed tears. 

“What a smart girl,” Bajo said mockingly, bringing the ruler down again with a sharp crack. “Though apparently not smart enough to pay attention. Is it going to take a fucking spanking for you to learn your lesson, mierda por cerebros?” 

Tears spilled from your eyes as you stammered out a quiet “Two...”, a hot rush of shame filling your belly not at your lack of attention span, but from how much you liked his degrading words and the pain of each smack of the ruler against your slowly reddening ass. And God, the fact that Zhuk was just watching, staring you down as you were slowly taken apart by his colleague...

“Don’t you have something to say to us, gatita?” Bajo asked angrily as he brought the ruler down for the tenth time. “You made us waste an hour trying to teach you something that you couldn’t pay attention to because you were too busy being a fucking slut. Don’t you feel like you owe us something?”

“I-I...I’m sorry,” you whimpered thickly, watching as your tears dripped onto the wood of Zhuk’s desk. 

“Louder, malenk’iy,” Zhuk said sternly, finally moving closer to you and brushing his hand over the raised welts on your ass. You hissed, but still bucked into his touch.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out. “I’m sorry, sirs! I wasted your time, I was a bad girl, I’m sorry!” 

“Si,” Bajo said softly, running the ruler soothingly over your ass for a moment before suddenly, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back so he could press his mouth right against your ear. “And you forgot to count.” 

Oh fuck. A deep sense of dread filled your belly, your eyes widening as your tears continued to pour down your cheeks. 

“I, no wait, I’m sorry! Please, sir!” you begged, but his hand in your hair only tightened, pulling a choked off whimper out of your lips. 

“Escarabajo,” Zhuk interjected, placing his hand on top of Bajo’s in your hair. Yes, your knight in shining armor, come to rescue you from your fate- “I believe it’s my turn.” 

...Well, shit. 

Your entire body shivered as Bajo’s hand was quickly replaced with Zhuk’s larger one, his touch gentler as he gripped your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek was pressed against the cool wood. 

“You were a very bad girl, kukla,” he said sternly, using his free hand to finally pull your panties down until they pooled around your ankles. “Wasting our time, forgetting to count...perhaps a stricter punishment is in order.” 

Your breath came out shakily as you heard him quickly unzip his zipper, his cock slapping against a welt on your ass and pulling a hiss from your lips. He chuckled darkly at the sound, letting his fingers trace gently over your reddened skin. 

“What do you say, Escarabajo?” he asked, shooting Bajo a bemused look. “Would you like to keep her quiet for me?” 

You could only imagine the wicked grin on Bajo’s face as he and Zhuk rearranged you, Zhuk still behind you while Bajo stood in front of you, your head now hanging off the edge of the desk and at eye-level with his hardening cock. He quickly freed himself from his pants, stroking it just inches from your lips with a soft groan. 

“You bet your ass I would. Time to put your mouth to better use, muñeca,” he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your lips. You opened them obediently, allowing him to slide inside and moaning softly at the weight of his cock against your tongue as he hit the back of your throat with ease. Zhuk’s fingers, now wet, slid between your legs, teasing at your entrance before sliding inside, making you gasp around Bajo’s cock. 

“That’s it, gatita,” he crooned, slowly starting to fuck into your mouth. “Fuck, she feels like fucking heaven, mi amigo.” 

“Treat him well, kotenok,” Zhuk said, his voice hushed as he marvelled at how wet you were from a simple spanking. “See if this teaches you how to be a good girl, da?” 

You moaned your assent around Bajo’s cock, looking up at him obediently as you did your best to pleasure him, bobbing your head in time with his thrusts as Zhuk’s fingers sent little bursts of pleasure all the way to your fingertips. You felt properly full, your mouth stretched around Bajo’s cock while a second and third finger slid inside you, Zhuk doing his best to stretch you in preparation for what you’d been fantasizing about for weeks. You never expected a second partner thrown into the mix, but you wouldn’t complain about the taste of him in your mouth, the delicious stretch in your jaw as you swallowed him down, the wonderful groans as he fucked down your throat…

It felt like an eternity when Zhuk finally pulled his fingers out of you, and you groaned in protest despite the ache slowly forming in your jaw. He chuckled, smacking his hand cheekily against your ass and amusing himself with your pained squeak. 

“Are you ready for your punishment, dorogoy?” he asked, dragging the head of his cock through the wetness of your folds. Confusion and dread took hold in you- you knew you had to be punished, but what could he possibly have in store that they hadn’t already put you through? Finally, he pushed inside of you, his thick cock stretching you more than you could’ve imagined as you let out a long, low groan around Bajo’s cock. When he finally bottomed out, he groaned softly, reveling in the way your pussy clenched around him. With a smirk, he grabbed your hair from behind, holding onto it like a leash. “Because if you’re going to cum...you’re going to have to beg.” 

Oh God. You could tell Bajo was getting close, his groans growing higher pitched and his thrusts growing more erratic, his cock sliding fully into your throat with each thrust inside. Your ministrations grew sloppier as you felt hot rushes of pleasure radiating through your body as Zhuk began to take you, his cock dragging so perfectly inside you. It was all rushing to your head, the feeling of being taken so completely, filled to the brim, taken apart piece by piece with unrelenting pleasure. You gazed up at Bajo, your eyes going cloudy as you silently pleaded for him to cum in your mouth, spill inside you, make you his. He obliged a second later, pushing fully into your mouth and holding your face against him as he spilled down your throat, his choked off moan reverberating throughout the small room. You obediently swallowed every drop, gasping for air as he pulled out of you and immediately slumped into the nearest chair, running his fingers through his hair with a blissed out look on his face.

“Ooh, gatita, look how pretty you are when you get fucked,” he crooned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to watch you intently. “Give it to her a little harder, amigo, she can take more than that.”

Zhuk obliged, grunting as he sped up with ferocity, pulling on your hair to lift you off the desk so your back was pressed fully against his chest, his hand moving down to wrap around your throat as he took you so hard you thought he was trying to breed you. The very thought sent a warm shiver down your spine, along with Bajo’s eyes watching happily as your tits bounced from each of Zhuk’s thrusts. The head of his cock dragged perfectly against your G spot, pulling pitiful moans from your fucked out mouth.

“What a good little slut,” he growled, mouthing roughly at your neck. “Does someone want to cum?”

“I don’t know, mi amigo, she doesn’t seem to want it that badly,” Bajo said flippantly, his eyes glinting with mischief. You groaned in protest, trying to reach down to circle your fingers around your clit, but your hand was immediately slapped away, Zhuk growling a warning into your skin. 

“I told you to beg,” he snarled, hovering his fingers teasingly over your clit, just an inch away from where you needed them to be. “Better make it pretty, too, if you want to cum.” 

“P-please!” you whimpered, desperation quickly bubbling up inside of you as the pleasure halted just on the edge of oblivion, needing just a little more in order to boil over. With each thrust, the desperation grew, your hands frustratedly scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you were assaulted and teased with pleasure that refused to finally peak. “God, I need it so bad! Sir, please, please let me cum!” 

“I can’t hear you,” he growled, tightening his hand around your throat until your voice was only a mere squeak. Bajo watched with delight, amused and aroused at the sight of you struggling and failing to beg for what you needed. “Louder!” 

“PLEASE!” you cried out, frustrated at the bare whisper you somehow managed with the large hand clamping down on your throat. You whined at the sound of their laughter, but it quickly turned to a soft cry as his fingers finally descended on your clit, rubbing in perfect little circles as you finally toppled over the edge, cumming with a silent scream. The pleasure rushed through you like waves, and you sunk deeper and deeper as each one passed until you finally succumbed to the darkness quickly clouding your vision. 

When you came to, you were surrounded with a pleasant warmth. Your eyes slid open to find your head nestled onto Zhuk’s chest, with Bajo curled up behind you with his head buried into your shoulder. You blinked away the fuzziness at the edges of your vision to see Zhuk smiling down at you, resting his head against his pillow.

“You got me to the bedroom while I was out?” you asked, nuzzling further into their embraces.

“Of course. It wasn’t exactly difficult, tsvetok,” Zhuk chuckled, stroking a hand comfortingly through your hair. 

“What did you think, mariposa?” Bajo asked, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder before hooking his chin over it, smiling over at you. “Were we convincing?” 

“Incredibly,” you yawned, smiling sleepily at them. “You make quite the literature professor, moy muzh.” 

“Mm, well I’m glad you convinced us to humor you,” Zhuk replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now go to sleep, moya lyubov. You’ve earned it.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your eyes slipped shut happily, comforted by the embraces of your favorite boys as sleep once again claimed you. 

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 12 - Am I Strong to Do What I Must?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky, Talk of Abortion Words: 1726

( Previous )

Fuck.

It didn’t matter how many more times Sideswipe scanned it. Sunstreaker had spent enough time familiarizing himself with Megatron to recognize the remnants of his spark signature in the… Sparklet.

Because there it was, orbiting his own spark, a tiny, tiny little sparkling, small enough to barely even be visible from the glow of his larger spark.

But Sideswipe knew exactly what his spark was supposed to look like. Small as it was, the little oddity jumped right into his face with how not there it was supposed to be. 

“You can’t feel it yet.” It wasn’t a question. Sideswipe didn’t need to ask things like that. It was just a statement.

They couldn’t feel it yet. Pits, wouldn’t he have fragging noticed it otherwise? That, combined with its size… They didn’t exactly know much about carrying, but common sense said it meant it was still very, very young. 

He wished they would’ve known a bit more about how these things worked, right then. What did it mean if it was so young its emotions weren’t even leaking into him yet? Was it alright despite that?

What the pit were they going to do with it?

If it had been another Autobot’s… The question would have still remained how, but at least… It would have been another Autobot’s. Completely unplanned and unexpected, but slag, they could’ve worked with that.

How the hell were they supposed to work with this?

And how? How the pit had it even come to be when he’d had his inhibitor on the whole–

Sideswipe’s optics flicked up to meet his with a wave of horrid realization when he went to check on his inhibitor. It didn’t report as online.

It didn’t report as offline, either.

It was as if it didn’t even exist.

But that couldn’t be it. He’d had it his whole life like every damn mech out there, and he’d never turned it off. Becoming a parent had never exactly been something he was planning to do. Maybe one day, if the circumstances changed that drastically, but not in the foreseeable future.

The damn thing couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

“Let me have a look,” Sideswipe murmured quietly, and Sunstreaker let his spark chamber cycle closed. Sideswipe’s servo dipped into his chest cavity and cautiously pushed aside his internals until he could see the little device nestled to the side of his spark chamber.

Then he grimaced at what they saw.

Charred, black. It had gotten burned so spectacularly that it hadn’t even given a damage report or any manner of errors. 

Well. That explained that. What had burned it would’ve also been very nice to know, but for that they would’ve likely needed a medic’s opinion, and–

What? Could they just waltz into the medbay, ‘hey, I just noticed I’m carrying, how does this whole thing work?’ If the sire was an Autobot, then… Sure, what the fuck else could they have done.

But the sire was Megatron. Their whole… Relationship would have come to light if they did that—or else they would have needed to claim Megatron had forced him.

Two problems with that: one, he had too much pride to feel comfortable claiming he’d gotten fragging raped, even if it was by someone who everyone would believe had enough strength to do it, and even if he knew Ratchet would keep that information to as few mecha as possible.

And two, the greater reason… His memory files didn’t support that. He could lie, but if they wanted to have a look in his head to confirm how things had gone… It’d become damn obvious he was full of shit and had all but jumped at the opportunity to frag Megatron. He hadn’t exactly resisted. Hell, he’d very explicitly told Megatron to ‘face him, even if that was in the heat of the moment.

It was all very damning evidence against him. What would the command do if they found out about that dalliance? What would they do to him?

What would they do to the sparklet?

