#counting all my sins.{canon v.}

[pascalpvnk]

take it from me

pairing: bilingual!joel miller x f!afab!reader

summary: joel is a simple man who simply finds pleasure in pleasing you.

warnings: moodboard used for aesthetic purposes - does not represent the reader description, 18+ MDNI, no timeline, no specified ages, no mention of sarah or ellie, LATINO JOEL (most translations within the text except for some reused pet names/common phrases). This is porn with minimal plot (but unrelated plot I canon—his favorite artist is Linda Ronstadt and I stand by it.), Joel maneuvers reader, manhandling essentially, no other descriptions of reader other than nipple piercings, body worship(?), Joel’s filthy fucking mouth, mention of thigh riding, oral (both receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, mentions of intense emotions, aftercare.

word count: 3.3k

HOW TO SUPPORT PALESTINE // IMPORTANT FOR TLOU READERS & WRITERS

a/n: fun fact, I’m a virgin, so if it seems far fetched it’s probably because it is. anyways, a special shoutout to ramon nomar for being the muse for this piece, another to @mrsswilliams for beta-ing and fueling my horny antics, thank you to my spanish teachers for guiding me to this moment (probably not your intention but I digress), and to you for taking the time to be here and hopefully enjoying! happy reading xx (banners & dividers by @saradika-graphics)

Addicting is the only word Joel Miller can muster up to describe you as his mind clouds with lust each night he’s alone, bucking into his own fist and spilling his sins after he’d met you. Of course you’re beautiful and charming above all things, but he can’t help the way his cock stirs after simply a phone call from you describing your day. How you miss him and want to meet up again soon.

Joel isn’t the brightest man, which he is very self aware of. But what he craves to learn about you, what your favorite flower is, favorite ice cream, your desires, outranks any level of intelligence a man could hold. He wants to please you, not for a superficial reason to use against you down the line. He enjoys your smile and the way your eyes crinkle, your dimple making an appearance on occasion, and it makes him feel good. The little things shine a light in his chest, ever the people pleaser.

However, he finds a red, hot desire to rouse you, make you squirm under his tender touch. To watch every fiber of control and tension dissipate from your being.

But he’s cautious.

He’s treading on thin ice within himself. He wants to give and give and give, but he’d never forgive himself if he overwhelmed and alarmed you. Your wit keeps him on his toes, tempting and trying his willpower to take things at a palatable pace.

But he’s just a man at his simplest form, a glutton for pleasure wanting to carve himself a home within you and give everything he has to please you. 

You found yourself perched upon his lap, a forgotten movie droning in the background as hands and lips explore new territory. Joel firmly guided your hips, firstly against his own, then he aided you across his denim clad thigh after you wriggled your pants to the floor. 

Choruses of Spanish praises, filth, ‘mamita, use me’, and phrases alike rolled off his tongue effortlessly as he found pleasure within your own. Consuming every moan, gasp, and ‘don’t stop’ you were so eager to give.

He struggled to deny your beautiful pleas to get him off as he had for you. You knew he wanted you to, there was no doubt in your mind considering the prominent bulge straining and begging you to. He reassured you, or rather made excuses for himself to ease the guilt he felt at your subtle disappointment.

I’m not coming in my jeans in front of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

You said you had work in the morning, anyhow. We outta get’cha home, preciosa.

Joel kissed you softly as he pulled up your pants, grabbed his keys, opened his truck door for you, waited at red lights, and finally as he dropped you off at your apartment building, sealing the night with melted wax, branding himself on your heart until you meet next.

Made it home okay, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.

And he does.

His head is already spinning at the thought of going out with you again. He’s showered, trimmed, even ironed his flannel before making sure it’s buttoned and tucked properly. Well rested is not one of the qualities he’s adorning—no thanks to you running his imagination rampant—but the adrenaline he feels, and the coffee he drank at noon, make up for his lack of preparedness.

At the end of the day, those things don’t even matter. Joel Miller makes it as far as his front door when you ring, bringing you inside with the intention of grabbing his own keys. His hands find you instead, your face in a gentle caress as he compliments your attire, your appearance as a whole, and your waist as he kisses you with increasing fervor. You don’t stop him, and he doesn’t stop himself.

“Ay dios. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you all day,” he mumbles against your neck, walking you backwards to his bedroom. His shirt wrinkles under your tight grip, suffocating him until you pop each button open one by one. You leave him in his black undershirt, half untucked in his dark washed jeans.

The back of your knees find his mattress before you even realize, forcing you to sit parallel with his waist. He takes his time, always calculated with his hands on every sweet spot he can reach. Joel cups your jaw, admiring your blown out pupils and the raw lust overtaking your features.

“Wanna take good care of ya, now,” he soothes. “Just say the word and I’ll stop, you know I’ll stop for ya, promise.”

It’s half of a promise to you, half of him asking you to promise to tell him if it becomes too much. You nod, reaching for him once again.

“No, chiquita,” he holds your hand to his chest. “¿Me prometes? You promise me?”

“I promise,” you say clearly and wholeheartedly. “On my life.”

With your renewed consent, he folds himself over to kiss you deeply. His tongue dances with yours, similarly to a few nights prior but with increased desperation. Fingertips graze up your sides, nerves twitching under his subtle touch, only unlatching your lips to lift your top over your head. His eyes fixate on the pebbled flesh and metal protruding your bra, making quick work of the clasp before removing it.

“I knew you had something hiding underneath this,” he muses, toying with the fabric of your bra between his first two fingers. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any prettier, hm?”

Joel skims his thumbs on the underside of both of your breasts, attaching his mouth to your collarbone. He suckles your delicate skin, committing the taste of your sweet musk and desire to his memory. He softly licks over one of your nipples, taking in how your head tips back with a sigh. He brings it into his mouth, nipping and assuaging the pierced bud until you manage to free his shirt out of his waistline.

“Paciencia, amor. Patience, sweetheart, please,” he pacifies as he guides your hand out of reach from his belt. “Just wanna savor you. Can I?”

You nod and opt to tangle your fingers in his curls. Approval seeps through his smirk as he continues his ministrations for as long as he pleases, feeling accomplished each time your hips chase his.

Joel stands up straight, running his calloused hands over one of your clothed legs, meticulously pulling each shoe and sock off and tossing them to the side to find later. 

“Do I need a condom, baby?” He mutters against your knee, toying with the hemline of your pants.

You tell him no and quickly explain you’re clean and protected. Something in him visibly switches, desire becoming carnal. He clings tight to his sense of control, desperately willing himself to give himself to you, not give into himself.

Joel drags both layers of bottoms down your legs, watching you challenge him by keeping them clamped together. He exhales heavily through his nose, your limbs relaxing slightly, but just enough for him to retake control.

“Christ, looks like I was wrong again,” he sighs, smoothing his flattened palms over your open thighs. You can get prettier. “Oh she’s pretty, mamita. All this for me?”

A gasp falls between your lips as you’re tugged closer to the edge of the mattress. Your head spins, the only thought crossing it is Joel. His hands. His words. His filthy mouth and how it’s mere centimeters from where you want him to be. Need him to be.

“Joel,” you whine, feeling the scratch of his blunt facial hair on your inner thighs. His lips tease the sensitive skin around your pussy.

“What?” He coos, fingernails biting your flesh. “Dime, baby. Tell me what you want.”

It feels pathetic, you’re completely at his mercy, stripped down on his bed while he remains fully clothed over you. He has you in the palm of his hand, putty waiting to be molded and shaped however he pleases. Bliss has already warped your features, the anticipation of what’s to come already numbing your brain.

“I want you,” you cry simply.

“You have me, don’t ya? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

Frustration bubbles in your belly. You’re truly not annoyed, but the tension might snap you in half before he gets the chance to.

“Want you to touch me,” you plead. “Want you to make me come, please.”

Joel hums with content, thumbs pulling your cunt open from the outer lips. A slick, sticky mess you are, hardly touched and begging to come. Arousal seeps from you, finding its way to your tight hole. You watch Joel wet his lips, the self restraint slowly dwindling from his gaze. 

“Show me,” he huffs. “Be good and fuck your hand f’me. Wanna see how you like it.”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clanking against itself is enough for your hand to fly below your hips. Relief floods your nervous system the moment you circle your clit, hips lifting and chasing the friction. Sighs leave your parted lips, eyelids falling shut with pleasure.

“Ah ah,” he corrects. “Eyes on me, beba. Sigue jugando con esa flor bonita. Mírame.” Keep playing with that pretty flower. Look at me.

You comply with his request, half lidded but maintaining eye contact nonetheless. Your fingers toy with your cunt lazily, eyes settling between his burning gaze and his taut boxers. His length strains beneath the thin fabric and his hand twitches at his side.

“I love watching you, mami,” Joel purrs. “Wish y’could see how perfect you look right now…perfectly wrecked just for me.”

His words egg you on, pace quickening on your throbbing clit. Moans spill from you as you watch Joel squeeze at his seemingly uncomfortable erection for his own relief. His other palm keeps your legs spread for him, kneading desperately at your thighs as you work yourself towards the edge.

“¿Quieres que te ayude, mamita?” Do you want me to help you?

Joel settles on his knees, both palms splayed against your skin to keep you pinned down. He licks a broad stripe from your asshole to your clit, sucking harshly on your labia before diving into your weeping cunt, all while audibly sighing with delight at your taste. Your hand instinctively rushes to grip his curls.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he grumbles while putting your hand back where he says it belongs. “Keep playing with yourself. Make this pretty pussy cry all over my face, cosa dulce.” Sweet thing. 

Your digits pulse against the nerve bundle, shocked by the sensation of his tongue swirling inside of you. It’s absolutely obscene. He slurps up everything you have to give, edging you until your legs clamp over his ears. Joel sings into your cunt, a delicious melody that sends you into a frenzy. Your walls flutter around him as he guides you through your orgasm, nose nudging your hand out of the way to make more room for himself.

Your gaze drops from the ceiling to his blissful face, thick eyelashes brushing his flushed cheeks as he savors you. It all begins to feel like too much as you grip onto his shirt. You pull the cloth towards you and he gets the hint, dragging his mouth away from your pussy and removing his top.

“So desperate to come, mamita, already finished with me?” He cants, smoothing a thumb over your kneecap.

“No- just need a breath,” you pant. You take in his features, broad shoulders with a strong chest, thick arms. His hair alone has you running laps, the sparseness of it littered on his torso and below his belly button, his curls tousled already from your hands, and his beard—fuck his beard—is absolutely soaked with your arousal. He makes no attempt to wipe it clean before kissing you. The taste of your cunt dances on your tongue as he licks into your mouth.

“Joel,” you sigh, his lips leaving yours and trailing down your neck. “I wanna suck your cock, please.”

“You wanna suck it?” He smirks, slipping his hand beneath his boxers before shoving them off of his thighs. His fingers slip through your folds briefly before he deposits your cum onto the tip of his dick. Mischief plays on his expression as he opens your legs once more.

Joel slowly stuffs his cock into you, not your mouth but your pussy. A gasp escapes you, morphing itself into a moan. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him in deeper.

“Thought you wanted to suck it,” he grunts with a devilish grin, grinding his hips down into yours.

“Hmm, I’ll suck it later,” you draw out with a smile.

He leans down to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, gently nibbling on the sensitive skin before pulling off. 

“God, mamita,” he exhales. “Love fucking this pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

His hips drive into yours at a devastating pace, only using a portion of his length to massage your pussy. You quickly adjust to him, allowing him to thrust deeper into you. You cry his name while simultaneously having all of the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Joel swallows your wails whole, moaning against your lips in return.

Your legs tense around his body, face twisting up with pleasure under the weight of his. Lips drag against your skin, anywhere he can reach. The room spins around you, eyes rolling back into your head as his hand snakes down to play with your clit. You desperately claw at Joel, gripping his curls in one hand and bruising his back with the other. 

“Dámelo. Give it to me like I want, sugar,” Joel coaxes. 

The bundles of twine prickling your flesh and holding you together in one piece snap, your body completely shattering into a million fragments underneath him. He stays buried inside you as you pulse around his cock, humming into your neck and soothing his hands over your burning skin. 

Joel gently settles onto his side near you, cupping your jaw and kissing you feverishly. You shift your body to face away from him, pushing back against his soaked erection. His eyebrows furrow, grunts of detest coming from him.

“No, mami, I want to look at you while I fuck you. Ven aquí, come here,” he corrects, grasping your arm to guide you to press up chest to chest with him. A brief hiss escapes him as the cool jewelry brushes up against his nipples.

“These’ll be the death of me,” he sighs, latching his mouth to yours once more as he maneuvers you the way he wants. 

His cock slips easily back into your wet heat, arms trapping your upper half against his as his legs anchor to the bed to buck into you. He grips onto your ass for leverage and you find yourself holding onto it with your own palm. It’s slower, intimate, reeling you in to take more, to take it all.

He draws another orgasm from you. Your heart thrums against his hardened chest, his pounding against the confines of his ribcage. He collapses on his back with a breathy groan, sweat perspiring on his forehead. You push back his sticky curls as he catches his breath this time.

“You still wanna suck it?” He chuckles cheekily, offering but not forcing. 

He’s surprised as you eagerly crawl down his body, curling over his thigh while taking his cock in your fist. Your back is to him once more, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially while he’s stuffed in your mouth so perfectly. His fingers drag along your spine, palm splaying flat to soothe the sensation quickly after. His hand stills and stomach flexes as you take as much of him as you can, pumping your tight fist over the remainder of his length.

“Fuck me,” he shutters mindlessly, “feels so good, amor. Treating me so good.”

The praises fuel you, moaning around his tip as he continues to trace shapeless trails onto your back. Your mind feels cloudy, not thunderstorms and impending doom cloudy, but rather a sunny, breezy, nothing could ever go wrong kind of cloudy. You feel taken care of for once, free to slip into a warm, blissful state with Joel. He feels safe.

“Come back, preciosa,” he grins as you make your way back up his body. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you deeply once more, running his hands gently all over your skin as you settle on top of him.

“Missed ya,” he chuckles, kissing your swollen pout a few more times before wetting his fingertips with his spit. He reaches down, circling your clit as his cock twitches against your seam. Your head falls beside his, feeling too heavy to hold up on your own.

Joel protrudes your cunt once more, nestling into you carefully at first. You writhe over him at the push and pull of his cock inside your fluttering walls, hips snapping down against his with subtle slaps of skin rejoicing. He picks up his pace beneath you, overwhelming your senses a bit too quickly.

You work your core to sit up, fully sheathed with his length as you grind against him. He grips onto your hips, watching you use him for your own pleasure. 

“Tan bonita, amor,” he hums smugly, his fingertips dancing along your bare thigh, his other hand tucked behind his head to prop himself up. “So pretty, mami, fuck.”

He tweaks his fingers against your nipples, pinching the pebbled flesh carefully as you ride his lap. Tufts of his neat pubic hair scratch at your clit, the friction of everything causing you to soak his lap further. You’re being pushed to your limits, throat dry and voice hoarse. Joel wishes to have put water on his bedside table, he would’ve had he’d known you’d end up here so quickly. 

“Doin’ okay, sweetheart?” He checks in, toying with your fingers that have found a home on his chest. You silently nod, eyelids low and face contoured with bliss.

“Think you can give me one more, bebita? Come on my cock one more time and I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Your voice hardly sounds like your own, but you mean it when you tell him yes, please. He feels it when you clamp down on his length, his thighs tensing so tight they almost cramp. His legs hinge at the knee, body pivoting you forward into his chest. Joel grabs fistfuls of your ass as he fucks up into you, all of the air leaving your lungs.

His grunts and groans become less calculated and intentional, thrusts becoming sloppier and instinctual. You squeeze him tight, toes curling as you already tumble towards your impending high.

“Mierda,” he hisses, strong arms pressing your torso firmly to his. His lips consume your every breath, whine and borderline scream.

“Take it, use me, amor. Dámelo, cariño, and I’ll give you my cum. Take it from me,” he grunts sharply, pressing into you impossibly deeper and faster. Your skin bursts into flames, embers showering your body as he pulls that final high from you. You shutter above him, dead weight against his body as he uses you to finish himself off. He evacuates your warmth and pumps out his load between your sticky, worn out figures with a drawn out groan. 

Joel makes the first move to stand up, cock softening and hanging between his legs. He starts to step towards his en suite bathroom to find a towel, but you reach for him.

“I’m just gettin’ somethin’ to clean you up, honey,” he smiles before seeing a sadness in your eyes, longing for him to come back. Tears prickle your eyes and Joel quickly makes his way back to the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay, baby, cálmate,” he hushes carefully, holding you close to him. “We’ll getcha cleaned up in a little bit, I’ll make you whatever you fancy for supper and relax with you, sound good?”

A nod suffices his question, knowing you trust him enough to stay rather than run off eases him as he grounds you back to reality with his warm embrace.

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed xx

[sim0nril3y]

Hi bby girl. Love your writing, I told you before as an anon and I came back bc I love how you put into words

(Sorry to use anon, I'm very shy)

I wanted to request you to write about civilian!reader and Simon being emotional in the middle of the act. Reader feels overwhelmed by all the emotions and feelings and it's like she starts sobbing bc of all the pleasure and praising from Simon

Thank you in advance! Keep writing, you make us happy 💗

Note: eeeeeeee thank you so much for your request, I love, love, loved writing it so much, hope that I did it justice! you are so sweeeeeeet for all your kind words, ily! (no need to be shy, i'm super friendly, i promise!) Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, p in v, overwhelming sex, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, caring Simon, canon typical swearing.

It was impossible to say how long that Simon had been curled over your frame, fucking into you deep with his perfectly fat and long cock, his lips pressed against every inch of his skin that he could reach, clasping needily at you whilst whispering the most sinful and sweet notions into your ear.

By now you had lost count of how many times you had spasmed and squirmed to completion on Simon’s cock, panting and clawing at his skin whilst your whined and whimpered. It was overwhelming to say the least. A delicious and intoxicating mixture of cumming hard around his cock as it stroked and prodded at the deepest parts that only Simon could reach.

“There you go.” Simon breathed heavily, smiling against your warm skin feeling you coming apart around him again. “Give it me, baby. Give me everything.” He praised, voice a little strained. “Y’such a good girl for me. You perfect little cunt was made for my fat fuckin’ cock.” Simon nipped at your earlobe. “My good girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

It was overwhelming. That was putting it mildly. There was this build of emotions that was bubbling in your chest, like a big ball caught rising up and up until falling a fraught sob caught in your throat. Wait, were you crying? What did you start crying? Oh, shit.

The sound had caught Simon’s attention, eyes scanning across your face to try and figure out the problem before finally stilling his hips, keeping his cock firmly stuffed inside your sopping walls. “Babe. Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me.” He urged with so much concern and care to his tone, thinking for even a moment that he might have hurt you or pushed you too far was almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” You whimpered out, nodding frantically. “It’s just so good. It’s so fucking good, Si.” You continued, watching the little smug smile that pulled across his lips. “You’re so good. Your cook is so good.” All the while tears tumbled down your cheeks but an emotional grin on your lips. “Y-you make me feel so good.”

Chuckling lowly, Simon pressed a kiss to your forehead and asked. “So, it’s good?” He teased before listening to your sobs tumble into giggles. “Yeah. It’s good.” You responded. “Alright. Let’s just… take a little break, hmm?” Carefully slipping out Simon rolled you into your side and wrapped his arms around you. “Daft bloody…” He muttered, leaning in to press a couple soothing kisses to your temple. “W-what about you? You didn’t cum…” That much was evident with how his hard cock pressed up against your ass.

“Mm, it’s a good thing I fuckin’ love you.” Simon teased, honestly not caring about his own needs at this moment, just knowing that he needed to comfort you in this moment. With just as much emotion, you whimpered back. “Love you too, Si. Love you so much.”

Masterlist | Ask | 28-01-2024

[salem-witch-slut]

My Kryptonite

Kara Danvers x Masc! FemReader

SYNOPSIS: Kara wants to take things to the next level with you, but she is terrified to hurt you. Not to mention, you keep getting shot at!

WORD COUNT: 8.6K

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, stitches, blood/gunshot wounds, Kara being horny for you, fingering, eating pussy, misuse of superpowers, reader is described as muscular with lots of tattoos

Author's Note: A continuation for "This Is What I Know of Life". I have several in the works for this, I love these little fics (little my ass, each one is over 7K)

Dividers made by @cafekitsune

It had been three months since you met Kara in the bar where you used to work. Three months since you started dating Kara(Supergirl) and quit your job to join the DEO. In the club, you could only protect people inside of the area. But in here? You had more power than you ever thought possible.

You got to carry a gun at all times, and there was a gym at the agency where you got to work out to your heart’s content. Whenever Kara didn’t know where you were, she usually found you there doing whatever it was you decided to do that day. Sometimes you were practicing your hits, and other times it was just simple weightlifting.

It’s how Kara found you today. Normally you wear some loose t-shirt and sweatpants to work out at the DEO in your free time, but not today. There was a small problem with the air conditioning and the temperature was stuck at about 78 degrees Fahrenheit. And that meant you were in the least amount of clothing possible while still being considered modest.

“Hey, Alex was looking for…” Kara’s black heels paused on the steeled floors of the gym where she saw you hanging from a bar attached to a 360 machine. Her heart stopped… or did it speed up? Whatever it did, it made her face turn red!

Kara knew you were strong; you were ex-military for Rao’s sake, and she had seen you in your bra and boxers that one time when you first asked her to be your girlfriend. But there was something… something almost surreal about seeing you wearing a Nike sports bra of all things, and compression shorts that clung to you in an almost sinful way. Your skin was glistening in the lights overhead, and your dog tags hung loosely around your chest as you dropped to the floor and turned yourself around to face her. It took a lot of Kara’s willpower to not reach out and trace that V line in your abdomen that vanished under the waistband of your shorts.

“Hey,” You said, out of breath as you reached for the towel on the bench. Kara tried not to stare as she admired the way your muscles bulged when you lifted the towel up and wiped the back of your neck near your hairline. “Kara?”

“Huh?” The Kryptonian looked up from where she was staring at your defined abs and felt her entire face turn red with embarrassment. “Sorry, uh… yeah, Alex is looking for you and… I mean— obviously I said you would be here, but she still insisted that I come to tell you and I just—”

“Babe,” You stepped forward and pressed a hand against her shoulder. You felt so… so warm right now that Kara tried to not lean into your hand with all of her might, but you made it impossible. Very quickly, you bent down and captured her lips in a kiss that lasted for a few brief seconds, making Kara hungry for more. “Let me go get cleaned up and I’ll go find Alex, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Kara stuttered, her thoughts traveling to very… not okay places. You were about to go shower. What did you look like under the spray of the water overhead? With soap sticking to your skin and rolling across every single soft curve and sharp edge of your body? Did you tilt your head back and lean into the water or did you simply stand right under the showerhead and let gravity do its job? And the more inappropriate questions that Kara would never ask.

Kara watched you go, hand closed around your duffel bag as you headed for the bathrooms, and she immediately began walking away. Her heart was racing, and she felt like one wrong step and she could fly away in an instant.

Of course, there was only one thing on your mind. If you had asked Kara to join you… would she have said yes?

The mission that you had been sent on was more eventful than you expected. You had been in an undercover situation as you tried to look not suspicious and walk around the crowded area, looking for the threat that the DEO was mentioning all afternoon. The only problem? Kara was too busy looking at your ass instead of focusing on the task at hand.

Kara had gotten so distracted with you, and how you looked with the rain coming down from the dimly lit sky that the sound of a gunshot brought her out of her senses. It wasn’t until she saw you on the ground that she finally sprang into action and attacked the perpetrator a lot harder than she had to. It was just a human, and his arm was now broken because of how hard she had hit him… but then she saw you laying on the ground with a hand on your side and she wished that she had hit him harder.

She brought you back to the DEO in her arms and you were laughing the whole way as she kept telling you to keep your hand on your side and apply the pressure.

“Babe, it just grazed me,” You rolled your eyes as she continued to carry your body towards the medbay. “I can walk there, you know—”

“Absolutely not,” Kara snapped, nearly lasering the panel on the door to get it open. Alex was the first one to help you down onto the table and she slowly began opening up your shirt. “Is she okay?”

“She’s gonna be fine, Kara,” Alex reassured her, looking at your wound and gently touching the bruising flesh around the bullet wound. It was just a graze, and you would need stitches, but it was an easy fix and you wouldn’t even need blood this time! “How’s this feel? Does it hurt?”

You laughed at feeling Alex’s fingers against your skin and looked up at her with amused eyes. “I got shot, Danvers… yeah, it hurts.”

The two of you laughed as Alex went to put a pair of gloves on and properly clean your wound. And for a moment, you saw Kara and how she was looking at you. Your eyes fell for a second and you attempted to reach out for her hand. “Baby, I’m sorry if I wasn’t being as serious as you wanted me to—”

“It’s fine,” Kara said coldly. She backed her hand away from your touch and you frowned. She’s never refused physical contact from you like that… What was wrong? Did you do something wrong, well other than getting shot? She seemed more upset than you wanted her to be over this. “Just be careful next time.”

And just like that, Kara was leaving the medbay, her red cape swishing as she walked away. An even deeper frown textured your face as Alex returned with a suture kit and began to get to work on your stitches. You flinched a little every time she made a new stitch, but you were sitting still for the most part.

“Alex,” You asked, looking up to try and meet your superior’s gaze. “Is Kara okay?”

“Why do you ask?” Alex finished up your stitches and placed a patch over your side to keep the wound clean.

You slowly sat up, stripping off the remains of your bloodstained shirt and pulling on a gray t-shirt. How do you phrase to your girlfriend’s sister that you were worried about how she was acting? She’s been funny all day since she found you in the gym this morning.

“She’s been a little off today,” You rub the back of your neck, already looking forward to heading home so you could finally lay down. “I don’t know, I figured if anybody would know, it’d be you, right?”

Alex removes the gloves stained in your blood and tosses them in the sanitary bin, aggressively washing her hands before she looked over her shoulder at you. “Why didn’t you wear the Kevlar?”

“Uh,” You thought it was obvious. “A bulletproof vest isn’t super under cover, you know—”

“Kara’s worried about you,” Alex states, running a damp hand through her dark auburn hair to move it out of her face and she approaches your bedside. You frown as the agent sits next to you and carefully grabs your hand in hers. “I’m worried about you. I get that you’re ready to prove yourself to J’onn, but you have to remember that you’re not an alien, and you’re not bulletproof.”

“I’m not trying to—” But then it hit you… Wasn’t that exactly what you were doing? Signing up for missions left and right, going out at every possible chance to show the DEO that you aren’t just some stray off the street and you belong here with everybody else? Fighting side by side with a literal alien that actually is bulletproof?

It was making more sense now; you actually were trying too hard. And in doing so, you were going to get yourself killed somehow, and Kara would be… who knows how the Kryptonian would act if you died on the job somehow.

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” You stood up from the bed, letting out a sigh and rubbing up and down the back of your neck, almost like you were trying to soothe your headache away somehow. “I’ll try to calm down… Maybe I’ll do some in-house stuff instead of jumping at the field work?”

“I think Kara would really appreciate that,” Alex smiled as you headed out of the medbay to go get your stuff from your locker. You ejected the magazine from your pistol and checked that everything was okay before putting the safety on and tucking it into the holster that you strapped to your side.

As you were pulling on your coat jacket and you headed for the exit, you caught a glimpse of a red cape near the analyst lab and decided that talking with your girlfriend was way more important than heading home and wasting your night away.

Your boots hit the ground hard as you turned a corner, just trying to catch up to Kara who moved at inhuman speed (pun intended). “Hey Kara! Babe, wait up!”

The blonde stopped in her tracks, whipping around at high speed and you immediately stumbled on your feet to try and not fall into her. And yet, gravity had other options. Your left toes smacked against the back of your right heel, and you stumbled forward, hands slamming against the lab door as Kara stumbled backward and into the glass pane, taken by surprise at your movements.

You huffed, cheeks turning a soft pink as you looked down at Kara and watched her face tint a soft red just like yours. Her chest was rising and falling hard, almost painfully quick as you could feel the heat of her body through her supersuit. That cute red and blue outfit you loved so much with the House of El crest on her chest, the short skirt and the sheer black tights to somewhat cover up her pale legs.

Oh, why was she so beautiful? Her eyes were so blue, and you adored that strawberry flavored pink lip-gloss she wore all of the time that you loved to lick off of her lips whenever you got the chance… She’s so gorgeous and so perfect and—You were just staring at her! Oh, maybe she was uncomfortable now!

“Shit, sorry,” You stepped back, only to feel her hands had curled into the sides of your jacket and you stumbled forward, arm going over her head to stop yourself from hitting her body. Kara was quiet, and the only sound she was making was the sound of her breathing. “Kara...?”

You wish you knew what was going on in her head. What was she thinking? What was happening behind her eyes that you couldn’t seem to comprehend?

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat did you finally take a step away from her, face turning even redder than before as a lab analyst stepped around the two of you and into the room.

“I should probably head home,” Kara cleared her throat, chewing on her bottom lip with a nervous smile on her face. “I’ll uh… see you tomorrow?”

