#i am ...semi satisfied with this...he's hard to paint

[fishfingersandscarves]

yes i'm lost-posting in 2023 don't look at me

[penultimate-step]

Oshi no Ko 144 Reaction

After the big climax of last chapter, jumping straight into a more everyday, less tense situation is a bit jarring. I know this was done intentionally, I can see what they're trying to do here, but the part of my brain that craves the short term rush, the part of me that is desperate for answers and for the twins to actually start talking amongst themselves more and finally got a taste of it last chap is hungry....I know it needs to be pushed off for pacing reasons. I Know. But it does hurt a bit. Reading serially published works is hard.

Anyway. So the big theme of the movie arc is taking a look at how people are viewed in the eyes of others, right? That's why we have this whole setup of a movie within a manga - Ai's life, her real thoughts and personality, cannot be recovered. Even we, the semi-omniscient audience, aren't actually getting real flashbacks at her life, but rather her life filtered through the extremely biased eyes of Aqua (and Gotanda) with edits for marketability made by people who never knew her, like Abiko and Yoriko. This movie is likely going to become the definitive version of Ai for the general public, millions of people who never spoke to her at all - to those with no connection to someone beyond knowing their image, the constructed self is all that exists. The fact that this arc is the backdrop that we place Ruby's infatuation with Gorou is fairly intentional, I think, and if I wasn't 100% confident in that before than I absolutely am after last chap.

Which leads us into 144 - right after we had the dramatic chapter in which Ruby talks about how she views Gorou to Aqua himself, telling him that she sees him as a fan sees an idol, we cut directly to how Gorou is being portrayed in the movie. Melt and Ruby are both constructing images of of Gorou, but for very different purposes - while she cares for him and wants to idolize him, Melt is aware he never knew him, and is coming up with his interpretation solely for work purposes. This is the direct contrast being explored in this chapter - the different ways of seeing someone's image.

Ruby gets upset when what she sees as Gorou's charm points are not being fully expressed, that the movie's view of him won't match hers. Gorou needs to be painted in the best possible light, so that everybody else will share her image of him.

This is very amusing to me, considering that Gorou himself, as Aqua, couldn't even match up to her image of Gorou before she was outright told that it was him, but let's put a pin on that for now.

Melt, on the other hand, has no personal or emotional attachment here. He isn't trying to glorify Gorou, nor slander him, nor even really get to know him. For him, The Doctor is a role, a story, a character.

This is why he refers to the pin as a "character symbol," while he is doing his best to get a feel for Gorou thirdhand, his priority is not the man, but the role. He papers over gaps in his knowledge with story tropes, things that would work best for the narrative of the movie. From the perspective of an actor, this is probably the correct way to go about things. Abiko and Yoriko are probably satisfied with his interpretation of the role. But for Ruby, who has a personal investment, his image is not the same as her image.

(as an unrelated side note, this bit was funny. I can't believe they're having an adaptation vs source material debate about RPF of Aqua of all people.)

Ruby comes around to Melt not because of any change in him or his acting, or because she approves of his interpretation of Gorou, but because he starts talking about her:

Ruby accepts Melt's interpretation because so long as it maintains the connection between them, this is the most important element for her; she is satisfied. Her opinion of Melt then does a 180, just as her opinion of Aqua did in chapter 123.

This is where I will uncork the pin from before and say - one thing that I am kind of unsure about is what Ruby's image of Gorou actually is, at this point. Usually she seems to see him wholly positively, dissociating all of her criticisms about his behavior from the image she is idolizing. But last chap she started talking about his flaws, so she clearly knows at least some of them...but here she's right back to talking about his radiant inner strength. Leaves me a bit uncertain where she stands. However, I'm not the only one - I think she herself doesn't fully understand her own image of Gorou right now, to be honest.

Also, side note: the way Melt's "Gorou" act in this chap parallels Aqua's own in 143 was super cute.

But after thinking about that for a bit, I realized that it's deeper than a cute shot. while the movie arc has been giving more focus on Ruby's view of people than Aqua's, there's the interesting side note simmering in the background that Aqua, too, has a constructed image of Gorou at this point - even if he actually IS him, it's been over 20 years since he's been Sarina's doctor. Ruby, Melt, and Aqua all have very different ideas of who Gorou was - and none of them match the man himself.

I don't have very much to say about the last third of the chapter tbh. The supernatural elements of this story very much confuse me, I am not sure where they are going or what it's doing and don't feel confident speculating anything. Crow Girl is a cool character and I want to see more of her, but I suspect I'll appreciate her a lot more if I reread the series once it's done and we actually know what her deal is.

Overall, solid chapter, I think does a good bit to contrast and deepen our understanding of Ruby's views, and even if part of me really wants them to narrow in the focus on the twins a bit more after last time, I am content to let Aka keep cooking.

[ven-on-trial]

pairing: childe x gn!reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (gn!receiving), chair sex, biting, hair pulling, rough handling, reader on top, switch dynamic, singular brief mention of predator/prey, enemies to lovers but it’s complicated, modern assassin au, mentions of weaponry and scars, childe is referred to as ajax

word count: 1.2k

summary: after spending years locked in a tense purgatory of emotion with rival assassin tartaglia of the fatui harbinger division, something finally had to give.

i posted this almost a month ago and it was nuked from the tags so im making a final desperate attempt to repost it now that tags seem to be working consistently on my other blogs </3

Kissing a man who has been situated between your crosshairs tastes like blood. 

You think it should be worse, a putrid ichor that lingers and seeps into your tongue for an eternity. But instead it is bittersweet like a creamed coffee, with a tang of iron that feels downright addictive as you weave your fingertips through short ginger hair and pull. 

“Tartaglia,” you hum, grazing the backs of your fingers against his cheek as you lean in to steal his lips once more. “We’ve barely started and you’re so needy already. Am I wrong in assuming you’ve thought about this before?”

“Don’t call me that,” he says. He steps back, but not to escape; his hands remain outstretched towards you, beckoning you closer. “Not when we’re like this.”

Ajax is beautiful, sweat glistening like diamonds on his chest. The moonlight is kind to him, paints him tenderly and leaves him glowing just for you. Looking at him stills your heart for a moment, how he glances across at you with lidded eyes, bruised lips and a heaving ribcage. 

He looks completely and utterly taken already, which only serves to spur you on as you cross the room to meet him. 

You push his shoulders down until he’s dropping onto the chair behind him, a soft oof leaving him on impact. Wide eyes watch you step closer, as you kneel before him and place your hands on the plush of his thighs. With teasing touches, you edge your fingers further along his legs. Reflexively, he shudders.

“Ajax,” you purr, “what do you want from me?”

He parts his legs for you, revealing the straining bulge against tight fabric that pulsates as you reach for it. “Touch me.”

The length of his cock bobs as you pull it from his pants, only semi-hard but quickly firming under your hand. You press your lips to the tip gently, smugly observing the sharp intake of breath that draws his chest tighter, before taking him into your mouth. 

His hands find the back of your head, pressing you closer. Despite you initiating this entire ordeal, approaching Ajax like a hunter with prey in their sight, it feels instead as though you’re the one being devoured in this haze of passion. You can feel the way his cock twitches in your mouth, pushing against the back of your throat as you continue to coax him to release for you.

But before you can succeed, he’s gently pushing your head back, removing your lips from around him with a wet pop. 

All you get in explanation is a simple, “need you, please.”

Teeth sink into your collarbone, eliciting a gasp from you as Ajax pulls you towards him. You can feel him throb against your stomach as you sit on his thighs, as desperate for this as you are. 

"You'll regret this," he warns. His words are hollow, no more than a nicety as he chases frantic kisses along your jawline. 

You smile sweetly, letting his lips meet yours just once before you pull back. 

"I know."

Your name slips from his mouth with a whine as you lift up and settle onto his cock. He’s no bigger than you’ve taken before, but the feeling of him stretching you out numbs your mind in such a satisfying way. 

It's a deliberately agonizing process, purposefully slow so you can watch that blissed-out glaze in his eyes as he throws his head back. His cheeks are flushed scarlet, dark enough to drown out those pretty little freckles that dust his skin. He exhales, so very patient under the torture you must be inflicting. 

And then Ajax has had enough of your teasing. 

He grips your thighs harder, as if trying to pry flesh from bone, and holds you down so you can feel the full extent of him within you. As you adjust to the sudden fullness, he occupies himself by eagerly lathing his tongue along your neck. 

Most days, you spew vitriol at this man every chance you can get. But tonight, as his hips start to thrust and his fingers cut impossibly deeper into your skin, coaxing your body up and down to meet each movement, you serenade him with a glorious symphony. 

"Fuck,” he says, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“If it were that easy to kill you,” you huff, “I’d have fucked you years ago.”

He grins, eyes practically glowing as he reaches up to meet your lips, murmuring against them, “if only.”

Gone is the Ajax who seemed shellshocked by your boldness, replaced instead by a man taking full advantage of the situation you’ve put him in. He fucks into you like a man possessed, as though he’ll tear you both apart and recreate you together in a new, better image. Your hands clasp his shoulders, nails pressing crimson crescents against scarred skin. 

Briefly, you wonder if you could map out the marks you’ve made on him throughout the years. There’s a scar across his thigh, at least there must be. You know that dagger went deep enough to mar him. A few stray bullet scrapes litter his shoulders. Some larger, jagged cuts criss-cross down his thick arms. 

You’ve the imperfections to match, of course- a twin wound along your throats from the time you’d had knives against one another, the first time you looked into his eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss that infuriating grin off his lips. 

Perhaps part of the reason you’ve been so drawn to him all this time is that you know what it’s like to have blood on your hands and that bittersweet taste on your tongue. There are rarely people around long enough in your line of work to feel that connection, to viscerally understand the inner workings of a similar mind. 

And now, as he cries your name like it’s a siren’s call, his lips find yours and you kiss him like your very life depends on it. You bring your hands up to his jaw, cup his cheeks tenderly and fuck him until he reaches a breaking point. 

The release of pressure, the cataclysmic wave that washes over him as he comes, brings you to your own peak as he rides out his orgasm beneath you. Though his thrusts turn lethargic, he remains steadfast until you’re clenching around him, tight enough to coax another desperate whine from his lips. 

In the heady rush of post-climax, Ajax rests his forehead against yours. 

It’s a gentle intimacy compared to everything else you had just done, compared to the cock softening inside you and the cum dripping down your thighs onto his lap. His grip on you finally falters, turns into lazy arms circling your waist to keep you close. 

“Was I right?” he whispers, wavering voice more vulnerable than the carnal acts you’ve just shared in. “Do you regret it?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” you hum in thought, “but perhaps I can stay the night and give you my answer in the morning.”

Ajax laughs, bumping his nose against yours playfully. “I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” you say. “I will.”

[whaleji]

girlblogging like kafka ; entry 2

slow day today. started watching a cool tv show about the origins of french rap and hip hop in general. love it. "le monde de demain" on netflix, it stars a guy i already discovered in "sage homme", he's very promising + dances really well. watching it makes me want to scream my lungs out and talk about everything that bugs me all the time, but i'm cursed with having no words to express and describe what i feel and why i feel it except for the obvious. i want to talk about misogyny, about social expectations, about the so lethal capitalism, about the dullness of life in the age of profit and hyper digitalisation. i've been listening to a lot of rap altogether lately. i like the raw feeling of it, the rare display of anger it allows. somehow like that painting by Zack Zdrale, "Continually Torn Apart". but i'm afraid turning my anger, so like a perpetually fed fire, into still art won't ease it enough. it's so ingrained inside, so internal i'm afraid breaking all the plates or writing all the prose of the world wouldn't be enough. expressing my anger only seems to be satisfying when it is being directly witnessed by an audience. that would mean what i'm looking for may be performative art : rap, live painting, walls wrecking... but would that even be enough in itself ? dunno.

i've been thinking about getting a whale tattoo. love whales, they're fascinating beings. their eyes so profound and full of knowledge, so full of kindness and patience. it's hard for me to act on changing something about my appearance forever because my sense of self is so fickle and ever-changing. one day i'm classy, want to fit within the self proper crowd, to curate my persona from the inside as well as the outside, to have nice hair and carefully chosen clothes and perfect nails and skin, to be mature in appearance and thought, to be feminine but not "girly"; the other i dress with whatever looks clean enough on my floor, wear no makeup, despise anything that could associate me with abiding to patriarchal diktats, display proudly unshaven armpits and legs, look at said proper crowds with defiance and anger; sometimes i dress according to specific styles, y2k or goth or emo or lolita or pinterest girl or sea lover, embrace new personas and looks, envision myself as part of that crowd forever and make semi permanent choices in regards to it. recent examples are me dying my hair bright red on a whim on a week night in my friend's small dorm room, or me deciding to get acrylics two days ago because they're pretty and regretting it two days later, bothered by the lack of practicality they induce as well as the way they look.

i'm afraid of facing the same dilemma after getting tatted and regretting it my whole life afterwards. i wish i didn't have such a fragile sense of who i am and how i present to the world. i think the real issue at hand is my materiality. if i didn't have a physical body that i have to constantly accommodate so it looks the closest possible to how i imagine my soul appears, i could just be. i could be myself without my other, physical self to act as a barrier between me and the world. but then i'd be so raw and where could i hide from harm ? if everyone was a soul without a body then our souls would crash against one other and bruise and swallow one other up perpetually. i fear and wish for this extent of rawness from my soul and that of others at all times. as it's impossible yet, i sit and fantasize about immateriality in my bed, looking at abstract paintings headphones plugged in listening to that cathartic rap that turns my despair into anger and helps purge it if only a little.

sitting on my bed. still far away from home. but where's home ? i know wherever i'm coming back to after this vacation is not, and yet my apartment 1000kms from it isn't either. and when did my childhood home stop being home, and what become of "home" ? my home are four people i wish i could climb into, but can't see often, or at the same time. when they're away i'm homeless. i stray. i look for a place to settle in. a concept. i stray. i'm homeless within my house. it's raining outside.

[kkodzvken]

take the dive - sugawara koushi x milf!reader

tags/warnings: smut, 18+ ONLY! slight dubcon, infidelity, post timeskip (suga teaches reader’s kids). overstimulation and slight dumbification, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public (in an empty classroom)

a/n: this is my piece for @ultimate-astridwriting’s milf fuckers collab, which you can find here!! thank you for hosting this astrid, and thank u to everyone in the server for ur love and support as i worked on this <33. title cred: take the dive by jonghyun

wc: 3.9k

Amidst a faculty full of stuffy old dinosaurs and suits, Sugawara Koushi is a breath of fresh air. He’s a welcome distraction, a pretty face to focus on at dull PTA meetings and assemblies. And you knew that you weren’t the only one making heart eyes at him. Everywhere that he went, heads turned, and moms whispered. At the bus stop, on the sidelines of sports matches, in the waiting rooms outside dance classes.

It was just that, though -- just whispers. Little knowing glances and nudged shoulders, dreamy sighs and brief sinful indulgences. Nothing more than a brief escape from the monotony of your everyday lives. You’d lose yourselves in the fantasy for a few seconds, and then pull your heads down from the clouds and plant your feet on solid ground. You enjoyed your gossip with the other moms, and then you returned home, to your husband and children. To your family.

You love them, of course. Your children are your world, and your husband is a good man. He’s a good man, and that’s what made it so hard. He treats you well, keeps his words soft and never once put his hands on you. 

He may be good, but, God, was he boring. You can’t remember the last time that he’d even kissed you, let alone fucked you. He came home later and later each night, too tired from work to do anything but silently scarf down his dinner and plant himself on the couch in front of the television. He dragged himself into bed hours after you did. He tried to be quiet, he really did, but he woke you up every single night with his stomping and shuffling. When you snuggled closer to him, he pushed you off. My back hurts too bad, he’d say, voice tinged with regret. Remind me to book another appointment with the chiropractor. 

It was always some excuse or another. 

So, really, you couldn’t blame yourself for your wandering eye. You weren’t going to act on it, of course -- you weren’t a cheater -- but the young teacher was something to occupy yourself with. A pretty face to fill your thoughts as you wrangled your horde of screaming kids from swim lessons to dance practice to art classes. A pretty, pretty body to imagine as you fucked yourself with your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your moans. You couldn’t help but imagine that it was him, lithe body leaning over yours. No complaints of aching backs and sore muscles, none of the complications that came with age. 

You’d leave your husband catatonic on the couch, put the kids to sleep, and then go dream of their hot teacher. You should’ve been more ashamed, but there was a part of you that loved the thrill of it. You flushed whenever you saw Mr. Sugawara the next morning, memories of your illicit thoughts filling your mind, but it also made your body feel electric. 

Of course there was a part of you that longed to throw caution to the wind and jump the young man, but your conscience was much stronger than your weak, lustful thoughts. You were happy with the way things were now. As dull as your husband was, and as insufferable as the children could sometimes be, you were happy. 

This was all you had ever wanted. A house in the suburbs, a husband with a well-paying job, three kids and a dog. You’re living the fucking dream. You’re happy, you tell yourself.

So why the fuck are you so unsatisfied?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With a deep breath, you stare down the heavy glass doors at the school’s entrance. You want nothing more than to find the idiot architect who designed this building, and strangle him for installing pull doors. Your arms are already sore from carrying the giant tray of brownies from your car to the front of the school, and you worry that if you put the treats down to open the door, you wouldn’t be able to lift them up again. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you have two minutes left to reach the gym where the bake sale is being held. The PTA president is notorious for hating latecomers, and you weren’t in the mood to get your head bit off.

You’re debating doing some gymnastics and using your foot to grab the handle, when you notice footsteps approaching from behind you. You open your mouth to ask for help, but they beat you to it. “Let me get the door,” says their syrupy, melodic voice.

Their familiar voice.

Your body practically freezes as a strong arm reaches over your shoulder. Long fingers – fingers that you’ve fantasized about too many times to count – twist the handle and push it open easily. You don’t know how you didn’t notice him approaching sooner, but now that he’s here, your senses are in overdrive. The sweet scent of his cologne, the sound of his breath, the warmth of his body – it’s all too much, and it makes your knees feel weak.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you intended. This must be some kind of Pavlovian response from all your fantasizing, because there is no reason for your stomach to be twisting right now. “Thank you.”

He grins sheepishly and steps away, and you hate the way that your body screams at you to lean into him. “It’s no problem. Is that for the bake sale? Here, let me carry it for you.”