What would they do to the sparklet, him and Sideswipe?

“I could… Snuff it, right?” Sideswipe whispered quietly, barely audible. “It’s so small and so young. Is it even aware enough to notice?”

Kill it and pretend none of this had happened.

Sunstreaker bared his spark again and Sideswipe gently turned it until he could see the sparkling. He brushed his digit against the minuscule ball of light, infinitely gentle with the motion.

The sparklet bobbed slightly in its orbit, but remained unresponsive otherwise. 

It would be so easy. Take a hold of it, squeeze.

Crush it.

Everything would go back to normal. Or… As normal as it got after you’d repeatedly had illicit relations with the leader of the enemy faction.

Why did he… Not want that? Oh, undoing all of this, securing the relative normalcy of his life, that he wanted. 

But not at the cost of the sparkling.

Why?

Sunstreaker brought his servos to his face and groaned into them. It was his, wasn’t it? 

Why did that matter? 

He didn’t want to get rid of it. Sideswipe pulsed understanding and acceptance at him for that, even if they didn’t understand.

Didn’t understand why he didn’t want to get rid of it. Doing that, just one small act, it would have solved all of the problems the sparklet brought about. 

But no.

He wanted no harm to come to it… From any direction. Not from himself.

Not from the other Autobots.

Would they try to force him to get rid of it? Or would they try to do something to Sunstreaker that would also endanger it? 

Would they just let him keep it, even though it was of the enemy?

He had no idea. He had no fucking idea how things like this would be handled by the command, or what the damn Autobot code said to do in situations like these—and would it even be followed in this instance. This wasn’t any small infraction easily paid for with a few punishments, and not just any Decepticon involved in this mess.

The other party was Megatron.

Was there anything worse an Autobot even could do? Straight up defect, maybe.

Ratchet… Medical confidentiality was a thing, but he doubted it would cover everything. Somehow he got the feeling it wouldn’t cover this, if the identity of the sparkling’s sire became known. And it would eventually, wouldn’t it? Even if Ratchet kept it a secret at first… He couldn’t exactly forever pretend he wasn’t carrying. It would become painfully obvious even before he’d need to deliver the sparkling. 

And everyone would want to know who the fuck had sired it. What could he answer to that? Refuse to answer until the end of time?

Wouldn’t they find out eventually, one way or another? And then they’d be back at it: what would they do to him, and it.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Sunstreaker muttered into his servos, but it didn’t matter if the words were even audible or understandable when the only one meant to hear them was Sideswipe. “Can we?”

“Even if we don’t…” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish it.

Even if they didn’t, it would announce itself eventually.  

But just… Pushing that date even a bit further into the future. Maybe they’d have a better idea of what to do then. Think on it, consider their crappy options…

“What about–” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish that either.

It was Megatron’s sparkling too.

Sunstreaker growled. “He’s the damn reason for this.” Who the fuck had initiated their affair? Wasn’t Sunstreaker! He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to prevent all of it from happening, but if it wasn’t for Megatron starting it all, he would not have fragged the damn despot.

If it wasn’t for Megatron, this very much would not have had a chance to happen.

“Should we tell him?” his brother asked next, gently brushing the sparkling again. Sunstreaker shivered at the feeling, but his face twisted into a snarl—that wasn’t aimed at Sideswipe, or the little thing.

Tell Megatron? Wouldn’t have to worry about the secrecy of their fucking on that front. Was there any reason not to do that? What would they gain by trying to keep it a secret from the tyrant too?

Oh no, “That fragger will hear a fucking load of this,” Sunstreaker growled. Hear all about how he was at fault and what Sunstreaker thought about this whole thing, get all of the fucking blame he justly deserved dumped on him. 

He had no idea where that would get him, but at least it would be satisfying.

“What if he says to get rid of it?” Sideswipe asked carefully. They’d already established they didn’t want that, so…

“He can go slagging frag himself.” Not like it burdened Megatron at all. He wasn’t the one committing treason and desperately trying to keep it a secret. Megatron set the rules for his side. He could do what he wanted, and was there even anyone who could have tried to tell him otherwise? So what if he knocked up one low ranking Autobot. Was there anyone who could have brought him to justice?

“What if he tries to force the matter?” the red twin continued. Megatron was strong enough to do that, for sure.

But really, Sunstreaker had had it up to here by this point. “Then he can fragging well kill me,” he snarled. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop Megatron if the mech really set his mind to something. He might even pay for it with his life.

That didn’t mean he’d go down without one goddamned good fight.  

How would Megatron react to these news? He had no slagging clue, but it was Sunstreaker’s frame and Sunstreaker’s life, and as little as he expected Megatron to respect that unless he wanted to… 

Oh, that bastard would get a fucking earful before he got a chance to send Sunstreaker back to the Well.

So was that it? Tell no Autobot but tell Megatron, and see where that took them?

Sunstreaker let his servos slip from his face and met Sideswipe’s optics. His brother nodded minutely—in for it, come hell or high water. 

Their chestplates closed, hiding their newest little secret behind layers of heavy armor.

( Next )

[lgbtqiahistoricalromance]

LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels for Winter, Hanukkah, Solstice, and Christmas 2019 - Updated Dec 17th!


A Very Surrey SFS Christmas by Nicola Davidson (m/f, m/m, f/f, bisexual, and poly)

- Welcome to the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society - where unconventional and uninhibited ladies and gentlemen discuss all matters erotic…


It’s Christmastide in Surrey, and the Society members have gathered at Lady Portia and Denham’s estate to host a magnificent masked ball. Alas, not everything is going quite to plan, as a curmudgeonly duke, England’s naughtiest cat, a viscount with writer’s block, two newborns, and some colorful local residents conspire to turn order into chaos. But with those you love all things are possible, and it wouldn’t be A Very Surrey SFS Christmas without madcap mischief, banter, and a whole lot of wicked fun…

This series of extended epilogues include Beatrice and Amelia, Madeline and Ethan, Clayton, Susanna, and Joseph, Lady Portia and Denham, and Fairfield.
Please note this book contains explicit language and sexual content.

Peter Cratchit’s Christmas by Drew Marvin Fraye

- Peter Cratchit, a young lad preparing to make his way in the world, is the eldest son of Scrooge’s lowly clerk Bob Cratchit. Peter flourishes under the tutelage of his “Uncle” Scrooge and seeks to make his mark as a man of business, like his uncle before him.

One Christmas Eve, as Scrooge lays dying, Peter embarks on a risky ocean voyage that he believes will secure the future for his family. Onboard, Peter finds love, happiness, and success, only to lose it all by the voyage’s end. Returning to London, Peter shuns his family and instead finds himself living on the streets, haunted by his failures and his dead lover, selling his body just to survive while he waits for the winter cold to claim him once and for all.

But winter snows also mean Christmas is coming, and for the Cratchit family, Christmas is a time of miracles. Can a visit from three familiar spirits change Peter’s life again? Is there one more miracle in store for the lost son of one of Dickens’ most enduring families?

Yuletide Treasure by Eliot Grayson

- There’s not enough Yuletide spirit in the world to fix this holiday disaster…

Eben Sypeman’s world is falling apart. It’s two days before Yule and his business partner is dead, leaving behind empty accounts and looming bankruptcy. And if that isn’t bad enough, his patron goddess is irritated with him. It seems she’s tired of his tendency to mince words and avoid conflict. She’s insisting—quite forcefully—that he start being totally honest with everyone, including himself. Divinely enforced honesty couldn’t have come at a less opportune time, especially when his clerk’s tall, dark and distractingly handsome son enters the picture.

The last thing on Tim Pratchett’s mind is romance. All the former soldier wants is to fill in for his sick father at work and recover from his war wounds in peace. But there’s something about the grumpy Eben that confounds and entices him in equal measure. Their timing couldn’t be worse. They’re complete opposites. And yet … none of that matters when he’s with Eben.

But if Eben and Tim have any hope of finding their very own happily ever after, they’ll have to survive a dickens of a truth curse and the machinations of a trickster goddess—all while searching for enough yuletide treasure to save them all.

A joyous, relaxing Yule indeed. Bah, humbug.

This is an M/M romance with explicit scenes, a voyeuristic pagan goddess, and an odious nephew. Despite any other possible similarities to A Christmas Carol, there are neither ghosts nor geese, but readers can expect a happy ending and at least one use of the word “dickens.”

The Stonecutter Earl’s First Christmas by Adella Harris

- Nathan Fitzroy hates the holidays. Estranged from his family for refusing to marry, he’s still expected to keep up appearances, which means attending their holiday celebrations. And that means that, from the beginning of December until the middle of January, he needs to find work that will let him take off almost as many days as he works there. For him, that means working at a molly house called the Goat’s Horn.

Owen Landon was quite content to be a stone cutter. It was what he’d trained for, and it earned him enough money to pay his brother’s school fees and still live comfortably enough in a cottage in their village. He’d always been told his father was distantly related to nobility, but he’d never thought much of it, until a solicitor came to tell him he was the new Earl of Morebrook, a position he has no idea how to fill.

One night in December, when Owen can’t stand his new role another moment, he sneaks away to the seediest molly house he can find, the Goat’s Horn, for a distraction. And find one he does, a beautiful fellow with just the accent and bearing he’s supposed to be learning. When he sees the man again away from the molly house, he comes up with a plan to both spend more time with him and learn to be an earl. Owen offers him a position tutoring him before the start of the Christmas parties he’s supposed to attend.

Nathan’s worst nightmare comes true when one of the clients of the Goat’s Horn recognizes him outside of the molly house. But the man offers him a position that will allow him to earn money away from the Goat’s Horn until Christmas. If only he can remember he’s supposed to be tutoring the fellow, not bedding him, and certainly not falling in love with him. A steamy Christmas romance with hints of Pygmalion.

Approx. 50,000 words, 200 pages

Tinsel and Spruce Needles holiday series by Elna Holst (f/f and f/non binary MCs, MCs with disabilities !!!!!)

Candlelight Kisses

- Malmö, Sweden, 1994 Erika Stolt is a feminist activist, and not one of the slick, lipstick lesbian variety. She’s the kind who trashes beauty contests, who graffitis her own subversive messages over commercial billboards, and who fucks people mainly as a political statement. But then a community service sentence lands her a spot as the unlikely new assistant of one of the candidates for the Malmö Lucia contest, and the world as she knows it is promptly turned on its head.

Little X

- Malmö, Sweden, 1996 Sofie Andersson is a dyslectic born under the star sign Aries, who drives the local buses for a living. Her hobbies include knitting terrible hats and intermittent lesbianism. This December she is on the point of moving into her first flat of her own, figuring out her place in the world, when an instant attraction to a handsome stranger leads her to question everything she’s taken for granted.

Wild Bells

- Lund, Sweden, 1998 Mia Andersson is not a nice person. She is a sharp, sensational-looking, aloof lawyer-to-be, and the busiest sapphic player in town. Mia Andersson takes no prisoners, tells no tales, and if you gave her your number, chances are she won’t call. But this holiday season, at age twenty-seven, wheels that are out of her control have been set in motion, and it looks like she might just get caught in the spin.

February and December: Dominus Calendar Series I (Volume 1) by JP Kenwood

- As a lifelong passion continues to fade, another love deepens… two stand-alone m/m stories of love, lust, and friendship in ancient Rome featuring characters from JP Kenwood's Dominus series. February: Home from the first war against the kingdom of Dacia, Gaius Fabius ignores his obligations in Rome and returns to his secluded seaside villa in southern Italy. Under the pretense of a holiday trip, his best friend and secret lover, Lucius Petronius, surprises him with an unexpected visit. Later that evening, the lusty masters share the delights of Gaius’s blond pleasure slave, Nicomedes. December: With whispers of an embezzlement scandal floating through the capital, Lucius Petronius and his beloved concubine, Bryaxis, celebrate the raucous winter solstice festival of the Saturnalia with Luc’s family. After a joy-filled evening of food, gifts, and stories, Lucius and Bryaxis reverse roles in the master chamber. Warnings for explicit language, filthy loving, and daft shenanigans.