Before you could even kiss her goodbye, she was gone out of your sight. A frown was on your face instantly at the loss of contact and the miniscule words exchanged with her. Why was she pulling away like this? Have you done something wrong? Well, you did get shot but was that why she was being so cold with you?

So many questions raced around in your mind as you packed up your stuff and headed home for the night.

You could hear your cat meowing like crazy before you even opened the door. As soon as it was open, the orange tabby jumped onto the table near the entrance and started pawing at your arm, making you smile as you put your stuff down and lifted him up into your arms. “There’s my baby, did you break anything today?”

Tigger pawed at your face and began wiggling in your arms, a signal that he did not want to be held right now. You complied and put him down on the floor before heading to the kitchen to prepare his food for the night. You were basically moving on auto pilot as you mixed up the wet food with the dry, put it on the floor by his food area, and headed to the bathroom to get ready to relax for the rest of the night.

Wash face, comb hair, change clothes, put on slides, it was all so mundane and routine for you. Even grabbing the glass out of the cabinet and grabbing the bottle of alcohol in the liquor cabinet. You poured a heavy glass of whiskey, lifting the glass up and looking down at the dark amber liquid. You needed this, badly.

“Kara, why can’t I figure you out?” You muttered, seconds away from lifting the glass to your lips when it completely shattered in your hands. A look of complete shock went across your face as you looked down, the liquid coating your countertop and the glass in pieces all over the marble surface.

Tigger hissed and looked over at the window that was now fractured with a bullet hole straight through the glass. Almost immediately, your heart rate sky-rocketed as you dropped down and hid behind the couch, mere seconds before your entire apartment was riddled with gunfire.

Unfortunately, you were more focused on not getting shot and saw your cat tearing off towards your bedroom to avoid the bullet storm coming in the direction of your apartment. What the hell was happening?! Why were you being shot at?!

The momentary reprieve of fear was beginning to vanish and now you were just pissed off as your hands slid under the countertop underneath you and you grabbed the mounted pistol on the bottom of the surface, pressing your back against the couch and waiting for a second. They were using AR-15s and you waited until they were reloading to fire back. You had about 2 seconds before they reloaded the guns, and you counted in your head before you jumped up and began firing back at the assailants on the other roof of the building across from you.

So busy with taking out your attackers with assault rifles… you had forgotten about the sniper that had initially shot through the window. In seconds you were going from pissed off, to full on pain as the sniper fired a round and hit you directly in your left bicep, knocking you against the counter and back onto the ground.

Well, you were pinned down with no safe way out now… what the fuck can you do?

“Goddammit!” You had to get out of your apartment, but how? How would you get out without getting taken out by the sniper? And the couch will only hold up for so long before it begins to break, and the bullets actually start hitting you. And you had to get your fucking cat before he was shot to death too! Poor Tigger, he must be terrified…

You thought of easy exits, but none of them would be applicable without running to the bedroom first and finding your cat. And you weren’t just gonna leave him here to be riddled with gunfire… So busy thinking of a way out that you almost didn’t notice the gunfire had stopped… Completely stopped.

Your heart was racing as you looked over the side of the couch for a second, and you caught a glimpse of a red cape. No fucking way… Of course, of course she came to save your sorry ass! Kara was a wonder and you owed your fucking life to her, so many times over.

Very slowly, you dropped down to the floor and pressed your hand into your bleeding arm, the red quickly oozing from the bullet wound as you huffed and steadied your breathing. This was one of the worst nights ever…

The sound of heels hitting the hardwood floor on the other side of the couch made you relax as Kara jumped over the remains of your sofa and got down on her knees in front of you.

You smiled weakly. “Hey, Supergirl…”

“Your arm—” Kara immediately began fussing, grabbing at your shoulder and looking down at the wound and feeling her blood boil with rage. The one time she isn’t around, and you almost get killed! Why did danger always find you when she wasn’t looking? Why were you always getting hurt? Why couldn’t she fucking protect you!?

“Baby, I’m okay,” You reassured her, resisting the urge to touch her and smear blood on her super suit. Kara shook her head and before you could react, she was picking you up and lifting you back into her arms like she had done earlier that night. “Wait, wait, Tigger’s in my bedroom! He’s scared and—”

“I’ll come back for him, we need to get you somewhere safe now,” Kara reassured you as she took you through the shattered window and off into the sky. You kept constant pressure on the bullet wound, closing your eyes and trying not to look down. You’ve never been too good with flying, especially when not in an actual plane…

You knew Kara wouldn’t drop you or anything, but it was still terrifying. But before you knew it, Kara was setting you down on the ground inside of an apartment before she kissed your cheek and bolted back off into the sky, most likely to retrieve your pet.

It didn’t take a scientist to realize that this was Kara’s apartment. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and everything had a designated place to be in. Not to mention the framed photos of her and Alex on the coffee table.

In almost a blink of an eye, Kara was coming back with the orange tabby in her arms. She carefully put the cat on her floor and Tigger immediately began freaking out and tried to crawl under her couch. When he saw that he was too fat for it, he ran to her bedroom and hid under her bed.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” You questioned, pulling off your sleep shirt and grimacing at the bullet hole in your arm. Kara frowned before she grabbed the extensive first aid kit under her kitchen cabinet… why she had it, you’ll never know. Kara doesn’t get hurt.

Kara pulled out a pair of long tweezers and put her hand against your shoulder as she looked extremely hard at your arm. She was using her x-ray vision to see the bullet lodged inside your arm… Considering it was the only thing that was lead in your body, it wasn’t hard to see.

“I could hear your heartbeat,” She said softly, looking up at you as you grabbed the tourniquet from the kit and wrapped it around your arm. You pulled it tight, holding it with a steady hand as Kara reached in with the tweezers and used her expert alien precision to extract the bullet from your muscle and drop the lead onto the table. You felt tears track your face as she immediately began to apply pressure to your wound, and you let out a heartbreaking cry of pain.

“I’m sorry,” She said softly, looking up at your eyes and seeing your other hand shaking as you held the tourniquet strap. Your blood stained her hands and her super suit as she kept pressure on the wound, still whispering apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“S’okay baby,” You reassured her, smiling weakly as tears covered your face. When the blood finally stopped, Kara quickly wrapped up your arm and pressed the gentlest kiss against the white bandages, looking up at you and watching as you released the tourniquet and almost fainted as the pain began to overtake you. “Fuck… Christ, I got blood all over your apartment, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, don’t apologize please,” Kara begged, grabbing your face with both hands and smearing the warm red blood on your skin. “You’re safe. You’re here, and you're alive and that’s all that matters… I’m just sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“You have done nothing but save my ass since we met,” You chuckled, leaning down and pressing the softest kiss against her lips. Kara let out a whimper before she wrapped her arms around your neck and basked in the sweetness of your kiss. You muttered against her lips. “My guardian angel…”

Kara was always looking for new ways to display her strength as she lifted you up off the table and carried you in the direction of her bathroom. Very gently, she set you down on the side of the tub before she was running a wash rag under warm water.

“So, uh… who were those guys that shot up my place?” You tried to show that you were unbothered by what happened, but it was clear that Kara was focused on what happened. Her hands were seconds away from ripping up the towel as she got down in front of you on her knees and began wiping the blood off your arm. You tried not to flinch as she cleaned off your skin, but she noticed it. Her eyes fell and she began to move slower and gentler, her fingers twitching and her hand shaking as she did so.

“You uhm… You remember that guy I went on a date with when we first met?” Kara bit her lip, avoiding your gaze. Almost like she was ashamed of the answer. “Turns out he’s running this… anti-alien gang in the underground. He’s targeting alien sympathizers.”

You chuckled. “Something tells me that this one was personal.”

“Yeah,” Was all Kara said in response as she finished cleaning off the blood from your large muscular arm, quickly cleaning your face and tossing the rag in the sink, then looking down at the patch on your side. You frowned at her dismissive attitude, reaching down and gently taking her chin between your fingertips.

“Kara,” You breathed softly. The Kryptonian shivered, never getting used to how softly you said her name. “Something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing,” Kara stood up from the floor and washed her hands under the faucet. It was clear she was in her head about something and the way she was shrugging it off was not sitting well with you. Kara left the bathroom and you followed behind her, carefully stripping off your sleep pants that had blood splatters all over them. You folded them up and placed them on the bathroom floor as you raced after her.

“No, it’s not nothing,” You stated, nearly slipping in the hall as Kara pressed her hands on her hips and began walking around in that signature superhero pose that she always did. Only this time, she looked more distraught than regal. Her cape swung behind her all pretty like and the way her hair went down in golden waves never failed to make your heart race. “Baby, you have to talk to me, please.”

“No, I don’t,” Kara said defensively. She began to pull off her super suit, removing her cape and laying it down on her bed before she unzipped the back. You tried to focus, but watching her literally strip in front of you was doing things to you… “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

“How can you say something that’s bothering you isn’t important?” You frowned, stepping closer to her and wrapping your arms around your bare abdomen as Kara pushed the suit down her body. You inhaled, trying your best not to look at the way her tights looked against her rear and how you could see the clear outline of her panties through the sheer material.

Kara stayed silent as she pushed the tights down her legs, now standing in her bra and underwear as she sat down on the bed and began unzipping her boots. Your entire face was a deep red as you tried to calm your beating heart but knew there wasn’t really a point. She could hear your fucking heartbeat. Instead, you chose to look away.

“I’m not going to be upset if you…” You rubbed your nose, looking at the wall. “If you tell me the truth on how you’re feeling, Kara. I just want you to know that you can be honest with me… I care about how you’re feeling—”

You couldn’t even blink before Kara was jumping off the bed and wrapping her arms around your neck, slamming her lips against yours and curling her hand into the front of your sports bra. Your entire body went stiff as you were taken aback by her response but quickly melted into her like she was everything you needed to stay alive.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds before Kara fell backwards on the bed on top of her cape, pulling you down on top of her and making sure the kiss wasn’t broken for even a second. You reached up and slid a hand into her long, beautiful blonde hair and felt your heart going absolutely insane inside of your chest.

But you needed answers. You broke the kiss and huffed, brows pulling down in confusion as Kara gave you a look of disdain and reached for your face, her fingertips brushing softly against your cheeks and pressing kisses all over your neck and shoulders. She was trying to distract you.

“Baby, baby, stop for a second—” You gently slid your hand from her waist to her wrist and pulled her right hand away from your face. She looked upset. “I need you… to be honest with me. Right now.”

A moment passed between you two where Kara looked away from your face and frowned, a single tear leaving her eyes as she avoided your gaze. You frowned and brushed her blonde hair away from her face. “I’m scared, okay?”

“Scared of what?”

Kara pressed her lips together and she laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing ever. “I’m an alien… I can stop cars with my bare hands, I can break bones without even trying… I hurt people; I’m dangerous! I’m scared of hurting you…”

You pressed the softest kiss to her face and tried to stifle her sobs that she couldn’t hold in anymore. You kissed all over her face, trying to calm her down. “No, Kara… baby, please just listen to me… I’m not fragile; I was in the army! Yes, I keep getting shot at, but that’s different… You would never hurt me—”

“How do you know?” Kara demanded, trying to rationalize her thought process.

You let out a soft breath and pressed a kiss against her face, and then slowly trailed your lips down her neck. She was still so warm against your cool skin, and it always made her shiver when you grabbed at her body. You could get lost in her warmth if she allowed you to.

“Because I know you, sweetheart…” You started gently, almost like the wrong word would scare her away forever and you’d never see her again. Your hands shook with slight anxiety as you pressed your palms into her sides, pulling her as close as possible and feeling her hot skin against your own. “And I know you wouldn’t hurt me. But if you’re really scared… let me take the lead with this.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” Kara stuttered at feeling your teeth gently graze her neck and you all but purred in response to her soft little whimper.

“Here, let me show you,” You gripped her waist and lifted her off the bed, making her gasp as you readjusted the way she was laying. Very carefully, you moved her cape down onto the side table and rested her head on the pillows, looking down and almost drooling over her.

Your hesitation made the super feel insecure. Kara bit down on her lip and her instincts screamed to cover herself, her heart pounding as she brought both arms over her chest and avoided your eyes. Almost immediately, you grabbed at her arms and tried to coax her into moving them away.

“I need you to relax, sweetheart,” You cooed sweetly, trying to calm Kara down to the best of your abilities. Your arm was screaming, begging for you to relieve some of the pressure so you didn’t reopen the wound, but you were determined. Not the first time you’ve been shot so you can handle it, better than anyone else could. “I’m gonna take care of you… Just breathe, yeah?”

The blonde nodded and let out a breath. Her superpowers began to shine through and you saw the ice crystals dance in the air and you smiled, leaning back down and reaching her lips for a gentle kiss. Every new one felt better than the last and Kara simply lost herself in what she knew was your sweet, and gentle presence. Never a day to go by where she didn’t welcome the place you took in her heart. 

Your heart raced as Kara reached for the hooks on her bra. You carefully slid both hands from her sides up along her bare skin, pushing them under her and finding what she was reaching for. Almost like you were born to do it, your fingers unhooked the metal clasps flawlessly and you pushed the straps of the fabric down her arms and then removed it all together. 

This was the first time you were really seeing Kara, without any clothes whatsoever. She could no doubt hear your heartbeat get faster and faster, and your body heat was rising with every passing second. You ignored the throbbing in your shoulder and the ache in your sides, focusing all your attention on the flawless Kryptonian in front of you.

“Oh my God, Kara,” You whispered like you were out of breath, eyes darting all over her pristine skin. Your fingers twitched, and you bit down on your lip so hard that you almost ended up drawing blood. Very slowly, your hands slid across her waist, sending shivers across her nerves and making the blonde whimper underneath you. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-You have been touching me,” Kara breathed, her voice shaky with a laugh that seemed almost forced. You gave her a look, one that she was very familiar with when she was joking and you were not having it. Of course, it was in a playful manner because this wasn’t something that should be super serious. “Please… please touch me.”

You reacted to her like she was a spell and you were being drawn in. Your body fell down and you pressed kisses across the blonde’s sternum, making Kara inhale sharply and arch her back off the mattress. Instead of touching with your hands, your tongue trailed across her hot skin and you pressed soft kisses and licks to the underside of her breasts, taking your time and basking in every single sweet sound she made.

It wasn’t until you felt her hands in your hair that you began to dive deeper, one hand squeezing at the soft mound of flesh on the left, while the right was drenched in kisses. You made eye contact, gazing into those beautiful blue irises before latching your lips onto her right nipple, your teeth slightly grazing her flesh and making her gasp. 

“Ahh,” Kara released a breathy moan that made your toes curl with delight. You wanted more of those sounds. Your lips moved a bit harder and you pinched her left bud with your fingertips, pulling lightly and looking up to see her eyes fluttering as they rolled back in her head. 

The superhero whimpered out your name. It was soft, gentle, but screamed inside your brain and it just spurred you on in your hunger for her. Your lips continued to venture down, licking a stripe between her ribs and across her abdomen before you curled your fingers into the fabric of her panties and looked up. “May I?”

Kara laughed again, in that breathless way that made you dizzy. “Unbelievable… you have me in my bed, almost naked, and you are still asking for permission?” Her laughter rang throughout the apartment and you kissed over her belly, resting your chin on the soft skin and rubbing your thumbs under the elastic of her underwear.

“What can I say? Manners to a fault, darling,” You cooed sweetly and Kara could only stare in pure wonder as you grabbed at the fabric of her panties with your teeth and, without using your hands, pulled them down her legs and tossed them over your shoulder. 

The Kryptonian kept her legs together, shaking like a leaf in the fall wind as you slid your hands across her inner thighs and kissing at her bare knees. “Don’t be shy, Supergirl…” The blonde slowly opened her legs. “That’s it, good… Just like that…”

Kara reacted out of instinct and covered her face with both hands, hiding the only way she felt she could. You were staring her down, almost breathless as you stroked your hands across her inner thighs and seeing her legs tremble. It was one of the most vulnerable states you have ever seen her in. “Oh, Kara… You are so beautiful…”

“W-Why do you sound s-surprised?” Kara stuttered, removing her hands from her face and leaning up on her elbows to look down at you. A chuckle left your throat as you slowly crawled up the length of the bed and reached behind her head. 

Kara watched as you carefully pulled her forward and stacked two more of the pillows on her bed behind her to keep the blonde sitting upright. “Well, you are an alien, babe… I mean, shit, I half-expected tentacles–”

“Are you kidding me?” Kara started laughing, her breath tickling your face as she felt her face go pink under your gaze. You laughed with her, pushing her blonde bangs away from her blue eyes and loving every passing second with her. “I can assure you, I do not have tentacles.”

“Oh, I know now… You have something I’m pretty familiar with,” You cooed sweetly, leaning down a little more and pressing a kiss to Kara’s neck as your right palm caressed her taut abdomen and between her legs. “And something I will enjoy… devouring to my deepest desires.”

“Ahhh, Rao yes…” Kara cursed, her fingers curling into the pillows as her eyes rolled back in her head. You watched with pure fascination and love at her beautiful reactions, seeing her chest rise and fall with each deep breath as your fingers gently stroked between her slick, beautiful folds. 

She was so warm, so soft, and so… so everything you were addicted to. You were gentle, and you didn’t pay too much attention to a particular area on her cunt, exploring what she liked and what made her tremble and turn to putty in your hands. You pushed her legs apart a little more and looked down, watching how her body reacted. 

“Wow,” You smirked. “Someone’s excited, huh?”

“Y-You’re mean,” Kara whined, hips jerking upward whenever your fingertips brushed over her clit, begging for you to touch right there. “T-T-Teasing me like th-this…”

“Oh,” Your other hand reached for her chin, slowly turning her head so she could look directly in your eyes. You bit your lip and watched her eyes dilate before focusing your fingertips against that bundle of nerves that felt so human against your hands. “This what you want?” 

For the smallest second, you saw her eyes glow with heat vision before she blinked it away, forcing herself to calm down and relax. If she wasn’t careful, she would shoot lasers right through the ceiling. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, Rao yes,” You loved it when she used her God’s name in vain. It proved she wasn’t as pure and innocent as people made her out to be. You rubbed at her in tight circles, watching her muscles tighten and her back arch off the mattress underneath her. “Feels so good!” 

You were basking in her sweet words, enjoying the way Kara said your name, and followed it up with a soft curse word that swiftly rolled off her tongue. You were focused, watching and enjoying her wiggling on her bed before your fingers left her clit and began to dive down deeper. Kara felt your pause and looked up at you, eyes wide and toes curling against the covers around her feet. “Wh-Why did you–”

A soft grin spread on your face and before Kara could question you further, you slipped two fingers past her warm walls and inside of her tightness. The Kryptonian let out an embarrassingly loud cry of surprise melted with pleasure and her right hand went from under the pillows where she was containing her strength, to grab at your wrist and squeeze. 

You instinctively flinched and stilled your movements. “Too much? Could just say so…” 

“W-wait, wait,” Kara panted, her inner muscles contracting around your fingers and making you shiver at just how strong every single inch of her was. “B-Before you… keep going, we need a… a, uhm… uhh–”

“A safe word, baby?” You said, leaning down and kissing at her cheek, nuzzling against her skin and admiring how you managed to make her shiver every time. “I have something you will be able to remember… If I go too far, I want you to say ‘Kryptonite’. Think you can remember that, baby?” 

Your fingers gently pressed against all her inside walls and Kara yelped, releasing your wrist and grabbing at the sheets under her body. “Y-Yes! Yes, I can remember th-that. Now pleaaaase keep going, please?” 

The poor blonde looked close to tears and you decided she had enough torture. Very carefully, you set a soft and gentle pace, observing Supergirl like she was a test subject in a lab. Your eyes trailed across her facial features, how the crease in her brows would crinkle slightly, how her nostrils flared and the way her chest moved with each harsh breath in her lungs. 

You had never seen Kara get winded before, never seen her truly tired. But in this moment, you could see sweat forming on her brow and dripping down her face. Kara was using so much of her strength to hold back… It was beautiful, but you couldn't help the guilt you felt. 

But it didn't look like Kara had that thought process. The superhero was willingly submitting to you, which is something she's never done with anybody. Even with the miniscule information you learned about her past partner, she never seemed like the girl to submit like this… To willingly offer up control to you felt like the most intimate offering she could ever give you.

You were drawn into her like she was a livewire and you couldn’t let go. Your fingers stretched her out, relaxing her muscles from the inside and leaning down to wrap your lips back around her nipple and licking at her sensitive flesh. 

Kara snapped again, her hands releasing the sheets from her grasp and curling her fingers in your hair as she voiced her pleasure out loud. You didn’t flinch this time, so entranced with her sounds and the way she showed her desperation for more. Your tongue trailed over her hot skin, and down across her sternum, going lower and lower until you were laying down between her legs, watching up close and almost drooling at the sight.

“Hear that, baby?” You pressed your hand against her lower belly and without warning, sped up your finger motions and listened to the squelching sounds her pussy made against your fingers. Kara cried out, her spine arching and her inner walls clenching down. “Such a messy girl, aren’t you? God, so sexy…”

Kara was drinking your praise up like it was water. It felt like she was feeding on you as she writhed and squirmed on the bedsheets, looking down and watching your eyes glimmer with something that she could only define as mischief. 

Before she could ask what you were thinking… The Kryptonian let out a loud shout of pleasure and her entire body jolted towards your awaiting mouth. Kara swore she saw stars behind her eyes as your tongue met her clit and you gave it a soft, experimental lick while curling your fingers upward and pressing them against what you knew was a sweet spot. 

“Fuuuuuck,” You stared in wonder as your tongue began working faster, drooling on her pussy and fucking down into her as deep as her muscles would allow. You had never heard Kara swear like that before, and now that you had? You wanted more. It was like you were deriving pleasure from this too, just like she was. “Fuck, fuck, shit, th-that feels so fucking good!”

In your pussy-drunk state, you had this sinking suspicion that Kara Danvers has never been eaten out before. How dare someone strip this woman bare, spread her beautiful legs, and not wish to feast upon her like she isn’t the most delectable thing in the entire galaxy?! 

Your efforts doubled, wrapping your lips around her clit and experimentally sucking on the bud. Kara cried out, sitting up a little further and looking down to gaze into your eyes. Her own were glowing, and for a minute, you thought of stopping but decided against it. 

Is that what Kara did when she was about to cum? Did her super powers start to act up? Her fingers dug into the bedsheets and you heard an audible tearing sound. Her breath came out cold, panting like a dog in the sun as she rolled her hips against your skilled mouth. She was practically fucking herself down on your fingers and you carefully slipped in another one, making her shamelessly call out your name. 

“D-Don’t stop,” Kara begged, her teeth clenching as she lifted her hips upward and began grinding on your tongue. You persisted, your mouth keeping pace and moving your fingers faster as your other hand gripped her hip and held her as still as her super strength would allow. You twisted your tongue at just the right angle, and your fingers hit the right spot inside of her, and Kara was screaming. “Don’t stop! Oh Rao, right there! Please, please don’t st–” 

Her voice cut off with a deep cry of euphoria as she fell backward on her mattress and you could feel her inner walls contracting around your fingers. The glow in her eyes got brighter and before you could realize what was happening, her heat vision activated and did exactly what you thought she would do, which was burn a hole through her ceiling. 

You didn’t care. You kept fucking her through her orgasm, drooling on her cunt and hissing at her left hand going to your back and digging her nails into your flesh. She made cuts, but you endured, loving how she marked you in her own special way.

Kara’s cries of bliss faded to soft whimpers as you slowed your movements, lifting up off the bed and grinning. Her face went pink at the wetness dripping from your chin and all you did was lick your lips and wipe your mouth against your uninjured bicep. 

The blonde whined as you removed your fingers from inside of her and sobbed at seeing you bring them up and lick them clean. “Fuck, you taste like cosmic bliss, babygirl.” 

You didn’t get to flatter her anymore before Kara was yanking you down and pressing kisses all over your face and on your lips. She didn’t seem to mind the taste of herself as she pulled back to breathe and wiped at your nose with her hand. “Are you okay?” 

You laughed, tossing your head back for a second. “Kara, baby, I’m fine… Your roof isn't though.” 

Both of you looked up and saw the smoking hole in the ceiling, her face turning red and her heart beating fast enough that you could feel it if you concentrated. You chuckled, leaning down and kissing her once again before you laid on her chest. You knew she could handle your weight, and you didn’t mind basking in her warmth as you nuzzled against her bare chest and enjoyed hearing her heart. 

But the second was short lived as Kara gasped and shot up straight. “Oh no, no, no,” Kara muttered, her eyes widening as she looked down and ran her fingers across your back where the blood was ever so slightly beading at the surface where her nails cut in. “I hurt you… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Kara, hey, hey it's okay…” You cooed softly, reaching for her face and gently rubbing your thumbs across her cheekbones. Kara couldn’t keep the tears at bay as she held you by the wrists. “It’s okay… I liked it.”

“Y-You liked that I hurt you?” She frowned.

You simply smiled and kissed her forehead. “I did. You didn’t know this about me, but I’m a bit of a masochist… A little pain during sex? I like it a lot.” 

“Oh,” Kara blinked a little before she smirked and leaned back in, kissing at your neck. “Then I think I will have some fun with you too…”

“Just remember our safe word, babe,” You mumbled, practically melting in her hands as Kara started to remove your sports bra with nothing but her bare strength, tearing it at the seams and shredding the fabric to pieces. 

Kara gently bit down on your neck and you gasped, bucking against her. “Kryptonite…”

Alex hadn’t bothered knocking on Kara’s door for a long time now. It used to be her apartment, and it wasn’t like Kara had super hearing to sense whenever Alex was in the hallway… oh wait, yes she did.

“Kara!” Alex shouted out from the front door as she closed it behind her, a box of breakfast pastries sitting in her right arm. “I have a present!”

Alex was so busy setting the box down on the counter and opening it up that when she heard someone stumble out of the bedroom, she did a whole double take at seeing you in one of Kara’s massive shirts that she would sleep in. Of course, it wasn’t that big on you due to your muscular build. 

“Uh… Hey Alex,” You anxiously rubbed at your neck and Alex was practically gaping at the sight of you. Just from here, Alex could count at least seven hickies on your neck. You had a fresh set of bandages on your arm, which was shocking to see because Alex doesn’t remember you getting shot in the arm, just the side. 

Your hair was a total mess, and Alex saw even more bite marks on your thighs. What in the actual hell did Kara do to you? She never saw Kara make those kinds of marks on any of her partners before. The blonde was deeply terrified of hurting others,so for her to bruise you and so openly? It was so bizarre!

Kara called out your name from around the corner and you looked just in time to hold out your arms. The super stumbled for a second. “What? What is it?” 

You bit your lip and looked at Alex before seeing Kara use her x-ray vision to see who was on the other side of the wall. Almost instantly, she started shouting at her. “Alex! Why didn’t you knock?!” 

“How did you not hear me?!” Alex chirped back, biting into a muffin on the counter and sighing. “Not so super right now, huh?”

“Honey, you should uhm…” You looked at the blonde and how she was completely bare in the hallway, much to your enjoyment. You didn’t want to tell her, but it was needed. “Put something on?” 

The Kryptonian felt like dying in that moment, running back towards the bathroom and slamming the door shut harder than intended. You flinched and looked at Alex, nervously shuffling over to the kitchen island and rubbing your hands down over your face. 

“Whatever you are about to say,” Alex started, making you look up. “Keep it to your damn self.”

“Wasn’t gonna say anything Agent Danvers,” You teased. “But I will tell you that my apartment was shot up last night…”

“Wh-What, why didn’t–” Alex sputtered, pushing the muffin away on the countertop and reaching for the bandages on your bicep. You simply allowed her to do whatever she liked, knowing damn well that she would pull the superior card like she loves to do whenever you get injured. Very carefully, Alex began to snip away at the bandages with her personal trauma shears that she kept on her person at all times, exposing the bullet hole in your arm. “Why do you keep getting shot at?”

“Woman, I am a lead magnet,” You said, flinching a little at the cold air touching the exposed, puckered and bruised flesh with the gaping wound on full display. Alex rewrapped your arm with the bandages sitting in the open medkit that Kara left out the night before and let out a deep, uncomfortable sigh. You frowned. “It wasn’t my fault this time.” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Agent,” Alex snapped, making you blush with embarrassment. “Who was it?”

“Remember when me and Kara met? And I beat that guy up in the bar? Well, he’s targeting alien sympathizers, but I think he just had it out for me as some form of payback for getting him arrested again.” 

Alex made a face of disapproval and immediately pushed the box of pastries in your direction. You immediately reached in, taking a chocolate croissant from the pile and smiling with gratitude. “If you had the night I think you had, you definitely need sugar.” 

“I thought we weren’t gonna talk about it.”

“We’re not talking about it, I’m just stating something rhetorical.” 

“Alex,” Kara demands her sister’s attention, wearing a tank top and sleep shorts, much to your disappointment now. “Stop embarrassing my girlfriend, please?” 

You immediately felt your face turn a deep pink and pretended to be very interested in the croissant in your hands, biting into the pastry and shifting your weight back and forth between your feet and refusing to look up at either of the Danvers sisters. 

“Is this my life from now on?” You muttered.