You try to protest, but there’s really no point. His long fingers are already pushing yours to the sides, and you swear you’ve been electrified as he pulls the tray out of your hands. It’s a shame, really, that he’s wearing a button-down. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, at least, but you would’ve loved to see his biceps flex as he carried that tray…

What am I doing? You dig your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of your thoughts, but it’s hard to stay lucid when he’s so beautiful. He carries the brownies with ease, using just one arm to support their weight as the other holds the door open for you. It should make you upset, that you’re so weak in comparison to him, but the thought just makes you feel even more breathless. He’s so strong, so young, and so unlike your husband.

“Thank you,” you say again as he steps into the building behind you. You reach for the tray, but he waves you off.

“Nonsense. I’ll walk you to the gym.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Anything for my favorite mom.”

His…favorite? His words leave you too stupefied to protest any further, and he takes your silence as compliance. Your body automatically follows in his footsteps as he paces down the hallways.

He looks over at you and smiles comfortingly. It lights up his entire face, but does little to ease your turbulent thoughts.

Your mind is still fixated on his words as you step onto the squeaky wood flooring of the gymnasium. Sugawara calmly walks over to the PTA president, who looks like she’s about to rip her hair out. She’s surrounded by a gaggle of other moms, all jabbering away with concern painted across their faces.

“Is something wrong, ladies?” he asks. His voice snaps them all out of their conversation, and their eyes widen as they take him in.

“Yes,” says the PTA president scornfully. “We were supposed to have the brownies here already! The sale starts in ten minutes, and if this keeps up, I won’t have enough time to inventory everything and make it presentable, and –”

“I have the brownies,” you cut in, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

She blanches, and looks from you to the tray in Sugawara’s arms. An oh is all she can muster before grabbing the brownies and rushing off.

“Is everything okay?” one of the other moms asks, her voice laced with fake sweetness. “Oh, and you look so tired, dear. If you couldn’t manage your part, you should’ve just said so!”

“It would’ve been no trouble,” another woman says. “I’d have had no trouble whipping up a tray for you! Everyone always does love my baking.”

You grit your teeth and resist the urge to snap at them. It’s always like this – the other moms seem so in tune with their lives of domestic bliss, playing games of politics and constantly competing to be the best. Try as you might, you just can’t satisfy yourself with a life like theirs.

The material of Sugawara’s shirt brushes against you, and you start. He doesn’t pull away as you flinch, instead gently resting his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her away? Mrs. (L/N), I have your son’s science fair project sitting in my classroom. He keeps forgetting to bring it home. Would you like to go collect it now?”

You nod, relieved at the excuse to escape these women and their sickening artificial sweetness. Sugawara gently guides you with the hand on your back. You can’t help but internally smirk at the thinly-veiled jealousy on the faces of the other mothers.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Sugawara says, once you’re safely out of earshot. “All these PTA moms are so fake. But you’re not like that, are you?”

You nod, still a bit convinced that this is all a dream. He doesn’t remove his hand from your back as you walk down the hallways, and only pulls away when you reach the door to his classroom. He fishes through his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys, before insert one into the knob and pushing the door open. He gestures for you to enter first, and so you do, blinking at the harsh sudden brightness of the automatic lights.

You awkwardly glance around the room. You’ve been here plenty of times before, but that was all during the daytime, when it was packed full of energetic children. It feels…strange, to be alone in a classroom as an adult. Or, well, alone, except for the stupidly attractive teacher that you’ve been lusting over.

“Where’s the project?” you ask, trying to diffuse some of the tension building in your stomach. “I should head home soon.”

Sugawara leans his back against the door and cocks his head. “You know, I know what you say about me.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His eyes rove across your body, lingering on your chest for far longer than they should. “I’m not deaf, you know. I hear all the things you say about me. You’re just like all the other moms.” He pushes off the door, stalking closer to you. You instinctively take a step back. “Only difference is, you might actually have the guts to do something about it.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, so hard that you think your ribs might bruise. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sugawara. I-”

You take another step back, and another, and suddenly your back collides with concrete. Your body jolts, and you yelp at the sudden pain.

Sugawara leans closer. One of his hands braces against the board behind your head, and the other one comes up to cradle your face. His long fingers hook under your chin and press, forcing you to tilt your head up and meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your lip, and you can’t deny how the sensation makes your body feel like jelly.

Every rational thought in your mind is screaming at you to run, to leave, to get away from him and go back to your husband, but God, it’s been so long since you’ve felt like this. It’s been so long since someone’s made your heart race and your breaths quicken, since someone’s made you blush like a schoolgirl over a simple touch.

“What was that you said?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

You swallow and bite the inside of your cheek. The pain does nothing to clear the fog inside your mind. “I-I don’t, I-”

“You do,” he interrupts, his thumb still toying with your lip. “You’re so fucking obvious. I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Sugawara!” His lewd words make you gasp, but more than anything, you hate the fact that he’s right. Your body has a mind of its own, and it wants nothing more than to wrap your lips around his thumb and pull him closer. It wants to feel his arms wrapped around you, feel his body towering over you.

But you can’t. As much as you want to, you can’t, because you have a husband at home who’s waiting for you. Sure, he isn’t home right now, because he’s putting in extra hours at the office. And sure, he hasn’t touched you or made you feel desired in weeks. Hell, you haven’t had a genuine conversation in weeks. But he’s still your husband! You try and remind yourself of that. You roll the thought around in your head, hoping that it’ll push your thoughts of Sugawara away.

But the young teacher is persistent, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that makes your chest tighten. “Call me Koushi, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess –”

“What, you’re going to pretend that it didn’t make you wetter? Going to pretend that you aren’t clenching your thighs together right now?” He leans in even closer, so that his breath brushes against your ear as he whispers. “Your body doesn’t lie, baby.”

A whine slips past your lips at his words, and then you gasp, mortified with yourself. But the grin that covers his face makes your transgression worth it, because God, he’s handsome. His hand squeezes your chin even tighter, and then trails down to your neck. Your breath catches in your chest. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, of his fingers trailing across your skin, his touch feather-light. It leaves you aching for more.

You instinctively whine again, and he lets out a noise of surprised delight. “Whining like this, and you’re still denying that you want me? What’s got you so embarrassed?”

“I have a husband,” you hiss – or, at least, you try to hiss. It comes out more like a whimper than anything else.

Sugawara looks at you for a beat – and then throws his head back and laughs. It catches you off guard, and you furrow your brow. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

He collects himself, but his eyes are still gleaming when he looks back at you. “Sure, you have a husband. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking about me, does it? Tell me, when’s the last time that your husband took care of you? When’s the last time that he touched you, or fucked you, or made you feel good?”

“Mr. Sugawara, this is inappropriate–”

“Stop lying to yourself.” His voice suddenly drops, his stare forceful and deadly serious. “Say the word, and I’ll go. We can pretend this never happened. But anyone with eyes can tell that you’re unsatisfied.”

“I…I don’t…” Your thoughts feel like a wave, building higher and higher. They bounce around your head, reverberating against your skull, so loud that you can’t even think.

“Why are you settling?”

“Mr. Sugawara, please, I–”

“Why are you settling, when you know you want more?”

The wave crests.

You don’t know who moves first, but somehow, your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his lips are slotted against yours. It’s not soft, or sweet – it’s a mess of teeth and tongues and feverish breaths. His hands are everywhere. They trail over your skin, explore the curves of your chest and your stomach, grip tightly at your waist to pull you closer.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you pant against his lips. Your lungs scream for oxygen, but you can’t bear to drag yourself away from him for even a second. He kisses so well. It may be rushed, and messy, but there’s so much hunger behind his actions that it makes your head spin. It’s like his lips are a live wire, and every second that they touch yours, they send a thousand volts of electricity arcing through your body.

“Koushi,” he breathes. “Call me Koushi, please.” You nod, and then hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt, popping a few off in the process. Neither of you care. His hands finally dip beneath the hem of your dress, and he wastes no time in unceremoniously tugging it off your body.

Your hands instinctively go to cover yourself. Age and childbirth have changed your body, and you know that Mr. Sugawara – no, Koushi – is probably used to beautiful young women. You still don’t understand why his eye landed on you. He surely has dozens of girls his age fawning over him, with flat stomachs and perky tits. Why you?

He grips your wrists and pries your hands away from your body. “Don’t do that,” he says, so gentle in contrast to the fire from just moments ago. “Don’t cover yourself up. You’re beautiful.”

Oh.

You can’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful. You can’t remember the last time that you felt beautiful.

But right now, with Koushi staring at you, eyes blown out with lust… you feel it.

He sinks onto his knees, lips already pressing little kisses against your hips and upper thighs. You try and protest – really, Koushi, you don’t have to – but he shushes you instantly. He hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder and dives in without hesitation. Even through the fabric of your panties, you’re in fucking heaven. His tongue laves against your clit, focusing so much attention onto the swollen bead that you can’t help but let out a moan.

You slap your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. You’re in an elementary school, for God’s sake. The bake sale is at the other side of the large building, but you’re terrified of someone walking past and catching you. Guilt swirls around your heart, but it’s quick to dissipate when Koushi tugs your panties off and throws them over his shoulder. He buries himself into your cunt again, and it’s even better without the barrier. The coil in your stomach is tightening embarrassingly fast, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. His tongue laps at your folds, slurping lewdly.

The pleasure is overwhelming. Your body moves of its own accord. Your hips grind against Koushi’s face, and he moans right into your cunt. His lips move up to your clit again, alternating between licking and sucking. You’re so focused on his mouth that you barely notice his fingers, so long and pretty, collecting your wetness.

You do notice when he fucks two of those pretty fingers into you. He immediately starts scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, before hooking them against that spot inside of you that makes your head spin. Your entire body is shaking with euphoria, so much that you can’t handle it.

“Close,” you cry out, trying to keep yourself upright. “Close, close, please, don’t stop!”

He moans into you again when you tug at his hair. It’s the push that you need to finally fall over the edge. You bite into your palm to keep from screaming as you gush all over him, chest heaving and eyes tearing up.

He keeps curling his fingers, keeps lapping at your clit, until you tug on his hair and cry that the overstimulation is too much. As he lets your leg down and stands up, he makes a show of licking your cum off his fingers, slurping on them loudly. It would make you embarrassed, but you’re too focused on his other hand as it dips down to his belt. The muscles of his stomach flex as he undoes the buckle. You take the opportunity to rake your eyes over his toned torso. He seems so slender when he’s dressed, but his shoulders are surprisingly broad.

He looks up at you with a little smirk. “Caught you staring,” he teases. You blush as he pulls his pants and boxers down in one go, freeing his cock. It’s already hard, and so pretty, just like him. His tip is red and dripping with precum. You want so badly to get a taste, but Koushi has other plans. He spins you by your shoulders, and then presses at the small of your back to make you lay across his desk.

You groan when you feel him slap his cock against your ass a few times, before running it through your folds to collect your wetness. “Please,” you gasp. “No teasing, please.”

“Just came, and you’re already needy?” he chuckles. “That husband of yours must really not be satisfying you.”

You’re spared from having to think of a retort by him sinking into you. A cry leaves your lips, but it’s too good for you to even care about the sound. He feels like heaven as he sinks into you. His cock stretches you out deliciously.

You’re already feeling delirious as he starts to shallowly thrust and work his way in. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. “So – fuck…”

You can’t do anything but moan and scratch at the table as he starts to fuck into you in earnest. His cock is perfectly curved to hit your spot every time, and soon you’re reduced to a mess underneath him. His balls slap against your ass with every thrust. It hurts, it’s all too much, but it’s so fucking good. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure like this – mind numbing and all consuming, so powerful that it makes your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he groans again, bending down so that he can loom over you and leave little bites all over your back and shoulders. “Not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that, shit!”

“Faster, please,” you beg, and he obliges. He sets an absolutely brutal pace, somehow managing to fuck you hard, fast, and at the perfect angle all at once. Moans and cries spill freely out of your open mouth. When he reaches forward to toy with your clit, it’s all too much, and it sends you over the edge again. Your body practically spasms as he fucks you through your second orgasm. He shows you no mercy, gives you no time to come down. You don’t know if you’re coming again, or if you just never stopped. Your mind is hazy with pleasure and overstimulation.

You’re a twitching mess by the time that he pulls out, but you still whine at the loss. You’re far too fucked out to turn around and look at him, but in the corner of your consciousness, you can hear him panting and stroking himself furiously. His moans are so beautiful. Within a few short seconds, he’s coming all over your ass, painting your pretty skin white with his seed.

You don’t know how long you’re laying there before he taps your cheek to get your attention. “C’mon now,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We wouldn’t want your husband finding out, would we?”

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use. 

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence. 

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world. 

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there. 

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.  

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.  

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.  

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.”  He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—  

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot   tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”  

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.  

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared. 

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

← || series m.list || →

THANK YOU FOR READING!

→ if you enjoyed this, please consider telling me what you think by leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! → want to read more?

[jangofctts]

omg I just read so much of your writing and I’m 🥺🥰🥲🥵 the absolute royalty shit that we see here today. i’ve recently discovered I am very into ~thigh riding~ so do u have any thots on how our boys (especially our clone babes) feel about it? much obliged

IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS ALL DAY KEJHKJRH SO HERE YOU GO OMG

boba: yEs--boba absolutely adORES when you crawl into his lap and straddle his thigh. he’ll either pat his lap and invite you up or it’s one of those times when he’s intentionally ignoring you and you have force your way onto his lap so he has to pay attention. imo the first time you ride his thigh you weren't intending to, you wanted to fuck him but with boba, if you want something from him he’s gonna do it his way or twist it into something to tease you. so he’ll say something like “if you’re so desperate, ride my thigh” or maybe “ride my thigh and then we’ll see if you deserve my cock.” he’ll sit back and enjoy the show with a smug grin, one hand gripping your hip. he’s not controlling your pace, it’s mostly just there as an anchor bc you’re gonna be doing all the work. you’re lucky if you get to ride his bare thigh, but most of the time he’s got pants on so they always end up soaked after you cum and boba always teases you for it, “ruined another pair of pants, little one” but really he isn't even one to talk, he’ll be rock hard and leaking through his pants too. he’ll also nine times out of ten put his fingers or thumb into your mouth to suck on while he flexes and pushes the hard muscle of his thigh up to your cunt. he likes that satisfaction of knowing that even his thigh can make you shudder and whine his name--a bit of a power trip esp if he’s sitting on the throne. he’ll fuck you nice and hard afterwards if you’re a good little princess for him          

din: din wants you to ride the beskar thigh plating. he doesn't realize it’s a thing he finds arousing until you sit over his thigh and he sees the heat from your thighs fog up the metal while your arousal smears over the shiny beskar. literally it’s like something just CRACKS in him and he goes feral for it. a dark thrill that comes from seeing your cunt drip over his precious armor, something so sacrilegious that shouldn't be arousing but it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. sure, it’s a bit cold at first but the more you get into it the quicker it heats up--it’s slippery too, not a lot of friction unless you drag your clit over the seams of the armor, but with din’s hands holding onto your hips and dragging you over his thigh, it’s not long before you cum. din is gonna be encouraging you the whole time, just a constant flow of praise and little moans of his own. he might bury a hand in your hair or slip off his glove and touch your clit when your hips roll up into his hand. he’d loose his mind if you lended a hand and palmed him through his pants. he doesn't even care if he ruins his trousers, he’s just so...fixated on the hypnotic motions of your hips rolling over his thigh, your wetness dripping off the plating and onto the floor. he might focus on your mouth, parted with gasping moans or how they roll the syllable of his name. he likes to watch you come undone like this, shuddering and whiney as you cum and eventually roll off his thigh. he probably busts a nut right then and there if you start to roll your tongue over the beskar, happily cleaning up the mess you made. but....sometimes...lick it off himself just to get a taste of you       

paz: big boy blue ALSO likes when you ride his beskar, but he likes it better when the armor is off and he gets to feel your wetness for himself. he has big ol’ beefy thighs and likes when you straddle one and start to ride him like that. imo he likes it when youre pressed up right near his cock so when you roll forward your own thigh brushes against his cock. it’s also just easier for him to grab your hips, set a pace and watch you squirm and whine. ngl he’s more interested in fucking you, so he’ll get cheeky and start jerking his thigh or holding you in place while he circles his thumb over your clit. p much will sabotage your wild ride and convince you to slide onto his cock instead. though,....if you were to tie him up, tease him bye riding his thigh, he might like that :)  

rex: oH rexY BOY--listen, rex has heard ALL about thigh riding, or rather what the clones like to call it, “paint job”. he doesn't understand the big deal, thinks that it’d be a complete hassle to clean and what not. in my oPiNiOn he’ll be sitting with you in an empty break room or on a couch, you both have feelings for each other but nothing's been said yet. somehow the topic of paint jobs come up and he tells you what he thinks and how it “couldn't possibly feel good, blah blah blah”. you just roll your eyes and you ask if he’s even tried it. he definitely blushes and mumbles out a no and with a leap of faith you ask him if he wants you to ride his thigh. baby boy rex gets very shy and embarrassed about it but he’s not gonna say no. so you’ll flash him a little grin and peel off your pants and your over shirt, make rex relax against the back of the couch/chair and sit over his plastoid covered thigh. even though when you start to grind on his thigh you still have your underwear on, rex with pick a corner of the room to just stare at. it’s not because he doesn't like you, he’s just incredibly shy and afraid he’ll cum in his pants if he looks at you. you gotta cup his jaw and force him to look at you. when that happens his eye will immediately drop to between your legs and just moan at the sight. he gets it now. seeing your arousal that’s already leaking through the thin fabric and staining the blue and white plastoid--he has to grip the fucking sidearm to anchor himself. his armor is one of the only things that he owns and is proud of, so seeing you riding his thigh, moaning and whimpering his name he goes wild for that shit. unfortunately he does end up cumming in his pants but eh fuck it. it was worth it   