Christmas for a Vampire by Ruby Moone - Because even Vampires deserve a second chance.

Companion story to The Christmas Curse.

Recently turned vampire Ellis Davenport faces another dismal Christmas. His new life is filled with riches but is cold, lonely, and empty. Refusing to acknowledge his vampire self or to participate in any kind of vampire society, he skirts the edges of that world and has done so since the man he loved chose death rather than spend eternity with him.
As far as Ellis is concerned, Quinn Fordham died on the battlefield in Badajoz. But, as he circulates at yet another tedious Christmas party, he hears piano music, someone playing the Moonlight Sonata like Quinn used to play for him. Entranced, he finds his lover but just as their lips touch, Quinn disappears.
Before Ellis has time to resolve this odd hallucination, he and his friend Trent sense the approach of Lord Heath, their vampire sire. Yet, before their sire arrives, Ellis is stunned to find Quinn not only alive, but a vampire, and furiously angry with him. Can they move beyond the lie that separated them and find each other again?

Dances Long Forgotten by Ruby Moone - Coming December 19th! Per Ruby: Ghosts of past romance Second chance love Gentlemen dancing with gentlemen Long buried family secrets

On Christmas Eve, Dylan, the man of James Pell-Charnley’s dreams, is on the point of walking out. Then they hear the faint strains of a waltz in the library of the empty abbey. The music is said to be heard only by those truly in love, and it gives James the courage to tell Dylan the story.

In December 1841, Lord Hugo Pell-Charnley is in a terrible mess. The youngest son of the late Marquis, youngest brother of the incumbent, never felt to fit. When his life comes crashing down, and his life and his family are threatened, he is forced to face his elder brother and confess his deepest secret. When he arrives at Winsford Abbey he finds he must also confront the shame from his past in the form of Lyndon Cross. The boy he’d loved but betrayed in school. As they clear the ghosts from the past, they dance in each other’s arms in the library to the soft strains of the waltz, but long buried secrets threaten to destroy their happiness.

Two hundred years later, can those dances long forgotten give James and Dylan the courage to hold on to love?

Hither, Page by Cat Sebastian

- A jaded spy and a shell shocked country doctor team up to solve a murder in postwar England.

James Sommers returned from the war with his nerves in tatters. All he wants is to retreat to the quiet village of his childhood and enjoy the boring, predictable life of a country doctor. The last thing in the world he needs is a handsome stranger who seems to be mixed up with the first violent death the village has seen in years. It certainly doesn’t help that this stranger is the first person James has wanted to touch since before the war.

The war may be over for the rest of the world, but Leo Page is still busy doing the dirty work for one of the more disreputable branches of the intelligence service. When his boss orders him to cover up a murder, Leo isn’t expecting to be sent to a sleepy village. After a week of helping old ladies wind balls of yarn and flirting with a handsome doctor, Leo is in danger of forgetting what he really is and why he’s there. He’s in danger of feeling things he has no business feeling. A person who burns his identity after every job can’t set down roots. As he starts to untangle the mess of secrets and lies that lurk behind the lace curtains of even the most peaceful-seeming of villages, Leo realizes that the truths he’s about to uncover will affect his future and those of the man he’s growing to care about.

If anything else becomes available, this list will be updated, and the date listed at the top–after the post title.

A Christmas Cotillion by Ellie Thomas

- England, 1820. Bachelor Jonathan Cavendish has become reclusive in the years following a failed romance with the love of his life. In the years following their split, he has thrown all his energy into restoring the small estate he inherited from a great uncle and has put aside any thoughts of romance. Although he’d rather remain at home alone for the festive season, this year he’s accompanying his cousin Freddy to a Christmas country house party. Freddie seems to be constantly falling in love and, on this occasion, he is infatuated with a young lady called Belinda. Jonathan is asked by Freddy’s anxious mother to accompany him to the house party to keep an eye on the situation, in case the young lady turns out to be an unsuitable choice. Despite this inauspicious beginning, Jonathan catches the eye of Nick, the handsome son of a local well-to-do farmer, who is a constant presence at the holiday entertainments. Nick is intrigued by Jonathan’s kindness and also by the sadness he hides from public view. The initial attraction between the men seems to be mutual, but can Nick break through Jonathan’s defences and teach him to love again?

2018′s More Extensive List

[robert-c]

The Truth About Capitalism and Free Markets

When everyone can compete in a free market, then the best products and services will prevail at the best prices for the consumer. Furthermore, the chance to invent a whole new market and to profit hugely from it spurs people to create new products and services never before thought of, enriching all of our lives. Rather than a society with hereditary classes, our free market system allows anyone with determination and hard work to achieve riches. These are the myths about Capitalism and Free Markets. And sometimes, to some extent, they are true.

However, more often they are empty promises. You see, the primary proponents of free market capitalism, the capitalists themselves, don’t really believe in it at all. They believe in monopoly. They believe that once they have dominated a marketplace, no one should be able to challenge them and their dominance. While we like to believe that the one who builds the “better mousetrap” will be the one who profits, in reality the actual inventor rarely reaps the greatest rewards. Sometimes it’s because the bigger maker of mousetraps buys them out and takes it over, or buries it altogether if it challenges too much of the supply chain they have built up. Other times it’s a matter of “slicker” negotiations and clever accounting to ensure that the other players needed in bringing a new idea to market get a disproportionate share. It would be a legal nightmare to even attempt to regulate such transactions, and that’s not the point. I bring that up just to illustrate that one of the major “selling” points for totally free markets is more myth and illusion than fact.

Another myth is that making money, being successful in business, is some sort of testament to your (take your pick): a) intelligence, b) hard work, c) being a generally superior and deserving person, or d) all of the above. Some people do become successful with a “better mousetrap”, but others because they are more ruthless, or even willing to engage in fraud. And some are just lucky, like the fellow who discovers that there is oil under his land. Others just managed to acquire a large supply of a suddenly high demand product, like hand sanitizer at the beginning of a pandemic and attempt to resell it at inflated prices. Having become rich is proof of nothing but being rich.

This attitude that anyone can become as rich as they deserve has an insidious side effect; if you are poor, you must deserve it. It is a convenient piece of rationalization for being greedy and uncharitable.

The free market myth is that the better product or service will ultimately prevail. That value (quality versus cost) will win the consumers over. Let’s take a closer look at that myth. Every shopper knows that they have different standards of quality for different products. Some of it is personal taste, some of it is how important the item is to us. Let’s say for T-shirts I’m going to wear to work in my garage I don’t care if the seams aren’t as tightly sewn, or the material is thin. Chances are they’ll be covered in stains long before the quality of the stitching gives out. On the other hand I’m very picky about the shirts I wear to work, and I want the best quality so that they will last long and look good. Such differences in individual choices should make room for a variety of goods and various values to suit individual needs and tastes. It should be easy to see that there isn’t a huge range of quality for all goods and services and that the upper end of quality doesn’t change without innovation. Now this is where the free market system is supposed to excel. However, it is easier, and often more profitable, to cut costs, than to improve quality. This is the habit of most well established businesses; it is the low cost, low risk option. Of course cost cutting often ends up affecting minimum quality and even safety issues. Ever heard a boss say something like “come on, surely a 10% cut can’t be that big a deal?” If the safety of the product isn’t obviously compromised to the point that an ordinary consumer could tell, then it would seem that some regulation is needed to prevent such behavior. And thus we have our first need to abandon the idea of a “totally” free market system.

Regulation is needed to protect the public from dangerous products and outright falsehoods in the advertising and selling of these products. As for innovation, the actual inventors are often the ones NOT motivated by money and rarely reap the rewards of their inventions. But then that is a whole other story.

The free market is supposed to mean one that isn’t subject to coercion, one that allows competition. However, in order to preserve competition some regulation is needed. So let’s assume that Bob’s Business Machines makes computer chips. Barry has an idea for a different kind of computer chip architecture. It will be faster, and hold more information than Bob’s. But of course, it is just an idea right now. Barry needs money to develop a prototype and then money for manufacturing, marketing etc. Bob, cunning businessman that he is, has significant business relationships with all of the major banks; the very ones (the only ones) who are in a position to loan Barry the kind of money he will need. Of course the banks are smart – they know that Barry’s chip (if it lives up to its potential) is a serious challenger to Bob’s. They also know that if they loan Barry any money, Bob could pull all of his business and leave the bank in terrible shape. So unless there is some regulation prohibiting acting in restraint of trade, Bob might not even have to ask the banks to refuse Barry a loan. And as simple as that laissez faire capitalism has been able to stifle competition.

Regulation is needed to keep the current rich and powerful from barring new entries into the “club”. The entire idea of innovation being encouraged by the free enterprise system is in question if there is no regulation. Can anyone honestly say that the railroads would have embraced an interstate highway system? In fact they tried to oppose it. Or the development of airlines? NO. Given their own self-interest we’d still be riding coast to coast in days long journeys in rail cars. Pure, unregulated capitalism creates markets controlled by the largest companies, who will systematically strangle any attempt at competition or innovation that might jeopardize their current stranglehold on their market. Hard core defenders of laissez faire capitalism would argue that the railroads, with their enormous profits from the 19th and early 20th centuries could have wisely invested in the airlines and therefor had a major stake in the future as well. Yes, they certainly could have, but none did. Because making and keeping money isn’t a necessarily associated with visionary intelligence. In fact, it is always easier and lower risk to stick with what you know.

And yet we’ve been propagandized for decades with the idea that deregulation is somehow good for the consumer and will lead to more choices and lower prices. How has that really worked out? Can anyone honestly say that they feel they’ve gotten a fair deal (let alone a good one) on airlines lately? Or your cable provider? Or your phone service? Does it feel like you have to be constantly changing to take advantage of the “new customer” special bundles? Of course they know that most of us have neither the time nor the energy to wade through all of the change over business until we are very fed up, which is long after the companies have recouped any discounts they gave us to switch.

Then there are businesses, which by their very nature, have a profit motive disincentive to treat their customers fairly without regulation. I referenced this somewhat in the article on health care reform. Insurance, principally health, but also any other insurance as well; auto, home, etc. All insurance offers a product (“coverage”); essentially a promise to pay for certain losses you might experience, which may be more or less difficult to precisely define. The problem is that the free market competition doesn’t exactly produce the results we might hope for. In selling apples, computer chips or mousetraps, the consuming public has a pretty good way to judge quality and therefor value as the ratio of quality to price. But the details of coverage are hard to assess, and even with comparing identical claims paid (if you could even find two exactly alike), that is only one instance of the coverage in action; maybe it’s representative, maybe not. So the consumer has limited information to rely on in picking between the companies.

Add to this that the insurance companies’ business model is to collect more premiums than they pay out in claims. Now imagine what your reaction would be to a seller of apples, computer chips or mousetraps whose business model was to charge for more items than they delivered. Clearly regulation is needed in this industry, and even more so when the coverage is broad and gray in definition, like health care. There is a definite financial incentive to look for ways to reduce claims payout and/or rate up consumers given that competition is not as clear and simple to compare.

The “champions” of free enterprise often speak of regulations as stifling innovation and adding costs to products. Certainly there are some poorly drafted regulations that should be revised. But to cast all regulation as unnecessary is more than an overstatement, it is a lie that serves only the worst actors in corporate America. Good regulation keeps the field open for new competition to arise and prevents established businesses from increasing their profits by cutting costs and/or by cutting safety to their consumers and employees.