Kara snorted, picking up her own muffin and rubbing her fingers across your upper thigh making you shiver. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night, or this morning–”

Alex gagged. “Kara, gross! Stop!” 

Well, if this is my life… You thought with a smile. I could definitely get used to it. 

[yeyinde]

after dark

Keegan P. Russ x f!Reader

⟶ WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT; P-in-V sex; female reader, female gendered anatomy; gratuitous use of kid; slight body worship; established history/relationship; canon-compliant, takes place after Sin City; minor game spoilers; mentions of death (canon-compliant); war; fluff - this is honestly just gratuitous smut and my awful attempt at fluff ⟶ WORD COUNT: 9,7k ⟶ SUMMARY: you want to see him break. ⟶ NOTES: my first foray into Keegan! this took a bit of time since i wanted to include so much, and it ended up growing a little out of hand. i might expand on this/make it into a series potentially (just small drabbles). Keegan was so fun to write for!

Keegan looks good like this. Laid out, bare; skin stained with the bites of your nails, the nips of your teeth, nestled evenly amid the smattering of battle wounds and blemishes that colour him in a rich history wrought with gunfire and calamity. (You often tell him that the two of you are kismet. He says Momus just has a sick sense of humour.)

The milky white expanse of his torso is littered with scars, and you map them with your greedy eyes, drinking each bloom of imperfection that stains his ivory skin. Finding new ones that weren't there before. 

Blades, bullets, burns, pockmarks—many from weapons you can't even begin to name, to know—all etched into sinew. Into bone. 

They mar him in a brutal smear of varicoloured hurt. A mosaic of near–death laid out like Orion, curved like the tail of Sagittarius. It's spooled, knotted, in a way that makes you think of Lyra. Of the stars you can see so clearly now without any light pollution around to smog the indigo sky above. 

The scars are healed in uneven patches; some darker, uglier than others. Raised welts, bumps. Deep indents in his skin, cutting through muscle and tissue. 

There is no sense of structure in the gashes that line his body—silver, to red, to purple, to black—and you know they were collected over time. Over years, decades, before you ever met him. Knew him. 

(The only one that looks familiar is the jagged hole on his shoulder where he stepped, stupidly, in front of a bullet for you. 

Stupid, because no one, especially him, should risk themselves for you.)

They sit, carved in flesh, as a testament to his nomadic lifestyle, one drenched in danger, death, and calamity. Shadows moulded into man. Into ruined skin and jagged bone. Deadly forces of nature hidden in the craters where the earth split into twos, threes. Triplicated ravines clogged with the rubble of was once life. Peace. Home, maybe. 

A tenuous fallacy, now. 

But they risk everything—even themselves—for it, and the proof of their commitment, the dedication to the cause, is smattered across his torso for you to see. 

The exploratory tips of your fingers, dripping reverence and featherlight, ghost over his flesh, over the blemishes that decorate his body, taking them in, feeling them. 

Some are baby–hair soft, silky sateen; they sit in thick, raised welts of scar tissue clotted over each other. Others are rougher than sandpaper, gritty like stripped lath. They feel like tree bark under your fingers. Scabs. Fresh, new. 

You wonder if he remembers each one of them—how they happened, where, by who; which ones hurt the most, and which ones took longer to heal. He might, you think. 

(It's him, after all.)

Catalogued pain organised and filed away. Locked in a safe box inside the enigma of his head, and kept there for safekeeping. 

But it's not gone, not put away. 

(It's always within reach.)

Phantoms congeal in the corners of his eyes sometimes when you happen to touch one, to reach out and grab him by the arm, or the hand, the wrist, and you see the brief flash of recognition in cut slate. A distant fog simmers up from the depths; veiled blue. A past you're barred from touching, knowing. 

It's not pretty, kid, is what he told you when you asked. Not like you. No sense ruining something like you with all that ugly. 

It was the end of the conversation. Locked away for good, and brassbound with a warning sign, rusted and aged, that read: do not enter.

So, you don't. 

But sometimes, like now, you like to take them in. To see the contrast between your blemishless skin in comparison to his. Worlds apart. A cosmic chasm of experience and life needles between you, and yet—

You brush your fingers against the marks, and have never felt closer to him, despite everything inside that tells you you're wrong. 

You place your hand flat over a cut over his breastplate, right where his heart thuds against your palm, and wonder what near–miss he escaped from that caused this. The other slides to his stomach, his muscles flexing, rippling, under your touch, and you brush your thumb over a circular hole under his solar plexus. 

You think, then, of the years you spent underground, running through the barren safehouses that dotted the landscape, only to come away with minor cuts, abrasions. The worst of them all is a small scar near your wrist where you burned your skin with cooking oil. 

You've never met the end of the blade—not until him.  

"What are you thinking about, kid?" 

His hand lifts—skin littered with small knicks and cuts, a burn on the back of his hand that almost matches yours except his was caused by a Molotov cocktail and not youthful ignorance (a world of difference, a chasm)—fingers sliding over the curve of your cheek. His slate–blue gaze is fixed, unmoving, on you. 

It was those eyes—cenote blue—that drew you to him in the first place. Teal in tenebrous. They haunted you for months. Wordlessly following your every move, drinking in the expressions that flitted over your face. Taking stock of you. Measuring you. Your accomplishments. Your worth. Assets.

Survivability.

("Pretty low," Merrick says, plain and brutal, and the rawness of it rumbled through the hollow crevasse you found yourself in. Low. Lower than low. So low it was almost a miracle you survived as long as you had.)

Keegan said nothing at the time. He stood back, hand gripping the butt of the rifle, eyes fixed on you, unwavering. Unforgiving. 

It was easy to take his silence as cold. Distant. Bundled up in thick layers of muskeg, in icy separation. 

You did—at first. 

An active war zone was not a place for a civilian. Merrick told you as much when he found you, taking refuge in a dilapidated home split in two, and welding only a metal bat you'd grabbed on your travels. Your only protection against an enemy that has no qualms in murdering innocents. That uses guns and heavy artillery to decimate the soldiers, the allies who jumped oceans to fight alongside the troops. 

You lit a lantern one night after settling down in a broken home, and woke up to the barrel of a gun pressed to your temple. 

It was Ajax who saved you. 

"Hey, uh. You're American, right? What are you doing in a place like this?" 

You didn't trust them. 

Didn't trust anyone. 

You'd spent too long cutting through the thickets of the surrounding overgrowth, hopping from one ramshackle house to another to lay low, to hide from the people who wandered past, looking for survivors, hostages, to give into that part of yourself that longed for people. For normalcy. The road jaded you a little. Isolated you. 

It was safer. 

The people you stumbled across either tried to pick you bare, taking the meagre belongings you scrounged together until there was nothing left but the thin skin covering your body, and your will to live. 

Or they tried to kill you. To use you. 

Hostages. Civilians used against the threadbare resistance. Their safe return in exchange for more land, for surrender. 

So, you hid. Got good at it, too. 

("Too fuckin' good," Merrick hissed, shaking his head. 

The only one who was ever able to spot you was Riley. Keegan, sometimes, through the lens of his rifle.)

When they found you, you tried to run, to fight. Enemies. All of them. 

It was Ajax who stopped you, who talked you off the ledge. 

"Come on, we're not gonna hurt you."

"Heard those words before."

"How long you been out here for, anyway?"

"When did ODIN destroy New York?"

"Jesus, kid."

"Stupid," Merrick said. "That's what you are, Cali. Stupid as hell." 

And Keegan—

Said nothing. Nothing. 

He doesn't like you, was your first thought when it all added up, stacked together. The avoidance, the distance. He wasn't cold, but he didn't try to get close to you, to get to know you. He just—

Watched. Waiting, you thought, a touch bitter, for you to die. Like they all expected you to when you said you weren't going to the safe zone. That you were staying, and you were looking for them—your brother, your father. 

Then—

Stay behind me, always, kid. You got that? 

If you can't see my back, you wandered too far. 

Eat. You need it more than I do. 

Watch your step. You'll fall into a crevasse if you're not careful, kid. 

The second: he likes you too much. 

And now—

Your hips flex. A slow, teasing roll against his pelvis, and it's that indelible sight of sky blue eyes shuttering out of view when his lids lower, lashes fluttering, that nearly sets you on fire. 

The press of his cock makes your nails dig into the constellation of scars on his chest, clinging to him as licks of pleasure flicker up your spine. Nerves smouldering at the stretch, the feel of him seated so deeply within you. 

"Thinking about you," you murmur, breathless. Raw. 

You wonder if he remembers the rainy days in San Francisco, the sunrise in Los Angeles, huddled under the waterlogged crater of what once was Pacific Avenue and Venice Boulevard with the same touch of halcyon fondness as you do. 

You think, then, of the fusillade following you in the ruined husks of the streets, enemies on every corner, of the six-day hike between the cities to reconvene with the others, lost somewhere in the decimated coast. 

A little part of you still hopes he does despite the stress, the tension, the danger; the separation, the distance, that cracks between you, louder than a thunderclap. 

That he thinks back on that time when it was just you and him, and no food, no shelter, and feels something more than the gritty reality of everything falling apart around you. 

Of death, and the stench of rot, and decay, and the overgrowth of vegetation that sometimes felt like it was trying to reclaim you along with its land. The vines that curled around your ankles when you idled, or slept—shackles that refused to let go. Gunshots in the night. Predators roaming wild and free in what once was a metropolis. 

Then, softer, you add:

"Always." 

You speak it reverently, as if the word, the sincerity in your voice alone was enough to somehow shade the gossamer of calamity and horror you faced together into something pink, something roseate. Something fond, and wonderful, and good despite all of the ugly and the bad that stacks up, deeper than the hole punched through San Diego.

(Down so deep you sometimes think you can see the eerie glow of molten rock below.)

Keegan says nothing, gives nothing away, but you catch something in his gaze shift, relent.

Another inch off the thick veneer that keeps him from falling into you fully, that keeps him from letting you in. 

It's the slow erosion of his defences, the ones that make him say, yeah, kid, whatever you say when you bring up the smouldering ruins of Death Valley, when you slipped your finger in the cut of his mask, and tugged it down below his chin. Your nail caught on the bridge of his nose, but he didn't flinch at the thin white line you left behind, the sting. He didn't move. Didn't blink. 

Didn't push you away. 

He let you. Let you press your sun-chapped lips to his for the first time with nothing more than an easy, kid—don't start something you can't finish before he gives in. Kissed you against the grainy sand that scorched your skin. 

You used to think he was cold. Unfeeling. 

But now—

Shadows dance over his face when the clouds drift over the milky moon hung in the indigo aether, but you catch the rubicund smear over the bridge of his nose when they part. Pretty pink dusted in soot. An ethereal chiaroscuro etched into his flesh. 

You feel his chest shudder, expanding with his rippling inhale. 

—You know that, sometimes, he just feels too much. 

You hitch your hips again just to watch him flinch beneath you. The breath stutters out of his chest, lips parting on a grunt when you grind over him. The pinched knot between his brow is stained with bliss, and deep like the crevasses ripped through the earth. 

The hand on your cheek jerks, tenses. His fingers curl around the back of your skull as his eyes crack open once more when you settle. Heavy lidded, stained the residuum of soot and grease paint the lukewarm water wasn't able to scour off. 

You meet his cobalt stare, and feel the breath catch in your throat. 

Keegan looks good like this. Laid out, bare; skin stained with the bites of your nails, the nips of your teeth, nestled evenly amid the smattering of battle wounds and blemishes that colour him in a rich history wrought with gunfire and calamity.  

When you whisper this to him, his hips jerk again, flexing, under yours. 

"Fuck, kid. Don't go starting something you can't finish."

His words nudge something inside of you, and the slow simmer of competition roils through your chest. 

"Can't finish, huh?" You murmur, and keep your eyes fixed on his as you lift your hips. The drag of his hardened cock sliding against your walls has pleasure liquifying your core. 

When it's just the tip you clench around, you pause, a small smirk curling over your lips. You'll make him break. Make him eat those words. 

But Keegan can read you like an open book. 

His hand lifts from your hip bone, sliding up the flesh of your torso until his fingers are perched in the gaps between your ribs, holding you steady. 

"Easy now, kid," he whispers the words low, voice breathless, humid. "Don't bite off more than you chew."

In response, you sink down an inch. 

It makes him choke a little. A wet noise spills out from his mouth, teeth flashing when they burrow into the plush give of his full, pink lips. The tendons in his neck strain, pulse throbbing in tandem with your heartbeat. Linked, you think, a little delirious, even like this. 

(You often tell him that the two of you are kismet.

He says Momus just has a sick sense of humour.)

His fingers tighten on your ribs. The other hand falls, palm swallowing your breast, fingers digging into the flesh once before sliding down, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger. It sends shocks of pleasure ricocheting down your spine, and you arch into his grasp, eyes dropping. 

"That feels good—"

"Yeah?" He husks, lips curling into a rare smile, a grin. "Like that, huh, kid?"

The raw timbre of his voice coils over your flesh, and you shudder at the liquor-rich sound, eyes blinking open to drink him in. 

The spark of pleasure that glimmers over his expression, eyes dark, eclipsed, and saturated in bliss, makes something coil low inside of your belly. A molten heat that leaks into your bloodstream until it bubbles, froths. 

Keegan is a slow burn. A steady crescendo of pleasure that builds and builds in evenly spaced increments until your head is molasses-thick from the endorphins that saturate your synapses. 

Keegan is always so giving, so quiet with his affection; picturesque stoicism even when he has you bent over, battering his cock into you as you lose it amid the unrelenting waves of euphoria that bloom inside of you, singing hymns in his name, and only just lucid enough to round the vowels out. He rides you through it all without cracking. Without rupturing from the pleasure that thickens the air between you until it's syrupy and heady with the scent of sex. 

And it's good. Always. 

You love the way he handles you; love the way he splits you apart atom by atom until you're an impending explosion, leaking bliss into the warmth of his mouth when you breathe his name. Raw, exposed. Bare and flayed by his scorching hands, and hungry lips. 

Keegan touches you with the same delicacy as he does the rifles in his arsenal. A finely tuned weapon, honed and perfected in his hands. He drags only the best out of you, and knows where to press, to nip. He knows your body like he knows the inner workings of each gun he carries. 

He's adroit in combat, and it bleeds over into the soft, plush give of your body beneath him. 

It's often thoughtless—done purely on muscle memory, and instinct alone. A primal switch in the back of his head he commands at will, one now grounded and circuited into making you tremble, gasp, and moan his name the way you know he likes best. 

Keegan leeches his own release from the aftershocks of your pleasure, pounding desperately into you as you clench around him, back arched and toes curled. He fucks you through the remnants of your climax until his own takes hold, and spits his bliss into your body, groaning low in your ear. 

But everything—everything—is for you. 

He takes where he can as he fractures you into pieces, into fragments of yourself. Crumbling in ecstasy under his touch. Broken, shattered. Rendered into a trembling mess of pulp beneath the bulk of his body.

He's a lesson in patience, in tenacity. 

Usually.

But now—

You set the pace. Control the motions. 

(And you want to see him break in the same splintered pieces he leaves you in.)

"Just sit back, and let me make you feel good."

He draws a sharp breath, eyes fluttering, widening slightly at your base command. 

Something gnarls over his exposed face, a frisson of affection, and softer than anything you'd ever seen before. 

It's rare you get to see him so bare, so open. 

"You do," he rasps, words sticking between his teeth. "More than you know."

He swallows thick, eyes skirting away from you as if to gather himself together, to calm the racing of his pulse that beats against the pale skin of his throat. 

Comfort is taken in composure, in distance, and you can see him grasp for it, reaching for that same phlegmatic control even now. 

You don't let him find it. Won't. 

You take a quick breath to steady yourself, fingers sliding down his damp chest, nestling in the messy smear of hair that sticks to his skin, grainy and gritty from salt and dirt, and then you drop. 

The blunt head of his cock bludgeons into a fleshy spot behind your navel that has your ears ringing, head tipping back in pleasure. It's good—so, so good—and you can't stop the whine of his name, broken and fraying at the edges, when you sink down to the base, swallowing him whole in the right clutch of your cunt.

White noise, static, flashes behind your eyelids, catching in the pale moonlight. A slurry of soporific pleasure spools inside your head, saturated with bliss, and edging into that indelible equinox of pleasure and pain when his head kisses the seal of your womb. It flexes against your mettle, pushing the limits of what you can reasonably take, but you grit your teeth against the strain, and breathe. 

You won't break first. 

Not when his eyes roll back a little as you shift in his lap, brow furrowed into a deep ruck of pleasure at the feel of you around. 

The overwhelming feel of him buried deep behind your navel notches into too much, and the ache of it pulses like a heartbeat in your sternum, knocking the breath from your lungs, but you hold steady amid the waves that crash over you, that threaten to consume you. To drag you under. 

White-hot pleasure lashes at your spine. Congealing inside the pit of your lower belly. A molten puddle of nirvana that steadily thickens into a coiled knot, gnarling within you. A spool of bliss, slowly unravelling under the stretch of him, the grind of his pelvis against your throbbing clit..

It thrums in your veins, your bones. Madness bleeds in at the edges; blurred lines of so good and too much too full and you find the equilibrium, the perfect zenith, when he groans your moniker, Cali, out between gnashing teeth. 

The brassy rasp of his voice centres you. Grounds you. You inhale the tang of him until your lungs begin to burn, to ache. You feel them pressed taut to your ribs where his fingers sit, nestled between the gaps of your bones. Firm, steady. 

You exhale in slow, measured increments, feeling the way he throbs against your walls, in your throat. You take it all in, all of it. Him. The firm press of his body beneath yours, thighs spread to fit him in the seam, makes you relax, ease into the press of him. The fill. 

Keegan's hands twitch. His hips lift slightly, an unconscious movement. An accidental proxysm. His ironclad resolve, the honed stillness of an expert sniper in perfect control, command, of every limb, every muscle, every movement, and breath, crumbles like papier-mache with the tight clench of your pussy around him. 

It edges into delirium, into that burning sense of conquest when he grunts, and rubs a spot inside of you that feels like heaven itself is nestled behind your belly button. 

(A fissure. A crack.)

The steadying breath he takes draws your attention back to him, to the sheen of sweat drenching his brow, the smear of charcoal he couldn't scrub away. It stains his skin permanently, now. A tattoo of battle grease, war paint, that he can't be rid of. 

(You tell yourself it isn't jealousy that congeals at the base of your throat when you see the blemish on his skin, and wish, so desperately, that you could brand him the same way. Mark him, too. 

To crawl inside the brackets between his ribs, and suffuse your atoms to his until every pump of his heart sends blood roaring through your veins.

It sits there, bitter and acrid, when you try to swallow it down, refusing to budge. 

Stupid. Stupid—)

You take it all in. The racing of his pulse, the slow, deep inhales, and the way he reaches out, struggling to control the impulse, the instinct, the want, to greedily take more and more from you. 

"Keegan," his name falls between your teeth, breaking in the middle when you roll your hips, and catch the flash of gritted teeth. 

The thin strands of sangfroid he managed to snag in his grasp are released when your voice crests over his name, cracked open and wanting, and desperate. 

It tastes of victory when he groans yours in return—not kid, not Cali, but the one you whispered to him that first night he found you in a desolate husk of what was once someone's home—and bucks into you in a stutter. 

You meet him again, pelvis kissing his until it suctions the air from your heaving lungs, and you can feel him pulsing in your sternum. A red-hot blade snug against your jugular.

The thin skin of his eyelids crinkle when he squeezes them shut against the feeling, the overwhelming pleasure, of being buried balls deep inside of you. 

Your ribs ache. His fingers burrow into the flesh that separates each rung, clinging to you, and keeping you perched on his lap as he struggles to catch his breath. 

It rips open something inside of you—something deeper and fuller than sex, than shattering his ironclad resolve—and the sight of him, chest heaving, eyes heavy and black with desire, and the soft way he crumbles in your hands, makes you think of the morning rays of the sun brushing over the broken landscape. The moments of peace in the midst of war. 

You think of him, and the tick in his jaw, the gleam in his eyes, the same shade as crushed bluebonnets, and think of kismet once more as you pant out his name. 

"Ah, fuck—," sweat drips down his brow, and you follow the droplet until it falls, soaking the jaundiced pillow below. "You keep that up, kid, and you'll be tapping out soon enough."

It drags a huff from your chest. "It was once. And you made me run through San Diego for hours before, and—"

"It was fifteen minutes. We ran a block," his hand falls from your breast, palm swallowing the side of your thigh. "You lasted five minutes on top before you begged me fuck you instead. Said you were tired."

"I was," you whine, muscles flexing when you lift off of him again. You feel the ache in your muscles already, the burn of exertion from sitting atop of him like this, knees wrenched apart to accommodate his bulk between them. "But I wanna make you feel good, Keegan."

The sharp sting of his nails catching your flesh makes you gasp. "C'mon, kid. Easy now." 

The low commands roll off of his tongue with practised ease, and you slip a little further into that inky madness that smells of fir boughs, sticky spruce sap, and ripened satsumas. You breathe him in and taste dusty pomander balls, and pinyon in the back of your throat. 

"Keegan—"

His hips lift, pushing into the soft, wet clench of your cunt. "That's it. Nice and steady."

He guides you along—a maestro stroking the keys of a piano as he plays his grand requiem. You struggle to keep up with his pace, the way he pistons into you, notching his cock into that soft, sensitive place inside that makes your eyes brim with unshed tears of bliss. 

Each deep thrust makes the head of his cock kiss the plug of your womb—just a brush, just a tease—but the burning sensation of blistering pleasure and wisps pain, of too much and too full, have you spiralling down the precipice faster than you expected. 

It's a dizzying descent, but you match his tempo as best as you can, determined to ride the torrent of ecstasy that runs down your spine in a thick, dulcified rivulet. 

Still. Still. You can't help but bask in the way he melts in your hand, rendered into malleable polymer with just a twist of your hips, a clench of your cunt. It's electrifying. Addicting.  

The high of it all brims deep in your head, blooming like a sickness that clots along the seam, noxious and heady. 

You can't stop the satisfied curl of your lips from growing, slowly and languid, when you bear down on him, taking him to the root. 

His grunt reverberates through his chest with enough of a punch to rattle your bones. 

Seeing him desperate is intoxicating. 

"What happened to your composure, Keegan?" you mewl, heading rolling back. "My big, quiet soldier is so talkative now—"

Rough palms sear the flesh of your hips when he grabs you tight in his unyielding hold, keeping you fixed on him. 

You try to move, but he tightens his grasp, refusing to let you budge. 

Frustration curls inside of your chest, and you glower down at him through glassy eyes brimming with tears. "Keegan, I wanna—"

Your words dissolve into a low keen when his hips lift again, battering into your cunt in an unrelenting wave of thrusts that force the protests from your lips. 

"Talkative, huh?" He grinds the words out from between clenched molars. "That was your goal, eh, kid? Break me?" 

He punctuates each word with a brutal cant that feels like a battering ram to your skull until the weakened bone splinters, shatters, and he punches through. 

"Kee–ah, ah, fuck—!" 

"That's it," he husks, tone liquid. His fingers spear into your flesh, tight enough to bruise your bone. "Just like that, kid. You wanna see me break? Lose control?" 

Heart in your throat, all you can do is whimper around the pulse in your esophagus, and struggle to find purchase under his unrelenting onslaught. 

His hand lifts, falls to your shoulder when he stills, keeping you locked tight to his pelvis, cock jerking inside of you. His fingers curl over the ledge, gripping bone, and then he tugs, pulls. 

You fold easily in his grasp, lowering your chest until it rests over his, sweat-slicked and warm. The scrape of your sensitive nipples over his coarse, damp chest hair makes you moan, clenching desperately around him at the sparks of pleasure roiling through you. 

When you settle over him, his hand moves, slides to the back of your skull, and wrenches you even closer to him, until your forehead meets his, and the soft bump of your nose catches on the bridge of his, right over the thin line you left on his skin. Healed, now, but you wonder if this is intentional. If it's—

Keegan breathes heavily through his open mouth, breath mixing together with yours, a humid coagulation against your lips where condensation gathers on the dip of your chin. 

He says nothing, just stares. Bare-faced, naked. Still smeared in the residuum of his battle grease, the armour he wears to keep himself hidden from the Federation, from discovery, and the freckles of black on his ivory skin look like an inverted night; the endless yawn of the heavens above. You wonder if you can map a new constellation in the dirt left behind, but the notion is pushed down, dissolved, when your gaze lifts, finding his own. 

He hasn’t looked away from you at all, and the intensity of his gaze makes you dizzy, breathless. Too many emotions ripple through the mercury depths for you to grasp, but they're soft. Tender. Your heart thuds when you see the endless flicker of them hidden inside, tightly sealed under a rusted lock without a key. 

"Keegan—"

He doesn't let you finish. His chin lifts, mouth hooking on yours in a blistering kiss. His tongue slides between the gap of your parted lips, stealing the words that spool behind your teeth. 

Keegan kisses you with a deep, almost methodical precision. It's a contrast you can't keep up with; an ebb and flow. He starts fast, harsh. A demanding press of his mouth to yours, unrelenting and eager. It's all tongue, lips, the clash of teeth until yours are stinging and bruised, and then he pulls away until his are just a brush. A ghost of a touch, a whisper. 

He holds it there, teasing, taunting, until your lips bloom in a soft pout, eyes turning downward. 

"Keegan, please," you whimper into the firm seal of his mouth, so close and yet, so far away. Out of reach. Held there until whatever he wants, whatever he seeks, flashes in the glossy puddles of your eyes. 

And then, he gives. 

Gives, gives. His mouth devours yours with a steady ferocity like the howling winds echoing through the wizened fir boughs in the desolate forest. He holds you close, a hand fisted against your skull while the other plinths your jaw, thumb stroking the bubble of your cheek. 

The pressure of his hold, of his hands, oscillates between firm, unyielding, and keeping you afloat, soothing you. 

You need it, you think, when he kisses you like the sudden approach of an avalanche ripping through the thicket, and barrelling down the vertiginous mountain he keeps you locked on. 

An ebb and flow. 

When your head swims, dizzy with hypoxia that inks across your vision like a Rorschach, he pulls away. Peppers small kisses, nips, over your stringing, swollen flesh, and soothes the ache he left behind. 

"I know," is all he says to you before he starts to move. “I know, kid.”

Keegan keeps you locked to his chest, one hand bracketing your skull, kissing you in tandem with each roll of his hips. His other hand settles against the swell of your ass, holding you steady as he bucks into you, bludgeoning his cock into your cunt. 

Your hands drop to the pillow under his head to stabilise yourself, pushing firmly into the mattress in a futile effort to keep the brunt of your weight from pressing against him, but he notices. 

Always. 

His grunt of displeasure is barely heard over the roaring in your ear, the lewd slap of his wet skin on yours, the grind of his cock into your cunt, but you feel it rumble through his chest, reverberating over your lips. 

His hand trails up from the curve of your ass, and over your spine. 

"C'mon, kid," he murmurs, teeth scraping over your stinging bottom lip. "You're not gonna break me."

His sly words make you huff, and you clench your muscles around him in retribution. There is something blisteringly intoxicating in the low groan that leaves his chest, the pinch between his brow, the flutter of his lashes, lids cresting in pleasure. 

It's a small win, a minuscule victory despite losing the war. But it is a double-edged sword that leaves you just as breathless, just as aching, as he is. 

You acquiesce to his insistent prods, and slowly, hesitantly, melt into him. With your full weight settling on top of him, Keegan breathes in deep, and murmurs a quiet, hushed: that's it into your lips. 

His hands are on you, tugging and pulling until you're flush on his body with a muted groan. 

Your arms bend at the elbow, hands moving to cup his jaw in your palms, feeling the scratch of his rough stubble over your life line. 

Kismet, you think, and taste salt on your tongue, a humid breeze on your skin. It reminds you of Los Angeles, of the hole you sunk into with him. When you decided in the ramshackle remnants of what once was that, despite everything, all of it, you would follow him anywhere, everywhere. 

A confession in the shambles of normalcy, where the cracked Macy's sigh hung suspended on wires, and reinforced by nature. Thick webs of wisteria kept the relic from a bygone era arched over the collapsed ruins of the Beverly Centre. A macabre chandelier: a poignant piece of what is now history. Gone. Erased. Decimated by a weapon meant to protect. 

The rest was felled into a deep cavern, karst, destroyed by the beams of inert energy that spliced the world you knew in half. Water leaked in—from the burst pipes, the broken aquifer at the bottom, rainwater, the ocean, and, you think, from when they razed the smouldering husk of the cities on fire with a deluge of water, back when everyone still clung to the belief that everything was going to be okay. It pools at the bottom, a murky abyss of cracked rock, steel beams, and dead wires. 

On the surface, something floated past. A bag, maybe. Waterlogged and aged. You fish it out despite the soft rumble from Keegan to stay away from the cenote. 

"Currents might sweep you under. Not a place you wanna fall in, kid." 

When you dragged it to the linoleum ledge you sat on, the broken logo made you snort. 

"Never could afford designer," you muttered and tossed the Balenciaga bag aside. 

It doesn't matter. Not anymore. Not here. 