cody: he likes when you ride his thigh in semi public places like the 79′s, debrief room, gunships, you name it. imma explain the 79′s scenario bc im a whore but anyway, cody likes to bring you on dates there, one because the drinks are free for him, two it’s dark and so unless someone is really looking at the two of you, it’s pretty secluded. he always chooses a back corner table and after a couple drinks you start to get handsy--nuzzling his neck and wiggling your fingers between the gaps separating his thigh and codpiece. it alWAYS starts like that. cody will chuckle, push his nose into your neck and nibble a line up to your ear, then bite down onto the cartilage. in that dark, rumbly voice he might sigh “such a depraved little creature. we’re in public”. but you can feel his smile and how is pulse quickens under your fingertips. cody will sigh and shake his head as he pulls you onto his lap, bUT--he’s gonna have you with your back to his chest plate, your dress/skirt/pants rolled up or down just barely in the view of anyone who glances over or looks a little closer. it’d be no secret what you both were up to but cody likes that. dude doesn't have any shame and so he’ll wrap an arm over your hip, push you panties to the side and slide his fingers through your folds. once they're coated in your arousal he might pop them into his mouth or yours, clean them off then flex his thigh onto your pussy. when he asks you to grind on his thigh you readily agree. while you ride his thigh he’ll nibble at your throat and suck bruises onto your skin, either watching your wet pussy slide over the plastoid armor or on the look out in case one of his brothers comes near. one time, just as you started to cum, a couple fresh shiny’s got an entire eyeful of you arching and burying your nose into cody’s neck as he rolled his fingers over your clit. safe to say they were a bit spooked--but of course, cody thought it was the funniest thing and couldn't stop laughing even if you were close to tears with embarrassment. now....he doesn't invite anyone to watch, but he wouldn't say no to a few prying eyes          

wolffe: I feel like with wolffe, it’s gonna be right after a mission--one of you might've almost died or gotten real hurt so he’s not thinking about fucking you properly--he just want his mouth on yours, hands buried in your hair as he pins you against the wall. I dont think he initially meant for you to ride his thigh, but when he wedges it between your legs and you moan into his mouth the second he increases the pressure, he freezes. he’ll do it again and when it receives the same reaction from you he smirks and tugs on your hair and might say smthn like “you like that? if you wanted to ride my thigh you could've asked sooner”. he’s either focused on your face or on your pussy, just soaking up all your little reactions or twitches when you roll your cunt over the plastoid. he'll have both hands on your hips, helping you grin up on him, while you either cup his face or grip his arm. either way youre in for a wild fucking ride--wolffe tbh wants to see his armor dripping by the time he’s done with you. sO do nOT be surprised if he just, doesn't let you stop, pushes you to keep going until he’s satisfied. imo I think he’ll make you lick it up after, or just in general would really Like It if you run your tongue over any part of his armor. he likes to be Appreciated :)

wrecker (im sorry I just nEEDed to include him kejkejh): honestly since baby boy wrecker is uh, so big, thigh riding is some of the first things you try with him. you’ll both be butt ass naked bc it’s just easier to explore like this, and while wrecker is eager he knows he has to think about his strength in order not to overwhelm or hurt you unintentionally. he’s a bit of a goof ball so when you straddle his thigh and bring his thicC fingers to your cunt he’ll smile and say some shit like “wow, you’re wet” or like “is it always this wet/soft?” he doesn't mean for it to be teasing, it's more like he’s just stating a fact bc he’s curious about you. you just nod and say it’s all for you, baby/only for you. the second you put your cunt over his thigh he’ll curse and clamp his hands around your hips or ribcage, and just to make the experience all that better for him, you’ll jerk him off while you ride him. wrecker is very vocal/loud and so you’ll know exactly what you’re doing that he likes--he’ll probably tell you how pretty you look, or how good you smell etc., that bOY IS SO FULL OF LOVE and just wants to tell you! it doesn't take long for him to spill into your hand, he shakes and no doubt wakes up half the barrack/ship but who the fuck cares. you just smile and continue to ride his thigh, chasing your own thigh. once he recovers a bit, you can grab his fingers and show him how you like to be touched. he’s a surprisingly quick learner with this and so it doesn't take long for you to cum. afterwards he’ll run his fingers over his thigh, collect the mess you left and taste you and maybe say “you should ride my face. can we do that?”     

[blu-eh]

after school summons

[AO3] 

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard.  His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.  

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.  

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”  

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

[fuckthesworld]

CLAIM ( STILES x THOMAS x READER )

Summary: An Alpha seems to think that it’s alright to try to mate the Reader…They seemed to forget that she belonged to the Stilinski. Stiles and Thomas intend to remedy that.

Hey, sexy!” One of the new alphas call out in excitement at the sight of the Pack Omega. Y/N rolls her eyes and continues her work, ignoring the laughter from said alpha and his friends. It was clear that they didn’t have anything better to do. “Come over here and sit on Master’s lap!”

“Yeah, come on!” Another calls.

“C��mere baby, I wanna see what those lips look like around my knot!” The entire group explodes into laughter after hearing one particular alpha say that, but Y/N just rolls her eyes again and begins to scrub at a stubborn spot on the kitchen counter. She hears the Bar door creak open and smells her alphas’ scent spreading through the building as they make their way to her. She can also hear their quick steps echoing down the halls sounding louder and louder as they approach the kitchen.

Her alphas, Stiles and Thomas Stilinski had gone for the pack meeting and hadn’t been able to come back in. Usually around this time of the season they’d all go into their shared bedroom for when their ruts and heat aligned, but because of all of the new arrivals, this was virtually impossible recently.

The alphas semi-harassing her back off as they catch the larger duo’s scents. Stiles and Thomas enter the kitchen with tired but happy grins on their faces as they walk up and scent their omega. Multiple partners in mating bonds weren’t uncommon, including those with had more than one sibling in it.

They both step close to either side of her, nuzzling her and showing blatant affection. Y/N purrs as they lavish her with attention, her chore of cleaning the bar forgotten.

One moment Y/N was wiping down the table and the next she’s suddenly pinned against the Table with two hundred pounds of alpha muscle pressed against her back. A large hand squeezes the juncture of her waist and hip tightly, painfully, and she tries to twist out its grip only to hurt herself more. She hears the alpha holding her inhale deeply.

“Mmm….”

“Ugh-What?! What the hell are you doing?!” She screeches. “Let me go!”

“Shut up!” The alpha snarls. “You want this, walking around in those tight-ass blue jean short and those tiny tops…Fuck, can you feel how hard I am? This is all for you.”

“Let me go!” Y/N snaps. His hands begin to roam, causing panic to fill her. In response, she begins to shriek. “Sti! Tommy!”

“They’re busy, they can’t hear you.” The alpha murmurs into her ear. “They wouldn’t help anyway. They like to share you between themselves so much-who are they to tell me I can’t-“

Y/N takes in a deep breath before finally screaming out one word that echoes through the Bar:

“ALPHA!”

Several pairs of footsteps echo towards them in response, different alphas instinctively responding to the fearful cry for help.

“What the fuck?!” Comes a loud snarl, equally loud and aggressive growling following it. The alpha pinning Y/N stomach down and ass up jerks his head in its direction.

Thomas was the one who had snarled and Stiles was holding a book and growling. Apparently they’d found a word that neither of them knew the definition for and Stiles laptop was charging because it was dead, so they went to find their mate (who was an English major). They heard her scream mid-approach and had broken into a furious run. The scene they found most definitely didn’t please them.

“Let her go.” Thomas growls. The alpha does as told and Y/N zips over to them. Stiles hands her the heavy heavy book and pushes her behind them both, his tough much more gentle than it would be when he got his hands on the other alpha. Thomas stalks away and out of sight while Stiles turns back around to face the offending male, eyes dark and angry.

Thomas fist slamming into the side of his face and feels his tailbone ache as his ass slams onto the ground from where he’d knocked him down. He looks up at him, eyes murderous and pushes himself up before swinging at the pack alpha as hard as he can, not caring that he was above him in presentation. It connects with his ribs and winds him, but as he recovers Stiles jumps the random alpha and beats him straight in the nose with his bat. He’s slightly satisfied by the crack he hears and feels and the feeling of blood staining his bat.

Within a few minutes the offending alpha was keening in pain from the floor where the brothers had beaten him to a bloody pulp. No one moved to help him in the slightest and Y/N quietly calling her alphas to her side.

In less than ten seconds the three had disappeared down the hallway. Thomas picks up his omega and carries her through the halls, her legs locked around his hips and her arms looped round his neck. One of his hands held her up by her ass. Stiles follows, glancing warily around them.

They enter their bedroom and Thomas gently sets her smaller form down on the bed. He kisses the top of her head affectionately. He pulls away slowly.

“Stay there, baby, and don’t move.” Thomas growls. Y/N shivers in excitement.

Y/N suddenly felt her older alpha’s lips tracing their down the skin of her neck, over and around her breasts, and down towards her pussy. Y/N could feel herself getting wetter and wetter by the minute. She moaned loudly as she did it again and again, lapping hungrily at the omega’s pussy. Stiles darkened eyes watched the currently mating pair with a deeply hungry look.

Out of nowhere, he strolled forward and captured his omega’s gasping lips with his, kissing her deeply and desperately.

“Ours.” He growls. “Ours.”

“Yours!” She moans. She reaches a hand up and buried it in his hair only for him to pull it out and take her by the wrists. He pulls her so she’s laying horizontally across the bed with her head hanging over the side perfectly aligned with his crotch. He quickly unzips his pants and kicks both them and his underwear into a far corner. Thomas, annoyed by their omega’s movement, gets himself comfortable between Y/N’s legs again and starts tonguing her pussy. When she gasps from the feeling of her alpha’s tongue rolling around deep inside her, Stiles takes the chance to shove his cock in her mouth.

Y/N suddenly felt her older alpha’s lips tracing their down the skin of her neck, over and around her breasts, and down towards her pussy. Y/N could feel herself getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

Y/N almost shrieked when she felt Thomas tongue stroke her clit, and Stiles groaned at the way her throat vibrates around his cock. Bracing himself on the bed, he begins to furiously fuck her throat.

“Yes, yes, yes!” He grunt. “‘babygirl”

She chokes a little around his dick, but she’s used to being used this way, so it isn’t that much of an issue-not that they used her and threw her away, no! She just liked it really, really rough. He groans as slowly but surely he gets closer and closer while Thomas continues sucking Y/N’s clit and lavishing her pussy with affection like his life depended on it. Her back arched and she screamed. Ignoring this, Thomas kept sucking, the suction behind it getting stronger and stronger. Y/N’s breathing had quickened and she was moaning her alphas’ names like a bitch in heat. Her orgasm was slowly building until Thomas gave her one final lick and she just lost it. She screamed again, sending vibrations that were so strong down Stiles cock that he had to pull it from her throat. Her legs clamped tightly around Thomas head, her fingernails scratching his scalp as she grabbed at him due to him continuing to lick her pussy.

“Yes! Yes! Alpha! Please!” She begs, not exactly sure what she was begging for.

Once she’s calmed down, she discovers that Thomas withdrawn and is furiously walking around their room. Stiles is sitting in the chair across the room. She stands and walks over to stand beside him despite her weak legs.

“Hmm…C’mere, babygirl.” Stiles purrs. He pulls her onto his naked lap as Thomas growls and paces around outside. Y/N can tell that he’s still completely pissed despite their foreplay, and to distract her Stiles picks her up and sits her down carefully onto his hard length. She gasps excitedly as he slowly eases her down his long, thick cock. Once she’s taken all of it, he carefully begins to thrust up into her.

“Fuck, Sti-!” She exclaims. “More!”

He sped up the repeated thrusts of his hips, nipping desperately at Y/N’s neck and pulling her body closer to him with one arm around her waist. He stands from the chair, bouncing her repeatedly onto his cock as he carried her to the bed. He pulled her from his cock and bent her over the bed, holding her close with one arm looped under her stomach. Y/N groans as he buries his cock so deep inside that she knew if she rubbed her tummy she’d feel the head bulging up through the skin. Y/N whines as she feels another orgasm slowly build up. Sti’s breathing quickened and Y/N immediately knew his release would be soon. He somehow managed to bury his cock even deeper and Y/N screamed his name as her climax rippled through her. He roars as he forces his newly-swollen knot into her and his own orgasm paints the inside of her pussy with his cum. She collapses against her second alpha, but before she can relax she’s being tugged off of Stiles soft cock and presses against the wall.

Thomas hard length is buried into her snatch before she can let out another moan;

Y/N vaguely wonders if Noah is awake and can hear anything as she was being fucked hard against the bedroom door.

“You are ours!” Thomas snarls, slamming his cock into her cunt repeatedly. She moans and scratches at the doorframe. Within a minute his knot is catching on her cunt and he’s shoving it inside, adding his cum to that of his brother’s. Her stomach distends slightly as the amount of the mixture of their cum stretches the area it was contained by.

Twenty minutes later, the trio are laying together in a warm ball when Y/N asked her mates a question nervously.

“Y-You arent mad at me, are you?” Y/N asks quietly. Her alphas roll around in bed, wanting to look at her square on.

“Why on earth would we be mad at you, babygirl?” Stiles asks, confused. Thomas nods.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, he was touching me-“

“Did you ask him to?” Thomas asks. Y/N pauses, then shakes her head. He shoots her a soft smile. “Then you don’t have anything to worry about. You didn’t do anything wrong, baby.”

“Tommy is right, babygirl.” Sti purrs. She smiles softly, knowing that they were using their pet names for her so often because they knew how much she liked them. “Now let’s go to sleep…I think we’re all exhausted.”

MASTERLIST

[sserpente]

A/N: Requested by three anons. Enjoy reading, my lovelies! ;-)

Words: 2360 Warnings: pure smut

Additional NSFW warnings: spanking

-

Loki had been distant from you lately. There was nothing wrong with your relationship of course but ever since he had officially joined the Avengers after them fixing what they had messed up after defeating Thanos, he was working nonstop. They were draining him with risky missions, using every ounce of his seidr to their advantage, and while you were happy he was finally included in a way, you knew they did so with the intention of letting him pay for his actions prior to fighting on their side—to “make up” for the troubles he had caused, the pain he had inflicted on humanity and the lives he had taken.

New York, the Chitauri, the sceptre, the mind games… they still failed to realise none of it had truly been Loki’s fault—a circumstance which made your already cool attitude towards the Avengers bitter.

Loki had not been ignoring you, exactly. It seemed, however, now that his relationship with his own brother was finally changing for the better, he had simply forgotten that there was more to him than a mindless soldier saving the planet numerous times; and while Thor was one reason he kept complying with their orders, albeit using his own, if not questionable methods sometimes, the other was of a selfish nature. He would prove to them he was worthy of being called a hero. He would make women squeal for him just to spite them—but most importantly, he would impress you.

Loki would never admit that, of course, he was far too proud. Yet it was no secret how much he enjoyed your generous pampering when he returned from a long mission and bathed him, washing his hair, soaping his body and paying special attention to his manhood, hardening for you as soon as you brought your palms to his naked skin. But that was only when he returned. He still made tender love to you at night, ensuring you could fall asleep sated and satisfied before taking his own release but no longer, so it seemed, would you randomly pounce on each other throughout the day and spend hours eliciting orgasms from one another. You could barely remember the last time he had initiated some sexy roleplay or simply surprised you and tied you up in the living room to have his way with you, forcing climax after climax from your body until you almost fainted into his arms.

Whatever distracted him so much from taking time for himself, for you, it ought to change tonight. Loki was going to slog his guts out if he kept going like this and you were certainly not going to let him do that. An orgasm or two, or a dozen, would pose the perfect distraction.

You had just taken a shower. A long one, not a short one—all a short shower contained was soap, warm water and sometimes washing your hair. A long shower involved shaving, a hair mask, maybe a peeling and in your case, painting your nails in Loki’s colours.

Naked, you tiptoed towards the living room. It was chilly. You had recently turned off the heating now that it was getting warmer, the cool air instantly raising goose bumps on your limbs. Loki was sitting at your desk which you usually used for writing, leaning over a bunch of documents, photographs and briefing packs Fury had provided him with.

Quietly, you stepped in.

“I am missing something… those signatures are of magical origin…” He muttered, chewing on his pen. In another universe, he could have been a sexy professor teaching the Norse Myths. You bit your lower lip. You should definitely bring this fantasy up to him at some point… perhaps he could give you detention if you didn’t know the correct answer to a question…

He didn’t even look up when you entered the room. You pouted at his back, letting out a loud sigh so he would hear you—he was aware of your presence, of course. There was no tricking him.

“Loki?”

“In a moment, my dear.”

Your second sigh was even louder. Briefly, you even considered sitting down on the sofa and spreading your legs to masturbate in front of him. But then, before you could move, he finally looked up, his eyes widening a little as they roamed over your nude body. Loki swallowed thickly, you could see his Adam’s apple bopping. Stirring a little on his chair, he tilted his head, lips parting slightly. He was practically fucking you with his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I was still hot after taking a shower, so I decided not to put my clothes on just yet. No big deal.” You replied nonchalantly, shrugging in the process.

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “Liar. You are shivering.” Whether it was from the cold or your growing arousal, you could not tell. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

You shrugged once more. He was smirking by the time you gazed down at him expectantly, hoping he would finally abandon those briefing packs and pounce on you like a hungry wolf. But Loki was not stupid. He knew exactly what you were trying to do—and he decided to play along and make you wait until your own impatience drove you crazy. Besides, he needed to get through all of these documents before noon tomorrow. He would travel to Muspelheim with Thor… and he would not be rested enough if he spent the night fucking the living daylights out of you, even if he desired to do just that and abandon this nerve-wrecking mission altogether.

“Well… whatever makes you comfortable, my dear.”

Damn it. You resisted stomping your foot on the ground like a child. Maybe you should masturbate before his eyes. The idea, so you figured, was unbelievably sexy. But then… an even better one struck you.

Not so long ago, Loki had showed you how speak to him telepathically so you could share your thoughts, fears and words with him whenever you were separated. It worked a little like forcing your mind onto him—all you had to do was focus hard. His seidr took care of the rest. He would be able to tell and form an invisible link between you.

You did not do this often, for most of the time you were together and could verbally communicate anyway. Loki had taught you in case of an emergency—or if you two wanted to tattle about the Avengers in their presence. It connected you on such a deep and subconscious level you had even, unintentionally, begun to share dreams.

You wondered… if that also applied to daydreams. Loki had already turned back to the briefing packs, though you did not miss how he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Well then… sneakily, you sat down on the sofa in a lascivious pose and let your thoughts wander off.

You imagined… falling to your knees for him, looking up at him with innocent eyes as you bite your lower lip and bring your hands to the buttons of his leather trousers. He hisses—a considerable bulge already forming behind the dark fabric.

Immediately, Loki sat up straight. There was a connection then. You held back a mischievous chuckle.