This would be a good time to recall that virtually every regulation business’ must submit to originated because of an abuse perpetrated by businesses. Companies who didn’t tell their employees about the dangers of the chemicals they were working with, and did not provide safety gear or adequate training. Employers trying to classify employees as “contractors” so they can avoid paying for overtime, or the employer’s share of Social Security taxes. The list could fill an entire volume.

Lastly, as good as capitalism is (in its well regulated form) it is inherently a short term view of the world. From the side of the investor, capitalism looks like an efficient system for allocating financial resources. Yet the short term high return investment always seems to garner more of the resources than the long term high return, especially if that high return isn’t payable until the end of the long term. It appears (and actually may be) much more risky.

Yet all of the great advances in our economy and technology seem to be built on the bedrock of some groundbreaking infrastructure and work of large public (government) projects. The Interstate highway system, happily used by trucking companies to bring goods across country, and vacationers alike, might have been decades later in the coming (if at all) but for the persistence of the Eisenhower administration. The US space race with the Soviet Union laid the ground work for computers and private satellite companies and the boon to communication that has created. In both cases, nearly everyone knew this was the direction the future must take, but individually it represented too large an investment to make. There are many more examples, but surely it can be seen that these essential platforms need to be built for the general good. Such visionary projects typically can’t get individual funding, but with a little from all, we all can benefit much more later, and still maintain an essentially capitalist system.

“Pure” capitalism is, unfortunately, by its very nature a short term, short sighted engine, whose principal accomplishment is the maintenance of the wealth of the first group of rich and powerful people. Regulated capitalism IS the only way to have a market place where new ideas, and competitive products can be freely introduced.

Let’s stop buying the myth that “privatization” is automatically good, and government regulation automatically bad. These are more complex issues than the simplistic black and white thinking we’ve been encouraged to hold on to.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

One Night Only 2, Part 6

A/N: This one is a flashback from ONO 1 only it's from Erik's perspective. For @muse-of-mbaku

---

Twenty-three days had passed since Erik had seen Y/N and he was in Ontario, Canada backstage with a cup of hot water, lemon, and honey as he listened to the crowd of thousands. A cough drop rolled on his tongue as he waited. The opening act was a young duo who needed exposure. They definitely had the talent. They performed their asses off living in their moment and he smiled at the energy they brung. The crowd was really feeling them.

(Y/N) I miss you

The message on his phone screen was the same one that had been there for the past twenty days. It may as well have been his screensaver at this point. For the eighteenth time in the day alone, he re-read the three small words in the nearly empty text thread. He could imagine Y/N's voice in his head telling it to him. He could still hear her, thinking of when she yelled after him in the airport. The memory always made him smile.

Don't respond, he told himself. She needs this time to develop who she is and you'll only become her crutch if you respond now.

The truth of the matter was usually enough to get him to put the phone down.. This time, however, despite his best efforts, his thumb hovered on the screen ready to respond. He typed four words before he stopped himself, deleting them character by character. Be strong. You can make it.

Whether he was thinking about her or himself, he wasn't sure, but he knew if he texted her now, they'd never stop talking. She'd never get the opportunity to move on and to grow alone. She'd gone from relationship to depression to relationship. She needed time to live with just herself so that she could discover herself without anyone else's input and find out what it meant to live for only one person, chasing her own dreams and desires.

For her own good, he had to ignore her.

The performance ended with a howl of screams and applause for the duo. The dramatic shift occurred where the music for Erik's set came in and the crowd went wild. It was time for Erik to go on, they were calling for him.

This is for you, he thought darkening the phone screen and running out onto the stage jumping with the mic in his hand.

From now on, everything I do is for you.

---

Ontario, Montreal, Vegas, New Orleans, Atlanta, Houston, Chicago, London, Bucharest, Rio, Lima, Brasilia, Lagos, Accra, Nairobi, Cape Town, Johannesburg, LA, Detroit, Anchorage.

Another stop, another city, another set with him pouring everything out on stage and exhausting himself, sweaty but satisfied. More nights with women throwing their bras and thongs onto the stage and coming backstage.

He's sure to wink at a few women when their eyes meet as he's performing. Their cameras are on him and he knows they'll go back and look at the footage later especially if they plan to post it somewhere. He gives one young lady with long blonde braids the mic watching her finish his lyrics as he bobs his head along with her. The moment in the car with Y/N when his song came on the radio comes to mind as he grins throwing the girl a t-shirt. He must've done that in four different cities. Everytime.. he had to smile because he couldn't stop seeing and hearing Y/N in those girls. He kissed one girl on the cheek and she almost passed out. He had to catch her and hold her for a second until she was okay.

Backstage meets were full of loyal fans, some down to earth and some a little crazy. He could always pinpoint the ones who felt entitled to him simply because they paid for a backstage pass. He was cordial with them, but he refused to put up a front to satisfy their expectations of him. He was Erik Stevens, a nigga from Cali.. and this puffed up image of him that the media sold was just that, puffed up. The ones who could vibe without demanding a performance of a character were the ones he preferred to mix with backstage.

He gave handshakes, dapped up, and hugged those who came on equal footing as souls connecting to the music. He fucked the ones who came as groupies, their love for his music so strong it transferred onto him. Some of them had been attracted to him from day one to the point they actually started listening to his music because of it. Some of them, their intentions from the very beginning were simply to have sex with someone famous. He gave them what they wanted. He fucked them all.. if they were attractive. 

He didn't fuck the women with those bright hopeful eyes though nor did he fuck the ones with sad eyes. There could only be one of those for him now. Every time a woman looked up at him like he was her hero it only served as a reminder of that fateful day that forever changed the way he thought about love.

---

"It's been five months... The fuck is she doing," Erik snapped.

He'd long been off tour and yet Y/N hadn't come. He clearly recalled asking her to come to him when they were together. He thought she would. He'd hoped that she would. He wanted her face to be the one he saw once his tour had ended. He wanted her in his bed and in his house. Alas, she had not arrived.

"She doing her.. Ain't that what you told her to do," Corey replied smartly over the phone.

He did, but he ain't expect it to take this long. It had been TOO long. She should've found him when his tour was over. He could've been helping her right now instead of talking to this nigga over the phone. Well, he could still help her... and matter of fact, he would.

He floated her name to a few people in his circle in hopes that they could scout or create opportunities for her. Anything that he could do without overstepping or making it obvious.

---

Nine months and he was still waiting on the woman who'd come into his life and turned it inside out. He read her text message again. It was starting to feel like a fever dream, their time together. It was like living months without his heartbeat. He'd been reduced to checking her social media accounts that he'd gotten hold of regularly just to get glimpses of her, making sure she was doing well. He'd created a separate account just do he could follow her and lurk without her knowing. This way, he didn't have to sweat over accidentally double tapping or hitting the heart. He could also view her lives without his name appearing. This eased his mind because he felt closer to her, but it still was not close enough. He was happy to see her coming into her own gradually and he loved the glimpses into her life, but he wanted to be part of it.

The day finally came when he saw her pictured with another nigga, light skin with freckles like an old banana. Who was that nigga? He dug through the comments and looked for any tags following them until he found the profile. James Porleau.

Porleau. His lip twisted in irritation scrolling through the man's account... also known as Jimmy.

Well fuck you, Jimmy, he thought as he scrolled. He went back to the photo of them together. They'd both posted it and it set off red flags in his mind. Stop it, he told himself. She needs this, and how many women have you fucked? Let her get it out of her system. 

That was until a week later he saw that her IG account was suddenly on private and that blew him. Wrong move, babe. Luckily his fake account was already following her so he could still see her posts.

"Corey tell her take her Instagram off private. Can't nobody like or enjoy her shit if they can't access it."

"I ain't even know it was on private.. how'd you know? Damn you a stalker for real, huh?"

"I'm just checking on her."

"Riiight," Corey drags, "... You musta seen Jimmy," he chuckles.

"Who is he anyway?" It wasn't worth pretending he hadn't.

"A placeholder.... She misses you but she need dick to keep her warm at night and you not here. I keep telling you to just pop up on her. That nigga would disappear real quick."

"I can't. She's in her zone right now, growing, and if I pop up she might get distracted. This is all healthy for her...I just don't like that nigga." Looking at the two of them together made him uneasy. "I'm a look into him to make sure. Just to be safe."

"Nigga," Corey laughed on the other end.

"I'm serious."

"They not. They just fuckin around."

---

Fuckin around. Who fucks around like this for months? Y/N and Jimmy seemed to be going strong and there was nothing in Jimmy's past that Erik could hold up or frown on. He was a lawyer and a decent guy it seemed. Inside, he was conflicted. He didn't want them together because it made his heart burn, but at the same time she WAS his heart and he was glad she wasn't alone. There were five photos with him and Y/N together. He swallowed his emotions and continued to scroll.

He could see pictures posted at Corey's engagement party. The shoes he'd bought. He rolled his eyes still not believing he'd bought a grown man's shoes. Mostly, he'd scrolled the feed to get glimpses of Y/N. She looked as beautiful as ever and despite the turmoil boiling in his gut due to the fact that she was still too far away, he was glad to see she had a big smile on her face where she was. 

He felt like a fan.

---

"She quit her job," Corey blurted when Erik answered the phone. Erik had just left a meeting with his manager and PR person to discuss some of his most recent behavior. He'd cussed out a white guy who'd bought backstage passes and wasn't satisfied because Erik didn't cater to him. The guy tried to force Erik to pay more attention to him but Erik refused to be treated like a toy. The guy deserved worse than the few choice words he got and Erik made that known when he refused to apologize or do anything to make the situation go away. He simply didn't care. 'Figure it out. I'm not doing shit,' he'd told them before storming out.

"She q-.. Is that good or bad? She need money?"

"Nigga. Who don't need money?"

"I'll say it like this.. Is she in danger of losing her apartment or not eating?"

"Nah nah.. Nah, never that. She getting money from her social networking. She one of them influencers now."

"Oh damn.. Is she happy?"

"Oh yeah. She happy as hell, her lil pickle head ass dancing all over the living room right now."

"She don't know you talking to me right?"

"She in there with Anaya not thinking about my ass. See, “BIG OL FREAK, BIG BOOT BIG OL TREAT.. see they ain't paying no attention."

"Nigga, I slid you that track in secret because you were a Megan fan, damn! Don't make me regret it! It ain't out yet... I gotta get my verse together."

---

The day came where Y/N finally released her own original music, music she'd written and arranged herself. He sat in his Ferrari 488GTB with his phone connected by bluetooth and the music playing through his speakers. He'd been waiting a year to hear her song and now that the time had come,  he rested his head against the headrest and let the sound caress his ears. Her soulful, smooth, and angelic voice rode the beat with precision. With the volume up and the sound enveloping him, it felt like she was there and singing directly to him. This about me, he thought with a lazy smile listening to her words. That nigga couldn't make her feel like this.. and I know it ain't about her ex.. Nah, it's definitely about me. The thought had him replaying it and for the next week it was his go to song. He knew every word and could sing it. He often did when he was alone.

From singing covers to her own original music, she'd taken large strides. He was impressed and proud that she'd worked hard to carry out her vision to accomplish her dream. He could not stop grinning whenever he heard her song... and then he heard it in public. He was out and about and he heard it, it was brief, but enough for him to recognize it. His stomach was leaping. He looked around for the source, but it had been so quick. That's my baby. His chest was swelling, heart full. That's when he knew for a fact she'd made it.

---

Erik witnessed the success of her EP and bragged on her where he could, of course not to the point of it being loud or widespread enough for it to get back to her. He was careful not to tempt her into cutting off her progress for some haphazard reunion. Of course, he was still fuckin groupies left and right.

He saw the explosion in her social media for himself, her verified side account so that her main could be reserved for her inner circle. He saw all the plays she got on Pandora, Spotify, iTunes, and YouTube. He could finally Google her and see her on multiple platforms. She was linked to him. Their names were still used together, but she was standing alone as well.