You know it doesn't, feel it deep in your polluted bones, and yet—

You stared at the shattered heap of luxury, and couldn't help thinking about those days in the past when you'd wake up after a long trip on the road with your dad, your brother, and the world would feel so massive, so empty. It felt like you were the only ones left. The only survivors. 

It eats at you now. 

You cried that night. Broke for the first time in months, years. Sobbed into the corner of what was once Macy's or Gucci or some other relic you used to scorn in your youth, and the whole time, Keegan said nothing. Nothing at all. 

He just held you when you stumbled into him. Kept you tight to his body as your sobs echoed through the chamber. 

Through it all, it was Keegan who kept you grounded. Who stood in front of you, sniper ready, whenever the bushes around you rustled, or the ground trembled with the aftershocks of the lingering explosion that decimated your home. Your world. He was there, his hand on the small of your back, eyes sharp, wary. Kept you alive, fed. Safe. 

Safe.

You can only sleep when he’s around. Even when they left you in the safe zone you clawed out of, you couldn’t sleep. Nothing quelled the anxious needling in the back of your head but his presence—solid and steady. An unshakeable rock. Your foundation amid a shattered sense of security. 

You turned to him, then, when the moon drifted over the open crater punched through the earth, and whispered the words he refused to return. 

Even now.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it does. 

Not anymore. 

“Thinkin’ too much,” he husks, nails leaving trails of white when he scrapes them over your skin. “What happened to breaking me, kid? Give up already?”

There is no way for him to know you taste algae in the back of your throat from when he pushed you deeper into the cenote as you ran from the Federation soldiers. When they closed the gap, he shoved you into the murky blue of the grotto below, too quick for you to close your mouth, to not panic when you hit the pool with a splash that echoed on the slick, mossy walls. You breathed in the stagnant water filled with bioluminescent algae, and as gunshots bounced off the jagged limestone, and you drifted down below the buried rubble, you wondered if you’d glow so bright he could find you at the bottom of polluted blue. 

(He did. Always.)

Still. You swallow down the tang of salt, and breathe him in, saturating yourself in the loam scent of him—thick musk; burning lignin and scorched evergreen—and let it sit in your throat until all you can taste is him when you swallow. 

“Thinking about you,” you say. 

He says nothing, but you catch the shudder in his chest, the tremble in his hands, when he slides them over your flesh. Reverent. Halting. The fingerprints he leaves on your skin are stained in chiaroscuro. 

He grabs you tight enough to bruise sometimes; holds you so close that you often think he’s trying to absorb you into him. To keep you safe and secure in the bulk of his body where nothing can hurt you, touch you. 

Not even him.

So, he pulls away. It’s not distance that pitches itself in the recess of his piercing gaze, but something close to it. Kin. Fear, maybe.

Of this, of you.

The fear started when Ajax went missing, but it was Keegan who held you together.

("It's gonna be okay, kid. We'll get him back.”

Empty promises. Broken pinky fingers.)

You broke when they brought Ajax home and laid him to rest as best as they could, and the marker that signified his resting place—a coded message only they would ever know—was all that remained of the man he fought beside, the man who made a pinky promise to never leave you in a the empty shell of a Walmart parking lot when you told him about the camping trips.

A scrap of fabric. A blood-drenched mask. 

You held Keegan as he whispered sorry, kid. Sorry. We tried. We— 

Gone. Gone. You think of rubble and the scent of rock dust. The crushing weight of cinder blocks and beams, and what it feels like to stumble when the earth breaks into pieces beneath your feet.

Elias. 

And now—

All he has left is Merrick. Hesh. Riley. 

Logan—

(“Missing,” the radio crackled a few days ago. “Gone.”)

—and you. 

He holds you at arm's length, even now, after coming back to you, after finding you again, because what you offer is different, more dangerous, than theirs. 

And despite what they say, Keegan isn’t a man who feels nothing at all.

No. 

He’s a man who feels too much. 

And he knows this. Knows it like he knows the world is in shambles, knows what the Federation is capable of. 

What you're capable of. 

You wonder if he's thinking of that now, as the shadows leak back in. They flood the corners of his eyes when he gazes through you, lost in those lour thoughts that rush by in quick succession. Too fast for him to cling to any. 

They cut into the crease. The ones that make you think he’s somehow omnipotent, all-knowing. That he can chisel inside of your head, and read the want, the greed, that festers in the rucked divots. 

And he isn't sure how to handle it. What to do with the bold, bare-faced sincerity of what you offer him. What you want from him. 

Before, Keegan would get so lost inside the maze of his mind that you didn't know how to bring him back. He'd speak only when necessary—just short, clipped words, commands (over there, inside, stop, eat)—and the silence would grate at you. Somehow quieter than he usually was; oppressive. 

It lasted for days, sometimes. 

It never sullied his ability to aim, to shoot. Survive. Protect. 

It was just—

An introspective silence. A storm cloud over blue. 

He was thinking too much, and wasn't sure which option to pick, which outcome was best.

You never knew what to say to bring him back. To ground him. All you could do was wait it out until the gyre would fade from his eyes, and he'd turn to you again, clear blue. 

Now—

“—You’re thinking too much,” you murmur, mouth trailing loose kisses over his stubbled jaw. 

“Just waiting for you to come back to me,” he volleys back, eyes cresting. A tendril of that unknowable something snakes through the gloom of blue, and you reach for it with curious, wanting fingers. 

“I’d never leave you.” 

Keegan swallows, and you trace the bob of his Adam's apple. A part of you expects it to retreat, to flee back to the safety of its bivouac where nothing can get too close. Nothing can hurt. 

But it doesn’t.

He huffs, and the soft expel of his breath, the sinking of his chest, feels a little bit like victory. 

“Wouldn’t survive without me.”

It’s as close to a confession as he’ll offer, and you take it with eager, greedy hands, cupping it in the plinth of your palm where it sits, safe from harm, from the world that crumbles around you. 

“Neither would you.” 

It’s a lie, of course. Keegan is dampening his own chances at survival by keeping you close to him instead of doing what everyone said he ought to, what he tried to do: leaving you behind. 

He pushed you away once. You wonder if he thinks of the separation. The distance etched between the two of you. Slowly relearning each other in broken husks that were once homes.  

"Drop Cali off at a safe zone, and then come find us, Keegan."

The intention, you know, was to leave you behind permanently. To keep you locked in the safe confines of a safe zone in Oregon, where they pitched tents in an expansive field, and lived off of pipe dreams. Where they pretended they couldn't fear the gunfire in the distance, or smell artillery smoke in the air. 

Direct orders passed down through the chain of command, from Elias himself, and yet—

He came back.

("Just gonna do whatever you want, kid. We're headed the same way, anyway.")

“That so?”

"It is."

Keegan swallows. Something yields, breaks. 

His palms are balmy on your skin, firebrands. You stare into his eyes, counting the deep ravines of inky black cutting through sapphire blue, and the gyre of those hidden things, locked away and kept at a distance, seem to tremble. Wobble. The edges blur. 

A frisson passes over his face, illuminated only by the milky light spilling in from the tattered curtains, and something cracks. Splinters. The fracture makes him flinch, makes him heave under you, chest expanding with the deep drawl of his breath. 

With another sigh, his hand slides down the heated flesh of your back, spreading over the swell of your ass. Before you can say anything in response, his middle finger dips into the valley between each cheek, brushing over the skin of your perineum before dipping lower, brushing over the wetness gathered there. 

He drags his finger higher, brushing over the soft skin of your ass. The feeling of it, the red-hot heat of his flesh, makes you keen, tightening around him. 

He huffs into your neck, lashes fluttering over the soft skin of your throat when he blinks. "Like that, huh? Want me here, too, kid?"

You gasp when he presses against the rim. "K–Keegan—"

"Not ready yet," he murmurs, and you try to stifle a whimper when he pulls away, heart thudding in your chest at the thought alone. 

He catches it, anyway.

"Fuck, kid—," it's a jagged husk; ripped up and shredded under barbed wire. Raw, wanting, and dark. You'd never heard his voice so low, so gritty. When you peer down at him, all you see is the endless ocean in the blanket of night. Midnight blue. It makes you shiver. 

You feel feverish when he groans again, when he rasps your name in a way that sounds like it was wrenched up from the recesses of his chest. Buried under soot and ash. 

"Gonna take you there," he pants, and you know him. You know Keegan. It's not a suggestion. It's a promise. "Soon."

The thought of it makes something ugly gnarl inside your chest. A possessive thing, out of place in such a moment. Between you and him, and this awful, awful world, greed has no room to grow. To burrow its roots in deep, and yet—

Yet. 

You crave him in ways that are unattainable. That belongs to a world that no longer exists in the land you roam. 

His fingers pull away, and settle on the tight flesh of your raw cunt stretched around the thick of him. His thumb brushes over your chafed, red skin, eyes softening as he coos at you. A gentle tut when he feels how wrecked, swollen you are from the brutal pounding he's giving you. 

You think he might be lenient. Merciful. Might let you pretend you have control again. But when you lift your gaze to his, eyes blurry and lachrymose, all you see is a deep, unrelenting satisfaction cut into deep slate. His pupils ripple. Deep puddles trembling in pleasure. 

"Fuck, kid." 

He punctuates his words with a slow, full roll of his hips. Slick drenches the tips of his fingers as he feeds you the thick of his cock, feeling the way you swallow him down to the base. To the root. 

"Takin' me so good."

His words are slurred, drunk off the spread of you in his lap, taking him into your willing cunt. Eyes flashing with something that prickles across your skin. It should be a warning to you, a siren. You know him enough to tell what those little flickers in his eyes mean, the shadows hidden in the canyons of blue, but he moves before the thought can take root inside the syrupy haze that clots over your thoughts. 

His legs slide up, knees bending, spreading, as he plants his feet firmly into the mattress. 

"Hold on." 

It's all he gives before he pushes up into you, cock sliding in deeper than before. 

You gasp, eyes snapping shut when he cudgels against something inside of you that has pleasure blooming in your lower belly. 

The angle is different, deeper and fuller than anything you'd ever taken before. Even riding him, sitting flush against his hips, it didn't hit that soft bundle of nerves that has fire licking at the base of your spine. 

You moan his name again, low and broken, and Keegan responds with a sloppy snap of his hips that makes your back arch in his hold, toes curling as batters into that place that makes Nirvana bleed over your synapses. 

Keegan's hand settles on your thigh, holding you steady as he bucks into you. His other hand tangles in your hair, cupped on the nape of your neck. He tugs, his nose pressing into yours. 

"You feel so good, kid," he breathes, sliding his hand down to cup your jaw in his palm. "Squeezing me so tight. Missed your pretty pussy—"

"—Feels so good, Keegan, feels so—"

His lips steal over yours in a searing kiss. Biting, blistering. He devours you whole until nothing remains but the taste of him on your tongue, in the back of your throat. It clogs all of your senses—a brutal assault of Keegan: rich, earthy. 

Like this, locked to his chest as he pistons into you, you have very little choice but to take everything he gives you. All of it.

The sounds your bodies make when he's seated in deep, the slap of his pelvis, the wet squelch of your pussy, make you dizzy. Make you keen. Whine. Your mouth drops. Toes curl. Eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The cacophony of him fucking into you over and over again fills the empty space around you, sticking to the walls, and the moss-covered floor. It bounces against the lining of your head until it throbs, pulses, and threatens to split you in two. To halve you down the middle where Keegan presses taut to the seal of your womb. 

All you can do is cling to him, hands sliding to grasp his thick, rippling forearms as he batters into you. It's sloppy, unrefined, and you've never seen him lose it like this before. 

It edges into that precipice of pleasure and pain, both admixing into a heady cocktail of bliss that roils through you. 

He trails kisses across your blistering cheek, down your neck. His breath is warm over your skin. The flash of teeth makes you gasp. 

"You're gonna cum." 

It's not a demand, or a request. It isn't a plea, a bargain. He says the words like he's relaying the time, coordinates, his position. He isn't unaffected—his voice crumbles a little over the vowels, wobbles on the syllables—but this isn't him asking you. He's telling you. 

Keegan knows your body like he knows the intricacies of his rifles, his weapons, and he knows, knows, you're going to cum around his cock soon. Can feel it in the way your nails find purchase in the firm muscles of his shoulders, the way you tighten around him like a vice. The sound of your voice when you get closer to that looming precipice he holds you over. 

He knows. 

You moan his name as liquid pleasure leaks into your marrow, and that vertiginous edge grows closer and closer. You want to warn, to tell him, but Keegan knows. 

He hushes you, mouth moulding to yours, and devouring the whimpers that seep out. His hands tighten, holding you steady as he fucks you through it, slowing his pace to the easy grind of his cock against the seal of your womb, dragging over that soft spot inside of you that makes your head spin, and eyes cloud over with bliss. 

You moan weakly into the kiss when he slides his hand back, fingers pressing once more against the taut flesh stretched around him. It's too much—the added pressure, the feeling of him bucking into you, brushing over the seam where you swallow him down—and you tilt your head back with a whimper of his name. 

"I know, kid," he grunts, teeth catching on your chin. "Gonna cum for me, yeah?" 

You can't speak, can't talk over the rush in your head, the thick spool of pleasure clotting inside your head, behind your eyelids, in your veins. Molten, liquid. You fall into him as the world around you shatters once more, erupting into white noise, static. 

Everything that isn't him—the solid press of his body, unyielding and supine under you; the weight of his hands on your flesh; the painful crescent of his nails sinking into your skin; the stretch of his cock wrenching you open, and filling you deep, deeper than you'd thought possible; the burning heat, white-hot and balmy, that soaks your being from base to empty, empty skull—is sucked out through the broken shell, and into the vacuum of nothingness where it dissolves into embers, ashes. 

All you can think, feel, is Keegan. 

He works you through it, hand still pressed against the rim of your spasming cunt, feeling the way you pulse around him. 

He moans low in his throat, the noise cutting through the gossamer of pleasure liquifying your joints into sticky molasses, and you know he's close, too. 

You push back into him, into the sloppy cants of his hips as he leaches the lingering aftershocks of your climax for his own taking, his own rapture. 

His chest shudders. Fingers tremble when they run along your skin, grasping, clenching. Keeping you tight to his body where you fit like a puzzle, and he, in turn, fills all of the empty, barren cavities inside of you, leaving no crevasse, no fibril, untouched by him. 

You want to give him everything. Everything. 

You buck into his thrusts, meeting him in the middle where he sinks home with a grunt that echoes through the hollow spaces of your ribs, and you tremble with him. Satiate yourself on his scent, his taste, the noises he makes, the feeling of his body on yours. Sweat-slicked and fever hot. You douse the burn heat of his in the inferno of your own; incandescent with the molten press of him everywhere. 

Your head drops, nose pressed to his cheekbone as you breathe in him in greedy gulps that make your lungs quiver. Filled to the brim with him. Gorged on his taste. Saturated in his scent. 

It's good. You're delirious. Mad with it. Drunk on the elixir of his briny skin, and the way he leaks into your pores, into your being.

You push yourself tighter against him until you feel his heartbeat pulsing inside of your ribcage. 

His name is ripped from your throat in needy gasps drenched in the potency of your devotion. Shrill hymns that fans over his skin until it prickles, dampening with the humidity of your breath. Stained, then, with you. 

"God, Keegan, you feel so good inside of me—" 

Slurred words tumble from your sore lips, dipped in euphoria, in bliss, as he batters clumsily into you. 

You'll ache tomorrow—already feel like one massive, liquified contusion. He might have to carry you from Yosemite to Coarsegold where Merrick and Hesh are waiting. 

They'll know, of course, when you can't stand properly without feeling the stretch of him anew. When your knees wobble and your legs shake. 

(But a part of you wants them to.)

"Gonna cum for me, Keegan?" You mewl, nails scratching at his shoulders when he grunts your name like it's salvation. Purpose. "Want you to, baby, want you to—"

His cock jerks, twitching within you, and with a choked, guttural moan, he cums inside of your fluttering pussy. Saturates you in his release that spits, plumes of warmth, against the battered, bruised seal of your womb. 

He rumbles your name again, a shattered husk of vowels, consonants, and the ecstasy that paints his timbre sends you spiralling down into an abyss of endless blue. 

Keegan's stomach flutters. The skin pulling taut as his muscles clench, seize. You feel the drag of his flesh over your quivering belly; the constellation of scars rubbing over your slick skin. Your hand falls to his shoulder, pressing against the bullet wound left behind when he perched himself in front of death for you. For you. 

His eyes slide open slowly, heavy-lidded and bone weary with the shuddering tremors of euphoria that dance between the rucked 

The tip of your nose slides over the bridge of his, and when his skin wrinkles at the featherlight touches, it feels a little bit like the scar over his heart. 

"Fuck, kid," he rasps, eyes misty and lidded. Heavy pools of mercury you could fall into if you tried hard enough. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He grabs your hand, fingers lacing through the empty brackets until every part of you is filled with him. 

Your nail catches the burn mark—a molotov cocktail when the world wasn't in shambles. His thumb brushes over yours—hot oil, perogies, back when your dad took you around America on grand adventures every weekend, and your brother would sneakily eat your fries from the McDonald's bag. 

The other snakes up your spine, tangling in your messy hair, and then his lips are on yours. Messy, wet. He gasps into your open mouth as you rock against him, working him through his undoing, his breaking. 

You hold his shattered pieces in your hands, clutched tight against your sternum, and wonder, once again, if this is what they mean when they talk about kismet. 

"Never gonna leave you again," he rasps, the words clawing up his throat. 

The raw, pulpy mess of them sits heavy between you. A promise. Promises. Broken, flayed. A crumpled heap of everything you once were in shambles. 

You think of the anger you felt before, when the heels of his palms dug into your shoulder, and he pushed. Pushed you out, away. The bitter resentment, the festering rage. 

The agony. The sorrow. 

You missed him. His stupid face. His stupid voice. Stupid hands. Stupid humour—soft, witty, and drier than Death Valley. His stupid touch, his kisses. Him. 

The loneliness carved a hole inside of you, a crater where only he could fit. 

(You sleep better when he's beside you, anyway.)

"I won't let you."

Your lips crook into a small smile, a dawning blitz over a ruined landscape, and you lean down, pressing your lips to his pulse, sliding up until you catch his lobe between the seam. 

"Still broke you," you murmur, skimming your teeth over the downy soft hairs that cover the shell of his ear. "Still won—"

His hand moves, braces against the back of your skull, the base of your spine, and then he flexes his hips beneath you. It's quick. A fluid motion. Keegan bucks you off, and rolls you under the bulk of his body within a blink. You barely have time to choke on your gasp when he's already nestled above you, eyes shining in the milky light spilling in from the moth-eaten curtains. 

"What—?"

His hips jerk into yours, cock sticky, tacky against your skin, but you feel him thicken with each slow roll he makes into you.  

He leans down, bracing his forearm on the flat pillow above your crown, eyes burning embers that spark in the dim light bleeding between the wisps of broken fog that shroud the moon. 

"My turn, kid." 

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 7, end.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

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this is the end! i know i said 2 more chapters after the last, but i really couldn't stretch this into two without losing -- it is hopefully a good ending and does justice for both lyanna and aegon. only one song choice for this chapter as i feel like it encapsulates their relationship to a tee and i've been waiting to use it. even if it isn't you type of music, i'd really recommend reading the lyrics to see what i mean! thank you for following along on this journey with me, this was my first time writing aegon and again, i hope i've done him justice. i enjoyed exploring his complex character immensely and i hope you all enjoyed reading him. enjoy. ❤️ please feel free to leave any aegon requests in my inbox, this won't be the last time i write him, i promise!

word count: 2.7k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss

one day the only butterflies left will be in your chest as you march towards your death - bring me the horizon & amy lee

warnings: p in v

There were few things Lyanna really preferred about King’s Landing over Storm’s End– it smelled of shit and was riddled with vipers, whereas Storm’s End was full of boarish, thick skulled men with blades in place of their brains, less akin to use diplomacy to settle matters but rather their axes. 

King’s Landing diplomacy was the same in a way, except without axes and with barbed tongues, dripping venom behind each carefully placed word. It was a task in itself to keep sane with the amount of people who tried to get something from her– kissing her hands, sending her beautiful dresses, exotic fruits and honeyed words. 

‘Sign this, your grace.’

‘May I possibly have this, your grace.’

‘In exchange, your grace, please, provide us this.’

It was tiring. Soul suckingly so. Some days she felt akin to a lemon with its juices sucked out, nothing left but the skin and seeds and pulp, rotting in the sun. But, she supposed, there was one thing she did like about King’s Landing. 

The sun.

It was resplendent here, unyielding in its warmth and caress over the gentle waves of the bay, orange and yellow tinge lighting up the horizon. She awoke in the morn, scantily clad, walking to her open balcony– but not quite walking out onto the landing– and basking in the sun like a fat cat, moving with the sun as it made its journey over the sky. 

Sometimes Aegon was there, too, following along at her heels like a lost puppy. It was the norm nowadays, over eleven moons since her miscarriage, since Aegon’s confession, since his will to turn over a new leaf. Where Lyanna went, Aegon followed. She held him like a child each night, and they would curl into one another– but they had yet to couple since the miscarriage, both of them maintaining a dry spell for the better part of a year.

 It was a test, in a way, for Aegon. He had denounced spirits and whores and all manner of sinful things, hardly gracing his own chambers anymore, preferring Lyanna’s. But, Aegon was a creature of habit, and always needed something to have, to obsess over as his own. Lyanna was part of that thing, but she kept him at an arm’s length emotionally, partaking in only the need for closeness with him in their bed, skin to skin– but never anything beyond it. Soft caresses, arms held together, one tucked into the other. They didn’t exchange many words during these times, only gentle sighs and hums of contentment, or nudges of discomfort if one’s elbow was poking into the other’s ribs. 

The other thing Aegon had succumbed to was food– he replaced his daily intake of alcohol with food, and filled out quite nicely in turn. Before, he’d been a scrawny thing, the bulk of his daily caloric intake being just alcohol, and the calories burned off in succession with his rigorous trips to the brothel. But now, he ate three meals, each of them with Lyanna, except for breakfast. Breakfast was still reserved only for Alicent, Lyanna and Jaehaera– Aegon would eat in solitude quickly and wait outside of Alicent’s solar, waiting for Lyanna. Where he had shown ribs before, he had gained some mass, filling in his clothes. 

Lyanna quite liked him this way, soft and plush– he was nice to lay upon. 

She knew that he still had needs, as a man, and the time he’d gone without a woman, only using his own fist for pleasure, was certainly long. She was proud of him, in a way, that he overcame his baser instincts to try and better himself. 

But, she felt guilty as well. He would try to make advances, of course, a gentle touch to her bare thigh, a kiss to her neck, an accidental brush to her nipple– all ways that were increasingly enticing for her. She just wasn’t ready, and she made him know that and respect it. 

This usually ended in him sulking to the privy with his tail between his legs, more likely than not to take himself in his fist. 

And so it was, for those months. But a whole year passed since Aeron’s passing– the winds were changing.

–

“The council meeting is adjourned, unless anyone has anything to say otherwise.” Lyanna spoke, adjusting her rings absentmindedly.

Otto Hightower spoke up, clearing his throat. His hair had gone gray in the year’s time, and he was getting on in age– the war in previous years had taken its toll on every surviving member of the family in their own ways, and Otto had been the most adept at hiding it, until it became too much to hide. The previous week, he had been walking the corridors at an ungodly hour, looking for Helaena. His mind was turning against him. “The matter… of succession, your grace. The king should name his heir sooner than later, little Jaehaerys is nearing ten years of age, and is unbetrothed. Mayhaps… we should propose a betrothal to Rhaenyra’s daughter, Visenya.”

The council looked at Otto, their eyes wide. No one breathed, nor said a word; they didn’t know how to deal with such a thing, as Otto was usually the one who dealt with it– his mind, once as sharp as a whip, was now a dulled leather belt. 

Lyanna glanced at Aegon nervously, who sat up in his chair at the mention of Jaehaerys. “Grandsire,” he began, “That is… a splendid idea. I shall send a raven on the morrow to Rhaenyra upon Dragonstone.” 

Otto, in his addled wits, had become fond of Aegon. The old man smiled, nodding. “Good, my boy. Very good. I have no more contestment– I do believe it’s high noon, Aemond and Ser Cole will be in the training yard, so I must depart.”

Lyanna frowned, watching as Otto left. In a way, she felt him losing his mind was a fitting punishment for his culpability in the war. And yet, it pained her to see him so… lost. Like a kite with no strings, floating upon the breeze until it inevitably hits the ground. 

As Otto left, one of the other lords spoke up. “The Hand… does bring a good point, your grace. The matter of succession is still undecided. The… tragedy of the first babe leaves the realm waiting.” 

Lyanna opened her mouth to speak, but Aegon cut her off, leaning forward in his chair. His hair had grown much longer now, past his shoulders in white curls, moving with him as he steepled his hands on the table. “The first babe has a name, Lord Wylde. Aeron, is his name, and you shall address my son as such when speaking of him,” he snapped. “The queen is still recovering from the traumatic ordeal of his birth, and we shall give her the time that she needs. Anyone who speaks a word more of succession shall lose their tongue. My patience for this council’s schemes has ran out. Consider this the only warning.” Aegon pushed off from his chair, snatching his Sunfyre colored ball and stashing it in his pocket. “Council dismissed.” 

Lyanna watched as the lords rushed out of the room hurriedly, each one bowing their head in subservience to the King and Queen. Soon enough, it was just the two of them left. She didn’t speak a word, watching as Aegon paced, his hand twitching. He glanced at Lyanna a few times before walking to her and pulling out her chair. “My lady,” he muttered, his voice somewhat faraway. 

She straightened out her dress, standing up. “Thank you,” she responded, looking up at him. His face was much clearer now, not addled by dark circles under his eyes, nor the constant blush of intoxication. But his eyes themselves were still tired, still haunted. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, reaching out her hand to grasp his. “For dispatching Lord Wylde.” 

Aegon huffed, squeezing his wife’s hand. “I wish they would give it up– as if this whole situation wasn’t the cause of the war in the first place. Blind fucking idiots,” he grumbled, a calloused thumb wafting over her palm. In lieu of going to the brothels, he often would take out Sunfyre for flights, sometimes up to three or four times a day, his hands calloused and blistered from climbing up and down the saddle. 

Lyanna inspected his hand, delicate finger tracing over the blisters– some fresh. “You must wear gloves, Aegon,” she chastised softly, “Your hands have become so rough.” 

“I don’t like gloves, you know that,” he snorted. “They ruin the experience, can’t reach out and touch my boy’s scales, really feel them, with gloves on, now can I?”

Rolling her eyes, she dropped Aegon’s hand from her own. “I suppose not,” she contended, leaning back against the council table. She looked him up and down, her heart still feeling a bit tender from how gallantly he came to Aeron’s defense. The sun shined from the open balcony windows, illuminating his longer curls, and the rubies upon the Conqueror’s crown. His figure was solid, casting a shadow that could only be described as kingly. Lyanna blinked profusely, feeling a long locked away sensation bubble in her stomach, a heat coming to her face. 

“What?” he asked, staring right at her. He had become so attuned to her, as they practically were fused to the hip at every waking moment.

“N-nothing,” she murmured, looking away. If he looked into her eyes, he would see exactly what she was feeling. Desire.

He stepped forward, a hand under her chin as he tipped her head up to face him. Their gazes locked and it only took a moment for him to flash her that dazzling, aggravating, lovely smile. “Do you like my hands soft?”

“... yes.”

His calloused palm rested completely under her jaw now, thumb and forefinger encapsulating her as he tried to eke out the secret she was hiding. “Why is that?”

“Aegon– don’t tease me.” she mumbled, eyes darting everywhere but upon his face. 

“I’m not teasing, merely asking,” he got closer, the smug aura bleeding off of him like a sickly perfume. “Why so bashful, my queen?”

She felt her heart in her throat at their close proximity. They were close at night, even closer than this, but the energy charged around them was… different. It was something that they hadn’t experienced in a long time. Her mind went to how rough their last time had been together, how he fucked her like he hated her, like he hated himself– she didn’t want that now. She wanted… something different. She had to take control now and reel him in, if this was truly going to happen. “You’re teasing,” Lyanna hummed, the mood shifting as she leaned forward, grasping him by the collar of his doublet and pulling him to her. Her knee rested upon his clothed crotch in a testing manner. “Or, am I?”

His entire demeanor changed then, his hand falling from her jaw to rest on her arm. His hunched shoulders slumped as he pressed into her knee, his arousal becoming quite clear. “Y-you are,” he whispered, “my queen.” Aegon’s lip pouted slightly. 

Pulling him downward then, their lips met for the first time in almost a year. It wasn’t aggressive or dominant like before– it was slow and meticulous, as if they were getting used to one another again. He tasted like orange, which he had been snacking on before the meeting. She tasted like lavender tea… it was all so familiar, yet distant. Lyanna’s idea of control slowly faded as they both surrendered to one another, tongues tasting and dancing as if they had all of the time in the world. They were both at each other’s mercy, both gentle as they undressed each other– as much as they could in the council room, anyhow. Lyanna unbuckled his trousers, sliding them down and grabbing a handful of his bottom, which was fleshy and pert now. His hands pulled down her bodice and squeezed at her breasts softly, rolling a nipple between his middle and forefinger. 