Slowly—painfully so—you pull them all the way down to his ankles, revealing his semi-hard cock to you. It springs to life with joyful anticipation, twitching a little under your greedy gaze. You lick your lips, eager to taste him. You wrap your hand around him then, jerking him for a lazy moment before you lower your lip onto his tip, suckling gently. You couldn’t resist. Your hands are never enough with him. A moan escapes his lips.

Oh, no… a real moan escaped him, still sitting at your desk.

He was already clenching his fists. Oh yes, Trickster, you thought. Two can play this game.

You closed your eyes, letting your daydream unfold freely and wherever it would take you.

You lick over the underside of his entire length, now rock-hard between your fingers. Precum is leaking from his tip. You lap it up with your tongue greedily before pushing him into your mouth, inch by antagonising inch.

A giggle escaped your lips when he broke the pen in his hands. It snapped in two like a piece of wood, spilling blue ink all over the desk. He waved his hand to clean it, breathing heavily as he did and still—he insisted on keeping his gaze on those stupid briefing packs.

Bopping your head up and down his length, you take him as deep as you possibly can and moan, sending vibrations through his cock. He groans in your daydream, throwing his head back. He buries his fingers in your hair, holding it tightly to keep you in place and guide you. Faster and faster, until his hips start bucking forward. Saliva is dripping from your chin, your mouth so full you could barely try and swallow.  He tastes so good…

The real Loki in your shared living room growled. He was facing you now, glaring at you in a downright threatening manner, but this was too good to stop it now. You kept your eyes closed.

Loki comes. He pulls out of your mouth, forcing your head back possessively while his other hand jerked himself fast, spilling his seed all over your face. It lands on your cheeks, your lips and your chin, marking you as his. You moan, tongue darting out to clean yourself up.

Your hand, in real life, sneaked between your legs to bring some relief to your throbbing clit.

That did it. Loki jumped up from your chair so ferociously he knocked it to the ground with a loud bang and strutted over to you fast and determined. The look on his face was all but dark and promising. You opened your mouth to protest, albeit half-heartedly, when he had already lifted you up without any effort whatsoever.

He held you tightly against his side, your body hanging from his arm like a fish on a hook. You only realised your bare backside was quite within his reach and presented to him vulnerably when he landed the first slap, sending a stinging sensation through your skin.

“Ow!” Fuck… so much for spanking. You gulped, biting your lower lip to suppress a moan. “Fuck, Loki!”

“Is this what you wanted, my little pet? To be punished for teasing me like that?” Another slap, landing on the other cheek. This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. Loki was holding back his strength and yet, your arse already felt like your bottom had caught fire. It was burning, tingling and tickling all at the same time. You could practically imagine your skin turning all red from the harsh impact.

“So naughty…” Loki kept spanking you thoroughly but your bottom wasn’t the only thing heating up. You were dripping wet, leaking down your thighs by the time he pulled you up even higher to examine your wet pussy. The sweet pain mixed with the promise of relief almost made you scream.

“Loki, fuck… please!”

“Please what, my dear? My… you are positively soaking. You enjoy it, do you not? You enjoy taking a good thrashing for me?” An animalistic growl escaped his lips.

“P-please… I need you inside me.”

You were unable to see it from your current position but Loki was as hard as a rock. His erection, painfully confined in his leather trousers, was throbbing with need for your tight quim. He was not going to be gentle with you tonight.

Fiercely, he put you on your feet again so fast you felt dizzy, pressed you against the cold wall and held your legs up so you had to wrap it around his hips to not fall straight to the floor. You dug your fingernails into his shoulders when his seidr took care of freeing his member so he could bury himself inside you to the hilt, taking no time for a tender intrusion. You deserved a hard fucking now, if anything for torturing him like that.

Loki’s mouth came crashing down on yours, not leaving you any opportunity to complain—not that you wanted to. Quite on the contrary… arching your back, you took his rough and fast thrusts knocking all air from your lungs, your legs desperately wrapping around him. He would not let you fall and get hurt, you knew that despite his frenzy and yet, this primal and downright animalistic side of him had your entire body melt. You were trembling—arousal and lust rushing through you like a drug. Breaking the kiss and throwing your head back, you came for him, fast and hard.

Clenching around his cock repeatedly, Loki fucked you through your orgasm until your eyes rolled to the back of your head as wave after wave of pure pleasure cursed through your veins, making your blood boil underneath your skin. You screamed his name when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit you as gently as he could muster the moment he could no longer hold back, your climax triggering his own. With but a few more powerful and eager thrusts, he began to twitch and jerk against your still contracting walls and emptied himself inside you, filling you up with his warm seed until it dribbled down your inner thighs. Panting, your head dropped against his shoulder. You were putty in his arms, helpless like a fawn.

“Loki…”

He smiled weakly, still bedazzled by his high. Deeply sated, he took a deep breath and cradled you in his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom. His mission was now forgotten—what was it he had been pondering over again? For the moment, all he could think about was the beautiful woman in his arms, his slowly softening length still resting deep inside of your warm quim.

Are you okay? He was too exhausted for words—and so were you.

I am, you replied in your mind, sighing contently. I’ve missed you.

Loki hummed. I’ve missed you too.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my  first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would  appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[thewritingginger]

Night at The Fall - Lucifer x Reader

OH LORD this is SUCH an old request from freaking lAsT yEaR oops 

but Its been done :D @ecryveaine I’m so sorry you had to wait so long and you probably don’t even care anymore but here it is 😅

It took forever cuz slumps be like dat ya know lol

Enjoy ~

Prompt: Smut #1 “Don’t make me take you home and punish you.” Fandom: Obey Me! Pairing: Lucifer x F! Reader Word Count: 3,681 words Warning(s): NSFW, 18+, mentions alcohol, Dom! Lucifer & Sub! Reader, Rough sex, public/semi-public sex, degrading, pet names, oral sex (BJ), begging, after care, really old and over do oops

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room is filled to the brim with touching-bodies making the air humid. The music's vibrations rumble through the walls and the floorboards. The alcohol in your bloodstream begins to make your body tingle. You’re in a booth in the corner of the club swaying in your seat to the music. Sitting next to you sipping his scotch was the one and only Lucifer. You look over to him with glossy eyes. “Lets go dance!” you say excitedly leaning close to your lover's ear. Shaking his head he responds, “I don’t want to dance.” His tone is flat as he takes another sip of his beverage. “Well fine. Then you’ll just have to watch me.” Your sassy response is accompanied with a playful smirk on your lips.

Getting up, the alcohol pumping through your veins makes your body loose, allowing the music to move  you with ease. Standing a few feet away from the booth that Lucifer still resides in you begin to lose yourself in the atmosphere around you. Swaying your hips side to side, your arms gliding fluidly to the rhythm. Your eyes close for a moment, enjoying the freedom of movement. Opening your eyes your sight lands upon the hungry gaze of the first born. Reclined in the booth’s velvet cushions, taking slow swings from his glass as his black orbs roam over your form. Adorned in a tight red dress, the garment accenting your figure in an alluring way. His eyes following your every movement, never staying in one spot for long.

After a minute of feeling his gaze analyze your being, you decide you want to toy with him a bit.

As his eyes continue to bore into you, you turn your back to him. Outlining your body and rocking your hips side to side. You look over your shoulder to see if your actions have taken any effect on the demon. Nothing but a half cocked brow changes on his straight face. Running his tongue quickly across his lips he gets up without saying a word to get another drink. You let out a huff, but then a wicked idea pops into your head.

When Lucifer returns to his spot the situation has changed. He left you to dance on your own but returned to see you speaking with another person. A man. Sitting down he crosses  his legs waiting to see what the other demon might pull.

Feeling a piercing stare behind you, you discreetly glance over your shoulder and you see it. You see Lucifer’s face and you sense the fire slowly starting to build within him. Finally getting some kind of rise out of him. You think to yourself ‘Why don't we make this a little more interesting.’ So to add kindling to the fire you smile at the young demon talking to you running your hand down his arm. You ask him to dance with you, cause you still wanted to dance with someone and if Lucifer didn't want to be that person then so be it.

The man standing opposite to you grows excited by your invitation. As the song continues the man inches closer to your body, resting his hands on your hips. A few minutes pass and as a new song begins you turn around, your ass mere centimeters away from the other man’s pelvis. His hands continue to explore your waist. You lock eyes with a certain demon with quite the stern look painted on his face. Tight lipped and arms crossed, his look daring you to go further. Taking him on his silent challenge you press your body firmly against your dance partner. Your head falls back gently resting on his shoulder. The man accepts your warmth and leans in to plant a few chased kisses on your exposed neck and shoulder. That's when Lucifer had enough of this little show of yours.

Standing up Lucifer makes his way over to the two of you and stops right behind the unsuspecting man. Unaware of the spiders web you have just got him caught in. Feeling Lucifer's strong presence the man turns his gaze up at Lucifer’s searing glare. “Uh, got a problem man?” The demon asks a bit agitated from the interruption. “You’re touching what's mine.” Lucifer growls. “Well I didn't see her pressing her ass against you, now did I?” The demon laughs. A cocky grin plastered on his face..

A sadistic smile cuts Lucifer’s lips, “Well keep this up and I promise, you won't be seeing much of anything. Now I suggest you leave while you still have your legs to do so.” His threatening words cause the demon to step back and scurry off to another part of the club. With your arms crossed you pout, “Aww Luci, you could've been a bit nicer to the poor guy.I was just having a little fun. You didn't have to come and ruin it. But since you’re here.” You take a step towards him “I can dance with you now.” Your words come with an innocent smile. Taking Lucifer’s hand, you hold it above your head as you lead him further into the crowd of drunken dancers. The lights hit the smoke in the air creating patterns in your vision. The changing colors of the strobes paint your skin technicolored. Turning back to your lover you return to dancing but this time being more daring with your actions. Twirling your hips in a circle you turn your back to him rubbing your butt on his manhood. Rocking to the music you let a wandering hand wedge itself between you and Lucifer, palming at his crotch a few times before you feel his bruising grip on your wrist. Leaning into your ear, his voice penetrating your entire body. “If I were you I would be mindful of what it is you are doing Y/n.” His tone suggests you to be cautious but the way his words seemed to carve themselves into you made you shiver with delight. Playing innocent you say “I don't know what you mean Luci, I’m just having a little fun with you.” You smirk inwardly, knowing the game you were playing. Knowing the risks of what egging him on could lead to. After a moment of pondering your innocent confession you feel a low fiendish chuckle vibrate against your back. Moving to the music with you, his iron clamp on your hip tightens as he wraps his other arm around you to caress your neck. Pulling you against his chest enabling you to move. “Y/n, don't make me take you home and punish you.” His taunting words make the warmth betwixt your thighs sear like a branding iron. Feeling as if the air is caught within your throat his words continue. “Or perhaps you wish for me to take you here.” Your eyes shoot open at his insinuating words. “I know you wanted to make me jealous, that's why you let that scum put his hands on you.” Your breath quickens from the excitement building within you. Your electrified haze is broken by Lucifer’s sudden movements, your wrist firmly in his fist as he drags you towards the entrance.

Opening the doors of the hot bar a cold gust of wind washes over you, shocking your system. Pulling you to the side now standing in the dark alleyway Lucifer plants your back against the cold-damp concrete wall. Holding your chin up, his face a breath away from yours. “What am I going to do with you Y/n?” He asks with a tsk. His hand slipping down your neck, your side to then rest on your hip. Seeing a light bulb go off in his head a devilish gleam flashes across his eyes. “On your knees.” His words leave you speechless for a second. “But Luc~.” You’re cut off, “I said, on your knees. Now!” His command comes out with more force. Sinking to the ground you look up at him, “Undo my pants.” Another order, you obey. As you undo his belt and unzip his trousers you glance to the side where you hear people leaving and entering The Fall night club. “Lucifer what if someone sees us?” “They won't. And besides you didn't seem to mind what others thought when you were inside. I thought since you could act so shameless in front of others on your feet, you wouldn’t mind doing it on your knees.” Looking down at you, his words wrapped in sin. “Now be a good slut and do as I tell you and maybe I'll reward you after.” His fingers tangle in your hair pulling your face close to his hardened member.

Placing a hand on his thigh and the other gripping his penis. You swallow hard before you open your mouth to drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. Putting his tip in your mouth beginning to suck, Lucifer pumps your mouth up and down himself to his desired pace. His hips bucking toward its pleasure with every few bobs of your head. His breath becoming deeper, you begin to hear low growls leaking from his throat. Looking up through your lashes you see the predatory look in his eyes. The way he looks at you like a hungry lion eyeing a wounded gazelle. Devouring you with his gaze, making you shrink under his intensity as he uses your mouth for his own needs.

After he is satisfied with the use of your mouth he pulls you back gasping, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. Before you are able to catch your breath he hoists you back to your feet, facing you towards the wall. Pulling your hips back with his strong hands as he roughly yanks up the hem of your dress over your ass. The cool air against your skin makes your legs tremble. “Hmm.” An amused hum meets your ears. “You really are something. Coming out here in this little dress wearing no panties.” Punctuating his statement with a firm smack against your right asscheek. Pulling a fistful of your hair back, making your back form a u-shape. “You wanted me to use you tonight, huh?” Putting his fingers between your legs he feels your essence coating his digits. “Look at you, sopping wet like a bitch in heat and all from having my cock in your throat. I wonder just how much further I can take you before I break you.”

Sliding his tip against your entrance, reviling in its sinful decadence. Craving more of what your body has for him. Putting his slick covered fingers into your mouth tasting  yourself  as he slams his hips against yours. Your moans muffled by his fingers. The sudden intrusion makes your knees buckle.

He starts to pump into your core with powerful thrusts. Sounds of flesh smacking and stifled cries echo in the empty alleyway. Contorting your head back to continue his assault on your ears, filling your brain with nothing but his voice. “Look at you defenseless against me. Completely at my mercy. You love having my cock stuffed inside you don't you?” Unable to say anything you nod your head. Letting out a choked groan, the way he is fucking you and your backs bent is proventing you from taking a full breath. “I’m sure the thought that any one of those people walking in and out of that door over there could look over and see us gets you off. Huh, Princess.” Unable to do anything once again but nod your head in agreement as pleasure consumes you whole. Feeling as if the world is spinning, your brain incapable of knowing up from down at this point. His masterful thrusts hitting you in just the right spot over and over again. His words, pushing you closer to the edge. “You're such a little whore for my cock. I should’ve defiled you right in front of everyone, so they could see just how dirty you really are. You would've liked that huh?” A choked out “Yes'' leaves your lips causing a pleased smile to grace Lucifer's face. “Yes, what?” he asks with a hard spank, a red mark colors your butt. “Y-yes Master.” You corrected your response earning you a heated kiss before releasing your face. Dropping your head down stretching your neck from the unnatural position you were in. He pulls both your arms back holding you by your elbows as he begins to mercilessly pound into your womanhood.

Your knees feel weak. Unsure whether you’ll be able to keep yourself upright, Lucifer’s grip on you doesn’t falter. Still trying to suppress the moans from erupting from your throat you let out whispered screams to try and get some release. “Still trying to hold back? Well that's fine I guess I’ll have to pry those sweet sounds out of you.” His threat makes you involuntarily whimper, unsure if you can take much more of this relentless fucking he’s giving you. “P-please I don't know if I can take any more.” You confess hoping he will let up a bit, but how naive you were to dream of that happening.

“Oh I’m sorry, Y/n. Am I being too rough with you?” As he speaks in a mocking tone his thrusts slow down to long agonizing pumps. “I’m sorry.” Relieved that the pace has slowed down but the anxiety of what he has in store for you next  keeps you from letting your guard down. His grip on your elbows disappears allowing you to stretch your arms. His large palms feel up and down your sides as he places kisses on your shoulder. You begin to lose yourself in this new found softness for a moment before it stops, “Well Princess, If you don’t like how I’m fucking you then, you do it!” He says, pulling out of you. Turning you around to face him, his eyes hungry. He picks you up like you’re weightless. Wrapping your arms and legs around him to keep yourself up. Eyes locked. His forehead to yours. “Cause either way, I am having you!”

Inserting himself back into your wetness you let out a weary gasp, His hands firmly gripping your ass “Start moving.” His commanding words make you move innately as if you don't have control over your own body anymore. This body that claims to be yours but when his stringent words fill your ears you are reminded of who really governs it. With every twist of his lips and smack of his palm you are consumed with the ever present desire to please him. To give up your body for this ravenous beast. Presenting yourself, a banquet of erotic delicacies that only you can offer him. Wanting him to devour you with every kiss, needing him to take your body past its limits. Your muscles strain as they loop around his toned form, screaming to keep you up. Your hips eagerly trying to take in every inch of his manhood. Growing increasingly exasperated, feeling as if you can't get close enough. “Come on is that the best you can do? Prove to me that you want my cock.” His taunting words don’t register in your mind, every syllable blurs together as you try and focus on keeping yourself up and moving your hips. The heat inside you is enough to make you feel like you’re melting. Allowing yourself to be putty in his hands as he molds you to what he wants. Shaping yourself around his body like a puzzle piece. His dark silky locks are tightly wound in your shaking digits. Your face buried in his neck. Sinking your teeth into his shoulder trying desperately to muffle your cries of pleasure. A hiss is heard as Lucifer sucks in through his teeth. A dark chuckle erupts from his chest. “We’re biting now are we? Well then~” With his amusement you let out a little squeal as Lucifer digs his fingernails into the plump skin of your ass. His hands assisting you in your movements, your hips meet each other with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against each other and muffled screams emanate from the dark alleyway. “Fuck!” His hoarse whisper vibrates through your weak body. Trying desperately to keep your grip around him. Detaching from his shoulder you meet his gaze. Directing him you kiss him hungrily. Tears pricking your eyes, moaning into his lips.  All your senses being stimulated. His touch. His taste. His smell. His moans. All of it fills you up. Nearing your breaking point you hug him closer, if that was even possible. With every stroke of his shaft inside you you’re pushed closer and closer to the edge. The coil inside you coming undone burns in your belly. Seeking your end you move your hips faster. Not caring if anyone can see or hear you. All you care about is him. This moment. Your end. Nothing else mattered but the pleasure between you two.