She'd gotten fans and followers. Lotta comments and likes. Aight now.. Drake.. back the fuck up. Along with her fame came the thirst. Hella niggas were liking her pictures and leaving random emojis.

"Ayo Corey, tell me something. I need an update. What's she doing? What she need?"

"I remember her saying she need a signed jersey from Steph Curry. She's really been into basketball lately for some reason. She'd love that."

"How bout I send this size 12 foot up ya ass?"

"You still violent as ever, I see. Ornery... You been getting any cheeks?"

"Groupie pussy don't hit the same."

"Not when you've had that number one superfan pussy!"

"Don't remind me. That bitch was crazy."

"But her pussy was fire wuh'nit?"

"She was fuckin crazy. You almost got sniped for that, sending me crazy bitches. You lucky I been in therapy for so long."

"How was I supposed to know the bitch was nuts, she seemed normal to me, I just thought she was a nice lady."

"Nah. I knew something was off. Shouldn't have fucked her."

"Can't unfuck her, but you can hire extra security."

"Nah. If she come around, I'm a handle her."

"Careful E... you soundin like the old you. I know you wanna keep control n'shit."

"Oh I'm in control. I got security, but if she push me they can't protect her from me but for so long."

"Remember she a woman. Though she a bitch, she a bitch with titties.. I guess you supposed to be more gentle.. because of the titties..."

"Yeah well she ain't finna have no titties fuckin wit me. I was taught to believe in equal rights of the sexes."

Click.

Hm? He hung up. Must've been Anaya or someone who walked in.

---

Erik had seen Corey's wedding photos and short clips and through he didn't comment, he congratulated him ans sent a gift. He lurked Y/N's social media catching up on her photos and videos. He was beginning to forget what she tasted like, but when he stared at her through his screen ge could imagine. He was a ghost haunting her pages. He'd become the very thing he'd warned her against. He was stuck on her.

She hadn't posted yet. Every time he scrolled, it was like Russian Roulette. He had to continuously remind himself to check that he was using the lurking account and not his actual account. Also, he was never sure what he'd find. Sometimes the content filled him with intense pride and joy, but sometimes it hurt. That nigga still seemed to be close to her and it got under his skin. She was supposed to fuck around with him and move onto another one, but this nigga was consuming ALL the time that Erik was sacrificing.

He wanted to get on her live.. it was an impulse whenever he visited her page and she had one. THE NIGGA WAS IN THE LIVE. Given, he wasn't the only one there, but still. Erik's jaw tightened and his eyes shut tightly putting the phone against his forehead before putting it away. He needed to think of something different. He needed to go on with his busy ass day.

---

Another year had officially passed.

Pictures posted of Y/N with her and the Corey's baby smiling and glowing living their best fuckin life. Erik didn't want to be bitter, but he couldn't hello that part of him felt bitter. He was lonely. He could see Corey was happy and flexin with Anaya. He'd found a good thing.

Erik wanted to be happy like that, but he couldn't and it wasn't for lack of trying. No matter how many models he went through, how many groupies he fucked, he was still lonely. He laid in bed with other girls as they were passed out from all the sex, scanning through Y/N's pictures. He still had that photo he'd taken when they were in bed together and he was flipping off the camera. It felt like ten years ago instead of two, but emotionally it still felt like yesterday.

Don't know what you're doing off camera.. Wonder what you're doing and if you really moved on..

I sound insecure right now.

Put the phone down. Turn the phone off.

24 hours. Erik kept it off.

The next morning when Erik turned him phone on, his manager had a lot to say. The main thing being, "You ain't answer your phone."

Erik laughed dryly having just gotten chewed out. What could he say?

"It died," he lied. "What'd you wanna say tho?"

---

Typically, Erik could distract himself and push his feelings aside, but he'd seen something this time that he couldn't push aside in his mind. It was a photo of Y/N and that nigga kissing on the lips, the caption: 'I love this man.'

She'd dropped the L word and Erik couldn't breathe. He looked at the phone staring from the word to the picture. It was a punch in the stomach. Had he been waiting on her in vain? Had she chosen this banana faced bitch? Had she really decided to be with him?

Erik had to sit down. He laid down the phone and gripped at his face which was hot, dragging his cheeks down with his palms, fingers sliding down his face. Facepalm. Her with this nigga AGAIN. He wanted to cry.

They ain't look bad together and that seemed to be a popular consensus based on the comments. It made his eye twitch.

He sighed deeply, his jaw tightening. His head felt like it would pop. She was raising his blood pressure and he had to breathe, blinking as he stared at nothing to calm himself. It didn't look like they were just fuckin. They were entirely too close, spending too much time together to say there were no feelings and now he knew. She loved him.

He stood abruptly pacing the floor of his living room. His ear itched at the entire situation and he scratched wildly in irritation releasing his frustration in a loud, "FUCK."

He needed to jog. Stopping short, he decided fuck jogging, he'd hit the bag. In his home gym, he paced and punched the body bag until his fists went numb with pain to match the confusing and excruciating feeling in his heart. He fell to the floor onto his back, sweat covering his face as he tried to shut down his racing mind, chest heaving.

One time. He'd allow himself to see her one time. He had to see her up close even if it was a goodbye. He looked her up to see her next performance. It was at a club called Sapphire. He laid there on the ground thinking of her song and all the times he'd played it. He was starting to think he was wrong about who she was singing to all along.

---

The performance went without a flaw while Erik stood in the back of the crowded club with his hood pulled up, listening with his ears and saying goodbye with his heart. If she wanted him, he'd fight, but if she wanted that other nigga and he truly made her happy, he'd let her go.

The entire performance, he wished her the best, still more excited for her than anyone when she got nothing but applause and positive feedback. He wanted badly to walk up and grab her hand just to confirm that his eyes still held power over her, her heart, and her knees... but he resisted. He'd have stayed longer, but when he started to get recognized, it became a problem

The first woman to recognize him gaped, her mouth and eyes wide. He signaled for her to be quiet with his finger over his lips. When the third person recognized him, it was time to go. He had to leave before word got out that he was there.

---

"Nigga, you are dumb as hell. Them pictures don't mean shit. They ain't even together no more. You depressed for what?"

"I'm not depressed, I'm working."

"This would all be solved if you'd bring ya ass over here then you'd see for yourself... You should've approached her at the club. She'd have lost her fuckin mind and been with you right now, but y'all both wanna be stubborn."

"Well then if that's true... I'm not gonna rush her or or cut off her relationship. I've BEEN ready. I'm just waiting on her. When she's ready she'll come."

"You finna be waiting a decade."

"Aye.. So be it."

There was a strain that Erik could hear. Corey was the middle point and he was trying hard to keep the two of them connected but there was only so much he could do. Erik felt his frustration, but his resolve was strong.

"..UUUUUGH, Y'ALL GET ON MY DAMN NERVES," Corey groaned.

---

3 months passed and Erik was with his lawyer, manager, and producer reworking contracts that would be re-signed. Apparently, his lawyer was peeping shit he missed, earning his check. Erik figured he'd need a new producer soon. This one was sheisty and he didn't wanna have to threaten him or worse. It was best to work with someone else and this lawyer seemed to be doing well with determining the producer's breach of contract making it void.

"One second," Erik put a finger up walking out of the conference room. Typically, he would never walk out of a meeting that serious, but he saw a name on his screen with a new message from a number that hadn't contacted him in two years.

Holding his breath, he opened it.

(Y/N) I'm in Cali can we meet

@imaginewhoever @goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagine   @vikkidc @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe   @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens   @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @drsunshine97 @purplehairgawdess @trevantesbrat @indigoxsummers @cccccx1   @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @fonville-designs @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent @blackpinup22

[rwbyremnants]

BIG WARNING: THIS ONE IS HET. Probably the only het fic we’ll do besides the little bits of Arkos fluff in SWTD. Lots of Dom/sub stuff so you should skip it if that is not your thing. Fic is set before the epilogue of White Noise; it will contain some small plot details for the broader WN universe.

Also… I realise some of you may have reservations about this fic. Especially after what recently came to light with Qrow’s voice actor (I won’t go into details, you can look those up elsewhere). But this story is still very important for plot reasons within the White Noise universe, and was written a couple of years ago – yes, multiple years, we have a lot of backlog. Plus I hate to hold an actor’s behaviour against the character. Hopefully you can still get some enjoyment out of it, despite that (and that it’s a straight ship for most of you who come to this account for the lezbeans). If not, you can look forward to the next installment which will be full of our usual gayness!

Thanks again to CoNzz for the editing help! It was much appreciated!

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Cock teasing, fellatio, kitchen sex, doggy style, light spanking.

=Chapter 1

"Shame you're not an Uber driver. View like this, smooth ride… you're a five star all the way."

That was one of many unneeded comments from the passenger in Winter Schnee's car. Her lip curled as she kept her eyes on the road, trying to deaf them out. What had she done to deserve this?

The answer was, a lot of things. Two years had passed since that conversation on the jet plane, where she had promised one Yang Xiao Long, and later her sister, Weiss, that there would be no more “dirty dealings” going on in the company. This was meant for her own safety and protection, but as time went on, company with one's self was just missing something. It was bland, dull, colourless… and it gave her too much time to reflect on how close she had come to forcing her sister’s girlfriend into committing suicide. She found herself needing extracurricular activities.

One such activity, which Yang suggested, was joining in with her father and uncle's weekly bowling matches. They had been missing a team member for a while, so she was welcomed into the group, though her game was a bit rusty. Gutterballs aside, it seemed to have been an enjoyable enough night, even if one member of the team seemed unable to keep his booze-fueled comments to himself. The same team member who she insisted on driving home rather than let him stumble there.

"Then I expect you to pay for fuel, at the absolute least. No matter how much you spent on fueling yourself." Though she did not take her eyes off the road, she was sorely tempted. The scruffy man, Qrow - if that was his real name, which seemed highly unlikely - was slouched down so low that his knees were pressed up against the dashboard. She would have had to glance down and into the actual seat to see his face.

A face that brought about a mixed reaction. All night, as she attempted to improve her game, she had both wanted to gaze curiously at his noble features, and slap it in equal measure. Something about his confidence brought about both emotions. Either way, her dislike certainly had nothing to do with his looks; he was just her type in that regard. But she refused to let herself dwell on that and that alone.

Both Taiyang and Yang had warned Winter of Qrow Branwen. The drunk, the guy who spoke his mind without giving a second thought, or a damn about anyone other than himself. He didn't care if the flirting annoyed Winter, nor particularly if his posture and cocky attitude did, either. In a way, the forthrightness was refreshing, even if it grated on her nerves.

"I had like, one drink." When he raised his hand up it displayed three fingers rather than just the one. Then he smirked to himself as he held his hands behind his head instead, spreading his legs out wide as he leant back. "Besides… I wouldn't have to ride in your precious car if you weren't so insistent on driving me. It's a left here, toots."

Under her breath, Winter muttered, "People still say 'toots' anymore?" as she turned the car in the direction indicated. Indeed, he was repulsive… but only in manner, and the smell of alcohol. Despite the five o'clock shadow on his jaw, he was very neat and well-kept, and obviously in fantastic shape. He just liked to do his best impression of a complete jerk at all times.

"Y'know, I figured when Tai said my neph- niece's girl's sister was coming along, I expected someone a lot shorter." He commented, head freely bobbing with the motions of the car as he still leant back against the chair, like his head was too heavy to support by itself. But then it slumped in her direction, eyes raking her figure from top to bottom. Particularly the bottom. "Gotta say it worked in my favour. I dig tall chicks."

The rigid woman's eyebrows shot upward as she pulled up to a stop sign, which allowed her the luxury of turning to glare down at him. "Excuse me?! I… I'm not that tall. And I am not a 'chick', you disrespectful boor!"