It didn’t take much time for Aegon to ruck up her skirts and sink himself into her, slowly. Their mouths parted, still ghosting over one another as they drank in moans and whimpers as he bottomed out. It was still a tight squeeze and a wonderfully intense stretch. They didn’t need to speak, they didn’t want to– both were enjoying one another’s noises; Aegon’s heavy panting, coupled with Lyanna’s breathy moans into his ear. 

They found solace and comfort, truly, for the first time in their marriage. It wasn’t fucking out of duty, nor jealousy, nor hatred. It was… love. It was because they wanted to, because they both wanted one another. 

Because they both loved each other. 

They’d never said it before, but the inkling of it had begun a few months before. Lyanna’s heart clenched as she stared into Aegon’s eyes, wide and violet, so full of devotion as he thrusted into her. It was on the precipice of both of their tongues– something that would change everything. 

“I love you,” Lyanna whispered.

“I love you,” Aegon responded.

It wasn’t a perfect relationship by any means, and was difficult at best. They could never fix each other’s scars, never mend the broken, never resurrect the dead– but, in that moment, as they truly made love for the first time, it became more bearable. 

Isn’t that all that anyone could ask for?

–

Another two years in Westeros passed. The sun was still shining brightly over the horizon, pouring through the glass windows atop the throne room. Hundreds were gathered in the masses from all over the continent. 

Otto had stepped down as Hand and taken a backseat to politics– he wasn’t in the present at all any longer, muttering of the past and beyond, and stayed near his daughter in a wheeled chair, blanket over his legs. 

Alicent had trimmed her hair short and stopped wearing green, rather, matching Lyanna’s choices of gold and white.

Jaehaera stood next to her father, dressed in blue and white, like her mother always wore. 

Aegon didn’t sit on the throne, but stood in front of it, hand on the small of Lyanna’s back. 

Lyanna pressed close to Aegon and Jaehaera, holding a babbling one year old upon her hip with one arm. A son– named Rhaenor, who had a head of white curls, and deep brown eyes. Her other hand was caressed on her stomach, which was swollen once again with child.

“I’d like to thank you all for gathering here today,” Aegon started, his voice booming through the throne room, silencing any chatter. “There has been some speculation on when the queen and I would formally name our heir. I won’t keep the realm waiting any longer. I, Aegon of House Targaryen, second of my name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm– formally name my heir,” he paused for a moment, ever basking in the moment. “Jaehaera Targaryen will succeed me as the ruler of the realm.”

There were whispers in the crowd but they were once again silenced. “We shall not repeat the errors of the past. My word and decree now is just and binding, not to be rescinded. My son, Rhaenor, will not succeed me, nor any other sons or children of mine. Jaehaera Targaryen is my heir.”

–

Jaehaera Targaryen succeeded Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, after he abdicated the crown at age sixty-two, focusing on helping dragons make a return after the near decimation of them from the Dance. He, with the help of his son Rhaenor, hatched five dragon eggs upon the Dragonmount, saving them from near extinction.

Aegon passed in his sleep at age eighty-five, surrounded by his five children and dozen grandchildren, as well as his fiercely loyal wife, Lyanna. 

Lyanna passed one moon after Aegon. 

Her dreams became real– she was young again, toes dipped in the pond with Aeron next to her, and Aegon next to him.

A few more figures approached from the darkness near the edges of the pond, white haired and violet eyed. 

[divinehedons]

a place of worship.

pairing: mandal'or!din djarin x f!reader

word count: ~2.7k words

summary: despite the multiple times from which you had made love with the mandal'or, there is always something quite different. like the taste of poison. from dust to divinity, measure for measure.

warnings: this is an explicit, dark fic. minors, DO NOT INTERACT. this is a play on bacchanalia (or at least divinely-induced mania) so expect a complete bastardization of both canon and religious-adjacent imagery. din djarin is possibly (definitely) not a good guy. dubious consent, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), allusions to non-consensual p-in-v, breeding kink

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED! Please let me know what you think or if I missed anything!

You still remember the day you first met the keeper of Mandalore. You remember the masked warriors that took you from the comforts of your small home.You remember the rough hands of the armourer who pressed her gloved hands against your lower stomach, as if reading the very pattern of your skin. She takes your pulse, as if incensed by the strong rhythm of your very veins. Her blood is strong. She shall sire the heirs of the Mandal’or.

And that’s how you end up in his bedchambers, scrubbed clean of dirt and grime so much so that you felt your identity rinsed away. So much so that it allowed you to exist within and without. To believe, momentarily, that the consummation of what you didn’t know to be your marriage occurred to someone else, a different version of you.

He was a gentle lover, even back then. When all is said and done, he provided you with a small meal, the gentle touches cleaning you again of spend. He asked you your name. You said it in a whisper, He showed you his scars when you couldn’t stop looking. And, in that warm silence from which all memories exist, you showed your own.

–

You supposed it all changed when he started leaving for battle more often. The weeks of warfare would return him to you: slightly, but unmistakably changed. Sometimes you would hear of him lumbering into his hallowed halls, bearing the heavy weight of his beloved darksaber. You would hear his steps before you actually saw him, pulling you closer with a drunken chuckle.

“How about a kiss for your warrior riduur?” Sometimes you think he truly growls before he takes your lips between his teeth. 

Sometimes you fear he would one day bite your skin clean off. You try to tell him once that it hurt. He responded by truly making your lip bleed, tongue running across the taste of iron and moaning. Even when you squeal, writhe in the pain, it’s almost as if he was looking for a spot that made you cry the most. Then he kisses you again, comforts you, calls you the most beautiful things. Cyari’ka. Light of my life, my sin, my soul.

You have not carried an heir, even if it was your purpose. You were surprised by the kindness when he asked you if you wanted a child in those early days of your marriage. You suppose you should have cowered in fear. And yet, perhaps his kindness has convinced you otherwise. So you ask him to wait. You try and read his features beneath his stormy gaze. But he knows how to mask himself well. He smiles, kissing your forehead.

“Whatever you say, mesh’la.”

He does not tell you how politics goes and so you learn to read between the lines. 

When he falls short of something, he takes– he’d grab you by the arm, press you down to the nearest surface, and sink his half-hard cock between your unprepared walls. He shushes you when you whine. He forces his fingers down your throat when you persist. He does not wait for you to come. He fucks you for his own pleasure, oftentimes leaving you with his seed between your legs as he goes off to distract himself with his ward.

But when he succeeds… you are reminded of the patient man at the night of your wedding. He’ll ask you of your day and chuckle as you redden, flustered to come up with some linear narrative. He makes love so softly and so gently that for a moment you think you finally understand what it was everyone seemed to see in him. He stops from simply being the Mandal’or, the keeper of his realm, the cunningly vicious commander-in-chief. He softens, he turns somewhat human. He asks if you’d let him. Ask as the prickling of his beard tickles the crook of your neck, letting you pull off your own little chemise of your own volition. Ask as he weighs your breasts and suckles on them so needingly. Ask as he prepares you, bringing you orgasm over orgasm with his fingers and tongue before slowly finally fucking up to you.

As he approaches you now, you try and see which hand you will be dealt with. He sees you, picking through the seeds from the gardeners, trying to decide which would be most suitable for the season. And when you see him, you see his playful smirk as he finally disables his weapon, clipping it to his belt before brushing back a few fallen strands of hair.

“Have you eaten, adi’ka?”

Only then do you know. It was a good day.

—

In the more recent weeks, it had become harder to separate your marriage with your duty. No matter how the Mandal’or shielded you, you still heard the whispers. You still saw the dark visors looking towards you– towards your too-empty womb. You swore you heard someone tsk once. Yet what stuck to you the most was when the Armourer herself visited your riduur so early in the morning.

You were barely awake, pretending to have fallen asleep under the sheets whilst the two of them spoke. The air was tense, and you understood why she had come. She had come to deliver an ultimatum.

“We sought for the most viable being to ensure the safety of your bloodline,” she had been saying. “But seeing that it is not the case, perhaps it would be deemed proper to… seek out another.”

“You will do no such thing,” Din finally intercedes, clearly enraged by the suggestion. You hear the sound of breaking glass, a sharp cuss escaping from him. Did his grip on his drink slip, by all means? “The matters of my wedding bed are none of your business. And I will keep it that way.”

You hear the soft sigh of exasperation. One for each of them.

“I hoped for it to be the same. But you are expected to sire heirs. And in avoiding so… you leave an already unstable, rebuilding world into more chaos.”

You stop listening. It is too much. What hurt most was the knowledge that she was right.

Maybe that’s why you let Din take you completely when you woke again.

He fucks up into you with renewed vigor, muscles taut and begging to be released He growls in your ear when he sees your face contort with pleasure just as your consciousness shakes you awake. “Precious girl, you’re so good-” When you kiss him, he kisses back, when you moan, it makes him all the more determined.

Ever since the night you consummated your marriage, that morning was the first time he felt the prickling ironies of the Maker. It felt good, too good to watch you take his seed so willingly. It was a pleasure he never seemed to understand before.

You try to ask him what the matter was but he does not answer. You look into his eyes and you almost see the way he seemed to look into a different plane of reality, opening himself up to complete and utter surrender.

If only you knew where that look of his would lead you… perhaps you would have tried to wake him from his trance. Instead you let him, fucking you all morning until his duties finally tore him away from you.

—

He began to tell you of how mandal’ors have originally conceived their heirs. Generations upon generations, he claimed, were formed in the temple, blessed by the Makers themselves. He talked of it with such passion, such interest, that you saw it so vividly in your head. The mandal’or and their chosen partner, dressed down in nothing but sheer white robes, drinking from the Living Waters of Mandalore. You could imagine the chants as he whispers it to you in bed, a calling for divinity. Nine months later, a strong heir is born into the world, kicking and screaming with divine power in their bones.

All the while, his bad days grew more and more frequent. His turbulent gaze grew more familiar. So did the sting between your legs when you sit with him at dinner. He stopped talking to you, and instead chose to whisper to himself, muttering incoherent languages whenever he thinks you don’t look. He goes on battles more. His advisors tell you he succeeds, violently, at that. You heard whispers of how he slaughtered a warring tribe, done so without hesitation that no one looked him in the eye as they marched home.

He now fucks you with abandon, uncaring if you happen to pass out in the barrage of thrusts one evening, pinning you down so hard you bruised in another.

More than ever, you begin to feel more lonely. It begins to hurt your chest when, month after month, your husband finds that you still bleed, that once again, you have failed to provide him an heir.

Maybe that is why you suddenly succumb.

When you enter your dark bedroom, hearing his mutterings in the dark, you pretend not to hear, sinking into the sheets as you watch him seated on the edge of his side of the bed.

“Do you think it’s possible,” you began, horrified to hear the terror in your voice. “Do you think it’s possible to do it again?” He looks to you, stormy eyes still unweathered as you try to find the right words.”If we went to the temple, dressed in robes, and drank from the living waters… do you think it would still be the same thing?”

You see the light break in his gaze, rooted as he climbs up the bed to kiss you gently. He smirks in the darkness, as if his prey had finally fallen into his trap.

“I’ll make sure of it, mesh’la.”

—

When you both entered the temple, he was in a good mood. He attended to you all morning, brought you food to bed, brushing your hair with his fingers repeatedly as he watches your movements. Perhaps he was waiting for the moment you changed your mind. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t dare; it’s as if you knew his attitude would change the moment hesitation became apparent. So you smiled, asked him to help you dress, and followed him wherever he went.

Now here you stood, dressed in a thin white robe within the lower levels of the planet. It is quiet, and he is patient with you. It had been so natural, to kneel upon the obsidian banks of the Living Waters, to follow him in prayer, attempting your best to recreate the phonetics of Mando’a. And when you kneeled to cup fluid in your hands, it made sense. The water was cool and sweet to the touch, extinguishing the last embers of hesitation in your chest– and perhaps finally defeating your will, subduing you into the role the world has laid out for you.

It is difficult to describe the feeling of divinity cracking open your mind in submission. You feel pinpricks and shivers against your scalp, an electrifying presence that only grows stronger when Din Djarin presses his lips against the crook of your neck. He is so gentle about it, trailing his hands up and down your trembling torso, whispering pet names into your ear as you fully relax.against his touch.

Perhaps it was Pavlovian. Because whenever he spoke to you in Mando’a, it was like a shared secret, like nothing but the two of you mattered. Mesh’la, cya’re, adi’ka.

You try and respond whenever you can. Riduur, riduur, riduur.

He disrobes you, and the pinpricks of energy seem to follow his fingers wherever they went. “Sometimes I think you’re just divine,” he whispers, making you giggle as his rough beard scratches against the skin of your back, your thighs, the skin of your stomach. He seemed to stop right above where he imagined your womb to be, muttering once again in incomprehensible Mando’a, kissing the skin as you shut your eyes and melt into his touch.

In your hands, my love, you wanted to tell him, I find my devotion.

He lays you on a bed of smoother rocks, leaving himself on top of you, so close that you see that tranced look in his eyes, see how much intense it had been from the last time in the bedroom. You try and make him look at you, but he sees nothing, even with you sprawled, willing and brand new right before him. He focuses his actions on tasting your sweet little cunt, groaning at the feeling of your walls barely letting his tongue in.

“Always so tight for me, pretty girl.” He sounds so different, so distant.

So you shut your eyes. You pretend.

“Give me an heir, Din,” you finally whisper, spreading your legs for him, welcoming him to take. “A beautiful little heir…”

He does not even disrobe himself. But when he kisses you, he silences the doubts in your mind. His hands wander, exploring your skin anew before he finally cups your face gently, making you look at him before he carefully, lovingly fucks the head of his hard cock into your wanting cunt.

The stretch is glorious, comfortable. You feel your slick working to open you up for him. Your moan reverberates from the high walls of the caverns, combined with the feral growl that escapes the man above you. “That’s it. Just like that, cya’re. You like it, don’t you?” You try not to cry, feeling as if your husband had transformed right before your very eyes and you didn’t even know it.

You stare the man you love in the face, the keeper of Mandalore, the warrior divine, the bearer of the darksaber that tore from town after town. He kisses you again, and you try and recognize which parts of him remained the same. He is still Din. He responds to the same name. He kisses you the same way he does on the good days. He sounds the same, he still likes it when you tangle your hands into his hair and mewl needingly into his ear. You’d still follow him anywhere, even if he didn’t ask.

And then you try to recognize where he had changed. His hands pin you too tightly by your shoulders. Up close like this, you finally see the ghoulish dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping. His jaw, permanently locked as a tell of his alertness. It must have been weeks since he had ever felt at peace.

His rough fingers reach down to rub you through an orgasm, pausing to witness the way your body writhed from the pleasures brought about by your hand. He gets to have you this way. Only he gets to have you this way. Only he gave you the pleasure you felt burning through your bones. And it is enough. It is enough as he fucks you through the tidal waves, chasing his own release in a heavenly blend of cries and moans.

By the Maker, he thinks, perhaps You truly did exist. Only You are capable of creating such a glorious act of creation in her.

There is something different when he fills you up there, blessed by the Living Waters of his own planet, the same waters that sanctified him. He bites your lip until it bleeds, thrusting once, twice, before his knees buckle and he is falling into you, dazed and drunken from the very smell of your combined spent.

He makes you promise that you’ll never leave him. “Swear it, adi’ka. Right here where the heirs of Mandalore came into being.”

You promise. You swear.

He kisses you, and you try and pretend that you didn’t notice the way he had begun to force his mouth against yours. Even his kisses are changing too.

[waynes-multiverse]

Mercilessly

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a heroic, green-eyed hunter, but now, not much of him and his emerald eyes are left after he made a grave mistake and broke the wrong girl’s heart, leaving her empty behind. Y/N, however, is dressed for revenge and ready to take back what once belonged to her...

Warnings: +18!, language, smut (fingering, p in v, dirty talk & slight degrading), canon-level violence, a lot of evil scheming & some dark fluff

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: First time I’m daring to write Demon!Dean. This has been on my writer’s wish list for goddamn ages. Written for my wonderful bestie’s @avanatural‘s 1,000 followers celebration & antagonist challenge. 😈 You and your stories completely amaze me, so here’s to 1,000 more! Collect ‘em like Pokemon, babe! The crown truly belongs to you! 🥳🥂🖤 My prompts were Billie Eilish’s You Should See Me In A Crown 👑 and a quote, which you’ll find in bold. I also based parts of it on The Bravery’s Hatefuck 🔥 because it certainly is a fitting song for Demon!Dean. Enjoy, my loves!

Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist

High noon. The bar was virtually deserted, tranquil, and almost peaceful, cradling every new arrival in a false sense of security if they weren’t smart enough and came equipped with a sixth sense for peril. After all, some dangers lurked in bright daylight and weren’t as easily identified by the naked eye.

Luckily, Y/N was smarter than most and knew exactly what kind of threat was waiting for her there as her black heels on fiery red soles stormed through the doors of the rundown tavern. The remaining guests of the establishment consisted of drunkard patrons lingering around dirty tables and halfway falling asleep in front of their glasses. Her determined and vibrant eyes, however, immediately landed on a tuft of sandy-blond and disheveled locks.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A beautiful, flesh-eating flower. A blazing hot mess. Dean fucking Winchester.

Y/N was a big girl, though. She knew better than to get lost in something shiny, the glitter and glamour, the cheap thrill. Fuck diamonds. They were just a marketing scheme, and she already fell for good packaging once in her life and got severely burned like a child touching the hot plate of a stove. And while the cold emptiness in her chest prevented her from feeling anything, not even a tingle, her heart still pounded a few beats faster once her eyes caught sight of the main prize.

Her mind flooded with memories, vivid images of a life she once possessed. The endless movie nights, the laughs and talks, the tears and touches, the love that was lost. Lost because of him and his selfishness. And while none of it mattered anymore, she swore a long time ago, she wouldn’t let him get away with it. No, he still had to pay for what he did, suffer the same fate she had. She was deadly set on making her vision a reality. 

So, you could say Y/N came prepared, came with a plan. After all, the perfect revenge wasn’t something you could whip up in an hour and implement haphazardly. It took years – years of executing moves, forming questionable relationships, and conducting the most boring research in dusty libraries and tombs. Y/N was absolutely playing the long game, a strategy that’d certainly make every grand master of chess blush.

Of course, the asshole of all assholes didn’t even reward her with a meek glance over his broad shoulder, the bang of a door apparently not thrilling enough for him to spin around. The clicking of high heels on sticky floorboards as she stalked closer to the bar counter, however, seemed to do the trick, her target intrigued enough to finally face her.

The promise of a willing woman, of his next potential prey, naturally forced a predatory smirk onto his plush and sinful lips. A smile, which dropped quite abruptly once her former lover realized who truly stood before his acid green eyes. Oh, she was definitely not the corruptible angel he’d hoped for in his wettest dreams. And while he might be anything but human these days, the shock was big enough to let the black-eyed mask slip, and for a moment, she was reminded of the person he used to be. The good, kind, and selfless hero, full of shame, guilt, and regrets.

God, she hated that fucking guy.

“Remember me, Winchester?” A smirk played across her lips when his instinctive first answer was a light swallow, still subtle enough to pretend he didn’t care. The longer he stared at her, the more it became a scathing glare until the shock had subsided enough, and his defined jaw began to clench under the rough layer of scruff.

“Y/N.” Her name rolled off his wicked lips and nearly caused her to sink to her knees in front of him. It had been too long since he’d last said it, and she almost forgot the sound of it, the deep, shuddering timbre of his voice. The strength it took for him to utter her name in the first place was hidden behind a stoic exterior, however. He’d never thought he’d say it again, either, and it showed. “What the hell are you fucking doing here?”

Her head tilted like a lost puppy’s, brow puckering as her gaze innocently drifted to Crowley next to him, who’d been suspiciously quiet this whole time. “Aw, you didn’t tell him?”

Y/N wasn’t in the least bit surprised that A, the demon tried to cross her, and B, tried to make a run for it with his new bestie. It was what demons, especially Crowley, did best, after all. They couldn’t be trusted. And although she warned the scumbag several times, she naturally expected her peasant’s next move. No one beat the queen of chess.

“Tell me what?” Dean gritted through his pearly white teeth, his glare quickly swerving to his new partner in crime, who swallowed the enormous and craven lump in his throat.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…,” Y/N tsked and casually crossed her arms. “You know, I’ve waited.” She took a step closer to the demon king, the flames in her eyes speaking volumes. “I bid my time. I paid my dues. Don’t you think I deserve credit?”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley scrambled for words, the coward in him ducking so much that even a woman of her small stature practically towered over him. “I couldn’t have done it without your extraordinary genius, my dear.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Dean’s patience had dried up like a raisin as he demanded an answer, swiftly pulling out the First Blade. He forcefully slammed it into the wooden countertop of the bar, piercing straight through Crowley’s palm and pinning the demon in place before the slippery bastard could pull a Houdini act on him again.  

“Ow! Bloody–!” Crowley hissed in pain and anger at the former hunter, who, in return, smirked quite complacently at the achievement.

“Tell him,” Y/N prompted with an unsympathetic look toward the demon in agony. “Tell him who found Cain in the first place and came up with the idea. Tell him who told you what the mark would do to him. Tell him you truly did nothing because you’re worth nothing. Tell him who made him into what he is. Tell him who cursed him.”

“You did,” Crowley croaked out while his hand soaked the countertop and painted it crimson red. “And may I add, your Majesty looks incredibly pretty today.”

With a scoff, Y/N rolled her eyes at the demon’s obvious attempt of flattery before she snapped her fingers and painfully forced his meat suit to his knees, his palm still nailed to the bar top as he let out a loud scream. She smirked when she noted Dean’s look of surprise at her little trick show. She certainly had leveled up since the last time he’d seen her. It scratched the little tingle in her belly.

“Yeah? If you think I’m pretty, you should see me in a crown. Don’t make me come for your job, too. Let’s face it, Crowley – you’d make a better servant than a king. Cross me again, and I’ll end you, demon scum,” she threatened, her jaw tightening and nostrils flaring. “Did you pathetic weasel really think I wouldn’t find you, slurping chick drinks in some dive bar no less? Do I really need to wear a warning sign next time I make a deal with you? You were supposed to deliver him on a silver platter for me. Did you really think I wouldn’t hunt you down?”

When the reigning king submissively ducked his head and swallowed like a beaten dog, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Cheerily, she leaned over the hunter’s lap and the mahogany counter, her hands going through several liquor bottles till she found one to her liking. She purposely stuck her butt out, wiggling and swaying it in front of the former hunter, still remembering a few preferences from the good ol’ days. It didn’t take long before she felt Dean’s long, thick fingers crawl down her spine and smooth over the leather-clad globes of her ass.

“Wanna take this somewhere more quiet, princess?”

Y/N gleefully hugged the chosen bottle of bourbon and pressed the cool, amber glass to her tits, nodding quite eagerly before placing a contrastingly soft kiss on his cheek. “One step ahead of you, my love. It’s time to celebrate!”

As Dean closed the door behind them, he watched as Y/N stalked through the motel room he’d called his home for the past months, curious Y/E/C eyes observing the remnants of his meaningless existence. It had been two years since he’d last seen her, since he kicked her out of the bunker and broke his own useless heart with it. She still looked the same. Stunning and breathtaking like the day he’d met her and bitter, cold, and angry like the day he’d lost her.

“You might’ve acquired those pretty new eyes, but your preferences are still the same, Winchester,” she teased, spinning to him with a grin that reached her ears. “Still picking the shady dive bars and gross motels over the five-star hotels. What’s wrong with a little luxury and a comfortable mattress, huh?”

Dean only rolled his juniper eyes, not in the mood for chit-chat or amusing banter, and prompted, “Why did you do this? Apparently, I owe those pretty new eyes to you.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t play dumb,” Y/N huffed, annoyed with his act of innocence. “You know why I’m here. Contrary to popular belief, you’ve never been stupid, Dean.” A smirk spread across her face and lit up her dimples as she swayed closer. Her index finger hooked into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him flush against her small body, pointed teeth denting her bottom lip. “You’ve never been-,” her hungry gaze wandered down, palming the growing erection behind the denim, “-disappointing, either. At least not in that regard. You know, I fell for these eyes once before, and they’re even prettier now...”

Her teeth sunk into his pulse point as she left her first mark there, the tip of her tongue licking the salt from his skin. His hands didn’t deny themselves the pleasure of roaming her frame, her perfect curves, and her taut skin either, before one hand found rest on her exquisitely rounded ass, her cheek a perfect fit for his large palm as he cupped and groped it, pushing her against his bulging crotch that achingly pressed against the tight fabric of his jeans and begged for release and a warm, wet hole to fill.

While he hadn’t come to a clear decision about her yet, he knew he could postpone any thinking for later. After all, he did whatever the fuck he wanted, no consequences, and right now, he wanted to shove his cock inside her tight cunt and fuck her like there was no tomorrow. Albeit feelings and past attachments didn’t really play a role for him, he still remembered enough of their time together to know she’d always been a good fuck and certainly the best time. The things she’d do for him, say for him, and let him do, had always been wicked, way before his heart was corrupted, and Dean was all about celebrating the good times these days.

Craving the feeling of a blissful high, his mind flooded with images of the bruises and bites he’d left behind on her skin in the past and filled with thoughts of how much he’d missed her taste and smell. He certainly wouldn’t turn down her irresistible offer. So, throwing his resolve out the window, his mouth roughly claimed hers, tongue slipping inside, teeth biting flesh until it drew sweet, scarlet nectar.

His wet lips trailed along her jawline and down to her delicate neck as she became soft and bendable in his hold. “How did you do that to Crowley?” His question reverberated against her throat before he drew and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Last time I checked, you were soulless, not magic, princess.”

He at least had to ensure she couldn’t butcher him before he had a chance to do the same. It didn’t help, though, that their little stand-off was part of the turn-on. Who’d snap first? After all, they’d both been hunters once and knew the game all too well.

Amused, his former lover chuckled with a devilish twinkle in her gorgeous eyes that lit up her entire face. “God, don’t you just love it when they scream? It’s the best sound after cutting someone’s tongue out.”

Dean’s hands then wrapped around her throat, pushing her back into the next wall as he pinned her there and fixed her with a deathly glare, feeling her swallow harshly in his grip. He squeezed a little harder, his jaw tightening with his hold on her. A smirk played across his lips, practically smelling her arousal trickle into her panties.

Dean then pulled the blade from his back and thrust it into the papered wall dangerously close to her head, even drawing a little blood from the tip of her ear. He knew she was smart enough to understand it as a warning. Collecting a scarlet drop on his thumb, he licked his pad and relished in the metallic taste on his tongue.

“You better start answering some questions before I do what I shoulda done a long time ago, sweetheart,” he growled, his nose running along hers as she inhaled his scent like life-supplying oxygen.

But Y/N only smiled mysteriously, puckishly shrugging her shoulders. “Things change. Learned a thing or two after you exiled me. Made some friends in high places.”

“So, what? You did all this for revenge? Little pathetic, don’t you think? All over a good lay…,” he taunted her and scoffed.

Her greedy hands clasped his cheeks, sharp nails piercing his skin as she dragged him back to her addicting lips. “No, baby, I did all this for you, for me, for us. Don’t you see? After everything that happened, after what you’ve done to me… you can finally make it right. I know that’s what you wanted the most, even now with that little curse on your arm. And now, we’re the same without all those icky feelings getting in our way. We can just fuck and make the world ours. One by one.”

“There’s no more us, sweetheart,” Dean bit, flashing her a set of onyx orbs.

“Cute. There’s always an us,” she replied like his answer didn’t even matter to her, leaving no room for further discussions. “Do you still feel guilty about it, hm? You were so, so selfish. At least now, you’re honest about it and not hiding behind feigned heroics anymore.”

“Old me felt guilty, yeah,” he admitted and let out a dark chuckle. “But that’s kinda one of the perks of the new me. Now, I just think those people we used to be were pathetic and weak... I was weak. I sent you away when I shoulda just fucking killed you.”

“Or maybe you should’ve just let me die the way I was supposed to in the first place,” Y/N gritted bitterly. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so fucking self-serving and let me go. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to save me because that was what the great hero Dean Winchester did, right? But the other thing you did so well was fucking things up, and boy, did you fuck this up, didn’t you?” she mocked and smirked when his look darkened and his upper lip twitched in shameful admittance, teeth grinding down. “Do you like my plan so far? You know, not having a soul is almost like already being dead. No dreams, no future... There’s nothing alive inside of me. Might as well sleep in a damn coffin. And because you showed me no mercy, I made sure I showed you none either, my sweet baby boy.”

It was true. It was all his fault she had lost goddamn everything. Her love, her family, her home. As weak as he was, Dean couldn’t let her go when she got hurt during a run-of-the-mill hunt. He brought her back to life, a spell that chipped away her soul till there was nothing left of it. And still, as foolishly smitten and in love as he was, he thought he could goddamn fix it, fix her, fix them. But there was nothing left for him to love and nothing that was capable of loving him back. Yet, he still didn’t have the guts to kill her in the bitter end.

“Want me to correct my past mistake, huh? Is that why you’re fucking here? ‘Cause I’d be happy to do just that,” he growled warningly into her ear as he leaned closer, hearing how her heart rate accelerated as his hot breath fanned against her delicate neck.