Just a few more movements of your hips and you feel the string holding you together snap. You kiss Lucifer as you climax. Muffling your sweet cries of passion. Your walls convulse around his manhood, urging him to keep going. Riding out your orgasm you feel his cock twitch signifying his impending end.  Not having a chance to come down for your high, being over stimulated by his never wavering need to fill  you with his seed. Claiming you as his. His mind, that of an animal, focusing solely on marking his territory. He will have everyone that sees you know your his. If not from the marks he leaves behind then from his semen dripping down your legs. His feverish movements become sloppier. Looking into your eyes, foreheads touching he releases his essence inside you. Your walls are coated with hot ropes of cum, as he maintains a slow pace. Milking his cock for all it has.

With his back to the wall, standing there motionlessly in silence. A minute passes. Both breathless, calming down from the ride you went on. The excitement melting into tiredness. Your head rests limp against his before sweeping the loose hair in your face. Looking at him, your eyes, heavy. Cradling your  face like a prized gem, rubbing your cheek with his thumb he pulls you in for a tender kiss. “You okay? Do you think you can walk?” He asks, a new found softness to his once rough voice. You nod your head, “I’m okay.” You offer a smile and catch his lips again. Reveling in the aftermath of your heated moment. You gasp as he pulls out slowly. Placing your feet on the ground he waits for you to steady yourself. Fixing your clothes you look over to him as he buckles his belt back on. Draping his blazer over your shoulders he lifts your chin. “Let’s go home, I’ll draw you a nice bath.” Kissing your forehead you wrap your arms around his waist. “That sounds nice.” You say with a smile.

Taking your first step to leave the alleyway Lucifer catches you as you stumble a bit. I guess walking in heels on cobblestone after a particularly aggressive fucking isn’t that easy. Laughing it off you feel his strong arms pick you up. “Here I’ll walk you to the car.” Accepting his offer you rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you to the car that’s picking you up.. On the drive home you both are relaxed in each other's arms. His fingers draw patterns on your shoulder as he breathes in your shampoo.

Once at the house of Lamentation you and Lucifer went separate ways. Him to the bathroom to run you a bath and you to your room to get unready.

Walking into the dimly lit bathroom the only light coming from the lit tea candles. The bath is filled with steaming water and a mountain of bubbles. The hint of lavender and sage hangs in the air. “I got you a glass of water as well. Do you need help getting in?” Lucifer asks as he helps derobe you. Nodding your head, he hangs your robe  on a hook as you take his hand. Stepping into the bath you sigh at the perfect temperature. Bubbles surrounding you as you sink further into the water. The tension in your muscles drifts away as the water warms you up. Looking over to Lucifer you give him a smile. “Won't you join me?” You ask. Your question tugs the corners of his lips up. His eyes are soft as he begins to strip his body of his clothing. You can’t take your eyes off him as he does. With your gaze locked you can’t help but feel warm all over but this time not from the water. You are washed over with such love for this man. A man that can drive you mad with desire and lust but also make you feel like a schoolgirl with their crush. He can be an animal one minute and a prince the next. While in your thoughts you feel Lucifer step in behind you. Your back against his chest, skin to skin. His arms wrap around your front, you rest your head back on his shoulder. Back in that comfortable silence. Your energies intermingling. Engaged in another act of intimacy, one that's softer but just as passionate. ‘I really do love this man.’

Your thoughts make you laugh. “What are you laughing about?” He asks, placing a light kiss on your head. “Oh nothing. Just thinking about how much I love you.” You look up  to see him smile at your comment. “And how much is that?” He asks playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You say back, flicking some water in his face. You both get lost in laughter before he pulls you in for a kiss. “I bet if I try hard enough I can get you to tell me.” He says holding your cheek. “We’ll see about that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Golly gosh that was kinda long but also soo freakin old lol idek if its good at this point I read it so many times xD

But I hope you enjoyed it :3 and hopefully unless school doesnt keep kicking me in the face I can slowly keep getting more out 😅

💛 ~

[bisexual-horror-fan]

December 31st. New Year Sex. “Sugar To Ring In The New Year.” Stu Macher X AFAB Reader.

AYYYYYYY! 

Well here we are! The very last day of Kinky December! A huge, massive, endless amount of thanks to @horrorslashergirl​! This event was so unbeleiveably fun for me! Writing for new characters and old, well worn familar kinks and some different ones, I am so proud of myself for commiting to and doing the whole event (17 enteries! More than I initially planned!) and not being late a single day! I said “Oh it’ll be mostly drabbles” at the start but every single entry ended up being over 1k! Go me!

So we needed something BIG to finish out the event, it’s New Years afterall. Now I put a kink in here I have never publically posted (mostly because I don’t have this one personally but it fit too damn well and it can be very fun to write about so fuck it!)

But what IS it Bex?

You can thank the lovely @mostfandomstrashcan​ for the inspo. She made this post the other day-

-and I mean I HAD already planned to do Stu and give him his own solo peice since I did one for Billy and it was only fair. I mean “ape-shit”?! Lalila. How could I ever ignore THAT? I hope you all enjoy this, I spent a lotta time on it! I also may do something else with this in the future. (And of course Billy is mentioned in this because duh.) So let’s all indulge eh? Mathew Lilliard still be looking damn good, so why not? Older Sugar Daddy Stu Macher AU LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4.2K  Warnings. Established Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. Age Gap. Public Sex. Dirty Talk. Sex Toys. General Daddy Kink. Remote Control Vibrator. Pet Names. Praise. Dirty Talk. Mild Tempature Play. Mentions Of Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Bloodplay, Ropeplay and Poly!Ghostface. We Respect Sex Workers Of All Kinds In This House. If You Don’t? Get Out.

--

Sugar To Ring In The New Year.

---

You had spent such a long time getting ready for tonight.

But it was so very worth it. Rather, HE was so very worth it. 

You looked yourself over in the full length mirror. You looked fucking incredible. You turned slowly, admiring yourself, he had picked your outfit for tonight, paid for it himself and whatever else you needed. He told you money was no object and it certainly never seemed to be with him. 

See it was New Years eve and you had a party to attend. A very nice party, probably nicer than any you had ever been to. 

A ding from your phone, you picked it up off the nearby table. He was here. You shrugged on your coat and gave yourself one last look before grabbing your bag and heading out the door. Door locked and now in the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor with a manicured finger. Humming lightly to yourself, looking your nails over as you descended. 

To say you were excited was an understatement. You loved getting to see him and the holidays were crazy with his line of work, you didn’t see him nearly as much as you’d have liked this past month. Soon the elevator doors slid open and out you stepped, heels clacking over the polished tiles of the lobby of the apartment building you lived in. 

You stepped out into the cold evening air of downtown, smile crossing your painted lips to see him waiting for you, leaning against the towncar hands in his coat pockets, grin widening when he saw you. 

“Hey.”

You called to him with a coy smile, he held a hand up signaling you to stop, you did, a few feet in front of him, he signalled you to turn to show him the whole look and you of course obliged. Hands in your jacket pockets, holding your coat open as you did so, letting him drink in the sight of you, a low whistle as he did so. When you were sure he was satisfied you closed the space between the two of you, hands out of your pockets now, reaching out and taking hold of the scarf he had on, hanging loosely over his jacket. 

“I reiterate. Hey.”

He held up one finger signaling you to wait as he said-

“Hang on just a second-”

One of his hands coming up and finding the back of your neck and he pulled you closer to him, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss, you gripped his scarf and tugged him closer, a soft hum from you. He broke the kiss and still so close to you he said softly,

“Hey.”

That drew a small laugh from both of you and then you let go of him, taking a step back and he opened the door for you and you teased him,

“Was that really necessary?”

“Yes. It was important.”

His hands gripping the top of the car door, he said it in such a serious tone it drew another laugh from you and a wide grin from him. 

Adorable.

You leaned over the door separating the two of you and pressed another kiss to his mouth before getting into the car. Soon he was beside you and you were off. Your hand in his and talking casually, catching up, it had been too long. 

You were recounting something funny that happened the other day at a gift exchange with friends when you caught him staring at you and you stopped, asking in that usual playful tone when you were with him,

“What? Something off with my make-up?”

“No, no, far from it. You look amazing tonight.”

Well that was so damn nice to hear, you certainly hoped so. He picked it all out afterall. You thanked him of course. And the drive passed by quickly. Soon you were being ushered inside, coats checked, and walking into the main room with him, his hand on your lower back as he led you to your table. 

“Oh we get a table?”

You joked and he pulled your chair out with a scoff,

“Of course we do, baby. Look at who you're with."

The over exaggerated gesture to himself when he said that made you snicker. Of course, how foolish, of course you get to have an actual table. He took his place next to you and had ordered you drinks in the next minute. You really enjoyed these dates out to events like this pertaining to his work, he was so in his element, different than how he was when he was totally alone with you. Conversation always flowed so easily with him and you enjoyed yourself immensely.

Drinks were brought and he held his glass up to you, that same smile you loved so much, you held up yours as well as you asked,

“And what are we toasting to?”

“Hmm how about to me having the absolute finest date here?”

How could you say no to that? You smirked as you offered up,

“So it’s to both of us really.”

“Exactly! Always so smart y/n. To us.”

Glasses clinked and you were still mid-sip when he asked it,

“So are you wearing it?”

You glanced to him, he was looking at you, pose relaxed, one elbow on the table, glass held loosely in his hand, fuck he looked good. 

See we should talk about the nature of your relationship with Stu Macher. It might be obvious to someone else looking at you two. He was significantly older than you, professional, established, very well to do. And you were the pretty young thing, always dressed to impress and on his arm for all of the events you were allowed to attend. 

The nature of your relationship was very clear, it started off a bit more business like but it quickly evolved into more than JUST that. 

“Why Mr.Macher! I have no idea to what you are referring.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, leaning forward on your elbows, fingers laced together and tucked under your chin, a faux innocent batting of your eyelashes and he gave you a look. 

“Baby.”

That delicious tone. More serious. You gave in with a wider smile and said,

“Yes I am.”

“Good. If you didn’t admit it I was going to have to test it already.”

Your thighs pressed together under the table, you knew he was going to use it at some point, there would be no reason for you to wear it if he had no intention of using it. 

Some coworker of his came over and took some of his and took his attention, you sat next to him, patiently waiting, you were very used to this. It was more appropriate to say colleague you supposed but ultimately it didn’t matter. Fingers on the rim of your glass as you look around the well decorated room and the well dressed people. You contemplated getting some food in a minute, surprisingly hungry, but your thoughts were interrupted, a hitch in your breath as you felt it.

Your eyes flicking to Stu, you saw it, he had his phone pulled out, semi-hidden under the table, next to his thigh, you were sure he knew you could see it. He was still looking up to his co-worker, engaged in their conversation, but you saw the open app on his phone and there was no mistaking it.

In case it wasn’t obvious enough by this point. Stu Macher was your sugar Daddy. And he had some particular tastes. Taste and appetites that you helped him satisfy. That is how your arrangement initially began but it had grown into more, you were much closer but he still insisted on spoiling you, buying you things, paying for your rent and giving you an allowance. He seemingly got off on providing for you and who doesn’t love to be spoiled by someone so attentive? You weren’t going to say no. It would be cruel to deny him that frankly. 

To be perfectly fair if you had met him in some other circumstances you were certain you would have pursued him. He was nice and sweet, so fucking handsome, funny, there was so much more to him than what he could provide financially. 

Things were so good.

So what about tonight? And what was going on right now? Stu loved getting up to all kinds of filthy things with you. One of his favorites was doing things in public spaces with the risk of getting caught. He had sent the bags over earlier with your outfit for tonight. Along with the dress and make-up and accessories and shoes, he provided the lingerie for you to wear under your dress and the panties were very important. You recalled that text he sent you that afternoon and the instructions. You followed them to the letter. The panties had this perfect little pocket in them to slip in a remote control vibe. The one he was controlling on the app on his phone right now. While you were less than two feet from his coworker. 

You swallowed hard and gripped your glass, attempting to breath evenly, managing to quell the moan attempting to break free. He didn’t make it easy. Your eyes peaked at his phone and watched as he manipulated the controls with one hand, increasing and decreasing the vibration. You were thankful for the loud overall party atmosphere covering up the sound of it. 

A bite of your bottom lip, eyes breaking away, focusing on the table in front of you, trying to take deep breaths and mercifully it stopped. You let out a sigh and looked over to Stu who was looking at you with a grin, his coworker gone His hand fell to your knee and he squeezed as he praised, 

“Good job. You didn’t give yourself away at all.”

“Thank you.”

You took a sip and felt a bit of pride, until he said,

“Guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

Fuck.

You sighed again and took a healthy swallow from your glass.

Really by now you should be used to this. You had prepared yourself for the fact he’d want to use it in public because I mean of course he would, however you should have also been ready for the fact that he would make it as difficult as possible on you. 

That reminded you to ask.

“So where’s Billy tonight?”

He squeezed your knee again before letting go and picking up his glass again as he responded,

“A different party. Shame he couldn’t come but he had his own thing and I could only bring one guest with me.”

Makes sense. They were in different lines of work after all. It had been a while since you last got to see him. See that was another interesting angle to this arrangement. So you had met Stu with the understanding of your arrangement, the initial process went great, you seemed compatible. Multiple dates, he paid for all and spoiled you and of fucking course the sex was incredible. A little ways into it you remembered him sitting you down and bringing forth the idea of it, that he had a friend, his best friend, they were very close, he loved to share and wanted to share you with him. 

You were open to it and met him and were so thankful that you did. He was equally attractive, a good job, not exactly as high profile as Stu’s but he seemed more than comfortable. One of the things you liked best was how Stu acted around him, more relaxed, you found out they went way, way back and seeing the other side of Stu? Amazing. Made you like him a lot more, might have made you fall for him a little sooner. 

Turns out sex with Billy was pretty fucking great too. You remember the first full weekend away with them to really test the dynamic and it was unreasonably fun. Hot, boundary pushing. They had to be sure about you before trying out what they really wanted. A rented house and a complex role play. It was all discussed beforehand, limits, safe words, signals, the whole nine. You pretend to stay there alone. A phone call, they ‘break in’, there was costumes and ropes and knives and fucking Christ why did you LIKE it so much? 

The memories of that weekend were some of your favorites.

It couldn’t have gone better and yep they wanted to ‘keep you’ and you wanted that too more than anything. Basically the whole time you saw Stu you only saw him. Not like you needed to see anyone else, he more than took care of your monetary needs, emotional and sexual needs being satisfied by him were a give in. Now add Billy as a regular guest in your life and you were fucking set. 

You smiled as you teased him, keeping it light as ever, you were sure with whatever he had in mind the mood wouldn’t stay that way forever,

“And you decided to bring me? I’m so flattered.”

He scoffed with a smile, obviously he was going to bring you, he felt no need to say it though so instead he said,

“Finish your drink.”

“That an order, Stu?”

You asked as you picked up your glass and as you started to drink, eyes falling closed as you did and what happened next almost made you choke, while you were distracted for that moment he turned the vibe back on. His phone was out on the table and he had flicked it back on easily. You managed to swallow your mouthful and threw a look to him, he had finished his own drink now, staring you down. You wanted to ask ‘what the fuck?’ but he spoke first,

“Why are you calling me that?”

You watched as his fingers lingered on his phone screen, turning it up slowly and you swallowed your moan, one of your hands was gripping the cloth napkin in front of your place setting. You forced yourself to respond,

“Because we are in public. At a work event. It’s yo-o-our rule.”

You almost broke but managed to hold strong even as he nudged it higher still, fuck you almost wanted to shake, pleasure simmering low inside of you. 

“Hmm it’s a special occasion. Indulge me.”

He was leaning much closer to you, face inches from yours, you wanted to kiss him, a bite of your bottom lip and you whispered it, low enough just for him to hear, indulging him just as he wanted,

“Of course, Daddy.”

You actually pulsed when you said it. Not just because of him still having the toy turned up but from breaking this previous hard and fast rule of his, saying this in public at a work event. That smile alone made it worth it. The kiss he gave you afterwards, forget about it. 

The rest of the night was too fun. 

More drinks, amazing food and he kept teasing you on and off. 

The range on that thing was unreal. 

At one point you were coming back from the bathroom, and once you were in his line of sigh he turned it on and watched you almost stumble on your way back to the table. He was still laughing a little when you hit him playfully on the shoulder and mouthed ‘stop!’ he of course, did not. 

Picking the worst times, when you were in the middle of eating or drinking, at one point when you were dancing. You thanked God he was right there, it went from fully off to full tilt and you would have dropped were it not for him holding you up. 

Eventually you ran into a friend you knew from sugaring. Both you and her standing near the table, casual conversation, it was nice, you hadn’t seen her in a while,

“So you here with-?”

Unlike you having just Stu she had a few regulars in rotation, you offered it up, question open ended and she rolled her eyes,

“Dickhead. I mean-”

Covering her mouth with her hand with a laugh that you joined in on before both saying,

“Dickinson.”

She had told you about him. While he paid great money he kinda sucked. 

“Why’d you agree? I know you have other options, why spend New Years with that-”

And you were so caught off guard. Not expecting it at all, you nearly dropped your drink and couldn’t stifle the moan this time, you managed to quiet it but not completely. You took a deep breath and looked around, trying to find where he was, nowhere in sight, your friend reached out, hand on your shoulder,

“Jesus, you good? What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard and looked over to her, trying to keep your breathing steady,

“Fuck it. So-”

And you filled her in, telling her all about what was going on and the naughty secret you had currently concealed in your panties and the game he was playing with you. 

“Ugh see you are so lucky! He’s so good to you, so playful, he always has fun shit for you two to do together.”

It was fun. Even as you were struggling standing here, he never settled on one pattern or strength for long, constantly mixing it up, not letting you adjust at any point. You understood her jealousy, I mean if you didn’t have him and had to watch someone else parade around with him you were certain that you could feel similar. 

Finally the pleasure ceased as the toy turned off, you were so wet by this point you could feel it on your thighs, thank God for the length of the dress he chose. 

You looked to your friend who seemed to be looking behind you, big smile, you felt him before seeing him, his hand on your lower back, he knew your friend obviously and greeted her,

“Hello. Keeping her company for me?”

“Of course Mr.Macher. Great suit tonight by the way.”

You didn’t mind if your friend flirted with him and you kind of like when he would flirt back, he didn’t do it super overtly but he did compliment her in kind, she looked great herself, before he asked,

“Thank you so much, do mind if I steal her?”

“By all means. See you later.”