He only smirked, nodding very slowly. "Nah, you're not." But when she pulled off again, he looked back to the road and added, "More like a hen."

"Oh, a 'hen', am I?" She'd had enough of being teased; it was time to tease back. "Guess that makes you a rooster, doesn't it? If I've ever met a man who's a giant cock, it's you."

That only made him laugh. It was a shame they were nearing the shoddy apartment building, or so he thought. He'd have to make the final comment as they pulled onto the curb a good one. And so he did.

"I know I'm a giant cock." The smirk grew wider. "Or maybe you meant ‘who’s got a giant cock’. ‘S true, too."

Though her expression was disgusted… her mouth stilled as she guided closer to the parking spaces. To him, he would have thought she was simply tired of exchanging such lowbrow conversation. In reality…

What if it were true? He was a decent-looking man, with that mussed, steel-grey hair, brooding eyes, just the right amount of scratchy stubble. If he was endowed in addition, perhaps this was worth exploring – should he even be sober enough to get said endowment to rise. Just because she had sworn off sleeping with clients to further her sister’s pop star career didn’t mean she had to swear off all one-night stands.

"Well, here you are," she grunted, putting the car in park. "Should I help carry you up to your room, or can you still walk?"

"Oh pssshh. I ain't that drunk." But the way he had to place his hand on the door multiple times to find the handle said otherwise. He did finally manage it and climbed free from the car. Of course he hadn't worn a seatbelt; what did she expect?

But once he shut the car door again when outside, he leant in against the open window, head tilting to one side as he leered at her. She hadn't got rid of him yet. "Unless that was your subtle way of asking if you could come up to see said giant cock… or have a drink, whatever comes up first."

The boldness of his offer, coupled with how unconcerned he seemed to be about the whole matter, sent a thrill through her stomach. One she knew all too well. Without letting that show in her face, she responded, "I'll come up to make sure you don't miss your own door handle and crack your head open on it. We'll see about the rest."

His eyes widened a little in surprise – and also showed how bloodshot they were. "Huh… never expected that one to work, but, whatever. Not gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth."

She spotted him up a couple of flights of stairs, Qrow stumbling and supporting himself on the railing all the way there. Until they got to the middle floor. Winter could only assume his place would be a common scene from the shabbiness of the building itself. Poorly maintained, cheap and old. A place just as rough as him; how appropriate.

Once fumbling with the key to the door over and over, he eventually pushed open the door to his apartment. Yet again rough, but not as bad as what one would expect. There were a few bottles here and there, the odd garment of clothing on the sofa, but nothing too major. Qrow had made it the best he could with all his secondhand budget furnishings. What more could you do with a tiny one-bedroom apartment?

"What's your poison?" he asked, staggering into the small kitchen area.

"Perrier. But somehow, I doubt you have that, so any water will do – or club soda with lemon or lime, if you don't even have water." The last was intended as a jab at his drinking, but in truth, she wasn't sure he'd have a single bottle of water in a bachelor pad like that.

Pacing around the room, Winter ran a finger over the top of the television. The coating of dust was there, but thin; he'd cleaned within the past week or so. The DVDs on the stand were all of action movies, season sets of a cop drama. The very picture of a man who spent a lot of time alone. Against her will, she frowned at them, thinking that perhaps he had it coming considering the crudeness of his flirtation tactics… but she also felt sorry for him not having anyone in his life on a regular basis.

"I got working plumbing," the voice called up from in the kitchen area again. Indeed, this was a man who didn't get many visitors at all. Not even Taiyang or his nieces visited very often. He was a man who went to them, rather than had guests up in his own underwhelming apartment. For one reason or another.

"Then pour me whatever," she called back distractedly. In fact, it was fairly obvious that he had no intention of having guests over at all, considering the choice magazines that were simply out on the coffee table. There were at least five different Sports Illustrated issues there; two of which features swimsuits, as she had dreaded. Also, a periodical about guns. Rolling her eyes, she shoved at them idly…

And saw something peeking out from under the cover of a football player headed for a touchdown. Something decidedly more conspicuous than the others. Another swimsuit issue? Nipping it out from underneath, she had to suppress a gasp of shock that he might have heard.

It was porn. The man literally kept porn in his living room.

The cover showed a girl all in leather sitting on top of another girl wearing a dog collar, which instantly piqued her interest. Was he… that kind of man? Flipping through the rest, she saw it was largely the usual; some lesbians, some straight couples, most of them doing the typical scenes. Only the cover was slanted toward a darker variety of "play" – probably merely as a tactic to hook the reader.

There were a few curse words yelled alongside the obvious stumbling in the kitchen from where he went to get the glasses, and then the pouring of water. He was distracted for now, it seemed. That appeared to be the only magazine of such a variety in the living room, but even then, it seemed to be a subtle hint to the man Qrow was. What his interests were. At least none of the pages seemed particularly worn from being held open.

'Perhaps he hasn't read it yet,’' she thought to herself reasonably, trying not to get overly excited or paranoid, or read anything more into the situation than was in front of her. All this meant was that he had a porn magazine; it might have been a cheeky gift from Taiyang. Perhaps he did get off to it but only the more typical scenes inside, he or just liked to glance at the cover and laugh. Plenty of explanations. Even so…

When she heard him coming, she slid the magazine back where she found it, straightened the rest, and perched on the couch cushion as if she had been sitting there all the while. Thankfully, he was too drunk to notice, and simply paced toward the living area with the two glasses in hand. One large one for Winter, filled with ice water. The other, a smaller glass, filled with whiskey and a single cube. Clearly he didn’t intend on slowing down now that he was home.

"Can't exactly say I expected guests, but…" As he handed the glass to her, he looked around. "Welcome to the chicken coop."

"Yes, it's… charming." She was above rude comments on a person's living conditions, unless they had to do with literal messiness. In Qrow's case, that would just be nitpicky. Sipping at her water, she asked, "Have you lived here long?"

"Six years, give or take?" Allowing himself to fall onto the other end of the sofa, he slumped straight away, spreading his legs once more when he relaxed. Typical man… "Remember the first thing I did when I got the place set up was have Yang over for some ‘guy time’ watching the game. Only to find out she'd come over to tell me that he was a she." Taking a sip of his drink for a moment, he sighed, "Weird memory to look back on but really is the first thing I remember about this place."

"I envy that memory," she sighed easily, crossing her legs as she sat back. "My… sister-in-law, I suppose she is. Did they tell you the story, about how I found out?"

"Nope, I just assumed you got told like I did." Although a few seconds after taking his next sip, he seemed to slow right down, smacking his lips together. "And… now realise that… you might not have known and I could'a just outted her randomly… well, fuck. I’m pretty chatty when I’m on the sauce."

"Don't worry, you didn't breach her confidence," she added with a little chuckle. Then she cleared her throat. "I… was worried she wasn't what she seemed, so I did some investigating. Outed her behind her back, and thought I had discovered some great secret. Of course, that was my ignorance; I understand that now."

For most whom she had told the story to, they glared or reprimanded her – even though she trusted very few of them with that. Some asked asked her why it was such a big deal because they were ignorant themselves. Either way, it seemed to lead to arguments and judgement. Yet Qrow never shifted. He kept staring into nothing as he swirled his drink around.

"Least that shit happened when she didn't trust you." He spoke rather softly. "She trusted me when I was an asshole about it. Said a lotta shit that turned out to be just… ignorance, like you said."

"Oh, and that's so hard to believe after the way you've behaved all night." But considering the man looked put out enough by the memory already, she reached over to swat him lightly on the knee to show she was only winding him up. "How were you an ass?"

It seemed to be appreciated. Downing the remains of his drink, he placed the glass on the coffee table on top of the magazines. "Acted like it never happened. Poor girl poured her heart out to me, and all I did was keep inviting her on guys’ nights out and to watch the game here. I thought she was just a crossdresser or gay or whatever, or it was a phase."

Nodding, Winter mulled that over as she took another drink. "And… I'm going to assume she didn't get quite as much out of the male-oriented activities as you were hoping?"

"I got a quiet kid sat on the sofa with her mouth shut. It was Ruby that one day came with her and told me what I was doing, how I was hurting her." Shrugging his shoulders on his chair, he looked over to her. "Says a lot when your youngest niece is coming over telling you you made her older sister cry."

"You had no way of knowing," she sighed with a little nod. This was an area she definitely had experience with. "You and I… we grew up thinking you were a man, or you were a woman, and that was that. Anyone else was living in a fantasy world." Crossing her legs in the opposite direction out of nerves, she continued, "And then our family members made sure we learned differently, didn't they?"

It pulled a small smile to one side of his face as he nodded, still staring out at nothing for a while longer while he recollected all the memories, and thought about his niece and her relationship again. "Yeah. They're good kids. Couldn't ask for anything else."

"I can't believe I ever tried to break them up. And almost succeeded." Staring down at her water, she muttered under her breath, "Maybe I should have taken you up on that drink, after all."

Slapping his knees before lifting himself onto his feet, he flashed a mixture of smirk and earnest smile. It was the best they had got on for hours, but there was a small victory in knowing she was comfortable having a drink. Heading back into the kitchen, he called out, "What's your poison, then? And you're welcome to crash on the couch if you wanna get shiftfaced."

"Gin and tonic, if you have it," she finally acquiesced, feeling as if she had sunk to new depths, accepting a drink from a man she should be driving to an AA meeting. "And you never did say about that lime!"

"Does this place look like it'd have fresh lime, toots?"

Unusually, the two seemed to get along for the rest of the evening. Winter had agreed to have a larger drink after all, when Qrow had convinced her she could take his bed should she decide to stay, or he'd call her a taxi if she wanted to leave. They bonded over a few more glasses, and TV casually in the background. But as they drank, they continued to talk about their experiences with Yang.

It was strange how talking about such a subject seemed to bring them together, but the mutual venting about how awful they felt with themselves helped them to heal – to know that they were not alone in being ignorant, and that it wasn’t too uncommon to learn from their past mistakes. Especially now they knew things had worked out in the end. In fact, Winter was just about finishing her tale. The full story.

Which seemed to have Qrow staring off into nothing, barely able to look at her after what was just told. "…And there I was thinking her ex, Blake, was the emo one. Never expected someone as fiery as Yang to feel so low she’d try to do a thing like that."

"Never thought simply asking someone to consider my sister's feelings would nearly drive them to suicide. Though that isn’t quite what I did, it’s what I thought I was doing." Taking another belt of her brandy, she sighed, eyes wincing at the strength of the drink. "But, as we've all discussed, I had no way of knowing… they were the real thing. I didn't understand what 'trans' meant, that she wasn't some 'man in disguise' trying to corrupt my sister. She did then, and still does, mean the world to me. I thought I was doing my job as a big sister, and…"

Tears had begun to creep into her voice, but she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and took another. "No. I'm done crying over that; I made mistakes, I have been forgiven."

Putting his third finished glass for the evening down, Qrow sat back on the sofa again, running a hand through his hair while he thought about everything. Obviously he had felt slight anger, considering the one in question was a niece. But as Winter said, it was in the past. It wasn't like she could go back and “fix” it. After more rational thinking, he even shrugged his shoulders.

"Always knew that kinda stuff ran in this side the family. Depression and all that shit. My sister; her mom, was the same. Guess I hoped it skipped a generation."

"You understand, right? That if I even had the slightest inkling… that I would at least have been more polite, or asked more questions. Done something different!" Taking another deep breath, she wiped at her eyes, more to prevent tears from falling than because any had. "I can't imagine Yang not being a part of my sister's life now. Part of my extended family. I just… didn't know her and didn't see my own prejudice was tainting my view of her."

"Hey." Sitting up straight, he managed to smile slightly. "Worked out in the end, right? Those girls are off on tour together, you and Weiss are tighter than ever. Shit mighta happened, but no point in beating yourself up now."