“You might be a demon, but I know you still don’t have the fucking heart to kill me,” she giggled in amusement and placed her palm on his chest where the miserable muscle pounded underneath. “Who’s pathetic now, huh?”

“Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. It won’t end well for you, honey,” he threatened, far from admitting that she’d seen right through him and called his bluff. “But then, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been a slut for me.”

While Y/N’s little plan, apparently forged in hellfire itself, certainly made them more alike, the difference between them was that he still had a soul. His was just blackened, clouded by darkness, and disfigured over time by an abundance of pain and anger and, well, one little curse. Hers, on the other hand, wasn’t there at all. She was just an empty vessel, no feelings and emotions inside.

Old him couldn’t trust her; new him didn’t care, though. The new and improved version of him even recognized her worth. Y/N had always been cunningly smart, certainly smarter than him and even smarter than Sam. Dean could recall memories of vivid discussions with Bobby, the two of them rattling off weird trivia facts almost to a competitive degree.

Dean needed her. He could use her to his advantage. She was valuable.

Plus, Crowley had started to become annoying fairly quickly. The only reason the former hunter hadn’t stabbed the demon’s meat suit yet was that Dean really didn’t want to take over the duties of kingship. He could care less about Hell. All he wanted was to fuck around, drink excessively, and do a little karaoke.

Y/N, on the other hand, would make a good queen. Smart, driven, just. She’d make fair decisions and reign with an iron fist and a fucking brain. In fact, Dean thought she’d make an excellent ruler of Hell even. She was right from the start: This was what he’d wanted since the day she left him – a way to have her back in his life, didn’t matter if the plan was perfect, good, or straight-up evil. Being a demon, freed from all the chains of humanity, was the best fucking thing that ever happened to him – and he owed it all to her.

“Yeah?” She provokingly nudged his nose as her hand slid under his waistband and inside his boxer briefs, her palm rubbing along his throbbingly hard dick, causing him to growl lowly. “Show me, baby. Show me what a bad guy you can be,” she purred and tore into his plump bottom lip before letting it pop back in its place. “Show me how much you used to love me, how much I meant to you. Show me by fucking me like you hate me now... I wanna be your favorite toy again. Play with me, baby. Love me mercilessly.”

Effortlessly, he twirled her in his hold, pressing her tits against the wall. With one motion, he roughly pried the tight leather leggings over her asscheeks, his hand slipping to her front and cupping her bare and leaking pussy, her arousal trickling onto his finger pads.

“So fucking wet, hm? Did my slut miss me this badly, huh? You missed this cock, baby girl?” he breathed against the nape of her neck and inhaled her intoxicating scent once more before his teeth tore into her smooth flesh, making her cry out. His dick twitched in delight when her moans filled his ears as his digits rubbed at her clit and set the sensitive nerve endings on fire, her nails clawing away at the grimy motel room wall.

One hand then gripped her upper arm tightly and pinned her writhing body in place, his broad chest pressing against her back as his mouth marked her shoulders and spine.

“Cum once now, and I’ll fuck you into the next life, my little plaything,” he husked challengingly into her ear, and just as he thrust his first thick digit inside her waiting, hot center, she came undone and trembled in his hold.

That was one.

Kissing the salty drops from the slope of her neck, his chuckles vibrated against her heated skin. “Still a good girl after all this time. Impressive. You were almost fucking polite. Some things really don’t change, huh?”

Breathlessly, Y/N spun around to face him, the swell of her breasts that spilled out of the revealing top heaving with each erratic intake of air. She grinned crookedly up at him and locked her fingers behind his neck. “Well, haven’t you heard? All the good girls go to Hell. And I believe you promised me something,” she sang like the prettiest, most innocent damsel.

“Don’t be a brat, baby girl. Impatience is a vice,” Dean reminded her, eyes as dark as midnight while his thumb traced her kiss-swollen lips before stuffing his wet fingers into her mouth. Hungrily, he watched her suck them clean as she tasted the mess she’d made, the tip of her tongue provoking his pads and desiring something with more girth.

“Thought we were all about those vices now, my love,” she giggled darkly and kissed his open palm on her cheek before chasing his lips in a drunk delirium, clashing with pointed teeth and tongue.

His hand traveled to the back to cup her head, fingers weaving into her hair and tugging a fistful. Her knees were becoming wobbly, bending and giving in slightly, pulled down by his gravity on her planet, an instant reflex that only came from years of orbiting around each other.

“I want you so badly, De,” she breathed needily against his lips and caressed his cheek with a gentle touch, almost treating him as breakable, whispering, “I might not be able to love you anymore, but I still remember what it felt like, you know? It was so… pure.”

A smile graced his lips, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. “Yeah, I know what you mean, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore, baby. I’ll take care of you again. I’ll turn us into something great, amazing even,” Y/N vowed pantingly, the excitement sparkling in her eyes before she desperately claimed his pillowy lips like an addict chasing their next high.

Swiftly, the zipper of his jeans opened, the denim and cotton boxers pooling around his ankles before he gripped his rock-hard cock. Y/N rid herself of her leggings, her hand wrapping around the grip of the First Blade, still firmly stuck in the blood-stained wall. His hand quickly curled around hers on the weapon, a distrustful look glazing his dark green eyes.

“Trust me, okay? I’m not here to cramp your style, baby,” she assured him, a smile playing across her pink lips, and something in her vicious eyes told him that he could confide in her.

Dropping his hand from the blade, he smoothed his palms down her curves and gripped her hips tightly instead as she hoisted herself up on the blade and wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles crossing behind his back. His lips crashed against hers in a scorching kiss, teeth tearing and biting before he lined himself up with her entrance and violently thrust inside her dripping pussy to the hilt. She gasped a loud moan that surely could be heard all through the motel as he bottomed out completely, his dickhead slamming harshly against her cervix. He groaned and closed his eyes for a heartbeat as her warmth enveloped his entire cock. She’d always been the perfect fit for him.

“Missed this, huh?” Y/N teased him, grinning smugly, and watched his brow form furious creases.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grunted and pulled out enough to slam back into her with full force, one hand finding its way back to her throat.

“Oooh, bossy. I like the new you. So raw,” she smirked and gasped anew when he hammered into her again. “F-fuck, baby... That’s it.”

This time, it seemed to do the trick as Y/N’s voice stumped, and she fell silent, her head thumping back against the wall in pleasure as his hips snapped against hers, pounding into her at a furious and relentless speed, the motel room wall shaking with her body.

“You know, by the end of the night, I’ll make sure my cum’s leaking out of every pretty little hole of yours, baby girl. How would you like that, huh?”

With one deafening scream at his next hard and deep thrust, Y/N sinfully smirked at him and nodded eagerly. “Oh, I’d fucking love that, baby.”

Dean tenderly kissed the burning red scratches on her bare back, soothing the bittersweet pain a little as his fingertips traced his marks along her spine. He made good on his promise, fucked her into oblivion without showing her any mercy, so much so that they both lost their sense of time and the meaning of life and love. In the end, it all just trickled down to meaningless, random shit. Pleasure and power were all that truly mattered in this deranged world, after all.

Y/N giggled sweetly as he found another ticklish spot before she turned in his embrace and caught his lips. “So, morning light is here, baby boy. Time to make a choice,” she prompted, smirking broadly. “Wanna team up for a little destruction?”

Dean sent her a smile, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face as he gently caressed the rosy apples of her cheeks. Finally, he sealed their deal with a sacrilegious kiss.

“Alright, glad you made the right decision, baby,” Y/N teased, her wicked smile almost splitting her face in half. “You know what we have to do first, though, right?”

“Yeah, we need to kill Sammy, Cas, and Crowley before they ruin our fucking fun,” he replied and kissed a path down to her tits, sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

“Ding, ding, ding,” Y/N grinned happily upon his correct answer and wiggled her eyebrows before pushing his head further down between her legs to her abused cunt. “But first, make me scream for mercy again, my love.”

Dear Chuck, you better hide from this toxic af couple 😂 Hope you enjoyed this, babes! There’s another smutty one-shot coming tomorrow for V-Day and then I’m done harassing you 💖😉

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @deanwithscissors​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​ @akshi8278​ @flamencodiva​ @chriszgirl92​ @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul​ @djs8891​ @leigh70​ @snowlovespie​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​ @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78​ @muhahaha303​ @mimaria420​ @creepzeyecandy​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​ @hobby27​ @fromcaintodean​

[marshmallowprotection]

Does Saeran believe in God?

I don't think there's any evidence in canon that would confirm that he believes in God. Even as I'm racking my brain for answers, I just can't think of a single moment where he says he believes in God. You may think he would given the fact that he was helped by the church, but I don't think that aligns with Saeran as a person.

Much like how he's so clear with Rika when he says, "I didn't see you or V as parents. You're no different than the people at the church to me. You helped me, but I wasn't close to any of you like you think. I was indifferent to all of you."

Why would he put faith in God if he's so willing to admit that even though everyone was helping him, he was always wary and afraid of their intentions? How can he have faith in people, much less God, if he's afraid? Better yet, for a kid like him who would wonder so hard why God would put him into an abusive home... put yourself in his shoes.

Why believe in that God if that God allows cruelty?

Why let him believe in someone who thinks it's okay to torture a child like that? He wouldn't feel good about God... even more so after he'd gone through Mint Eye. Can you imagine being in recovery after going through Mint Eye? Do you think you would ever trust a faith-based group ever again? Even if it's an "accepted" religion? Especially if it's a brand of Christianity since Rika based everything on her trauma from Catholicism?

Rika put herself in the position of a speaker for God as if the crass words of salvation and prosperity she spoke were a way to survive on this planet "the right way". That's why Ray lived in fear of screwing up! He was afraid of being damned.

Not only because he would be denied his eternal happiness in 'paradise' if he failed his Savior since her selling point is how the Eternal Party will never end, but because he knew the earthly torture for his sins was sickening. The basement was no better for him than Hell would be. The idea that salvation will always shift and change according to Rika, not stay the same, is no good for him. How can he stay on a path of righteousness if what he knows isn't going to be the same the next day?

The cleansing ceremony is like a twisted version of praying and counting your Hail Marys. Repent, beg for forgiveness, and cry like you mean it. Religion in general would be traumatizing for Saeran Choi, but once you start to consider the weight of all the tiny details that go beyond just believing in a God?

It's personal.

Being in Mint Eye wouldn't have done anything for Saeran in the way of believing in organized religion. If anything, it's going to sway him a long way away from it. I say one thing, when he talks about living and dying in his After Ending, it's not about Heaven and Hell. It's more in line with living with the person who loved you in your heart.

Like... his memory lives on in you, and maybe he lingers with you, but he's not sure what he believes about life and death. He mentions believing in the idea of guardian angels and love keeping someone alive.

I think Saeran's feelings about religion are incredibly complicated and hard to pin down for a reason. So, we can only navigate the things Saeran's mentioned here and there to gauge what faith looks like to him. His faith is about life and love. He needs more time to navigate life before he decides what feels right for him. For now, he needs to live an average life to enjoy himself. Religion might not be part of his life now, but who knows? The future isn't set in stone but I can't say that I expect him to believe in things anytime soon.

He isn't faithful to Christianity like Saeyoung, but he might be better considered as agnostic if we need to use a label for him for the sake of convenience. He can't deny something without being able to have the facts but he isn't going to put his blind faith into something, either.

Not again.

[elavoria]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @sylvienerevarine and @dirty-bosmer, thank you!

I tag @1helios1, @sheirukitriesfandom, and whoever wants to join. :3

Putting these under the cut~

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10, and about half aren’t up to my current standards but I’m leaving them up for posterity.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

71,030, which does not remotely reflect how much I write. I wasn’t particularly inclined to answer these given the AO3 bias to the questions but then I was tagged twice so here we are.

I’m sitting on just about 401k words of unpublished fic. : )

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Dragon Age [all games], Pathfinder [mostly Wrath of the Righteous], and TES [Skyrim and Morrowind with a bit of Oblivion] are the biggest ones, but also Shadowrun, Mass Effect, Cyberpunk 2077, Fallout 4, Game of Thrones, Divinity: Original Sin II… if I get hooked into a story there is liable to be fic it seems.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I’m only giving you two—From Dreams to Deliverance [non-canon Nerevarine/Dagoth Ur] at 100, and The Adventures of Polyshep [post-canon Shep/Garrus/Tali OT3 + others having mostly fluffy fun] at 55.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely! And if we’re talking privately I WILL talk your ear off in response to any comments you make.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t go in for angsty endings but my Nerevarine’s fic will probably have a less happy / joyful / triumphant ending than the others, and my V’s ending will likewise be bittersweet.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm… hard to say. Perhaps a tossup between the Dragon Age fic and the Pathfinder fic… Ama and Isanna both get everything they ever wanted and more.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Ama’s AU fics get hate in the future for mage/templar shipping…

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, generally things that are descriptive but not terribly explicit, and most sexual intimacy is a bit glossed over. I find I tend to write at least one descriptive sex scene per pairing and then gloss over the other instances—partly because it isn’t necessary to the story, partly because writing sex scenes takes so much more effort for me and I have no interest in coming up with endless variations on that theme.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve written exactly one very whack crossover and have no intention of doing that again—Skyrim/Drowtales.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I’d be honored if someone asked to translate something of mine.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I co-wrote a bit of unpublished Skyrim fic with spouse long enough ago that neither of us would be proud of it anymore, with each of us taking different POV chapters for our vampires that were going through the Dawnguard questline together. More recently I’ve been borrowing one of his WotR ladies for my Pathfinder fic and having him supply her dialogue if that counts. Amusingly, both instances of our characters interacting in this way involve his judging mine for their romantic interests lol.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Hmm… I get so deeply attached to most of the ships I write. I will cheat and say Ama/everyone I ship her with. ; p

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point I doubt my TES fics will ever get finished, but it would be nice if they did… Rya’s story was too grand for my capabilities at the time, and Rendrasa’s I simply lost motivation on and with her playthrough finished, well… hm.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and characterization. Dialogue is my beloved and I’ve been told repeatedly that I capture canon characters well. Also romance, soft and tender things...

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Too many filler words and phrases that get repetitive… but I like them. So.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

If it fits and is understandable, sure. I sprinkled some German into my Shadowrun fic, but it was mostly pet names and I translated everything in the notes. As a reader I don’t want to be left with questions as to what was said, or have to look things up separately.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Good gods, probably H*rry P*tter ages and ages ago, before junior high, if I’m being honest, and not much of it. Not remotely interested in that fandom anymore. Then a tiny bit of Les Mis fic not too long after that. Terrible but at least some of the Les Mis concepts are… highly amusing, shall we say. Mermaid AU??? Younger self, what on earth…

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

My Dragon Age longfic-in-progress, Knight’s Star. I love Ama sooo so so much and I think her extended conversation with Samson is one of the best things I have ever written. The Pathfinder fic is shaping up to be a close second though. Learning many things about myself with that one hehe such as how desperately I want a gnome boyfriend.

[jawanaka]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @herbalinz-of-yesteryear! Tagging @poetikat, @squiddviscous, @andordean, @kuwdora and @traumschwinge

1. How many works do you have on A03?

Twelve

2. What's your total A03 word count?

210,622

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Witcher (books/games), Cyberpunk 2077, Kingdom Come: Deliverance, Star Wars (though specifically Andor), House of the Dragon and one brief sojourn into Ace Attorney

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

That would be The Queen Who Never Was (but once), The Sins of Fathers, The Swallow of Novigrad, Love is the Value of Life and Lord Edgeworth and the Inn by the River

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. Because i want more lol. But also because I want to scream with people and love seeing what particular things people liked or picked up on.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think that would be The Traitor's Daughter, my Andor fic. Because I was thinking of giving the characters catharsis and a happy'ish ending and decided naaaah

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think its toss-up between Where Paths Lead and Let me be your armor because they both literally end with people in love riding off into the sunshine.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. Got one person complaining recently that no HOTD AU should be allowed a happy-ish ending but you know...

9. Do you write smut?

No but I'm inching closer.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

So last year some loon stole The Swallow of Novigrad and tried to sell it as an self-published ebook on amazon, which was wild. The thing that amused me the most I remeber was that they chose a picture of Cavill!Geralt for the cover, which is funny since a) I don't write in the show canon and b) Geralt doesn't even appear in the fic.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! @herbalinz-of-yesteryear does occassionally work on a chinese translation of Swallow (when not writing her own excellent work) and also there's a Russian translation of the same work.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since the Star Trek fic I wrote in High School

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't know, I don't really ship as such even do I have alot of ships (Ciri/Morvran, Yennefer/Geralt, V/Judy, Keira/Lambert, Theresa/Henry/Hans) that I enjoy.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm increasingly sceptical I will ever write the final part of my Ciri triology but we'll see

16. What are your writing strengths?

Vizualisation, dialogue, introspection

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Currently finishing things lol. But also connecting dialogue with action.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Naah. I think most con-lang is overrated. There are some cases its warranted but usually unneccesary

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

My Ciri duology is my pride and joy but if you want me to give you a totally honest opinion its The Queen who never was (but once) because I walways wanted to be able to out together that kind of epic short story, if thats the word.

[sage-nebula]

T A I L S for the fandom questions!

You know the way to my heart 💜 Also very opportune because I'm currently playing through Tails' section of Frontiers and OHOHOHO . . . let me tell you, I owe Ian Flynn my life.

But anyway, onto the questions!

T - If you mostly have mlm or wlw ships, do you have any m/f ships?

Honestly I'm not sure which I have more of? Haha I don't ship based on the gender of the characters involved, but rather because of the chemistry between them. That said I do have some m/f ships, yes. For instance, baby's first OTP was Ash/Misty from Pokémon, along with Syaoran/Sakura from Cardcaptor Sakura. I also usually like the canon couples in Mike Schur shows and those tend to be m/f, such as Jim/Pam from The Office, Ben/Leslie from Parks & Rec, and Chidi/Eleanor in The Good Place. Link/Zelda from Breath of the Wild is another one I have, and for Sonic, I'm one of the few people on this earth that ships Shadow/Rouge, haha.

So yeah, I do have some! Like I said, it's about chemistry for me, especially since I'm not into smut so the gender of the characters really doesn't matter, haha.

A - Your current OTP

I mean, my tip-top favorite ship ever is MakoHaru from Free!, but they're kind of on the backburner right now, as happens whenever Free! is in another "we're definitely not making any more" hiatus. (They say this time was really ultra finally the last time, but they've also said that like three times before this, so. We'll see.) I don't really have a romance ship that I'm super passionate about right now. Instead, I'm currently deeply invested in the platonic unbreakable bond that is Sonic & Tails, for . . . honestly I've lost count of how many times I've been here, hahaha. But it's really back to basics for me, because before I cared about any romance in media, the Sonic & Tails brotherly bond was my first ever hyperfixation. I mean, my first fanfiction at the tender age of 6 was about them. It was awful, but it was about them. So no matter what else is going on in my life, if no other hyperfixation has got me, I know they got me. And I'm pretty happy about it right now. <3

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

You know, I was going to say "V*ltron", but as godawful as that fandom was (and "godawful" does not begin to describe that fandom's sins), it wasn't them that made me stop liking the show—it was the show itself. Honestly, by the time I created a tumblr I was in my early twenties, and by that point I was already old enough that it was possible for me to enjoy something even if the fandom was awful. And I mean, I grew up a Sonic fan, and a Pokémon fan, and a Legend of Zelda fan. Those fandoms are notorious for being super negative and not fun places to be in big congregations. And yet, I still love all three of those things, because I know how to curate my experience and interact only with people that are fun to interact with. So no, I don't think tumblr made me dislike any fandom, at least not in the sense that "this game / show / whatever isn't fun for me anymore." The series itself has to no longer be fun for me to walk away from it. Not even the worst of fandoms can do that.

L - Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for

I would really just like Rose to please update Reconciliation, and if the third book is off the table (which would be more than understandable), then tell me what she had planned for it. But also I don't want to rush her, because every chapter is worth the years it takes to come out, even if I have to re-read past chapters to remember what was going on. (And I don't mean that critically, it's an excellent fic, I am more than happy to re-read it. It's just also a very long fic, so I don't always have the time. But I mean, I've been following it since I was . . . 14, I think? So I'm not about to stop any time soon. I will be 96 and still cheering whenever she updates that fic. I'm in for the long haul. So she can take however long she needs; I will still be here, ready to read the next update.)

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon

This is such a broad question, I have so many headcanons for so many different characters! But since we both like Tails and Sonic, I'll go with one for them —

I headcanon that, when it comes to music, Sonic favors punk rock. This is because, at least in America, punk rock—and specifically leftist punk movements—often focuses on themes such as anti-establishment, anti-capitalist, and most importantly, anti-fascist ideals. These are ideals that all ring true with Sonic's own beliefs, given that he prioritizes freedom and routinely fights against any who would try to oppress others (i.e. Dr Eggman trying to become a global dictator). So while Sonic of course would like punk rock because it tends to be fast-paced, loud, and energetic (perfect to run to!), the lyrics would also speak to him and would get him pumped up up as well.

And this relates back to Tails, because Sonic raised Tails, and often we tend to enjoy the music we grow up listening to, nostalgically if for no other reason. But for Tails, I don't think it's just a nostalgic thing (especially since he's only 8, so a bit young to be feeling very nostalgic); he genuinely enjoys it because he holds those same beliefs that Sonic does, because again, those are the values that Sonic raised him with. They may not agree on everything, but they agree on important things like this. So Tails also enjoys punk rock, and when he's working alone in his workshop, will often blast it from the speakers loud enough to be heard several streets away. No, it's not good for his hearing. But no, he's not worried about it. He'll just build hearing aids if he needs them, it's no big deal :P

So, that's one of my headcanons, along with the reasons behind it! I hope you enjoyed it :)

[angcrmanagcmcnt-moved]

                   ANGER & THE OTHER HOMUNCULI IN BROTHERHOOD.

     NOTE: This post is only my thoughts on what Anger’s relationships with her siblings in her Brotherhood verse are like. It does not apply to any of my current interactions with other sin blogs(but can if muns want it to), and more than anything else I believe should serve as a potential jumping-off point for discussion when I interact with new sin blogs. I will also not be including Father in this list, because he is a beast and fucking complicated all on his own and kinda deserves to have a separate post. He may or may not get one in the future, I haven’t decided yet.     If I do not currently interact with a blog for one of the sins and Anger is asked about them, she will default to the information listed here.

                                                 DO NOT REBLOG THIS POST.

    The first thing to be noted is that in my blog’s canon, Anger was a bit of a mistake. I will probably make a post on that and the whole Pendleton situation in the future(and will elaborate if asked in DMs) but for now, we continue.

    Something important to note is that one of my headcanons regarding Anger and the other homunculi in her Brotherhood verse is that she was kinda passed around them like a hot potato. This is somewhat because Father likely wanted to figure out where Anger would be most useful but also because I honestly don’t think most of the sins wanted to play babysitter for long.

     Anger was very stubborn and childish and asked lots of questions. Not to mention her childlike nature plus the fact that she’s Anger the Irritable means that she was rather prone to destructive tantrums and fighting. Thankfully she has somewhat mellowed out since then but when I say Anger was prone to fighting I mean fighting. Over the smallest, silliest thing she would be ready to throw hands if it made her mad enough.

    For these reasons I can see her pressing some buttons that would best be left alone. And, eventually, it led to her being sent to 'find Greed', but it was honestly only for Father to get a break from her and her antics. Plus, maybe she would grow the fuck up on the way and become useful in some capacity.

Pride.

     Anger looked up to Pride quite a bit in her early life. Of course, Pride has a pretty low tolerance for nonsense, so with Anger’s fondness of pranks and simply being a little bastard of a child in general, it’s easy to see how she could get on his bad side rather easily.      Make no mistake, parts of it she earned. Several times she’s tried to fight Pride and in every instance, she’s had her ass handed to her in, at most, five minutes. Safe to say, Anger eventually began to dislike the eldest sibling.

Lust.

     Lust was Anger’s only sister, so Anger felt an obligation to try and be close with her. Not that it was difficult for Anger to try. It just wasn’t quite reciprocated in the way Anger wanted, not that she knew. Her relationship with Lust was positive, in Anger’s eyes despite being very surface-level.

Greed.

     Anger, in her early days, hardly knew about Greed other than that he was one of her older siblings, and his presence was severely lacking compared to the others. Over the few months that she was below Central, Anger learned a few things about her missing sibling.

He’d been missing for many years.

This disappearing act was not a good thing.

And several of her siblings did not appreciate this little stunt from Greed, to say the least.

      But if/when Anger gets to meet Greed, they’d probably get along great. They’re both chaotic bastards after all, and probably share about two brain cells when they’re together.      One is logic, the other is pure chaotic energy and you can seldom tell who has which. But usually, they’ve split the chaos one in half and logic is tossed away somewhere and forgotten about for a while. Anger is certainly the baby of the homunculi and one that is not completely rotten so I can see Greed liking her and her antics and being the big sibling Anger always wanted the other homunculi to be.

Envy.

     Envy was honestly one of Anger’s favourite siblings, once upon a time. Before she was sent out to ‘find Greed’, I can see Anger and Envy being the chaotic duo under Central. Anger was always willing to do some outlandish shit to get positive attention and approval from them, but she would always draw the line at hurting someone. It was pranking galore with these two, and I believe that Envy might have at one point been sad to see Anger go.

Sloth & Gluttony.

     There’s not much to say when it comes to Sloth and Gluttony, so they’re in the same category to save space. When it came to both of them, Anger was nice whenever she would interact with them. I can see her and Gluttony getting along well(though, it’s mostly because sometimes Anger would share her food with him). On the rare occasion that Sloth would be in father’s little man-cave(where Anger mainly resided), sometimes he would let her curl up against him and take a nap, or sit on his shoulder(which made her one very happy child).

Wrath.

      Anger and Wrath’s relationship was likely a bit...strange in comparison to Anger and the other homunculi. Technically, they’re very similar, which can’t be helped; but at the same time, they’re somewhat different.      While Wrath is an adult and the leader of an entire ass country, Anger is a child and thus usually would worry about things that a child would, which pale in comparison to the duties that Bradley has as Fuhrer of Amestris. While Wrath doesn’t often display his sin and can keep it restrained(i.e, during Maes’ funeral when Elicia was crying), Anger will display hers on a whim, easily becoming irate when slighted by someone else.      Their similarities begin, however, in the fact that when they are serious and want to harm, they will. Of course, they’re also both human-based and are technically made from the same sin. Anger is simply a lesser form of Wrath. They’re two sides of a scale if you will. On the other hand, they can also both be compassionate and sympathize with humans.     With all this in mind, I think that Anger and Wrath’s relationship was...kinda neutral. Wrath, being around humans quite a lot more than the other homunculi, was probably the only one who understood Anger’s tendency to act more like a human than a homunculus, and because of this, Anger liked spending time around Wrath.

[rozcdust]

Waste it on me

Pairing: Takeomi Akashi x f!reader

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 900ish

Warnings: Canon divergent, profanity, ooc, sugar daddy/ sugar baby relationship, age gap(both are consenting adults), suggestive, a lot of making fun of religion

pt. 1 | previous | pt. 14 | next|playlist

Taiju stood unimpressed at the doorstep of his offensively massive house, looking you up and down with a frown as you innocently smiled, keeping your hands behind your back, bouncing up and down like a child.

“You always do this.” He exhaled a tired sigh. stepping aside, motioning for you to enter, “I prepared you a change of clothes, They’re in your room.”

Your face fell, a scowl replacing the smile.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like a stripper, and we’re going to church.”

“Wasn’t Jesus’ homegirl Mary Mag a fullass prostitute?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Taiju shoved you inside the house, gentler than one would assume from the twitch of his eye, slamming the doors behind you.

“I do not care what you wear in general, but you can not go to a church in a V neck and a mini skirt.”

With a roll of your eyes and a middle finger pointed in his direction, you headed inside the room Taiju designated as ‘yours’, even if you barely ever came over lately.

The room was always neat, always spotless, everything right where you left it the last time but the dust always cleaned, all of your favourite books from when you still lived with him stacked on the shelves in alphabetical order, a clean ashtray on the windowsill alongside a few plants, all still perfectly green and clearly well taken care of.

On the bed, neatly laid out, already perfectly ironed, was a suit, a black one with a white button up and grey flower motif on the jacket, one you knew would fit perfectly because Taiju’s extra ass hauled you to a tailor to get your measurements, under the guise of ‘I’m not letting my goddaughter parade around in a bad suit, it’s faster to get you a custom one.’

He was fucking see-through.

Sighing, you hastily changed, trying to not fuck up the buttons as fast as possible, knowing the Bible-thumping freak would flip his shit if he was late to his precious, boring-ass hang out with Jesus.

A knock rang out through the room, just as you struggled with the cuffs, Taiju’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Are you decent?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Like, morally? Not really!”

Hearing him sigh, you snickered.

“Are you dressed?”

“Mostly!”

“Can I come in?”

“No, I hate you, you’re not even my real dad!”

He opened the door with an exasperated sigh, raising an eyebrow at your frustrated face as you battled with the goddamn cuffs.