And then he was leading you away. Away from the party and down one of the hallways lined with office doors, not fully lit up since no one was working. Hand in hand as he asked,

“I’ve never actually showed you my office, have I?”

Surprisingly he had not. You shook your head and he stopped in front of one of the doors before pushing it open,

“A damn shame truly. C’mon.”

You jumped at the chance. You knew how to behave at one of these events but you were desperate by this point. Aching with need. You wanted him so much, he was too good at arousing you. The light touches and teasing, the things he whispered to you tonight when no one was in earshot, and of course using that damn vibe on you. 

You would have been more impressed with his office if you weren’t so preoccupied. You walked around slowly, you had your mind on one thing, that big beautiful desk. You were certain you were going to get bent over the side of it and thrown down on top of it. You turned to see where he was and he was on you, hands on your waist and you were backed up into that desk, sat on top of it. Far enough away from the party you allowed yourself to let go, moaning against his mouth. 

“You did so good in there, baby.”

“Mmf thank you.”

You had your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, his hands on either side of you on the top of his desk, you couldn’t help yourself now that you had him alone, kissing him so passionately. 

He pulled away too soon and took a step back, discarding his jacket, throwing it over the desk, rolling his sleeves up as he said, 

“Pull that dress up. Let me see.”

You obliged all too quickly. Jesus he looked so good. Hands scrambling to pull your dress up, hands in the folds of the fabric, hiking it up your legs, eventually hands on the hem you held it up, legs spread.  One of his hands on your inner thighs as he looked,

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

A nod, hips pushing out a little further, wanting his hand higher, wishing he would touch you. His fingers brushed over you and your head fell back with a moan,

“Need it bad, hmm?”

You responded quickly, breathy,

“Ye-yes Daddy Please?”

Then both of his hands were on you, hauling you up onto your heels. 

“Keep holding your dress for me, baby.”

You could only nod and you expected to be forced over the desk but no, that’d be too easy, instead you were pulled over to the window. He was right behind you, he took your hands and pressed them flat to the glass and whispered in your ear,

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

You looked out the window and it certainly was. Downtown, late at night, high up, what floor was this? You wondered what he was getting up to, hands on the straps of your dress, sliding them down off your shoulders, what he wanted was made clear and your breath hitched as he said it,

“Think anyone could see us up here?”

He noticed how it affected your breathing, his mouth ghosted over the side of your throat, and he chuckled before saying, 

“Oh I think you like that idea.”

Hands trailed down your arms and sides and then his fingers found your panties and slid them down, you let them pool at your feet and he encouraged you to step out of them, he kicked them aside. One hand sliding down your stomach, your hands twisting in the fabric of your skirt and soon his hand was between your thighs, strong fingers dragging through your folds and you moaned. 

“Do you want something to see you like this?”

His fingers circled your clit and his opposite hand tugged down your dress further, bunched around your waist, straps still on, holding your arms to your sides, hands still on the glass. You were sure you were fogging up the glass but who fucking cares when he makes you feel like this.

“Well since you indulged me earlier than allow me to do the same.”

And then he pressed you forward, you almost yelped, it was winter, the glass was freezing, he let out a small laugh from your reaction, 

“Cold?”

“Very! Fuck-”

You pushed and tried to back up but he kept you pressed there, he tsk’d before saying,

“Now, now baby. If you want it-”

He rubbed your clit harder and you squirmed against him,

“-and I think you do. Then you are going to stay right here. Understood?”

You relented and he eased off, only to dispose of his pants, you listened to the jingle of his belt and soon he was back on you. One hand on your shoulder and one hand under your thigh, adjusting your leg just so and soon you were blessed with the feeling of him splitting you open. The stretch was wonderful and you moaned long and low forehead pressed to the glass. He only held in you for a moment before he began moving, and it practically already had you panting. 

“Filthy. This how you like to celebrate? Getting fucked out in the open? Praying someone sees you?”

All you could do was moan out yes, over and over in time with how he fucked you. The thought, how he spoke to you and of course again, how fucking wonderful it felt. 

“I loved watching you struggle. Trying to act normal and proper, you did so fucking good for me baby. So proud of you.”

This is the best. Treating you like this, taking you like this, so open and rough and possessive while still lavishing praise over you. Pushing back onto him, completely lost in it, hardly registering what he was saying but you caught bits and pieces, like this next part-

“I’ll try not to mess you up too bad. No promises though. Still have to go back out there-”

And that is what did you in. The thought of having to go back out there. Acting normal, like you didn’t just get fucked against his office window like a whore, trying to look and act every part of the prim little arm candy his office had gotten to know while his cum leaked down your thighs under your dress. That is the thought that finally made you cum, thankful he had you pinned to the window or you would be on the floor. Breathing so hard on your come down, he paused, buried all the way inside, a harsh grind as he whispered in your ear,

“Happy New Years Baby.”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you replied, still breathless,

“Happy New Years Daddy.”

What a way to ring in the New Year.

[amoosewritesfanfic]

. Jealousy

[Part 1]

[+18]

[Enji Todoroki x Fem!Reader + surprise guest]

[Warnings: kinda yandere Enji (he lowkey just jealous), creampie, spank, semi-public]

[Requested by: @madamcashe ]

[I don't own any of the characters or art posted, all credit goes to original creators, I do however own the story and I did make the edit :3]

-

No one knew about your purely sexual relationship with the flame hero, mainly because he wanted to keep up that perfect image of his, like any hero would. So why was he fucking you silly in his bed? Frustration mainly, being a pro hero, let alone number one, has it's stress and what better way to destress than fucking a cute innocent looking hero like yourself until you're both satisfied.

The way those strong hands gripped your hips made it feel like there was bound to be bruises left behind, the way his teeth sank into your skin leaving a few bite marks or two helped the body of you reach that high, that body trembling mind going blank orgasm. When the two of you had caught your breaths he pulled out, letting you off of his lap as you cleaned up. "You always fuck me so hard~ not that I'm complaining, it always feels good~" you hummed as you slid your panties over your thighs, then your pants seconds after. "Hmm, you must tell me if I'm going to hard." He said as he sat watching you carefully.

The way he looked at you now with your back turned to him, well, it looked like love, admiration, something the both of you had agreed wouldn't happen between the two of you. Neither of you were suppose to fall in love, yet here Enji Todoroki was... head over heels for the woman he had been fucking and keeping a secret from the rest of the world. He looked away when you were fully dressed and walked over to the bed giving his cheek a soft kiss. "I'll see you later~ call me if you need me okay?~" you would tell him, his hand cupped your cheek and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Don't get into trouble Y/N." He said and you gave a nod before turning on your heel and walking out, but not before he gave your ass a firm smack earning a cheeky giggle from you before he himself got up and went to take a quick shower.

.....

It was late now, you and the number two hero happened to be on patrol tonight. "So, Y/H/N, you still single or has another man or woman swooped you off your feet?" His tone was somewhat teasing. "Nope, no one has swept me off my feet yet feathers." You teased him sticking your tongue out at him. "Oh? Does this mean I got a chance with ya now?" He asked, using his wing to pull you closer to him. "You might, but I'm thinking..." a pause. "See I'm not really looking for anything permanent." As you spoke Keigo decided to use his wings to incase the two of you away from any prying eyes. "Are you givin' me permission to fuck you little birdie?~" his thumb and index finger cupped your chin making you smile a little. "Oh that I definitely am, but we gotta wait till after patrol." As you spoke his thumb ran over your bottom lip, which you bit teasingly while not breaking eye contact with him.

"Nah I don't think I'm gonna wait~" he teased as he picked you up bridal style now, flying you to what seemed like a secret spot, "I don't bring just anyone here~" he teased as he set you down on one of the crates that were pushed against the wall away from prying eyes and even if someone did manage to see the two of you, they would probably only see Keigo and his wings. "Hmm yeah?" You hummed as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

Now, Keigo was a smart bird, he knew for a fact that you were sleeping with Enji, mainly because he noticed how Enji watched you with that lust filled gaze. So... this was all part of his little scheme, to show the number one hero that you were willing to sleep with anyone, he wasn't doing it to paint you in a bad light no far from it. He wanted to show Enji that falling in love with you honestly meant nothing to you. So with his lips moving against yours hand his hands trailing along your body, feather managed to grab your phone, you didn't notice it.

Your focus was on the way he grinded himself against you and slowly slipped off the bottom bit of your hero costume, teasing the bare skin before he knelt down to get a taste of you, keeping your legs nice and spread once he removed the hindrance of your panties, his tongue running along your soaked sex before flicking your clit which earned a breathy moan from you. "O-oh fuck~♡ your tongue feels so good~♡" you breathed out. "I'm just getting started birdie~" he teased as he slide his tongue between your folds rubbing against your walls.

You couldn't help but moan and whimper as he ate you out, fingers tugging at his golden locks earning a quiet grunt from him before he pulled back, this time he unzipped his pants pulling out his throbbing meat, the tip glistening with precum. "Fuck~ you look so big~" you whined, he wasn't as big as Enji however, but he made up for that in a bit more girth and somewhat of a curve which looked like it would really hit all the sweet spots and oh it definitely did, as he eased himself inside with a groan his hands gripped your thighs keeping them spread apart as his lips pressed to your neck, lightly sucking on the skin letting you adjust to him for a moment before he started moving his hips.

He wasted no time, thrusting hard and fast, skin smacking against skin, you couldn't help but moan out his name like a mantra, but you didn't notice or hear your phone, Keigo, fuck knows how, dialed Enji's number, it was silent on the other end but you filled that silence by moaning;

"Fuck Hawks~ your cock... f-feels so good~♡"

Keigo was grunting and moving his hips faster, fingers digging into your plump soft skin. "Fuck princess~ you're taking my cock like such a fuckin' champ~" he grunted against your skin. "You're g-gonna make me cum... fuck... your gonna make me cum soon~♡" you cried out bucking your hips against his, your toes curling and your thighs tensing as your walls tightened around his length. "Cum for me baby~" he coaxed licking your neck now, his thrusts had become more erratic a sign that he was about to cum as well, so with those last few thrusts the both of you reached that orgasm.

Fingers tugging at his hair as his hands dug into your skin as the two of you rode out your orgasms.

The call with Enji had been cut off too, not by Keigo or yourself no, by Enji. What exactly went through the flame hero's mind at that time?

.....

By the time Enji had finished his hero duties, stepping into his office he had gotten a phone call. He sat down and almost smiled as he saw your name flash across the screen. He answered expecting to hear your voice, but instead of hearing that happy cheering voice he heard that voice he was all too familiar with along with the sound of skin smacking against skin.

"Fuck Hawks~ your cock... f-feels so good~♡" he heard you say, Enji felt... jealous, he felt his blood boil at the sound of you moaning someone else's name that wasn't his, he zoned out for a moment not even realizing that he had burnt his phone to a crisp from the level of anger he had felt from it, but above all else he was jealous.

How could you go and fuck another man, let alone Hawks? It was outrages! You belonged to him after all, that smile and that sloppy cunt was all his! But hearing that pretty little mouth moaning like that threw him into somewhat of an aroused state, he wanted more of you, he wanted as much of you as he could get, but not before he punished you for sleeping with someone that wasn't him...

He had to punish you and Keigo too! He already had a plan in motion, he had the perfect idea to make sure you knew who you belonged to!

-

-

[thank you @madamcashe for requesting this!!]

[Part 2]

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: A Magician, Not a Healer (1)

ATTD Masterlist

dream road trip companions: jasper “all my friends are dead” run, will “maybe if i’m polite enough they won’t notice my debilitating ptsd” price, and, you know... Chorus

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

TW for: gore/body horror, impalement; emeto; coughing up blood; near death experience (all in flashback); sick/feverish whumpee; infected wounds; brief manhandling of a touch-averse whumpee.

----

Once, in the latter half of his time with Mulciber’s Company, when they could all feel their time running out, the Company had been sheltering in a temple when it was brought tumbling down around their ears, and a beam from the ceiling, three inches thick, had skewered Jasper through the right side of his midsection.

It hadn’t severed his spine, which had been pure luck on his part; if it had he would have been dead and out of reach of any magic but the gods’. But it had pinned him to the floor, and left him juddering on the ground like a gutted fish, vomiting stomachfuls of blood onto the painted tile of the temple floor, and he had had about thirty seconds to watch his life flash before his eyes at double speed.

Then he had raised his head—with more effort than anything he’d done before or since—and seen Silex leaping toward him through the rubble, the Healer’s sweet open face blazing with single-minded focus.

All these years later—and Silex three years in the ground—Jasper did not remember the pain of the wound itself with any clarity. He remembered the terrible wet feeling of his throat being filled entirely with blood, and he remembered thinking—though he should have known better by then—that there would be little enough Silex could do, and hoping only that Silex would hold his hand and speak kindly to him while he shuddered and puked himself to death. And then he remembered the sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt, of Silex reaching into his guts and pulling them back into the right shape; pulling the blood off the tile and shoving it back inside him, and bullying his viscera back together, in the shape God meant them to be in the first place.

He remembered that first breath, clear of blood, and Silex’s answering cry, weak with relief, and the Healer crushing him forward into a bear-hug, before the rest of the Company converged on them, to pull them both from the wreckage.

There had been classes in Healing at the Academy at Wizard’s City, even in Jasper’s general undergraduate program, and at the time he’d not taken much interest in them. He had thought, along with most of his classmates, that Healers were necessary, but not very glamorous; certainly he had had no interest in pursuing the specialization. They had taught him, then, how to speed the natural healing of a wound, and he could still do it competently enough, which was fine for the normal cuts and scrapes he received in his life as a wandering Magician, without his Company.

However, sometimes the natural course for a wounded man was to die, and in those cases, there was not much an ordinary Magician, like Jasper, could do.

Silex would have taken one look at the boy called Will, tutted in sympathy, and gathered him in like a brooding hen; Silex could, doubtless, have set the boy right in the time it took Jasper to boil a pot of tea.

But Silex had been dead three years, now, a betrayal for which Jasper had still not forgiven him. And Jasper was not a Healer.

Jasper prodded at Will’s wound once more, before they started the day-long trek back to the port city, despite the boy’s obvious discomfort with the physical contact involved. Jasper knew exactly enough to know the wound was bad—that it was at least slightly septic, and probably seeping poison into the boy’s blood—but not nearly enough to effectively treat it.

Which meant the best he could do was get the boy moving, preferably at some speed. That, thankfully, he did have the skill for.

As the dust-storm died down around them, Jasper got to his feet, and pulled his staff free from where it was slung through the straps of his pack. He used the end of it—which was capped in metal, to keep the wood from wearing, and to use as a blunt instrument, occasionally—to sketch a long rectangle in the dust. Then he rubbed his finger in a circle around the blank side of his Runes, and concentrated hard on pulling a largish oblong lump of earth up out of the ground, thinning the packed dust underneath, to avoid leaving too large a hole behind.

With a little more concentration, he carved the earth into a sort of—makeshift saw horse, out of dust and clay. Jasper nudged it forward with his staff, and it obligingly shuffled forward, sliding along the ground, picking up and leaving behind new dust as it moved.

He’d given the dust-horse four blobby legs and a little lump at the front, to make a head. It didn’t strictly need any of those, but Jasper found it comforted people, when magical things came in recognizable shapes.

Will watched this process very closely, blue eyes fever-bright. The monster, Chorus, had several minutes since curled up beside him like a large white cat, and gone to sleep.

“There,” Jasper said, satisfied with his work, and turned back to give Will a grin. “Think you can get on yourself?”

Will nodded--though Jasper frankly didn’t believe him--and began to climb unsteadily to his feet, using the walls of Jasper’s makeshift lean-to for support.

“Why don’t you travel that way all the time?” Will said, eyeing the dust-horse with wonder, and perhaps a degree of distrust.

“Two reasons,” Jasper said, and then without warning picked the boy up around the waste and deposited him easily on the dust-horse’s back, where he sat stiffly, looking comically surprised, like a cat dropped in a bath; with a little effort Jasper did not laugh at him.

“One,” he said, and then had to stop to cough the laughter from his voice. “Ahem. One, I can cast only one spell at a time, so as long as our friend here is active—” Here he smacked the dust-horse on its lumpy flank; the dust-horse didn’t react, though the boy on its back winced slightly— “I’ve got no defensive magic. So if those wolves decide against leaving us alone, get ready to land on your arse.” Will blinked at him, looking alarmed, though he made no move to dismount; Jasper hoped that meant he was accepting the ride. “Two,” Jasper went on, “I may as well hang a sign around my neck that says, ‘I Am A Great Magician, Please Bother Me With All Your Problems.’ I will carry you into Limani myself before I let the general public see this spell.”

“Oh,” Will said, blinking wide eyes at Jasper. “So… laziness, then.”

Jasper laughed, startled. “He says, atop my spellwork,” he replied, pleased the boy still had the faculties left for mild insults.

Jasper turned to squint back into the semi-darkness of the mostly-empty storm shelter. The monster, Chorus, had raised up on one elbow, and was eyeing him lazily, red eyes glowing very slightly in the dark.

“You coming?” Jasper said, and was relieved when his voice came out relatively steady.

“Ugh,” Chorus said, and yawned widely, showing her many teeth.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will said, shifting to keep his balance on the dust-horse’s back. “She can’t go more than a league away from the sword; if she tried she’d just get dragged along behind. She’ll have to come.”

“Ugh,” Chorus said again, with more feeling, and then dematerialized in a puff of white smoke, and was suddenly seated pillion behind Will, on the horse.

Jasper took an involuntary step back, trying to hide the sudden spike in his heart rate.

“You could walk,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

Chorus sniffed, raising her chin proudly. One of her white arms was wrapped loosely around Will’s waist. Again, her touch seemed not to bother him at all, which seemed entirely backwards, at least to Jasper.

“Walking is for peasants,” Chorus said haughtily, and Will gave a little huff, half laughter and half annoyance, and shook his head, leaning forward a little to support himself against the dust-horse’s head-lump.

The dust-horse was no harder to move with the addition of Chorus’s weight. In fact, between the boy’s gaunt frame and the lady’s semi-corporeal one, it moved more or less as easily as if it was carrying no weight at all.

“Well—fine,” Jasper said, swinging his pack back over his shoulder, and prodded the dust-horse in the rear with his staff, to get it moving. “Let’s get a move on, then, before the sun’s too hot to walk under.”

It would be the first time he’d traveled with another living creature, since the last of the Company left him. Jasper determined then and there that he would try not to enjoy it. It felt like bad form, to be so grateful for the distraction.