Another deep breath. Those were becoming a habit. It was one of the many ways Winter helped deal with her mistakes of the past. But she did have others.

"You're too kind to me," she told him, laying a hand on his knee. Somewhat neutral territory; not too high so that she seemed easy, or provocative, but it was an initiation of physical contact. Something to build on.

"Think I got a can of Pringles or something. Will help sober us up before bed, I guess." But he didn't leave just yet, simply holding the glasses in his hand a little longer while he tried to keep upright. Seemed that's what he needed.

After some time had passed, Winter pushed his thigh to get him moving vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "Then don't just stand there, get…" Then she yawned widely. "Go… oooing. Whoo, I think this brandy is going to my head."

"Maybe it's bedtime and not snacktime, huh?" The rugged man had finally managed to stumble into the kitchen, dumping the glasses into the sink. He could take care of them in the morning. More concerned for making sure his guest was settled, he paced back out and into the living space again, nodding to gesture to one of the doors. "Come on, let's get you to bed, Snowbird."

"Snowbird?" she half-laughed as she stood, also wobbling on her feet. "Woo… alright, perhaps you have a point…" As she approached, she asked, "But where will you sleep?"

"On the sofa. Where else?" Holding open the door to the bedroom, he waited patiently for her to enter. "Knock out there pretty often. ‘Sides, a lady such as yourself deserves better’n my crummy couch."

Thankfully, the state of the bedroom was better than the living room instead of worse. The bed wasn't made, but there weren't any spare clothes or porn magazines left out and about. If anything, the only embarrassment was the many bottles in the trash can; otherwise, it was very well-kept. Though a very mild tingle shot through her stomach at the idea of laying amongst his sheets, smelling his masculine scent all night, she was professional enough to suppress that. Clearing her throat, she began to kick off her flats.

"Well, I thank you for being a gentleman. If this happens again, I'll plan to catch a cab so you don't have to do this for me."

"Hey, bed's available any time. Save your cash." Once she was sat down on the bed, he waited a moment longer by the door, watching for a small while. It was the first time he'd had a woman in his apartment for a long time, let alone one in his bed. Not that it would lead to anything more, he expected. Still… "Can I get you anything else, or are you alright here?"

"Well, I think we handled the nightcap," she told him with a small smirk. "But thank you. Goodnight, Sir Rooster."

"Night, Snowbird." It seemed to suit her better than the word 'hen', at least – given her sometimes cold nature, and the white hair. Without another word, he finally stepped back toward the main room again, shutting the door behind him quietly.

As far as things went, sleeping on the sofa didn't seem too bad of a price to pay for the evening's events. Qrow had found a friend in one of the least likely people he expected. And had her back at his place! As he stripped down to just his boxers for the warm night ahead, he laid down and stared blankly at the ceiling for a while in thought. They had one thing in common in that they had taken more time than others to accept Yang, and maybe they were both helping each other deal with the sadness that followed after realising their mistakes. But was that really enough of a bond to build a lasting friendship upon?

Maybe that would come tomorrow, he thought. The morning could hold plenty of possibilities.

----------------------------------

When Winter awoke the next morning, she was momentarily puzzled by her surroundings. Those weren't her sheets, her curtains. They weren't even ones that belonged to the Schnee condo in California, or a hotel room. Where on earth…?

And then it came back to her in a flash when she breathed in, and found herself swimming in musky aftershave and other hints of manliness. Qrow Branwen's apartment. They had drank too much to even manage calling her a taxi. She tried to feel disgusted with herself, but being enveloped by that sent was oddly comforting. That was something she would no doubt be analysing to death later, when she didn't feel too at peace to examine anything.

Finally, however, the call of nature ended her reverie. Peeling herself out of the dark sheets, she just managed to remember to grab her slacks from the floor and pull them on; she didn't want to present too much of a show to him just for going to the bathroom.

She glanced at the couch as she went from one door to another, and saw his grey head on the arm. Still asleep. Trying not to wake him, she did her business and stole a drop of mouthwash, then rinsed the sleep from her face as best she could. Not bad, for having none of her usual morning ritual products. Her hair was only slightly turning into a bird's nest. She did notice again that she was definitely getting older, but she tried not to think about the bags under her eyes, the very beginnings of wrinkles. The passage of time could not be stopped so there was little point in fretting; she just had to finally start contemplating Botox, using face creams. That was the best she could do.

However, when she exited and began to approach his sleeping form, she was in for a mild surprise. For an old drunk, Qrow wasn’t half bad looking. In addition to the flattering stubble and rugged looks, he had a remarkably well toned body. This was a man who clearly worked out in his spare time, when he wasn't drinking or bowling.

Rather impressive arms and slightly visible abs aside, there was another highly noticeable factor: he wasn't exactly lying about the “giant cock” part, either. There was a rather obvious ridge pressed up against his boxer shorts – one that seemed to have a sizable length to it, at that. The occasional twitch proved it was real, and he hadn't just stuffed socks down there to make an impression when she saw him.

Gradually however, his head moved lightly against the arm of the sofa as he began to wake… and Winter found herself disappointed that she wouldn't have much time to enjoy this show. Truly, it had been a while since her last "encounter", and even though she had her own means of pleasure between lovers, that just couldn't compare to what Qrow had to work with.

However, he wasn't quite awake yet. Maybe she could startle him for a cheap laugh. Tiptoeing around the couch, she crouched by his side, leaned over, and positioned her face so that it was a mere centimetre away from the tenting in his shorts and plastered a smirk on her face. And waited.

There was a deep breath in from him while he tried to get comfortable. Seemed he wasn't quite awake – more trying not to be. He shifted his legs on the couch back and forth to get to a better position, which, to Winter's guilty delight, made the large presence bob with its movements. What a shame it would be when it would have to go away.

Of course, by this point she was unable to completely ignore his scent. It hadn't been readily apparent when first coming to hover over him, but now that she had been stationed there for a minute… she couldn’t suppress her excitement at being close to him while aroused, even in a half-awake state. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips before she could stop it, and then she inwardly cursed herself for such silliness. Nothing was going to happen. She was simply playing a very mild prank on her sleeping in-law.

Finally, the eyes were starting to flicker. And he slowly found them beginning to open. At first, he was staring up at the ceiling, so saw nothing of her at all. That was until he began to look down.

By that point, she was leaning closer still. Her cheek came into contact with the cotton material, and she suppressed a shiver as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes. At least she was still smirking.

"Morning."

Blinking rapidly, he tried to make sure he wasn't seeing things, or imagining things. But he felt it! Felt her cheek against him! Opening his eyes once more, he looked straight at her, mouth dropping open very slightly.

"Y'know…" he began. He never once seemed upset or disgusted by that behaviour. Just surprised. "Think I could call this sexual harassment if I wanted to."

"Only if you protest." She leaned closer, and though she had already been inwardly shocked at her own behaviour, now a voice in the back of her head was screaming as she felt true pressure in return; she was literally leaning against his erection! This drunkard who acted like a cocky asshole all night long! Had she lost her mind? "Do you? Protest, I mean."

"…Am I dreaming still?" But he really could feel her face against him, especially when it twitched again. He had abandoned any hope that anything close to this would happen, yet Winter was now making the first move. But he did want it to continue, so he played along.

"Protest?" he asked, running a hand through his hair to 'neaten' it again. “Guy would have to be crazy with you that close to protest.”

A powerful need swelled up in her. One too long suppressed. As she bit her lip, watching very carefully how he reacted, she began to raise her hand up to lay on a bare stretch of his thigh, slowly dragging it upward.

She really wasn't fooling around. She wanted this – wanted him. Did that really come down to a simple case of morning wood in the end? Was she that impressed with what she saw? Delicately humming at the gentle touches, he half closed his eyes when looking back to her.

"Seriously though, why keep going here when I could bend you over the kitchen counter?"

Well that certainly shot heat straight to her core. Now she had to ask, even if only once. As her hand began to tease him very lightly through the fabric, only just touching without wrapping around the girth truly, she whispered, "This isn't too strange? Me doing this, and considering your offer… even though we basically just met?"

Qrow was still questioning if he was dreaming or not. The hand was definitely there, he could feel it caressing him still even now. Still, he looked toward her, tilting his head. "Ain't got a clue why you'd wanna with a lowlife like me, but I sure as hell ain't turning it down if you do."

"Mmm…" The groan was low and sensual, purely designed to tease. "Perhaps I don't. Perhaps I just want to tease a little. Are… you alright with that?"

But even as she asked this question, Winter performed a move she had perfected over the years. Fingers moving nimbly, she tugged the fabric down and to one side slightly, moving it in just the right way that she caught the flap in the front of his boxers around the head of his erection, then pulled inward so that it slid through into the open air.

Another contented humming filled the air when his member was exposed. She must have had practice if she was able to pull that off so quickly. Just what did this Schnee chick get up to in her spare time? he wondered. And from that, he also began to wonder what she could do for him. Finally he looked back with a smirk, giving a small wink. "Oh, I am more than interested."

That little was all she needed to lean over and press her lips up against the hot flesh. Ohhh, it had been too long for her. The scent rolling down from the head was just right; thick and sharp without overpowering. Her stomach rumbled, and she realised it wanted breakfast… but she was just going to have to settle for something else to tide her over.

Such were her thoughts as she leaned up and accepted him into her mouth.

"Oooohhhh…" How long had this been? Long enough for him to have forgotten what it felt like to have a woman's lips around him. Warm wetness encircling his member, dragging itself down every now and again with gentle movements of the tongue. Winter Schnee must have had a lot of practice to pull this off without a single hitch. But it still made no sense why on earth someone so gorgeous and refined as her would be so insistent on pleasuring him first, especially when she could probably demand he do this to her first and he would oblige.

Little did he know that she grown to love pleasuring men. Loved the many sensations; sights, sounds, smells… tastes. She didn't always care for the men themselves, but that was of little importance. Not when she could get her fix and then discard them as easily as they discarded her.

As her lips began to make their way down his shaft, tongue laving over him all the while, her hand released and moved to his thigh again. Inch by inch, it slid up the inside of his shorts, teasing the skin there as effectively as her mouth teased the main attraction. He was finding it more difficult to keep himself composed. Moaning and panting in front of a woman was definitely not what he planned on doing first thing in the morning. With his magazine, perhaps; not with a guest. But that's what he was reduced to. A moaning mess that was relaxing further into the sensation of getting 'the full service'.

"Geez, Winter," he managed to groan between gasps. "I think this more or less… makes up for all them gutterballs."

At that, she laughed briefly as she raised her head up, allowing him to bounce from her mouth. "Really? You have a problem with how I handle balls?" And the instant she asked, her hand swiftly ran up and cupped his, fingertips expertly fondling without causing the slightest pain or discomfort.

"HAH!" That should have been expected. Especially when her hand had already been so close! The mouth was familiar territory, but treatment as good as this… did he ever have this? He didn’t believe so. It felt oddly relaxing to have such a delicate part of him caressed and fondled; doubling up with the now cold air on his wet member, it was an interesting sensation. Growling with delight, he leant his head back against the chair, smirking to himself again.

"You wanna be careful. Treat me too good and this old soldier might not make it to the kitchen."

That prompted an earnest chuckle from her; she appreciated a man who could be so brutally honest. Nodding, she licked him again and asked in as sultry a voice as she could manage, "You really want to sink this deep into me, don't you?" Another lick, a kiss. "Do you have… the proper precautions for that?"

That brought a growl out from him when he grinned back down toward her. A woman who knew how to handle him well, and wasn't afraid to remind him to keep things safe. How much luckier could he get? Still, he nodded to her question, head tilting in the direction of his discarded pants on the ground. "Always got a couple in my wallet, in case I get lucky. Think I hit the jackpot."