Without a word, walking up to you, he carefully pulled your wrist towards him, buttoning the cuffs before repeating it on the other side.

“There,” He straightened out your collar, “If I pay you 20000 yen, will you go confess your sins?”

You blinked.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

He sighed, letting go of you.

“It was worth a shot. The dress shoes are by the door, I’ll wait in the car, the keys are in the door. Lock.”

“Yes, dad.”

You could practically hear the twitch of his eye.

Lazily putting your tie around your neck, you closed the bedroom doors behind you, making your way down the hallway to put on the shoes, closing and locking the doors behind you, you jumped in the passenger seat, making yourself comfortable.

“How the fuck did you tie that?” Scowling, he reached over to fix your tie, “You’ll be a lawyer in a few months, you’ll have to wear suits, you have to know how to tie a tie, good Lord.”

Raising an eyebrow as you let him do his thing, you tapped your fingers against the dashboard.

“Do I now look like a good daddy’s Catholic uwu baby girl?” You asked once he was done, turning in his seat to start the car.

He threw you a look but said nothing, eyes peeled on the road.

“What is the deal you wanted me to look at again?” You ask, lighting up a cigarette, lowering your window even if the air outside was freezing.

“Just something for the restaurant, a company wants us to buy their products, I’d like a professional to look over the contract and you’re the most capable I’ve ever hired.”

“Awwww, Tai, you think I’m capable?”

“Of course, you’re incredibly intelligent and charismatic, I raised you, after all.”

“I take it back, I’m the dumbest bitch alive.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Recite ‘Our father’ and ‘Hail Mary’ to me.”

“Shit, Tai, I kinda forgot.”

“Come on, you have to know this y/n. Repeat after me. Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

You pulled your hands together, putting on the best ‘I’m a good Christian child, no porn in my Minecraft server’ face you could muster, clearing your throat before starting.

“Oh daddy, who vibe in the clouds up above, blessed be your rancid vi-“

He looked as if murder-suicide wasn’t a sin, he would have swered the car into the nearest wall available.

“I hate you so much.”

“It is mutual, my dude.”

As he parked in front of the church, before you could exit the car, he locked the doors, turning towards you, a somber expression on his face, and you raised an eyebrow in expectation of a scolding.

“Do not, and I mean do not, call Jesus an ‘O.G. Lenin, a true communist icon’ in front of the pastor again, I beg.”

You pushed the ‘Unlock doors’ button with a pout.

“You ruin all my fun.”

🔖Taglist (open):

@1818cigarettes @babu-haitani @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @lagrimasdeglitter @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @emilywaters @dinve @levistiddies @bxnten @spookykoko @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @gigibobigi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @kennyb0y @chaoticyuna @haitanihime@adeptiixiao @denkis-slut @wakasagurl @dontfollowmelol @yukimaniac @marrymemanjiro @bajitorasprincess @somniari-94 @haikyuu-simps-assemble @gulfkfl @the-invincible-mikey @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @snowyseungs @sanzuswh0re @itsyournumber1whore @lem0nsquizy (second taglist in the comments! please let me know if i forgot to tag you 💕)

a/n: sorry for no chapter yesterday, i was crying over math 🤧 if i had a dollar for every time i sobbed over math homework i’d have enough money to not have to s t u d y i t 😩

[dadolorian]

(Diamonds and Daddies one shot) An Angel, A devil, and a Daddy ,Whiskey x F!Reader x OFC MXFXF

A/N: This is a colab fic written with @talesfromtheguild​ and omg guys you have no idea how fun this was to write and the ideas we shared  🥵 🥵

Huge thank you to her for the help and being willing to collab please go read her stuff. 

This is a CANON side story to Diamonds and Daddies

Fandom: Kingsman the golden circle Ship: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Cis F!reader x OFC!

 Warning/tags: Threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl) , Oral (M and F receiving) , Creampie, strap on , FXF action, MXF action, over stimulation, aftercare, rough sex, dirty talk, P in V sex, slapping, DD/LG /BDSM style relationship

Word count: 10K +  🥵

AO3 LINK -

Summary: For Jacks birthday, HoneyBee surprises him with a threesome.

Your limbs ached as you rolled over and snuggled into Jack’s bare chest, your nose pressed into the crook of his neck as you pressed lazy kisses against his skin. You could feel him start to stir in his sleep, as your soft kisses began to rouse him awake. His arms wrap around your torso, pressing you closer to him. His skin is warm beneath yours, and part of you never wants to leave the warmth and safety that he radiates. 

    “Good morning.” he says, his voice a deep rumble. The combination of loudly moaning all night long, and his sleepy morning voice made his voice a deep growl that reverberated through the air.

    “Good morning Daddy.” you reply, kissing along his jawline, early morning stubble rubbed against your skin.  

Jack finally cracks his eyes open, and tips his head downwards to look at you. He smiles softly and proudly when he sees your hair is still a mess from last night's activities, and your lips are still slightly swollen. He shifts slightly in bed, and brings his hand to cup your jaw before pulling your face towards his where he gently kisses you awake. 

You pull away from him, and he openly pouts. You laugh at him before ducking back down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He tries to follow you and your sweet kisses when you pull away again. 

“How would you feel about a threesome?” you ask him out of nowhere.

Jack’s head falls backwards onto his pillow with a deep groan as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the naughty images his mind conjures up away. He releases a huff of air as his hands adjust their grip on your waist.     “Darlin’...” he says tilting his head to the side to look at his alarm clock. “It is 6:30 in the goddamn morning. You can’t just spring that on me.” 

“But would you be interested?”

“Babygirl, you know I don’t share.” 

“But Daddy…” 

“It ain’t gonna happen darlin’. My cock is the only cock that gets to fuck your sweet little pussy. No other man is gonna touch you.”

“But…” 

“Unless you got a girlfriend that wants to join us, the answer is no.” 

Your eyes light up - you’ve got just the friend to join the two of you in bed, but you school your expression and pout slightly, trying to steer Jack away from the conversation you’d started. 

“Okay Daddy…”

He rolls you over and onto your back with a devilish smirk on his handsome face. His hands hold onto your hips as some of his body weight crushes you. “Now, how about breakfast in bed?” he asks, licking his lips before disappearing beneath the sheets. 

* 

When Jack had said he didn’t want anything and that you didn’t need to get him anything for his Birthday you felt bad. You had wanted to get him something, but for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing your man could want, need or desire. Additionally, if Jack truly did want something, he could buy it himself. He was a grown man who could provide more than enough for himself - and you. Your monthly allowance was generous at most, and all the gifts and dates Jack took you on… he spoiled you rotten. 

But then you recalled that silly little conversation you had with him one morning after a long night, and you suddenly knew what you wanted to get Jack for his birthday, and you knew exactly who to call to help you out. 

It hadn’t taken much to convince your good friend Taylor to join in on your plan. In fact, Taylor was on board before you even finished asking your question. When she had agreed, you explained to her how Jack liked things - your relationship was heavily based in DD/LG roleplay, and he liked being able to feel all of you without a condom on. 

Taylor wasn’t surprised at this information - she’d been on the Sugar Baby app you used for years, and had been with many daddy’s, and baby’s, and had been a part of many, many fantasies. Getting to join you with your Daddy was something Taylor was looking forward to. She was curious about your himDaddy, what with you constantly talking about him and how great he treated you, and how well he fucked you. To say she was curious about him was an understatement. 

After she had agreed to yours and Jack’s terms, you made sure to get everything in order. You had Taylor tested to double check she was clean, she was already on birth control so you didn’t have to worry about that, and finally you took her shopping. You were going to go all out on lingerie for Jack’s birthday - after all your Daddy deserved the best. 

When you had arrived at the fancy lingerie store, you were greeted by Amy, one of the sales associates that had been a good friend of yours and always knew what to put you in to make Jack drool. 

“What are we going for today?” Amy asked with a coy smile. She had been a Sugar Mama long ago, and knew what suited you and your Daddy’s tastes. 

“We’re just browsing today. Birthday surprise.” you’d told her. 

Amy winks at you, and tells you to call for her if you need her help before she slips away to help another customer. Together, you and Taylor walk through the lingerie store, browsing for something that Jack would like to see the two of you in. It feels like you wander the whole store and find nothing that feels right to wear as a gift for Jack. 

With a dejected sigh, you look over the tops of the racks for Taylor’s dark head of hair, before you spot  her on the other side of the boutique. You weave your way through the racks before you come to stand beside her. 

“What about these?” she suggests, her hand running over a vibrant red silk bra and matching panties set. Your hand reaches out to run over the material, and you’re surprised at how soft it feels under your fingertips. Your head cocks to one side as your eyes land on a separate yet similar looking set just a foot away, and an idea sparks inside your head, remembering one of Jack's favorite kinks to explore with you. Stepping away from Taylor as she grabs the red silk number, you reach outwards and grab onto the set that caught your eye. You spin around with a devious little smirk on your face as you reveal what caught your eye to Taylor. Her own wicked smirk bloomed across her face as she eyed the lingerie in your hands. 

“Oh you little devil.” she teases you. 

“You’re the devil,” you teased back, sauntering off to find some accessories that would really finish the look off. 

Jack was in for one hell of a birthday surprise.

*

When Jack stepped inside his apartment, and dropped his keys on the hallway table, he didn’t notice the trail of rose petals leading further into his home at first. He only noticed the silence that greeted him.  By now his Honey Bee should have been leaping into his arms, as you always did when you heard him return home from a long day at work.             Curious, he took off deeper into the apartment, not finding you in the lounge and kitchen, he knew you had something planned for his birthday, so to not have you jumping on him the second he got home concerned him. There was no way you would go out at this time, surely? You knew not to head out without telling him. He was extremely protective of you and you’d be punished if you didn’t follow the rules.  As he neared the stairs, ready to search the bedroom, he finally noticed the petals. He chastised himself in his head, how a secret agent didn’t notice something so obvious in his own home was beyond him.     The annoyance he felt at his lack of observational skills was quickly overruled by a growing heat in his stomach as it clicked in his mind as to what the petals could mean.     He had no idea what you were planning, but he was excited nonetheless, all he knew was his precious little baby had a surprise for him, and that was all he needed to know. He slowly ascended the stairs, undoing his tie and throwing his jacket to the side as he walked. He followed the trail with his eyes, his smile and cock growing as his eyes were led up to the bedroom door. He paused at the door, hearing some soft, muffled moaning coming from the other side. He growled to himself, picturing you lying on the bed, legs spread wide, pleasuring yourself, as much as the idea got him hot and bothered, you knew the rules, and pleasuring yourself without his permission was a sure fire way to earn his ire. He didn’t bother knocking, intent on catching you in the act, and it was his home and his bedroom after all, instead he opened the door slowly, and let his eyes follow the petals right up to your shared bed. His eyes widened in surprise and lust at the downright sin before him.           His precious, innocent little girl laid out on the bed, wearing nothing but a frilly little white get up, that sight just by itself would be one to instantly make him hard. But no, you weren’t alone. 

Your hands clung to the hips of a woman he had never seen before, the two of you seemed unfazed by his presence, too distracted by each other's tongues as you kissed one another.

The strange woman, who was wearing a matching outfit to yours in red, opened her eyes and looked over to him, she smiled into the kiss, keeping eye contact with him she started trailing her hand from its place on your hip to between your legs, making you moan loudly. 

That made him snap out of his daze finally, he growled and strode towards the bed, stopping at the foot to watch you two more closely. 

“I don’t think this is what good girls do, ain't that right Honey Bee?” he rumbled hungily. 

You jumped, truly having been too distracted by Taylor to notice Jack come in. Your lips left hers and you stared up at him, batting your eyelashes at him, trying to feign innocence. 

“D-Daddy,” you whimpered, caught. “We were just-”

“No excuses,” he cut you off. A large hand trailed up the length of your body, stopping at your chest. Firmly, he pushed you onto your back, his eyes trailed down your body to take a good look at what you were wearing. A new set he noted, as his fingers traced the edges, white and frilly, just how he liked it, with fluffy angel wings and a matching halo to really finish the look off.  He leant over you, kneeling between your legs and nuzzling his face into the side of your neck, he peppered it with teasing kisses before wandering up to your mouth.

His lips ghosted above yours, you could feel the heat of his mouth on your kiss swollen lips,, he was so close, but as you leant up to kiss him he pulled away enough to stay out of your reach. 

“I come home, after a long, hard day at work, all I want to do is spend some quality alone time with my Honey Bee, on my birthday, instead, here I find you, breaking my rules, playing with a friend you didn't even ask me if you could invite over,  and making excuses?” 

He slapped your thigh before straightening up, eyes now focused on Taylor who had been patiently waiting beside you. 

“Now, who might you be Gorgeous? “ he asked,  his voice softening and letting his gaze wander over her form, admiring the matching outfit she wore, red, with little devil wings and tail in place of your halo and wings. 

“Taylor, Daddy,” she purred, stretching out on the bed, a playful smile gracing her red painted lips. 

“Taylor,” he repeated, trying it out. As much as he tried to keep the stern facade up, he couldn’t help mirroring her smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, although I would have much preferred it if we could have met when I wasn’t upset with my Baby.” He emphasised his point by slapping your thigh again, rubbing it soothingly straight away and ignoring your startled cry. 

“I-i was trying to surprise you, for your birthday Daddy,” you mewled, whimpering again when he glared down at you. 

“Surprise me you did Honey Bee, but that don’t mean you have permission to break Daddy’s rules,” his fingers danced over your covered core, tutting when he found you wet. “Getting yourself all worked up without Daddy’s permission? I’m disappointed Honey Bee.” 

“B-but that was Taylor-” 

He cut you off with a hard slap to your covered pussy.

“Don’t you blame your friend when you’re the one who invited her and started playing with her!” He snarled. “You know the rules!” 

He turned to Taylor again with a sigh. “I’m sorry you have to see this Gorgeous, I think I’ve been spoiling my Honey Bee too much if she thinks she can behave like this.” His eyes didn't leave her face, but he began rubbing up and down your core as he continued to speak to her, ignoring your pleas and mewls as you writhed between his touch. “I want you to know I ain’t blaming you for her behaviour, you’re a guest in this house and I don’t expect you to know all the rules, but I do expect her to follow them.” 

He leant forward towards her, until his nose was touching hers. 

“Can you be a good girl for me and tell me who’s idea it was to start playing?” 

Taylor swallowed and nodded.

“Y-Yes Daddy, it was me, it was my idea,” she admitted. 

Jack hummed and closed the small gap between them, locking his lips to hers. 

Taylor moaned and you whined, jealous of the attention and praise your Daddy was giving her. 

Jack broke the kiss , giving her one last peck. “Thank you for being truthful with my Darlin, instead of pushing the blame onto someone else like a bad girl,” his gaze drifted back to you as his sentence ended with a growl. “What are you whining for huh?” 

You pouted up at him, refusing to answer. 

“Quit being a brat and answer the question Honey Bee,” he warned. 

“I want a kiss too,” you sniveled. 

“Good girls get kisses.”

“But Taylor just admitted she started it!” You whined. 

“We aint going over this again Honey Bee, you know the rules, she doesn’t. She’s a guest in this house and she told me the truth, so she gets a kiss.” 

You huffed and crossed your arms, turning your head away from him in annoyance. 

“I really do spoil you too much Honey Bee,” he sighed, pulling you up into a sitting position. “One kiss, you get one,” he said sternly, finger raised in warning before dipping his head to finally kiss you. 

You moaned, your perfectly manicured fingers raking through his hair as you attempted to deepen the kiss. If you only got one you were determined to make sure it was a good one. Normally Jack loved to tease you with his tongue as you kissed, but he denied you entrance as you tried to deepen it. He growled, warning you as you attempted to push your tongue past his lips for a third time. He pulled away from you far too quickly. “Sit up on the bed, both of you,” he ordered, hands trailing up and down your back. 

You nipped at his jaw, ignoring the instruction and kissing your way down his neck, making little marks appear on his skin, as Taylor moved to sit on the bed like he asked the two of you to do. 

“Angel…” Jack’s voice drops low, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “My little devil is behaving better than you are right now. I think she deserves all the rewards you were going to get tonight.”

You pulled away from him just slightly to stare up at him, with big doe eyes. Jack’s cock throbbed in his pants as he stared down at you, and your innocent expression. Both of his hands came to cup the side of your face as he pressed a single chaste kiss to your lips. 

“That look won’t work on me sweetheart. You’ve been a brat since I stepped in the door. Bad girls don’t get rewards.” he says, his eyes staring deep into yours. 

“But... tonight is supposed to be all about you.” you said, breaking out of the bratty submissive role you’d taken on for the night. You really wanted Jack to have a good birthday, and you didn’t want to ruin it in any way. Shitty birthdays sucked, and you didn’t want Jack to remember this birthday as one you had messed up. 

“And it will be. Right now, Daddy wants to punish you for your bratty behavior.” Jack reassures you in a soft voice, telling you that everything between the two of you was okay.

Taylor sat in the middle of your shared bed, and watched the two of you as she bit her lip. It was obvious to see just how much the two of you cared for each other, how much it went beyond the dynamic the two of you had arranged and agreed to. Shifting her weight around, Taylor felt honored to share your bed for a night. What the two of you had… it was something Taylor hadn’t seen in a very long time, and she was proud to see you had found something so precious with Jack.

“Honeybee, you’re gonna sit right here,” Jack ordered you, pointing to a spot right next to Taylor on your large bed, “and you’re gonna watch as I fuck your friend with my tongue.” 

You whined at the thought of just sitting there and watching, but this was a punishment and you don’t wanna disappoint your Daddy. Positioning yourself comfortably on top of the sheets, you tucked your legs beneath your body and settled directly next to Taylor. At the foot of the bed, Jack watched patiently as you sat down and looked at him, waiting for any other instructions he might have for you. When he’s satisfied with where you’re sat, he turns his eyes to the woman casually lounging on his bed. 

“Darlin’, as good as you look in red, I bet you look better naked.” he said as he gently reached out and ran a hand upwards, letting his fingers drag over her skin from her ankle to her hip. 

His hands gripped her hips tightly, but not painfully, and dragged her down the bed slightly trying to bring her closer to him so he could reach her easier. His fingers play with the little straps on her garter belt, before hooking one finger underneath the elastic and letting it snap back against her skin. Taylor moans softly in the back of her throat as her thigh stings slightly. 

“Fuck.” Jack exhaled as he stared down at Taylor. As much as he wants to just tear her lingerie off and fuck her senselessly, Jack wants to take his time with her, wants to show his baby what happens when she breaks the rules and acts like a brat. Everything he’s going to do to Taylor is what he could have done to you instead if you hadn’t disobeyed him. 

Jack’s hands wander to the clips that hold up the garter belt, and slowly he begins to snap each elastic band against Taylor’s skin before unclipping them fully. His hands moved to the belt those straps were sewn to, and unclipped it, pulling away from her body and tossed it somewhere within the bedroom. 

You whine loudly as your eyes are glued to Jack’s hands as they roam over Taylor’s body as she mewls and hums softly at his touch. His hands ran over her ribs before coming to cup her breasts. You can see Jack’s eyes darken as he tests the weight of Taylor’s breasts in each of his hands, loving the way they feel in his palms beneath the silky red fabric they’re confined behind. Taylor’s back arches off the mattress, pressing her chest farther into Jack’s hands wanting him to touch more of her. 

“Relax sweetheart, we’ve got all night.” Jack shushes her as he pulls her bra downwards, exposing her hardened nipples to the cold air in the bedroom. 

“Daddy,” Taylor whines as Jack’s hands return to her breasts. He leans over her and takes one of her dark, pebbled nipples into his mouth as his thumb tweaks the other one. 

Jack shushes her as he lets go of her breasts and moves his hands downwards. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her scandalous panties and pulled them down her long, toned legs - legs he wants wrapped around his head as he eats her out. His cock throbs beneath his pants, aching to be touched by either of the two beautiful women in his bed. He wants to touch himself, but he can wait a little bit longer before he gives in to what he wants. 

Jack brings Taylor’s wet panties to his nose and inhales her scent. His eyes fall closed as he moans. His eyes open slowly, and when he looks at you, he smirks. “Kitten, open your mouth.” Your mouth opens a moment later, and Jack shoves Taylor’s wet panties into your mouth, gagging you. 

“There. Maybe that will shut you up for a while.” he growls. 

You taste the tang of Taylor’s arousal on your tongue as he stuffed Taylor’s panties into your open waiting mouth. To say the action doesn’t make your pussy drip would be a total lie. 

Jack turns his attention back to Taylor, drinking in the way she’s spread out for him. In the soft glow of his bedroom, he can see just how wet she is for him. Her folds glisten with her arousal, and Jack wants nothing more than to sink his cock into her. But first he has to start your punishment. 

“Don’t touch her.” Jack warns Taylor, nodding his head towards you. Taylor nods at his words. 

Jack crouches over Taylor, and brings her mouth to his, in a hot searing kiss. Jack adores how soft her plump lips are against his, but he prefers you and your kisses… if only you hadn’t been such a brat. Jack’s kisses trail down Taylor’s body, kissing every expanse of skin he can find. He draws a nipple into his mouth again and gently nips at her flesh when he pulls away, making Taylor gasp out as pain flares beneath her skin. Jack smirks against her skin as he soothes the sting of his teeth with his wet tongue before he repeats the motion on her other breast. 

His mouth travels down her sternum before stopping just above her aching pussy. His shoulders spread her legs wider as he settles at the edge of the bed, crouching down to hover above where she wants - needs him most. 

“You want this, right baby?” Jack asks Taylor, wanting another confirmation that she has fully agreed to this night with the two of you.

“Yes Daddy. Please fuck me with your tongue. Please - I wanna cum for you.” she pleads with him, her dark brown eyes locking with his. 

Jack’s mouth hovers over Taylor, as he breathes in her scent. With one hand splayed over her stomach, he uses his thumb to brush over her clit. Taylor gasps as her body jerks slightly, before calming down again as Jack continues to rub circles over her bundle of nerves. 

You shift on your knees when you begin to feel your toes falling asleep, and Jack cuts his eyes to you in warning: don’t fucking move. Your body stills instantly as you lock eyes with him. Your chest heaves as you watch him move closer to Taylor’s spread thighs. 

His tongue spears into Taylor’s pussy. He smells her. He tastes her. He devours her. His hips arch forwards and he bumps his hard clothed erection against the end of the bed where he’s knelt on the floor.

“Oh fuck babygirl.” he snarls into her, humming, not breaking away from licking into her for even a second. His nose bumps against her clit, making Taylor pant and moan and gasp his name like a prayer. His hands clawed into her thighs, his hot tongue curling and lapping up her arousal, shrewd wet sounds of his sucking tongue and mouth fill the air around you all. It’s filthy.

Taylor’s legs tremble beneath Jack’s hands, but he keeps them anchored down. His nails dig into her thighs, tugging her closer into his face. She can feel his tongue exploring every inch of her, dipping and prodding.

You smirk as you watch them together, watching as Taylor’s face pinches up in pleasure and her fingers dig and grasp at your bedspread, trying to ground herself on something. You knew how skilled Jack Daniel’s tongue was. 

Taylor’s moans fill the silence that settled over the bedroom as Jack sucks and licks into her, working her open with his tongue. Taylor can feel the damp path of cloth beneath her ass, and it only turns her on more, knowing just how aroused she is right now. She raises her head off the mattress and looks down at Jack, seeing his dark eyes gleaming up at her, watching as she writhes beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment before they fly open again when Jack laps at her clit again. She can feel that pulsing energy knotting in her abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter, rushing her towards her impending orgasm. 

“Oh Daddy…” she warns breathily. Her thighs threaten to clamp down around his head, as her hands fist the sheets below her. Jack’s tongue spears into her again as his thumb rubs tight, harsh circles against her clit, driving her towards her orgasm.

“Can - Can I cum Daddy?” Taylor gasps out. Jack hums into her, not giving her an answer.

“Please Daddy! Lemme cum for you. Please let me cum. Please, please, please, please.” she begs again. Jack hums against her again, the vibrations stimulating her nerves more. She feels her thighs tremble more, and before she knows it, her body arches and convulses, shuddering as her climax blindingly powers through her.

She cums violently fast and loud. Jack’s tongue never leaves her as he drinks down every drop of cum her body gives him. Her orgasm had successfully coated his mouth and chin in her arousal, he loved how her pussy drooled for him. Taylor collapses back against the cool sheets and pants heavily, trying to catch her breath and revel in the feeling of her first orgasm of the night. 

Jack licked his lips and wiped off the remainder of Taylors arousal with the back of his hand. He sighed contentedly as if he had just eaten a five star meal. 

“Now Honey Bee,” he said, turning his attention back to you for the first time since he started going down on Taylor. He pulled the soaked panties from your mouth, tossing them to the side for now.  “Can you prove to me you can behave? Prove to Daddy you can be a good girl?” 

You nodded desperately, fingers itching to relieve the burning need inside you, but not willing to risk another punishment. You did want to be a good girl for him, to make his birthday memorable, to please him. 

“Good,” he purred, a wicked grin on his face as he stood up and rounded the bed to the headboard. He started unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the side along with his undershirt, leaving his torso bare to you both. 

He settled down on the bed, back leaning up against the pillows and headboard, and beckoned the two of you over with the crook of a finger, chuckling as the two of you scrambled over to him. 

“There’s my good girls,” he praised, unbuckling his belt and shimmying his pants down his hips just enough to free his aching cock. 

You pouted up at him, noting he wasn’t wearing underwear again. He caught your pout and chuckled again, giving you a cocky wink, ignoring your displeasure and teasing you further about your continuing disdain over the underwear ‘argument’ you kept having..

“Come on now Honey Bee, prove to me you can be good. Show Taylor here just how Daddy likes his cock sucked.” 

Wanting to be obedient and finally earn Jack's touch, whether it be by his hands, cock or tongue, you batted your eyelashes up at him, maintaining that eye contact he loved as you lent forward and began scattering soft, feather light kisses up and down his length. 

Your eyes stayed on Jack but you held out one hand to Taylor, who took it and allowed you to drag her closer, placing her dainty hand on Jack's balls. 

He groaned above you, head falling back into the pillows and you hummed proudly, loving how you could reduce him to a mess just as often as he made you. 

Taylor took initiative and bent forward, taking Jacks balls into her mouth at the same time you had taken his tip into your mouth, sucking and playing with your tongue. 

A flurry of curses left his mouth as he tried to suck more air in, overwhelmed by the double, startling sensation. 

“Jeesus fuck! Givin me a heart attack!” he gasped, snapping his head forward to watch the two of you intently. The visuals only added to his pleasure, two pretty girls servicing his cock, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, he wanted to cum just at that. 

You wrapped your hand around his base and began pumping him as you took him further and further into your mouth. Since your first time together, when you had struggled to take his cock any further than halfway down the two of you had spent a lot of time practicing. 

Now, now you were able to take him all the way, having spent many hours with him learning how to suppress your gag reflex enough and widen your jaw, it was still a struggle, but the moan he gave you when your lips reached his base made it all worth it. 

“That's it, there we are, you’re my good girls,” he rasped, praising the two of you as his hands grabbed the back of your heads, holding you in place as he savored the duel experience of his cock in your throat, and balls in her mouth. 

His hands trembled as he took deep breaths to ground himself, to not give into the pleasure so early into your attention. Since the moment he had opened the door to his bedroom Jack had been more aroused than he could ever recall being in his entire life, not even when he was a teenager and first discovered porn could compare. 

“Honey Bee,” he moaned as the hand he had on you slowly snaked down to grip your throat. Something he loved to do every time you managed to deepthroat him was to grip you lightly, so he could feel the bulge of his cock move up and down your throat as you took him. 

You began moving for him, concentrating on breathing through your nose as he lightly choked you with both his cock and his hand, squeezing lightly every time he felt the bulge in your throat pass by his palm. 

He spread his legs wider for the two of you, giving Taylor more access to his balls as you sped up your pace. 

“Look at you Darlin,” he cooed softly at you, admiring how your mouth stretched around him, saliva leaking from your lips, coating him.

 “Your tiny little mouth can barely take me, but it feels so, so, good.”

You mewled around his length, soaking up his praise, the vibrations it caused traveled down his length, his balls tensed up and he hissed in pleasure. 

“Knew you could be a good girl for me...You’ll do anything for my cock wont cha? My perfect little cock slut.”

He always knew what to say to turn you on more, your pussy throbbed again, you wanted more than anything to make him proud, to earn the reward he always gave you after each punishment, his cock. Having it in your mouth was just further torment, reminding you just how big he was, just how well he would stretch you out. 

“I’m in heaven,” he sighed, stroking Taylors tight curls affectionately as she swirled her tongue around him, causing him to buck up into your mouth and making you gag.  

He growled as you tried to back up. “You can take it, you were made for my cock,” he encouraged, tightening his fingers around your neck to stop you from backing away. 

You calmed yourself down, trying not to struggle in his grasp, focusing on your breathing so you could take him deeper once more. 

“That's it, what good babies.”

Both you and Taylor moaned at his words of praise, his thighs shook in an effort not to keep bucking up into your mouth, his entire cock throbbed and pulsed and the moans that poured from his mouth were downright sinful. He was so lost to the feeling his head fell back again, unable to watch the two of you without blowing his load. 