[psychedaleka]

beauty and the beast au (part 2)

the second part of an entirely self indulgent bullet point beauty and the beast angbang au starring: melkor as the beast, mairon as belle, eonwe as gaston, and others

part one (here)

The castle is crumbling on the outside, and the window shutters bang in the wind; the gardens were once nicely manicured, Mairon knows, but it’s hard to tell from the tangled mess they’ve become

The front door opens to Mairon’s touch and he steps in

Unknown to him, there are eyes watching his every move

Mairon finds Aule

It’s not good; Aule’s being held in a underground dungeon cell, and he isn’t as young as he once was

Aule’s had the scare of a lifetime, and he wants to say something to Mairon, but he can’t— he’s stammering too hard

We need to go, Mairon says to his father

You’re not going anywhere, says the monster, who is cloaked in shadows

Mairon can’t make out anything about him except that he’s tall, and there are three pinpricks of light somewhere his head should be, and the light should illuminate the room but it doesn’t

Who are you to tell me where I can and can’t go, Mairon demands

I am the lord of this land, says the other. And I say: your father has trespassed onto my lands, and I will not allow him to leave

He is leaving no matter what you say, Mairon retorts

How bold of you, the other says, but very well. Your father may leave but you must stay

Deal, Mairon says

Aule leaves; Mairon stays

Angband, for that is what the castle is called, is large and hollow and rotting from the inside, like a chest that’s been pried open and organs clawed out, leaving nothing but blood and viscera

There were paintings, once, a man and his two sons if Mairon sees correctly, but their faces have been slashed into oblivion; there are the remnants of furniture, smashed to pieces on stone walls, splinters scattered on marble floors

Mairon picks the first set of rooms that isn’t completely destroyed, if only to get rid of the feeling of eyes staring at him, but it doesn’t stop, even with a locked door

He gets the fright of a lifetime when he picks up a pen and it talks to him

What the hell, he exclaims, throwing the pen to the other side of the room

That was rude, the pen says. I’m Thuringwethil

I’m Mairon, he says, though he’s still startled

Mairon composes himself; he won’t let something let this unsettle him, no matter how strange or unfamiliar it is

This is what he wanted, he tells himself. Or, at least, this is some of what he wanted: adventure, a chance to do something different, a chance to be something different

He talks to Thuringwethil; he learns about the curse, but not how to break it

He learns about Melkor and who he was, but Melkor himself remains conspicuously missing

In another world it is a woman named Belle who stumbles into a fairytale. It is a woman named Belle who trespasses her way to a rose, who dances with the Beast— who falls in love

In this world it is Mairon, and he does not do any of those things— save the last

Mairon thinks: if I am to live here for the rest of my life, I will make this a good place to live; and Mairon rolls up his sleeves and gets to work

He finds a broom and sweeps up what cannot be salvaged; he scrounges up a set of tools from the shed and patches the remaining furniture together; he visits the library and learns how to do masonry and mends the chipped stone and crumbling walls

Mairon gets help, sometimes, but Thuringwethil is a pen, and Gothmog is a sofa, and neither of those really have limbs suited to construction, so they keep him company instead

It doesn’t take long for the castle to look semi functional again; it’s liveable but Mairon isn’t satisfied with good enough

He spends weeks drafting a renovation plan, but none of the changes take

It frustrates Mairon to no end because it’s bad enough that he has to improvise all his tools but now the iron refuses to listen to him? How is he supposed to do anything if the doorknobs refuse to unscrew?

Oh yeah, Thuringwethil says. Melkor doesn’t like just anybody touching his stuff

That won’t do

Mairon makes up his mind to go talk to Melkor

once again, feedback and constructive criticism are both very welcome!! (no guarantees when part 3 will be done though)

part three here!

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.03

The Portrait’s Success

10/02/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 7,071

Warnings: Language, exhaustion (both reader’s and mine), Medieval Bucky

A/N: Welp, finished the chapter. Went back to edit. Ended up adding another thousand or so words to it. Went from 5k to 7k. Sorry they seem to keep getting longer but this isn’t new for me so...enjoy! Also, I’ll probably be using a lot of dresses from Reign as they are gorgeous costumes and fit the semi-historic style but not exactly as accurate as they should be that I’m going for. Let me know what you think. What you love. What’s your favorite part? I love y’all. Sorry I’ve been slow to update. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Not enough sleep. You have been up all night practicing your letters and sounding them out as you trace them.

With burning eyes, you reach for the modest serving of bread, ripping a piece and then dipping it into a small dish of strawberry jam. It’s full of seeds and they stick in your teeth a bit, but the sweet taste is too good to pass up. You have never had such tasty bread, or such tasty jams.

The food is by far the most enjoyable thing about your new life here in the castle.

You’ve been practicing your writing, but you’ve focused on three words only. All proper nouns, but words that you will come to live by.

The first is obvious, for he is your benefactor now. Your adoptive father.

S-T-A-R-K. You write, in big loopy letters that squiggle unevenly across the top of your parchment paper.

With a lick to your lips, you dip your pen back in its inkwell, and start on the second word that you’ve spent all night practicing.

This one will be the most important for yourself. Because it is who you are. It’s you’re name. Letter by letter, same loopy shapes, sloppy lines, but thankfully legible.

You write it out three times before you’re satisfied with it then move on to the word that will change your life forever.

R-O-G-E-R-S. Here in Malibia, Queen Virginia, or Pepper as you’ve been told to call her, was allowed to keep her own surname. Morgana has taken the King’s but in Broklin, you know that you must take King Rogers’s surname.

You don’t really mind. You must belong to that kingdom entirely and not having to lie about your surname by pretending that it’s Stark will help you feel like you truly do.

As you write out his name a fourth time, you tap against the bottom of the S creating a dark pool of ink, blotting across the bottom of the page as you remind yourself that King Rogers hasn’t accepted you just yet.

You’ve decided to dedicate your life to becoming a good Queen. A good wife to his Majesty King Rogers, but that doesn’t mean that he will want you.

You’re poor. Of course, he doesn’t know that but all of this, not knowing how to read or write will no doubt bother him.

You’re also common in your looks. Natasha tells you otherwise but how can you believe her when she’s so blindingly beautiful herself?

She should be the one marrying a king. Not you. What will you do if you fail his Majesty and can’t make King Rogers fall in love with you?

No. You don’t need him to love you. Just accept you.

As long as he marries you, then everything will be fine.

Is it wrong that you want him to love you?

The subtle creak of your door surprises you and you jump, sitting up straight. Like you were taught.

A young girl no older than fifteen squeaks at the sight of you. She’s wearing a plain maid’s gown, white and gray and brown. Stiff and of good quality. Prettier than anything you’d owned before but sturdy like your old tunic.

Hmph. Even the common folk in the castle are different.

“Forgive me, your Highness.” She gasps with a curtsy and stays ducked down. “I did not know you were awake. I was sent to mend your fire and deliver your morning tea.”

You spring to your feet, waving both hands at her, hoping the smile on her face is not full of surprise and helps to reassure her.

“No. Please, stand up. It ain’t—It’s no problem. Don’t let me stop you from doing what you were told to do.” When she doesn’t rise, you hurry to her and place your hands just underneath her elbows to coax her up.

“Thank you, your Highness.” She watches you with curiosity as if she’s trying to read you, but she goes about the room doing her work while you keep out of her way.

Soon the fire is roaring again and she’s serving your tea while you munch on a biscuit smeared in purple jam. God, this food is going to kill you, it’s so delicious. Once more the door opens, and you jump.

This time, you see two figures, one tall with red hair. The second shorter with fluffy brown hair.

“We’ll wake her gently. Then we can-” Natasha is telling Peter then stops and straightens out of her stooped posture as she spots you standing by the small cards table that’s been cleared for you to eat on. “Oh. You’re already awake.”

You smile at her, then look beside her at your guard. “I am. Good morning. Good morning, Peter.”

“’Morning your Highness.” Peter smiles.

“I thought you’d be exhausted after all of your lessons yesterday.” Nat confesses, a small chuckle in her voice as she moves towards the thick curtains that have blocked out most of the light from coming in through the floor to ceiling windows in your room.

“I was tired.” You admit, feeling a little bit of shame for not sleeping. “Do we have a lot to do today?”

You put your teacup down, biscuit dropped on its plate as you move to take a seat. Your body is finally catching with your fatigue and feels a hundred pounds heavier suddenly.

“Well, we’re meeting his Majesty for breakfast, then we are to go meet with the painter for your portrait. We must get something out by tonight if not tomorrow. King Rogers is eager to see you.” Natasha finally wrangles the curtains open and her smile slowly fades into an expression of dour disappointment. “Oh, Y/N!”

She chastises you, the maid staring with wide eyes at the apparent liberties that Natasha is taking. Peter also looks shocked. You however cringe because you know that she can finally see you for the sleep deprived mess that you are.

“Um…if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to get changed and…yeah…” Peter says, ignoring your pleading looks for him to stay as he slips out, following the maid, then shuts the door.

You’re chewing on your lip when Natasha reaches out to touch the space underneath your eyes.

“You’ve always looked a little tired—and I figured it was just because of your circumstances—but this is unacceptable. We’re supposed to be painting you today to entice King Rogers not warn him. I told you how important this portrait is.” She growls and goes to fixing your hair.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper.

“Were you up all night?”

You nod as she finishes with your hair.

“Why?” She asks and you can’t help it, you jump to your feet and skip to your desk.

You pull out the piece of parchment you’d been writing on then hand it to her.

“I was practicing. When I must sign my name, I wanted to be able to do so nicely and I thought…maybe, to help him see that I want this as much as he does, that I could write to him? But my writing is so terrible. I needed to practice.” You lean around the paper as she looks it over.

Her expression seems to soften, her hand running over the repeated letters and finally that ink blot at the end. It’s almost as if she can guess what you’ve been thinking, and her eyes wander to the desk where you left the small compact with King Rogers’s portrait open to look at as you wrote.

You hurry to grab it, shut it, and hold it in both hands. Slightly embarrassed but it’s Natasha. If anyone is going to know your mind inside and out, it should be her. She’s your lady.

“This looks good, your Highness, but you’ll need much more practice before you’ll be able to write an acceptable letter.” She says as gently as she can manage.

You deflate, your sleep deprivation suddenly too much.

“Does it look that bad?” You look at your scriggles again, trying to see them with fresh eyes and not with the effort that you’ve spent the night using to do them.

“No.” Natasha’s hand finds your shoulder. “No, your Highness. You have made much progress. I only mean that it’ll take time before you can write to his Majesty King Rogers. You still need to learn how to spell other words. Not just names.”

It feels like you’re being hammered into the ground. Every word, although she means it in comfort, makes you feel as if you’ll never be good enough.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We have time. Not much, but I’ll help you.”

As she wraps an arm around your shoulder, you frown and reach out to touch the last iteration of Rogers that you’d written.

“He’s going to be so disappointed with me.” You worry, knowing that you’re nothing special. Worse because not only are you not a real princess, but you’re uneducated.

Then, like the flipping of a switch, Natasha says sternly, “We don’t have time for that.”

She pushes you away and hurries to your wardrobe.

“I’ve allowed you to wallow in a bit of self-pity the past two days because this is not your fault and you’re taking on something that even I would find hard to do but if you’re going to do this, you need to go in with your chin held high. Can you do that?”

You stare as she rifles through your dresses, frowning at each one as if none of them are right.

What answer can you give her? There’s only one answer. You wouldn’t have agreed to do this if you weren’t sure that you could dedicate yourself completely to it and you have! You haven’t even tried to run away.

Part of that is because this place is nicer than any place you’ve been before. But it would be a lie to say that you don’t miss your village. You were no one there but at least you were on somewhat equal footing with all of them.

Even in the village you were slightly lower, uneducated as you are, but you were accepted. You belonged there in a sense. You were your own woman. Hungry most of the time. Alone. But it was home.

“Your Highness?” She checks, turning back to you. “Can you do this? Truly?”

There’s a wavering of confidence in her green eyes and you realize that you don’t want to let Natasha down. Or the Kingdom. Or his Majesty.

“I can.” You nod, hating the way sleep seems to call you making your words slur a little and your shoulders slump. You stand up straighter, chin up. “I will.”

Natasha’s face relaxes, her smile more than makes up for her rightful scolding. “Good. Your dresses aren’t finished yet.”

“Oh.” You worry. “Then, maybe we should wait to do the portrait for when they are? I need to look my best for King Rogers.”

She sees through your attempts to ditch and gives you a knowing smirk.

“Nice try. You should have slept.” With a sigh she places her hands on her hips.

“Who didn’t sleep?” You turn towards the familiar voice eyes bright but worried too as King Anthony moves in with Peter trailing behind him.

“I-”

“Our new princess was up all night practicing her writing because she wants to impress Steve.” Natasha’s tone is teasing, and your neck and ears burn in slight embarrassment.

Wait…why does she call King Rogers by his first name. That’s weird right? Not normal?

The King smirks. “Is that so?” He moves to the parchment on the table and gives it a look.

“I…I wanted to write to him.” You confess, but now that you think about it, it was a silly plan.

You don’t know how to spell. You don’t know how to read. You’re learning but it’s only been two days.

“I’m guessing you saw his portrait?” The King checks.

“I gave it to her night before last.” Natasha moves away from the wardrobe to stand beside her king.

“They all fall for his looks.” The king teases. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Y/N. Steven Rogers might be handsome, but he comes with baggage. Really big, heavy baggage.”

“I know.” You counter, moving to lean against your bed post. “Natasha told me.”

His dead wife. What sort of man has he become since that? You can’t think that it will be anything but bad.

“He’s marrying you because he has to. And he still might not. Which is why we have to trick him into it. Maybe we can make him feel responsible for you somehow?” He wanders deep into thought as Natasha finally looks up at Peter and what looks to be a bunch of shiny burgundy fabric.

“What’s this dress?” She asks.

Oh, it’s a dress. Stupid sleep deprivation.

“But I don’t wanna trick him.” You say quietly, everyone else too distracted to hear you.

“That’s her dress for the portrait. I started having it altered the moment she arrived. Steve’s preferential to reds.”

“This isn’t red.” Natasha laughs. “This is burgundy. Like wine.”

“It’s in the red family.” The king argues.

“Tony…” Natasha laughs.

You’re too sleepy to keep paying them any attention and your eyes are glued on the dress as Natasha holds it up and out to look at.

Damask burgundy silk with golden embroidery along the waist, sleeves, and bust make up the bodice. The skirt is long and slightly ruffled underneath with rough tulle. Your under dress will help you keep from feeling it but this dress is slightly puffed at the skirt.

It’s beautiful but nicer than anything you’ve worn to date.

“Isn’t that too nice?” You wonder, maybe his Majesty made a mistake? You’re not going to a ball. More importantly, can you do the dress justice?

“What?” He turns to you, eyebrow quirked as he eyes you with incredulity. “Nothing is too good for my daughter.”

Your heart skips a beat and warm flutters fill your tummy as he looks back at Natasha and begins to explain something fully unaware of how his claiming you as his daughter has made you feel.

Peter on the other hand moves around them towards you and holds his arm out for you to take hold of. “Are you alright, your Highness? You look a little sick.”

“I’m okay.” You assure him. “I just…”

Wait…Peter doesn’t know about you, does he?

“It’s been a long time since his Majesty called me his daughter. I forgot what it felt like to hear.” You confess which is not a complete lie.

“Was it hard in that school you went to?” Peter asks, concern written all over his kind face, hazel eyes laced with secondhand sorrow.

“It wasn’t easy.” You tell him, again, not a complete lie. “Everything is better now that I’m here. I only hate to leave it so soon.”

“But you’ll be going to another castle, right? And Natasha and I will be coming with you.” He promises. “You won’t be alone.”

“Yes, that does make me feel better. Thank you. But I hope-” You steal a glance over at Natasha and the king as they rummage through your wardrobe and argue about the dress.

“You hope?” Peter urges.

“I hope I can make him happy. King Steven? I really want to make him happy, Peter.” You worry.

“You will.” He nods. “You’re really pretty and nice and you don’t act stuck up like most of the other ladies at court. He’d be crazy not to like you, your Highness.”

His words nearly make you float. “Thank you, Peter. That means so much to me.”

He beams and Natasha’s voice pulls your attention. “Come, your Highness, let’s get you into this burgundy gown.”

“Oh, will you drop it? You’re like a dog with a bone.” King Anthony tells her.

“Did you just call me a dog?” Natasha glares at him and it shocks you how comfortable around each other they are. How relaxed in convention. Even Peter. He calls Natasha by her name instead of her title.

Is that normal?

“I said like a dog. There’s a difference.” King Anthony says, but he chuckles. When his eyes fall on you as you stop before her, he sighs. “We’ll just have to tell Tom to make her prettier than she is at the moment. We can’t have him painting her looking that tired.”

“You won’t lie through my portrait, will you?” You demand, feeling strongly about giving King Rogers exactly what you are. If he doesn’t want you, you’d like to know now instead of later when he’s married you and he’s unhappy with what he has.

“No, not lie. We’ll just paint you more rested than you are.” His Majesty assures you. “Peter, Tom should be in the main hall by now. Show him to the third courtyard out by Pepper’s vegetable garden. We’ll have him paint her on the bench in front of the pink and white peonies. It’ll look good with the dress.”

“Right away, your Majesty.” Peter affirms and hurries out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once gone, the king turns back to you, frown in place. “Look, kid. I really need you to start playing your part. The modesty is a good touch, there aren’t many people from privilege with it so, keep that but you can’t keep questioning every time I want to lavish you with a gift. You’re a princess. Start acting like one.”

Feeling remorseful, you nod. “Of course. I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

“Also, I’d really prefer it if you called me ‘father’. You should only refer to me as Majesty when you are referring to me to someone else or introducing me to someone I haven’t met. We’re feeding everyone the story that you were sent abroad but I don’t really need them to think that I shipped you away without affection to keep you out of sight.” He urges. “If I’d really had a daughter with emotional problems, they’d have had to pry her from my arms if they wanted to send her away.”

As he speaks the words, you know that he’s thinking of Morgana. She’s still missing. But you get what he’s saying. If you act distant with him, people will think that he never visited and sent you away so that he could pretend you didn’t exist. That’s not what you want for him either.

He’s been nothing but kind to you and considerate.

“Yes, f-father.” You frown. “Sorry. Father.”