"Good." Then she gave the sack a light squeeze before she withdrew, standing up. "I'll go get ready to receive, while you get ready to give. Um… do you want me all the way stripped, or… do you prefer taking care of that yourself? I don't mind either way."

Sitting himself back up again, he leaned down to grab his pants from the floor, patting them to find the pocket and said wallet. At the question, he couldn't help but laugh lightly. "Been too long since I done anything, toots. I think after that, you can call the shots. I'll do it however you want me to do it."

Again, she was impressed against her own will. He was nailing every single response, even though she had almost been hoping he didn't so she could have an excuse to back out, or to challenge him further. How was this scruffy-looking man doing so well? It was as infuriating as it was…

Arousing. Without even checking, she already knew she was beginning to dampen her underwear. Licking her lips and clearing her throat, she traced a hand through his already-tousled hair as she walked past.

"I'll get ready the way I want to get ready, then. Meet you there."

"Try and stop me."

The entire exchange was beyond anything he'd experienced before. There were one night stands, fuck buddies, the occasional girlfriend; nothing like this. Nothing like a woman who knew exactly how to handle him, where to put her tongue, how to talk to him. And on top of that, she was beautiful and had a fantastic body to match. Maybe this was a dream, an elaborate one he'd wake from in a few hours and wonder what an earth had happened. But dream or not, he was determined to enjoy it.

Such determination had him frantically pulling the wallet from his pocket, opening and taking one of the small packets which he opened it with his teeth. He was so very eager to begin. Once the small ring was free, it didn't take much longer for him to press it against his member, pulling the latex covering all the way down the thick length until he was ready. Once that step was complete, he hauled himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen to see just how Winter had prepared herself.

The sight he met when he got in there was like something out of a dream, or a movie. Winter was already leaning over the counter – not braced for him to enter, but simply leaning as if she had been thinking about something while sipping from the water glass between her fingers. The only noticeable conspicuous change was that her slacks were missing; panties still in place, in their black satin glory, but otherwise her bare legs were on display from hip to heel.

"So that's how you wanna play it. Never expected you to be the ‘trophy wife fantasy’ type of girl." It looked bizarre, him stood in the doorway with a sheathed, rock hard erection, her so casual against his counter. Still, he had reason for all the questions. After so long and so many partners, one would lose their interest in maintaining appearances. Might as well get the important things out of the way.

Such as… "Any other requests?"

"Just one." Looking over her shoulder at him briefly, eyes flicking down to what he was about to bring closer, she smirked as she whispered, "Don't disappoint me. But I have a feeling I don't have to worry about that."

Eyebrows raising up then down, he finally approached his lover for the morning. Hands falling to her hips with a slight slap, he stared down at her plump ass. How truly lucky he was to get to experience this fine figure of a woman for the day.

"Let's just take care of this here…" One hand left her hip to quickly reach down, tugging her underwear to one side and tucking it by her lips out of the way. But it didn't leave just yet. He took a moment to simply dip a finger into the slick folds, feeling around their softness for a while to gather his bearings.

Seemed she really was eager to go. The moans that were falling from her open mouth were very slight; this was a woman who knew how to control herself. Allowing herself to enjoy his teasing touch was a decision, not something beyond her ability to suppress. Her thighs drifted very slightly apart.

"So, want me to charge in here? You're ready for it." He noted that as he leant in toward her, pressing his bare front against her back to whisper, "Or do you want some more heating up first?"

"Wh-whatever you want, Rooster. Just… make the moment count."

What he wanted. That's what she said, for him to do as he pleased. Maybe she really did want him to treat her in a way that optimised his pleasure, no matter the circumstances. If that was the case, this really must be a dream. But a dream that he would make the most of; no point in letting the condom go to waste. He took the hand away from her folds, and instead reached down for his member instead. Pressing up against her, he began to guide himself toward the welcoming entrance, gradually pushing forward once he was lined up until he felt the head slide in.

"What I want," he began, immediately moving the hand that was his guide to her back instead, where it grasped a handful of her shirt. And then used that to yank her back against him when he slid forward, pushing all the way inside in one go. "Is you on my cock!"

"UhnnnhhHAHH!" Winter wailed, taken completely unawares by the sudden rough treatment. Of course, he was not the first to go from gentle to brutish in such a short span, but this was the first time it had happened without her requesting it beforehand. Still, it was nothing too far, nothing that would hurt her or made her feel anxious – and she had said he could do whatever he wanted.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Her eyes slid closed as she got past the initial sensation of being claimed, and began to simply enjoy the girth squeezed inside of her. It was every bit as huge as she had observed, felt inside of her mouth. And she loved it. Oh, how perfect he felt nestled there!

Meanwhile, Qrow was pleasantly surprised. He had expected her to perhaps brace up, or even quite loudly tell him off. But no such response. She seemed to only relax herself further, even part her legs that bit further for him. He really must be dreaming, this was everything he desired!

To make the moment count, he continued the rough pace. Hand continuing to yank her back onto him, the other hand also on her hip to aid that process, he began to push his member in and out of her at a quick pace. His breath got heavier and heavier each time his member pushed deep into the warmth of her tight body, truly giving them both a morning to remember.

And her own breath was growing more ragged as she felt him riding her harder, skipping straight to the dirtiest manoeuvres. Seemed they had both been waiting awhile for a good solid fuck.

"Ohhh, yeah," she moaned out as he thudded into her, raising one calf briefly before it fell down again, straining to keep herself at the proper angle for him. Tall though they both were, the counter was just slightly too high! Not that she minded working around that slight obstacle.

"Lemme get that for you…" The least he could do was move his hand from her hip, using that hold under her knee and lift her leg upward to the position she desired. It made no difference to him; he was still going to keep the pace fast and hard into her. Only he suspected doing this deed for her would help her feel more of the benefit. Maybe it would even hit that special place of hers.

"That's right, you cock!" she growled throatily, just beginning to push her hips back to meet his very slightly. By and large, it wasn't necessary. Winter began to release her hold on her voice slightly. Of course she had been holding back. No man got to hear Winter completely unfettered their first dance. But she could let more slip through, let him have a very slight taste of how she could be when she went all out. "You… you take what you want from me!"

This was crazy! She was actually pushing herself backward, meeting his rough thrusts with her own each time, making it even harder and more brutal. She really did know her stuff, and really must have been craving this just as much as him to be getting into it this hard. But just how hard did she want him to go? He was already lifting her leg, and pumping in and out, quick and unforgiving. Could he take it further?

Deciding to risk it, he took his hand off her hip a moment, raising it back only to bring it down onto her backside with a firm SLAP!

"OHHH!" she half-shouted, pitching forward very slightly. Not enough to take him out of her entirely, but it did interrupt her own thrusting rhythm. Now that she hadn't been expecting. The way he had been riding her hard and fast had lured her into thinking he would merely continue that until he burst. Which she was fine with. Where had the spanking come from?

But she wanted to find out how he meant it. Some men just liked to swat a few times as they rode their conquests, merely for the sight of the rippling flesh. Others did it for separate reasons.

"Yeah, that's right," she panted, voice more strained, less self-assured. "Y-you… you want me to be your dirty girl, don't you?"

Growling out his next few breaths, such words were only egging him on further. She really did like being handled roughly. Maybe she would even he interested in his more twisted desires that he generally kept to himself. Not that he'd been able to test that before – not to the full extent he wanted to. But that he refused to let himself think about. Not yet. This was a single fast and brutal fuck in the span of twenty-four hours; there wasn't even a guarantee it would be anything more than that.

For now, he made do with what he had, bringing his hand back to slap her backside once again – only this time, he kept his grip on the fleshy cheek, grasping firmly as he used that in addition to yanking her back on him with his shirt. Anything to make it harder.

"Fuck yes, I do," he growled, somehow managing to lean forward. "And you… you just want me to use you, huh? You… like being my dirty slut, don’t you?"

Winter's mouth dropped wide open. For some reason, even with her flinging such dirty talk back at him, she had not anticipated that he would respond. Not this quickly, and not almost exactly as her deepest, darkest heart wished for him to. However… that did not mean she had no response of her own.

"Fuck yeah. I am a dirty slut. Use me, fill me up!" She sucked in a breath at a particularly hard thrust, then uttered, "Harder! Make me really feel it when you claim me!"

From his position behind, he couldn't feel the constant changes of expression in her face. The words were all he had to go on, and those words were telling him to go harder. So he would oblige. Finally grasping as hard as he could, he thrust very harshly against her. Hard and fast. Every time his hips collided with her backside, there was a rather audible slap that echoed through the apartment. In addition to the low toned moaning he was finally allowing himself, anyone could tell just what they were doing. Probably even the neighbours would have something to say.

But it wouldn't last too much longer. He could feel his cock beginning to twitch and throb. Not that he let it affect the pace yet. "You ready?" he shakily asked. "R-Ready to… be a good little cumslut?"

That was a word, among a few other choice selections, that she had very secretly been hoping he might use, but didn't dare anticipate. "Cumslut." Instantly, she could feel both her face and her sex heating up, driven further by that one simple word. Her voice climbed higher in pitch once she finally responded.

"YES! Make me your dirty cumslut, do it! Fuck me!"

The positive attitude toward such a harsh word, the efforts she was making to throw herself back against him, were finally too much, and really was a dream come true as he found his end. Quivering, he grunted outward rather loudly as he delivered a few more firm thrusts inside, feeling his member throb hard and harshly. Thankfully, the latex covering was enough to prevent anything ending up inside of her. And from how pent up he was, that could be for the best – else he may well have ended up 'filling her up' as she requested.

Even after he was done, he left himself inside longer, shoved right up against the counter as his hand still held that cheek tightly. He was still going to 'claim' her, right up until she got her end too.

"Yeah! Yes, I f-feel you filling me! Yeah, it's- nnhhAAAHH!"

It had been a while for Winter since she last enjoyed an internal orgasm. Partly because most men she slept with weren't capable of the raw force and finesse combined that were required, and partly because on her own, she usually opted for "flicking the bean", as it was known casually. But somehow, Qrow managed that. He filled her so well that she came.

He felt every last twitch inside. Every single vibration her legs made, and even a slight throbbing of her own against his member. She really had been waiting a long time for someone do this to her. And do it this hard. Just as much as he'd been waiting, it seemed. Part of him was wondering if to do it again. He was more than pent up enough to go for a second round in a few short minutes. Maybe she'd like that. For now, however, he pressed his bare front against her back again, slowly lowering her leg again.

"That what you were after, Snowbird?"

Shivering, Winter allowed herself to lie on the counter, catching her breath. Then she whispered, "Ohhh… yes, that… hit the spot…" Swallowing, she managed to drag the glass of water closer from where she had laid it aside, but couldn't tip it or push up to drink from it, so it merely sat there, mocking her by being out of reach.

"And you know what would hit the spot for me?" he whispered into her ear between his own raspy breaths, beginning to ease his hips slowly backward. It almost seemed as though he was about to thrust forward again, keep going once more. But that small hope seemed to fade when he slipped out completely, standing back upright to pat her back. "Some bacon and eggs."

"Sounds good to me, too. Where are we going?" Reaching back, she finally nipped the crotch of her underwear to the side and covered her still-soaking petals. After the sudden workout, she was beginning to recover her wind now.

"Well, I'm going to the bathroom." He was already at the other side of the room when he finished that sentence, taking off the covering to throw it into the trash. Looking back toward her as he tucked his slowly softening length away, he smirked. "The dirty girl makes the eggs and bacon, right? You seem to like that role."

“E-excuse me?!” “Hop to it, hotness.” Then he swatted her on the ass before heading for the door.

Winter simply watched him leave to wash up, a curious look on her face. The dynamic was shifting, mutating into something new. Even before it had a chance to be something old. Smiling a private, scheming smile, she turned toward the refrigerator to see if he even had bacon and eggs in the first place.