You were so distracted and aroused you didn’t even register the feeling of your own hand trailing down your stomach and between your legs. Only when you let out a high pitched keen at the relief your burning core got did you realize what you had done, as your fingers pushed up against the covered folds of your pussy. Your eyes shot back up to Jack, who was now staring intently back at you.

“You better not be touching yourself Honey Bee,” he rumbled. 

You snatched your hand away and let him fall from your mouth with a pop. 

“I’m not!” you lied, throat raspy from taking his dick, and from the hand still choking you. 

His balls left Taylor’s mouth with a wet slurp as she sat up to watch the interaction. 

He groans at the loss on his cock, but is far too focused on you to complain. He drops your throat and grabs your wrists, pulling you up to him. 

He pulls your left hand up to his mouth, maintaining fierce eye contact with you as he pulls the fingers into his mouth, tasting them. His tongue plays with your fingers, it was warm and you couldn't help but imagine him using it to pleasure you. 

Satisfied he doesn’t taste your arousal on you he drops the hand and he repeats the action with your right one, he closes his eyes in pleasure at the taste, groaning as your slick coats his tongue as it teased your index and middle fingers. 

Then when realization hits him his eyes snap back open burning into yours as he growls, as much as he adores your taste, he was disappointed at you for breaking another rule. 

Your fingers fall from his mouth and he firmly pushes you away. 

“Breaking a rule? And not only that? Lying to me about it?” He sounded angry, you should be scared, but the rough timbre of his voice and heated tone only sent more arousal flooding out of you. As enraged as he sounded, you knew it would just mean more pleasure for you later on when he deemed you had learnt your lesson. 

“I’m sorry Daddy!” You pleaded, trying to crawl back to him. 

“No Honey Bee, I don't think you are!” He growled, pushing you away again, his arm looped around Taylor, bringing her flush against his torso, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Showering her with the affection he would normally reserve for you. 

“You just have to keep acting like a brat tonight! Just can’t stop showing off in front of your friend, wanting to act like a cool, big girl is that it?” His hand fisted her curls to pull her in for a deep, passionate kiss. Ignoring you and your distress as his tongue mixed with hers. She moaned and you whimpered, missing your Daddy's kisses, he was trying to make you jealous and he was doing a damn good job of it. 

“Think you’re wearing the wrong costume,” he panted to her when they broke apart. “Think my little brat over there needs to be wearing this little Devil get up, and you need to be in that Angel one,” he murmured into the skin of her neck, showering kisses upon her skin, just the way you liked. 

He continued to ignore you, distracting himself by making out with Taylor. He pulled her into his lap properly and began grinding his hips up into hers, one hand gripped her ass and the other kneaded her breast gently.

She mewled and whimpered into the kiss, rocking her hips back onto his, his cock rubbing up against her soaked folds, with one little change in angle he would be sheathed inside her. You were mesmerised, enraptured by the image of this tip of his cock leaking, so close to pushing inside her and stretching her out. 

How you had never envied another person more in your entire life. 

You yowled like a cat in heat, trying not to rock your hips into the bedsheets to chase that far off relief, you knew you weren’t getting any anytime soon, but you were trying so hard not to anger him further and delay your pleasure even more. 

Your pathetic little whine caught his attention, dragging his gaze back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise as if he had forgotten you were even there. 

“Honey Bee,” he drawled, rolling Taylor’s nipple in his skilled fingers as he kept eye contact with you. “You’re going to sit there and watch as Taylor finishes what you started. No, don't give me that look.” He continued to glare at you as he helped Taylor widen her legs, better to take him with. He cooed at her affectionately and praised her, telling her what a good girl she was for him as he notched himself at her entrance and slowly pushed inside of her. 

You glare at Taylor and Jack as you sit on the end of the bed, watching as Jack tosses his head back against the headboard as Taylor takes all of him inside her dripping pussy. Your pussy throbs between your legs, just beggin’ to be touched. You watch Jack intensely as his face contorted in pleasure, his eyes clamped firmly shut as he enjoys the warmth of Taylor’s body. Shifting slightly on the bed, your hand moves beneath your panties and your fingers brush against your clit. You will be in so much trouble if Jack catches you touching yourself right now, but the ache between your legs and the relief your fingers give you is enough to spur you on, to keep you going. Whatever punishment Jack will give you will be worth it in the end. 

You remain quiet, which feels like an impossible task, as your fingers rub circles over your clit, and lightly dip inside your folds as you gather your slick. Your breath stutters in your chest as you rub your clit faster and harder, trying to match Taylor’s pacing as she rocks her body against Jack’s. Wet slick sounds fill the air and combine with their moans as Taylor rides Jack, their bodies making the bed rock roughly. 

Sinking your fingers into your aching pussy, stretching you just slightly, you sigh happily. Your fingers could never compare to Jack’s - two of your fingers equaled one of his, and no matter how many times you tried to replicate the feeling of him inside you, it was never the same - but having something to ease the ache between your legs is a relief. 

Your legs tremble slightly as you increase your pacing, rubbing furiously against your swollen aching clit as you pump two fingers inside yourself. You can feel a tight bundle knotting and twisting in your stomach, clamping down tighter and tighter as you race towards your own orgasm. 

Glancing at Taylor, you watch as she stares at you with a hungry gaze as Jack fucks up into her.  Taylor’s body falls roughly against Jack’s thighs as she tries to drive his cock deeper inside her, desperately working towards her release. 

“Can you cum for me baby?” Jack asks, his lips trailing over her jawline.

Taylor whines, unable to answer him.

“Come on baby, answer me.” 

“I - I can. Can I cum for you Daddy? Please? Lemme soak your cock.” she begs. 

Jack’s arms wrap around her as he growls, and he uses his strength to hold her down as he cums inside her. Taylor’s moans and Jack’s growls fill the air as they both revel in their highs - Jack filling Taylor with his cum completely as Taylor clamps down tightly around him, her cum gushing out of her and running down his cock before dribbling over his balls. 

Your orgasm washes over you before you know it, and a high pitched but soft whine leaves your swollen lips as you cum around your own fingers, your cum soaking into your panties. Your eyes connect with Jack’s as you come down from your high, and you can’t even enjoy the feeling of getting to cum before you realize your mistake - you’d been too loud. 

“Honey,” Jack sighs in a disappointed but satisfied voice, “can’t you wait your fucking turn?”  He sighs again as he stares at you and the mess you’ve made of your panties.

“If you wanna cum so badly, then you’re gonna have to work for it.” Jack growls.

 Jack’s hand travels over Taylor’s arm before sliding down her back, where he cups her ass, and kneads the flesh beneath his fingers. He shakes his head disapprovingly as you pull your hand from between your legs, and stare at him with scared and innocent eyes. “Taylor and I are gonna have to punish you now babygirl. You didn’t follow the rules of your punishment.” 

Jack swats Taylor’s ass, nodding with his head for her to get off the bed, and he follows suit. When the two of them are standing, he wraps his arms around her, and hungrily kisses her, moaning against her mouth. Jack could see how a man could get addicted to her - she was sinful like the devil himself. 

“Taylor, baby, go into the closet and on the top shelf is something I need you to grab for me. Can you do that for me?” he asks her when he pulls away and draws in fresh air. 

“Of course I can do that for you Daddy,” she quickly agrees, looking over her shoulder at the door leading to his walk in closet. 

When she walks away, Jack turns to you, his eyes dark and hungry. “Now, Princess…” 

He moves to the end of the bed, and roughly grabs your hips. His hands move across your skin, ripping and tugging at the lingerie clinging to your body, tearing off yet another brand new set . When you are semi-bare before him, Jack wastes no time in groping your breasts before dipping his head down to suck a pebbled nipple into his mouth. Your back arches as you shakily inhale, trying to get more of his warm mouth on your skin. His mouth leaves your breast as one of his hands grabs your wrist and brings it towards his mouth. His tongue laps over the fingers you came on, and drinks down the taste of your arousal. 

Taylor reappears by Jack’s side with a long box in her hand. Jack’s mouth and hands leave your body just as quickly as they appeared. You whine at the loss of his touch, but shut your mouth when Jack sends you a warning glare. 

“Here Daddy.” she purrs. 

“Thank you baby.” Jack says as he takes the box from Taylor and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

"Now this was for your birthday…” he said, regarding you again. “Yeah I remember that kinky little fantasy of yours...but I think this is going to be put to better use tonight." Jack explains as he opens up the box, and reveals what’s inside. 

It’s almost comical the way your eyes widen and your mouth drops open when you realize what Jack holds in his hand. Taylor smiles coyly at your reaction, buzzing with excitement as she takes the packaging from him. She pulls out the harness and slides it over her legs as she steps into it adjusting the buckle so it sits snugly against her hips. 

“Now babygirl, this here is the Royal Mustang, and from the way you’re lookin’ at it… I think you want it.” Jack teases you. Taylor’s hand wraps around the dildo, and takes it from Jack’s grasp. Her eyes lock onto yours as your eyes follow the strap on, and she licks a long, broad stripe up the fake cock before sucking on the tip just slightly, covering the silicon in her saliva. 

“Oh my god.” you breathe out. 

“God can’t help you honey.” Jack tells you. 

“How do you want us Daddy?” Taylor asks Jack. He looks away from you and wets his lips when he sees the strap connected to the harness she wears. 

“Damn you look good.” Jack breaths out. “Taylor, baby, you’re gonna fuck our little angel until she cums on that toy. And then I’m gonna fuck her before she has anytime to recover.” 

Taylor leans in and presses her lips against Jack’s before pulling away with a satisfied smile. “I like the way you think Daddy. Can I fuck her however I want?”

Your eyes dart back and forth as you watch them discuss what they’re going to do to you, like you’re not even here. A wave of arousal runs down your spine and pools between your legs at the thought of both of them fucking you silly. You’re a little nervous that your body might not be able to handle both of them with no recovery time, but you’re also excited and eager to get started. If this was your punishment for being a brat - especially when a friend joined you - then you were going to have to disobey the rules more often. 

“Turn around Honeybee.” Taylor orders you, a more dominant side of her coming out to play. Your pussy clenches at her tone, and at her words, and you blink stupidly at her for a moment. 

“Turn. Around.” she orders you again. You flip your body over, resting your weight evenly across your knees and elbows. You feel her settle behind you, the tip of the strap on rubbing through your slick folds, roughly bumping against your clit with each teasing rock of her hips. Your head drops down against the sheets as Taylor presses the head of the toy against your entrance, and slowly - oh so fucking slowly - breaks you open. 

You can’t stop the wanton cry that leaves you lips, and is muffled by the sheets below you. Taylor’s hands grip your hips, and run over the curve of your ass, before roughly pulling you flush against her hips, driving the toy deeper inside you. The Royal Mustang stretches you in ways Jack doesn’t, and it makes you pant heavily beneath Taylor. Her hands roam across your skin, and she moans when her hands snake to the front of your body where her fingers brush against your hot and swollen clit. 

“That’s it Taylor, get her nice and ready for me.” Jack purrs somewhere behind you. You can’t quite tell where he is in the room, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care either. 

You can feel yourself clenching down tightly around the toy as Taylor continues to rock her hips to your ass, refusing to draw the toy out of your pussy more than a few inches. Her fingers rub against your clit in tight circles, and you’re surprised at just how quickly your body reacts to the things she does to you, in the few short minutes she’s been inside you. 

You were getting close, the need for release building inside you more and more, until you were rocking your ass back against Taylor’s thighs, trying to chase and reach your release sooner rather than later. Taylor’s fingers press a little harder against your clit, and suddenly your orgasm blindsides you. 

You cry out, the sound you made echoes loudly around the room. Your legs shake as Taylor pulls away from you, but you have no time to catch your breath before Jack takes her place. He grips his cock, and runs it through your cum soaked folds, enjoying the way your warmth coates his length. He bumps against your clit one or twice before sinking inside of you. 

Your head drops against the sheets again as he bottoms out and gives you a second to adjust to his incredible size. Jack groans behind you, and digs his hands into your hips, trying to drive himself just a little bit deeper inside of you. 

“You’re so very wet baby. So full of your cum. I can feel it, thick and hot around me.” Jack remarks in a grunt. He pulls outwards and begins to drive into you at an almost brutal pace. 

You whine aloud like you’re slowly being slaughtered when he hits your cervix, and you’re certain you can see stars behind your closed eyes. Jack’s eyes are focused on your pussy and how it swallows his cock with such ease thanks to the orgasm you wrongfully gave yourself and the one Taylor took from you. Along with his own release and Taylor’s cum, the way he’s able to slide in and out of you so easily nearly makes his brain short circuit. Jack closes his eyes and grits his teeth - if he looks any longer at the sight below him, he’ll cum too soon. Jack fucks into you for a moment, before slowing his pace until he stops, completely sheathed inside your wet, tight heat. 

“Taylor, toss that toy in the sink in the bathroom, and then lay down in front of our little angel. She’s gonna make you cum again before she gets to.” Jack demands. 

“Don’t you wanna cum Daddy?” Taylor asks from behind you. You can hear the clink of the harness being adjusted as Taylor shimmies out of it. 

“Oh I’ll cum darlin,” he reassures her. You hear her feet pad across the floor towards the bathroom, and a second later Jack thrusts into you. “Right.” another thrust nearly makes you fall forwards on the bed, losing your balance. “Here.” 

Your pussy clamps down on him tightly at his words, and what they imply. You will never get enough of him cumming inside you, filling you up with his cock and his cum, of him making you feel full and completely satisfied like no one has ever done before. 

Taylor’s body settles in front of you, and Jack gives you time to work out how you want to eat her out. She settles against the pillows, and spreads her legs for you to settle between them. You waste no time, diving in to taste her cum and Jack’s too, savoring the way she openly cries out at your actions. Her hands grip the back of your head and tug roughly on you as you lick into her. 

Jack begins thrusting into you, each forceful push forwards, sends your face and tongue a little deeper into Taylor’s pussy. You rest all of your upper body weight on one arm, and bring the other upwards, before sinking two fingers inside Taylor. She gasps and moans loudly as your fingers press against her walls, searching blindly for that sweet spot that will get her to cum. 

As soon as you find it, she cries out, and you can feel her clamp down on your fingers as her cum gushes from her pussy and runs down your fingers and onto your hand. 

Jack slaps your ass, once and then twice as he fucks into you, his hand landing firm against your flesh. The sharp slaps he gives you makes your flesh sting, a few tears escape you, your mascara running down your face just the way Jack liked. 

Leaning down, Jack snakes a hand around your torso like Taylor had done earlier, and furiously rubs your clit. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum all over this cock and show me how sorry you are.” 

Your head swims as your body gets completely lost in your pleasure. Your orgasm sweeps through you, the feeling so powerful it feels like you’re no longer in control of your body. Jack’s thrusts slow down as he cums deep inside you, coating your walls with his seed. You can feel it in  your chest, the unending spurts of his hot, thick cum filling you completely. 

You collapse on the bed when Jack pulls out of you, and you’re certain the two of them had fucked you to within an inch of your life. You know you’ll be sore tomorrow when you wake up. Sore and very hungry.

Jack watched the two of you lay panting on the bed, clinging together as your bodies shook from the aftershocks of your orgasms. He wants nothing more than to join you on the bed, collapse and cling to the two of you, but he had a job to do. 

He had never been quite so harsh with you, sure he had been pretty physical with you when you had been a brat before, times like that usually ended up with a spanking or some other physical punishment, but he could tell this time you were much more emotionally raw from the experience, having him ignore you in favor for your friend may have been all part of the fun, but he knew you well enough now to know you needed his reassurance and care after such an intense physical and emotional session. 

He began by making sure you were both comfortable, gently pulling off the remaining fabric the two of you wore, Taylor’s fancy straps and stockings were removed and the tattered pieces you still had clinging to your form followed.

 Carefully he lifted Taylor up, ignoring the slight twinge in his back, humming to her when she snuggled up in his embrace, and carried her back up the bed to lay her down properly. 

He repeated the action with you, depositing you gently on the other side of the bed, kissing your cheek as you mewled in protest of being moved. 

“Shhh Honey bee,” he soothed. “Let Daddy take care of you.” 

He dashed to his ensuite to gather two warm wash clothes ready to clean you both up the way he did with you every time you played with him. 

Taylor purred and thanked him with a kiss, considerably more alert than you were currently.  He cleaned up your ruined mascara before moving to clean up the mess between your legs. Your over-sensitive body tried to wriggle from his efforts helplessly as he cleaned the cum covering your thighs and his seed that had begun leaking out of you . Gently he held you in place so he could make sure he cleaned you up enough to sleep comfortably. 

“Awwww Honey Bee I know, I know , you’re so sensitive,”  he soothed, brushing the hair that clung to your face from sweat out of the way with his free hand. 

He kissed his way along your jaw as he cleaned you up to distract you. Once he was satisfied with that he threw the cloths into the sink, joining the toy before he sauntered back to bed. He pulled open the bedside drawer on your side, taking out the cream he keeps there just for times like this. He popped the cap and ever so gently soothed each of the slaps he had given you, he felt a pang of guilt at your pained whimper, but he knew just how much you enjoyed it, shaking off that brief feeling. The cream was shoved back into the drawer, ready to be used the next time you needed it.

 It was too hot for sheets, Jack decided, the three of you were more than sufficient enough to warm each other up. Carefully he crawled into the middle of the bed, pulling your exhausted body to his side, resting your head on his chest as his arm held you protectively. 

He held his other arm out to Taylor in invitation, allowing her to decide if she wanted in on the affection too, he was pleased when she rolled closer to his, mirroring your position on his other side. He gave her a quick, gentle kiss.

“Thank you very much for agreeing to this tonight Taylor, it was an absolute pleasure,” he purred into her ear. She giggled as his breath tickled her. 

“You’re quite welcome, Daddy,” she hummed, snuggling into his warmth and closing her eyes. “I’ve been quite curious about the two of you for quite a while...I couldn’t quite believe her when she told me about her ‘perfect’ Daddy. But it's quite clear to me now...You’re everything she’s ever wanted.” 

Jack's heart skipped a beat at her comment, he glanced over to your sleepy form, who was looking up at him with hooded, sparkling eyes. 

You thought to keep them open, to bask in the afterglow the three of you were sharing for just a little longer.

“Baby girl, Honey Bee,” Jack hummed, kissing the top of your head. “You did so well, so well,” he buried his nose in your hairline, kissing you tenderly wherever he could reach. “This was the best birthday ever, thank you so much Darlin, no one’s ever gave me something quite so amazing.” 

You teared up, still raw and overwhelmed by his praise. 

“Really? You liked it?” Your voice cracked. 

“Darlin, Honey Bee, I loved it!” he cheered softly, reassuring you. “And not just because I got to have sex with two beautiful ladies, you clearly put so much effort into surprising me and making tonight special.” He sighs in contentment, pulling you closer so your head settled in the crook of his neck, he rested his chin on the crown of your head . “You didn’t have to, but the fact that you did, just for Ole Jack, I know I say this every time Sugar but I really feel like the luckiest man in the world with you. “ 

You felt a few tears escape you and trailing down your cheek,onto his neck. 

“I hope those are happy tears Darlin,” Jack cooked, stroking your arm tenderly. 

“They are,” Taylor sang, joining Jack's affections and rubbing your back soothingly. “You make her happy. Happier than i’ve seen her in a long time.” 

“Well, that goes ditto for me then,” Jack smiled, giving you another kiss to the top of your head. 

“Rest up girls,” he yawned. “When we wake up, we’re ordering some real unhealthy food and snuggling on the couch with a movie till you both are feelin’ better.”

Taylor lifted her chin, about to protest, knowing her, she would insist on going home so you can Jack you have some alone time.

“Nope you’re joinin’ us too Gorgeous,” Jack cut off whatever thought she was going to say. “S’ only manners that I make sure you’re taken care of too.” 

You smiled proudly, he was ever the gentleman. 

“Fine, I wont complain about that” Taylor sighed,settling back down. 

“Happy birthday Jack,” you purred before letting yourself drift off. 

Tag list 

Diamonds an Daddies:

@thats-one-tender-foot  @luminescentlily @nuttybeardetective @ishqinbbc @ben-is-a-hoe @calamity-queen @phoenixhalliwell @talesfromtheguild @the-arctic-violet  @jeeperky @mando-amando @Finnisrioting @officerbrowneyes  @eli-the-thinker

All:

@artsymaddie

[subbing-for-clones]

The New Apprentice Part 8

Maul x Sith!reader 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Yall it has been a God damn week I'll tell you that. So sorry it has taken me so long to get this out. Fair warning, had to do some already known stuffs to move the story along the timeline and I just wasn't feeling it while writing, but it's important to the timeliness nonetheless.

WARNINGS: 18+ P in V sex, unprotected sex, Canon violence. Kinda angsty at the end? Idk.

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       The following morning you awoke alone in your tent. The cool morning air aiding to shake the fog from your mind as you thought of the previous night. A smile twitched on your lips that was soon replaced with a heavy eye roll. One of your pant legs had been torn up the seam by the medic who worked on you. Shrugging, you ripped off the tattered fabric and did the same to the other to match. Sliding on your now short one piece you pulled on your boots, hung your sabers from your hips and left your little shelter.

    You knew why Maul left; he didn't want anyone to think the two of you were involved until the situation was less vulnerable. You were thankful he waited until you were asleep before he absconded into the darkness. Maker, you had to stop thinking about it lest you rile yourself up again. It was time to go to work, continue to prove to your master that you deserved to be at his side. That he needed you there.

    You were relieved that Savage followed behind you a few minutes later. At least you weren't the last one up. Pre and Maul strode through the camp with you and Savage following closely behind.

"We will need an army if we are to successfully take back Mandalore." Your master rumbled.

"The people will support us once we remind them who they are." Pre retorted.

"Perhaps... but the Black Suns will be able to provide us with resources beneath the attention of the Republic."

"They're a crime syndicate!"

"Yes, and a powerful one that will lead to our victory. We have but one chance to pull this off."

      Boarding a Mandalorian starship with your Master and Savage was quiet. You had decided to keep your mouth shut and revel in Maul's ability to command and scheme. You stood at Savage's side with your hands clasped behind your back, back straight and chin high. Your weapons dangled dangerously at your hips. Every so often a Mandalorian would look at you curiously through their visor to which you responded the same every time. You gazed into their black where their unseen eyes lay behind, unblinking with a straight lip and an air of importance until they turned away. Savage quirked a lip slightly every time.

When you were alone he rumbled quietly.

"You make them uneasy. Much more than I do I think."

"I hardly doubt that my friend." Your voice soft and cold in the off chance someone could hear you.

"Possibly... they fear us."

"Good. Then they will stay in line under Lord Maul. A warrior should never show fear. They may be strong but they've shown a vital weakness we will exploit in time if necessary."

    Maul was the only one within ear shot and he silently listened to your words. Although he didn't show it at the time externally, his chest swelled in pride.

    After landing on Mustafar they were greeted with a battalion led by a tall Falleen male by the name of Vigo Ziton Maj. He chuckled when your master harshly requested an audience but he led Maul, Savage, Pre Vizsla and yourself inside the fortress anyway.

    Five more men sat at a long black table upon your entrance. When demanded that they join you, you were met with exclamations of amusement and they attempted to call for your deaths.

    Without hesitation you and Savage each tossed a spinning lightsaber in their direction. Effectively beheading each and every one of the leaders in single mirrored motions. After seeing first handedly that denial of an alliance would lead to death, Moj, the next in line to lead agreed to join your cause without hesitation.

    The Pykes practically handed themselves over to you once news about the Black Suns had reached their ears. The offer of their alliance was a grateful surprise to you. Recognizing the slow shift in universal power only spurred your attraction to your master. Visions of you riding his throbbing cock permeated your mind and drifted to his.

    On the ride to Nal Hutta these thoughts only grew in intensity as your sinful need grew. It had been days since he had last touched you and although you maintained an outward composure, your mind reeled. With only a few hours until your arrival, Maul strode past you, pausing momentarily to give you a knowing glance and ever so slight nod of his head. You waited a minute before following his force signature until a supply closet door hissed open. He grabbed you almost violently, pulling you within the small enclosure. He listened to be sure you weren't followed before he turned to you.

"My my what devious thoughts you project little one." He cooed as he pulled you into his embrace. With your back to his chest, he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, planting gentle wet kisses to your sensitive skin and lightly nipping at your ear. You took his hand and covered your mouth to stifle a whimper as he ground his hardening cock into your rear. You could feel the heat of your core as his velvety voice hummed in the ear he was toying with.

"Now, I'd much rather take my time with you but it seems you need some tension released. I'll need you clear headed on this venture. I believe the Hutt Clan will give us the most trouble in forming an alliance. Would you like my help my sweet little apprentice?"

    You nodded fervently, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he slid your one piece down until it pooled on the floor. He bent you over infinitesimally, just enough to grant him entrance. He prodded his hot, firm erection against your folds letting out a silent groan feeling how wet you already were.

"God's I've hardly touched you and your soaking wet you naughty little girl."

    Without warning he slipping inside you, biting one of his fingers to keep from crying out. He thrusted into at a brutal pace, sinking to his hilt with every rut. It didn't take long before you were fluttering around him and tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Maker, you're going to cum for me.. I can feel it... Let go my dear. Cum all over my cock."

    The command he soothed had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. The excitement of the risk at being found out only encouraged your orgasm. Still shaking from the aftershocks, your master bit your shoulder as he throbbed and filled you.

    You hastily cleaned yourself, getting ready to leave before you were caught but Maul grabbed your wrist and brought you back into an embrace. Gently pressing his forehead to yours and wrapping his arms around you.

"Soon you'll be at my side at all times my dear. Would you like that?" His glowing amber eyes meeting yours.

"Yes Master, of course."

    You pressed your lips to his and trying to calm your flush you left the small enclosure with newfound resolve undoubtedly spurred by your bliss.

       Maul had been correct as usual. The Hutts were in fact quite resistant. After hearing that they wouldn't be paid and that the deal was an alliance for their lives, five bounty hunters and the whole guard rushed the room. Desperate for some leverage you deflected the barrage of incoming blaster fire along with your master while leading them slowly out to the landing platform.

Finally, she's good for something you thought as Bo Katan fired rockets into the fortress, effectively killing most of the guard.

    You gave chase back into the fortress and fought the remaining bounty hunters. Unwillingly admitting that they were giving you more trouble than you would've hoped. Darting away from a purple woman with orange hair you kicked a dog off of your master while the bounty hunters made their retreat. Maul was convinced that they wouldn't be a further threat so you let them escape with their lives and empty pockets.

    You ended up having to travel to the gods awful desert planet of Tatooine for Jabba to finally agree to your terms.

       Back on Zanbar you and Savage shared a meal while Maul oversaw the organization of the troops and mixed crime syndicates.

"You seem restless." Savage noted.

"Duuuh." You exasperated. "All this planning and waiting and organizing. Ugh, I wanna go fuck shit up. We've been so busy with the boring shit I haven't even had time to train. Aside from that bounty hunter scuffle."

"Worry not little one, you'll be terrorizing the Mandalorians planet side with everyone soon enough." You scoffed at his response to which he cocked his brow.

"No, I'm not. Master wants me in the shadows. Something about the people recognizing me later on being a problem with his grand scheme."

"He has a habit of only telling half of a truth. Trust comes slowly to him. You know this." You sighed, pushing away your plate and pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Yes, I'm well aware. More so than he would like I'm sure."

"He cares very deeply for you."

"And I him but all this sitting around will get me nowhere. I told you about what happened on Malachor... for the first time since I've joined you two it feels like my feet are taking me some where I'm not supposed to go... it's been weeks and the only thing I've learned in that time frame is how to take his cock in secret, away from prying eyes."

    Savage nearly choked and also disregarded his food and sat looking at you with a pained look in his eyes.

"What will you do then?"

"Honestly? I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that I'm supposed to 'extinguish the fear but always remember that 'the shadow cannot exist without the light' whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean."

"If you don't know what it means how do you know you're on the wrong path?" You paused at his question.

"Jedi and Sith both always say to trust in the force... I need to meditate on this."

    Savage nodded as you stood from your seat walking back towards your tent. Your master was a strong force user and ever since that night you two had opened up your minds to one another, truly lay bare before the other, it was damn near impossible to keep him out. When you passed him and Vizsla you had known they couldn't hear your conversation but the way that his eyes followed you. A specific crease in his brow. You had no doubt it had anything to do with Vizsla's ramblings, you realized he probably felt your conflict.

    Disappearing into your canvas enclosure you tried to push the thought of your lover, no, your master; down and away from the forefront of your mind. Gods above though, he was your lover. You loved him, so much. What if he was guiding you away from the place you needed to go? Everything felt right before you allied with the Death Watch. The weeks you spent training and traveling to Malachor felt right. But this, this felt like it was his path not yours. If your destinies didn’t cross would he abandon his to join you? Could you abandon yours to join him? You knelt in the center of your tent and straightened your back, closing your eyes. Allowing your mind to rest, allow the wild eradications to still and drift away. This was important. This was your destiny. You suddenly realized why, although you'd never admit it, the Jedi forbid attachments in their freakish cult.

[consumedkings-archive]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

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They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

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By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.