That’s better. Sounds more natural.

“She’ll pick it up, Tony. Don’t worry.” Natasha assures him.

“Right.” He says. “Get her changed, curl her hair a little. Waves. Maybe a braid or two but keep it simple. Steve will respond more to her innocence than regality.”

“I thought we weren’t trying to trick him?” Natasha challenges.

“We’re not. I’m trying to sell him my daughter.” He looks at your stunned expression and shakes his head. “Not like that. We’re not getting any money for you. I just mean, I have to make you appealing to him.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” You ask for what must be the millionth time.

“He doesn’t have to like you.” Tony nods. “He just has to marry you. Breakfast in ten. Hurry up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting still for hours and trying not to fall asleep is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

Natasha keeps clearing her throat to remind you to sit up straight and you hear her most of the time, but Peter catches you once or twice when you’ve teetered to the side after dozing off.

Tom, the artist painting your portrait clicks his tongue every time you move and you bit your lip which makes him frown.

“Sorry.” You mutter, then sit still.

Your only solace is that the cool breeze, in combination with the warmth of the sun, is bliss. It’s this comfort that seems to lull you to sleep repeatedly so, good and bad.

Normally, according to Natasha, portraits like these are usually done over several days but because of the urgency to get your portrait to King Rogers, you sit on the white marble bench for nearly ten hours before you’re allowed to get up.

No bathroom breaks. No food. No water. It’s not torture but after two days of constant feeding, it hurts.

“Thank you, Tom.” Natasha tells the painter as he packs away his brushes and paints, staring proudly at his portrait.

“Can I see it?” You ask, Peter scurrying up to help Tom balance his bag as he begins to pull away the canvas he’s painted you on.

“Get that to his Majesty for approval immediately.” Natasha continues, ignoring your question.

“Wait,” You struggle to move.

Your ass feels numb, legs weak, head is splitting, stomach growling, eyes burning. Before you can get two steps, Tom and Peter are gone.

Disappointed, you’re so done with the day and yet, “Are you ready? You’ve got your reading and writing lessons in five minutes.”

You almost whine, complain that you’re exhausted, and you need to sleep when Natasha’s questions from the morning remind you that you’d told her you can do this.

“Yes.” You reply, tired and not doing a very good job at hiding your drowsiness with the saddened lilt of your voice.

“Just a few more hours, princess, and then you can sleep.” She assures you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder to help support you as you walk towards the door back into the castle.

“Okay.” You relent as your stomach grumbles loudly.

You’re pulled to a stop.

“Damn.” Natasha exclaims, stopping just inside the doorway to look at you apologetically.

Your shock at her swearing is maybe not pronounced enough but you’ve sworn lots yourself back home. And much worse than a simple ‘damn’.

“I’m so sorry, your Highness. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Natasha’s remorse is touching but you shake your head and give her a smile.

“It’s okay. I’ve gone longer without eating.” You assure her.

“Not under his Majesty’s care you haven’t. Can you make it to your lessons without me? I’ll run and get you something to eat if you can.”

“Of course, I can.” You nod. “I’m not completely useless.”

She smiles and then grabs the front of her navy dress and rushes off down the hall and out of sight.

She moves so gracefully and her navy dress and its sparkling silver embroidery make her look like a piece of floating night sky.

You hope that you can move with her grace soon.

Halfway to your lessons room, you begin to teeter from left to right. Shutting your eyes for steps at a time and all you want to do is sit down and sleep. You’re very tempted, as you pass several sturdy wooden chairs and benches as you make your way through the light limestone halls of Castle Stark.

But you persevere and keep going.

When your eyes close a third time, they stay shut much longer and you don’t realize you’re sleep walking until you’re slammed into a large firm body that very nearly knocks you off your feet.

Eyes shooting open, you watch as a tall man with shoulder length dark chestnut hair and gorgeous ice-blue eyes drops his bag and an array of scrolls he’d been carrying under his arm. The contents of said bag go spilling out across the floor along with his scrolls. Books and quills and a box of what looks like cookies that spill out across the floor.

“Oh, damn!” You exclaim, unthinking. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I had my eyes closed.”

In a panic you throw yourself to the ground and begin to gather the spilled contents. Ignoring the cookies because those are ruined now. Fuck.

Way to go, Y/N.

“It’s alright. Please, don’t trouble yourself.” The man says, his deep tone easy and flowing.

As you both reach for a small black journal, you gasp at the sight of his left arm. It shines in stunning silver. It’s not a glove. Of that you’re sure because his metal fingers close around the leather book and he pulls it to him.

“You lost your arm.” You blurt without thinking, so surprised and no filter in your exhausted state.

The man swallows and you finally look up to take him in properly. He is indeed handsome, and his blue eyes are stunning. His lips are full and pink, his brow intense but kind. A full beard covers his otherwise strong jaw. You can see the peeking of a dimple on his chin.

He’s wearing a black leather tunic, black pants, tall knight’s boots and several pieces of armor. Primarily a shoulder guard on his right shoulder, emblazoned with a plain white star.

The collar of his black silk shirt peeks out from the neck of his tunic, laced shut. Around his hips rests a long sword and on the opposite side a dagger.

“I’m sorry. That was so rude of me.” You gasp, flustered by your slip. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” He smiles. “Don’t apologize. Forgive me, I was also not watching where I was going.”

“Here.” You reach for a scroll and hand it to him. “I’m sorry about your tin of cookies. I…I can see if I can get you some more? There are these good biscuits that they make in the kitchen here. With jam they are very tasty. Or if you like plain cookies, I can make them myself?”

It’s been a while as you hadn’t been able to afford the flour to make them, but the kitchen in the castle is well stocked. You could make them if Natasha and his Majesty let you.

“That’s not necessary. Really.” The man says, smiling at you kindly.

Together the two of you finish picking up the mess you’ve made and when he has the last scroll tucked underneath his arm, you step back with a smile.

“I really am very sorry that I bumped into you.” You fuss. “I haven’t slept and I’m a little out of sorts.”

“You haven’t slept?” He asks curiously, adjusting his cargo.

“No. I was up all night practicing my writing.” You confess, not thinking. If you’d been well rested, you might not have told him any of this.

“Practicing?”

“I don’t know how to write.” You nod. “Or read. And I’m supposed to get married soon. I…I’m terrified of disappointing my husband.”

The handsome stranger smiles and looks down at the ground, then back up at you with those kind blue eyes. “I don’t suppose any man who marries you will be disappointed. Unless he’s a fool? Not many ladies would have stooped down onto the ground to help me pick all this up, much less offered to make me cookies when there are so many servants to do it for her.”

He seems to think about it for a moment.

“In fact, they would have probably held me responsible for crashing into them and left me here to pick it all up myself.”

“That’s not very nice.” You shake your head. “Besides, I was the one falling asleep while walking. I really am very tired.”

“Can you not go to bed early?” He asks, purely out of concern.

“No.” You shake your head, lips sloping into a pout. “I need to go to my lessons. Writing and reading and etiquette.”

Oh! This is a good chance to practice your lying in the heat of the moment.

“I spent a long time away from my family and now that I’m back I want to make them proud.” You sigh.

“Why were you away from your family? If you don’t mind my asking?” He steps closer so that the two of you aren’t speaking across the hallway at each other.

“I was ill. I had many issues, emotionally, and my father and mother sent me away to get help.” You explain and the young Knight’s eyes seem to brighten with recognition.

“You’re the Princess…uh…Y/N. You’re the daughter Tony and Pepper had before they were married!” The Knight exclaims.

Oh, shit. You hadn’t even thought about it from that angle. The fact that you’d have been born out of wedlock, considering your age. Wait…Tony and Pepper? Someone else going by first names? What’s going on here?

“Don’t you think that maybe they sent you away because of that and not because you were sick?” He jokes, pulling your attention away from the lack of convention.

“Are you saying that my parents cared more about their reputations than they did for me?” You frown, not liking this point of view at all. “That they didn’t love me enough to keep me?”

The Knight goes a little pale. “No. Oh, God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is.” You frown.

“Okay, it is what I meant but I did not mean to cause offense. Forgive me. Sometimes I speak when I shouldn’t.” And he does look sorry. “Please, your Highness, forgive me.”

You consider him for a moment then maybe it’s because you’re so tired and don’t have the energy to stay upset, you nod. “Okay. I forgive you.”

He beams, his smile wide and stunning.

“So, it is you set to marry Steve, and not the Princess Morgana?” He asks, stepping closer as two maids walk by giving you both curious looks.

“I am.” Your worries are brought back by his mention and you remember that you should be at your lessons. “I should go to my lessons. I need to work hard if I want to please him.”

“He’ll be lucky to have someone so pretty and kind as his wife.” The Knight says. “I think you might be just what he needs. His old queen was kind but stern, like him. Fixated on duty. I think a sweet-tempered queen with eyes that shine like the sun will do him a world of good.”

Your ears burn hot like fire. So many compliments loaded into one statement…how does a woman recover? However, you are distracted enough by the way he sounds so familiar with King Rogers that you can ignore the flattery.

“Do…do you know his Majesty King Rogers?” You gasp, astounded by the luck you have. He sounds as if he knows him intimately.

“I’ve known him my whole life.” The Knight says. “My name is J-”

“James!” Natasha’s voice makes you jump, echoing around the hallway and turning your heart into mush.

“Lady Natasha.” The Knight named James says, and his voice wraps around the name like a caress. He likes her!

“Barnes.” Natasha frowns as she comes to stand beside you, a small basket held in her hands. You can hear the slosh of liquid—probably wine—coming from within. “Why are you keeping her Highness from her lessons?”

“We bumped into each other. She helped me pick up my things from the floor.” He tells her, smirking with amusement as she turns blazing green eyes on you.

“Your Highness, a Princess does not get down on the ground. You call for someone to come and pick whatever is dropped for you.”

“Oh, don’t do that to her Natasha. Don’t turn her into one of your stuck-up court ladies. She’s perfect just as she is.” James pleads, genuine in his praise and in his desire to keep you the same. For King Rogers?

“It’s my job to help turn her back into the princess she was born to be and that’s what I’ll do.” She gripes.

“Steve won’t like her if she’s like those ladies. Let her be who she is. He needs a little sugar in his life.” James teases, making your neck hot again.

“Did you just refer to the Princess of Malibia as sugar?” Natasha demands.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s not what I mean. She’s nice. And look at her smile. She’s perfect for him.” James assures her and for the first time since you’ve come to the castle and seen King Rogers’s portrait do you feel any sense of relief.

“Am I really?” You beam up at him, your smile wide but sleepy.

“You bet your bottom you are. I guarantee he’ll be worshipping the ground you walk on.” He smiles.

“James!” Natasha gasps, then hands you the basket. “Your Highness, off to your lessons now. Go on. I will follow.”

“But…”

“Please, your Highness, you’re already late.” She urges and because she’s always there for you, you go.

You don’t go far, however. You stop around the corner to listen. Not very princess-like behavior but you don’t care. You’re sleepy and you’re so curious about King Rogers. This man, James, he knows him. Childhood best friends! It doesn’t get any closer than that.

“First off, don’t refer to her bottom. She’s a princess and she’s going to marry Steve. What is wrong with you?” Natasha demands.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Secondly, what are you doing telling her things like that?” Natasha demands, glancing down towards the hall where you’re hiding with worry.

“What?” He chuckles. “She is sweet. And nice. And honestly, if I didn’t have my eyes set on someone else, maybe I’d have tried to make her fall in love with me a little?”

“You think every woman wants you.” She frowns at him.

“All but the one that matters.” He flirts, moving a step closer. “When will you agree to marry me? I’ve asked you six times already.”

“Ask me six more times.” She quips.

James chuckles again.

“I really wish you hadn’t filled her head with all that ‘perfect for him’ nonsense.” She frets.

“But she is perfect for him. Margaret was always so…She was kind and strong and after what happened to her, I think maybe Steve needs to have someone he can watch over. Someone he can protect.” James reasons.

“Yes, but she’s expecting love, James. She’s told me that she must make him like her nearly a hundred times since she saw his portrait and I’m afraid that she’s only going to make herself unhappy. He’s closed himself off from feelings like that since Maggie. I don’t think he has it in him to love like that again and the princess is already so enamored and I’m pretty sure she’s never been in love before. What if he breaks her heart?

“Then she’s stuck living with him in that castle and she won’t be able to leave, so she’ll just have to deal with it. I keep wanting to beg Tony to cancel this stupid plan because she’s the one that’ll suffer, and she doesn’t deserve that. Because you’re right, she’s nice and sweet, and she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

“What if he’s cruel? What if he resents her? He needs to marry her and have children because that’s what he must do but he doesn’t love her, James. What if he never can? Maybe I should take her away from here?”

“Shh, Natasha,” James closes the distance between them, his hands finding her shoulders which he caresses with affection. “Don’t worry about Steve, I’ll do what I can to help them along. And Steve isn’t cruel. You know him. He’s just…dealing with everything that happened.”

“It’s been two years, James. He still won’t dance. He won’t smile. When’s the last time he laughed?”

James sighs, “I know that things don’t look promising, but he’ll love her. I know it. She is perfect for him. And once she’s pregnant, I know that those protective instincts will kick in for him and he’ll devote every second of his life to her. And you’ll be there, too. Always by her side.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Natasha sighs, “I will be.”

“I think this girl is special.” He says, “For her to get you to love her so much so quickly?”

“The princess has had a difficult life. I want her to be happy now. She takes on so much. She just came back home and now Tony’s sending her away again, just to bury the hatchet?”

“That’s not why they’re doing this, Nat.” James chastises.

“Oh, really? When’s the last time the two of them were in a room without going at each other’s throats? All because of that stupid treaty the team-”

“Nat.” James frowns. “Not here.”

“Sorry.” Natasha says.

Team? What team?

“I know it’s frustrating. But they’re talking. They’re writing to each other. That’s a good thing. And as for the princess, she’ll be happy. I promise. She will, just, maybe not right away. You and I can be a team. We’ll do what we both can to ensure that her heart is as unbroken as when she first arrives.” James insists.

“You can’t promise that. I can’t promise that.” Natasha says, relaxing a little as James closes the distance a bit more, pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped around her torso.

“I can. I will do everything in my power to make sure that he sees her for the blessing that she is. For you.” He smiles at her, seducing her with his kind manners and consideration.

“I’m still not going to marry you.” She smiles, a half smirk with the corner of he lip sloping up seductively.

They both seem intent on seducing each other.

“Aren’t you?” He checks.

“No.” She shakes her head but stops when his lips meet hers.

Quickly you slide back, moving as quietly as you can down the hall until you can walk at full speed without being heard.

Natasha has been your champion since arriving here. Her positive attitude has kept you certain of the task you have set before you but to see her doubts spill out so quickly and numerous, your heart begins to writhe with fear because what if she’s right? What if you’re dooming yourself to a life without love?

There are worse things. You remind yourself again. You know that all you can do is hope that he marries you.

At least, if you marry him, you will have a place. Your home will always be Broklin’s castle and your family will always be the King, even if he doesn’t love you and would rather have his first Queen. You will finally belong somewhere and on one will be able to take that away from you.

Reaching into the pocket of your dress, you pull out the small silver compact that Natasha had given you and pry it open to stare at King Steven’s handsome face.

Those storm blue eyes…

Now all you have to do to ensure your survival is make sure that you don’t fall in love with him. And really, how hard can that be?

It’s late afternoon and you’re making your way from your room with Peter at your side, sharing a bag of berries that his Majesty had sent to your room.

“They’re tart.” Peter chuckles. “Here, keep the rest, I might not stop eating them if I keep going.”

You laugh with him. “So? Help me finish them. I’m eating too much as it is with all of this food they send to my room.”

Your dress is simpler today, plain white with a sheer pink underlay. You’re a gleaming pearl underneath warm yellow light. Your corset is still tight however, so despite the comfortable dress, there’s a hint of discomfort in the way you stand.

“No. I’ll finish them.” Peter argues.

“That’s the point.” You laugh.

“Princess!” A shout from the end of the hall startles both you and Peter.

He drops the bag of berries into your open hand and jumps in front of you to shield you on instinct. You nearly drop the berries but just manage to catch the small sack.

A man you’ve seen every day but never spoken to marches towards you, his short graying curly hair and stocky build give you comfort for some reason. He looks like a teddy bear, even though you’ve seen him grumble and roll his eyes a few times at his Majesty. Everyone acts different than they should. You still don’t understand it and are beginning to think you never will.

“Happy?” Peter says, then looks back to you as if he’s let something slip. “I mean, Harold, Sir Harold Hogan. Your Highness, I’m not sure you’ve officially met the King’s personal secretary?”

“I haven’t.” You assure him and try to look as unphased as possible by the nickname slip up. “Sir Harold, it’s nice to meet you.”

Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan bows to you, then stands up with an excited gleam in his eye.

“Your Highness,” He smiles. “His Majesty would like to see you in his office.”

“Right now?” But, what about your lessons?

“Yes. Now.” He nods and begins to walk away.

You hand Peter the bag of berries and begin to follow Sir Hogan.

“Don’t worry.” Peter says, “I’ll run and tell Master Rymond that you’ll be late.”

“Thank you.” You call out to him just before you turn the corner. “Is it very important, Sir Harold?”

“Please, call me Happy. Everyone does.” He smiles at you, no sign of the severe man you’ve seen over the past few days.

“H-Happy, have I done something to anger my father?” You check, keeping up the lie even with the King’s right-hand man. Does he know the truth?

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nothing like that. He’s actually really pleased with you.”

“Why?”

“King Rogers has written back about your portrait.” Happy begins, shocking your arms into numbness from nerves. “We sent it last night and he got it early this morning.”

“A-and he’s written to father about it?” You ask, your voice barely above a nervous whisper.

“He loved it.” Happy assures you.

“King Rogers loved my portrait?” You ask, all astonishment and disbelief. “He actually said that he loved it?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. But he said he wants to marry you as soon as possible.”

You can’t breathe. “And wh-when is that?”

“Day after tomorrow. We leave in the morning for Broklin. You’ll meet him tomorrow night and, in the morning, you’ll be married. Y/N Rogers, Queen of Broklin.” He looks back at you and you stop walking, the sound of blood rushing is deafening, like the sound of roaring carriage wheels as they crash into puddles of water.

Then everything goes black as your body falls backwards.

Happy’s last cry of, “Princess!” echoes in your ears.