#i have to answer if i liked or followed anyone that posted something obscene and i'mjust 'they said the f-bomb does that count?'

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 8/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [4.3k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ sex, mentions of anal sex, mild degradation/humiliation > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

> series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7 ☆ part 8 ☆ part 9 ☆ part 10

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

“What will it take to break you in, I wonder?” The Grand Admiral muses one evening. He likes you bent over and exposed, and usually his desk is the most convenient option. So that’s where you are now. 

He paces around, in and out of your field of vision, his hands clasped behind his back. You had watched him on the bridge today, where he had commanded the Chimaera through a quick skirmish with pirates, with much the same pose. 

“To get you nice and willing and open for me… soon you will wait for me, bent over my desk… when you hear the hatch open, you’ll reach back and spread yourself open for me.” He pauses a moment, and then gives you an order, his voice like silk. “Do it now. Show me.” 

You obey a little too quickly, and when he speaks again, you recognize amusement in his voice. “Good. Very good…” your name on his lips should not sound so good, should not have such sway over your self-control. 

You hear the click of his boot heels stop just behind you. “Wider.”

A hot wave of humiliation courses through you, makes your clit pulse. You do it, knowing he can see everything. 

Thrawn gives a ‘hmm’. “Such a lovely cunt. You’re wet, I see, but It has been some time since you were gifted to me and I still have not felt you cum. Or should I say, you have not let yourself cum.”

It is a sign of just how much he’s in your head that you barely protest the indignity of such a statement. You don’t even try to get up.  “I don’t owe you that.”

“No, you don’t. But… are you happy to simply be of use?” He puts an obscene twist on the phrase that sends another shiver of desire down your spine. Yes, there is something dark in your psyche that being of use to Thrawn appeals to. 

Your body gives you away, and perceptive as he is, he misses nothing. “You want more.” He trails one gloved finger over your skin, across your hip, too lightly up the line of your wetness. You can’t suppress a needy moan, and his touch lingers where he finds your desperation most transparent.

“I’ll fuck your ass soon. You’ll need to get used to taking my cock there. You have a tight, pretty little hole, it would be a shame not to fuck it. You like that idea.” His tone is soft, and suggestive. Dangerously close to convincing you of… whatever he wants. “Yes… you do. You like to think of me pushing in slowly. Using your body in ways you had never considered, all to give you pleasure.”

When you only manage an incoherent sound, he prompts you with a light brush of his finger over your asshole. “I expect an answer…” 

But you can’t give him one. At least, not one that’s honest. And unfortunately, the Grand Admiral can read you much too well for comfort.

You hear the sound of fabric, and then he takes you over his desk, the second time that day. He climaxes with a low, muted groan that makes you weak. Another hit to your resolve that nearly tips you over the edge to follow him. 

Afterwards, he cleans you up, and instructs you to dress. 

“Where are we going?”

The wardroom, he says. 

The whole way there, he tolerates your questions. Why and Will there be anyone else there and Can I eat dinner there and Can you walk slower? 

“I thought you would enjoy having a meal with some new company. You may, of course, remove your veil, if you wish.” And he slows his long-legged strides just enough for you to catch up. For a moment, you think he’s about to offer you his arm, to escort you like a gentleman would a lady. Somehow such a courteous gesture from him wouldn’t surprise you. You have to remind yourself that you wouldn’t accept it. But at the same time, your pussy is still pink and swollen and every lust-driven instinct is urging you closer to him. Despite the lingering, unsated arousal, you still have that nice, warm, just-been-fucked feeling and you hope desperately that no one can tell. Thrawn can, of course. He gives you a dryly amused look, and asks why you need to slow down-- “are you having trouble walking?”

You glare at him, and tell him under your breath that you can still feel his cum leaking out of you. “It’s making my legs sticky.” 

He smiles, but apologizes. “I should have been more thorough. Perhaps next time I’ll have to lick you clean. Would you like that?”

You want to answer that by elbowing him, because it would be too embarrassing to say ‘yes, please’. 

He leads you out of the more narrow, labyrinthine corridors until you reach one of the main passageways. The change of scenery lifts your spirits a bit, and you look around with renewed energy and focus. You expect that normally you’d find some random hallway unremarkable but after days of the exact same two locations, the same route, anything different is interesting. 

This one is brightly-lit and wide, and you and Thrawn pass several officers who all acknowledge their commander with a crisp ‘good evening, sir’. 

At the entrance of the officers’ mess, he opens the door for you, puts his hand at the small of your back and ushers you through. 

Inside are maybe fifty officers seated around tables in an expansive dining room. Droids move among the tables, serving platters of food and taking away dirty dishes. Some of the officers look around when you and Thrawn come in, and move to get up. One of them looks ready to call attention on deck before Thrawn holds up his hand.

“Keep your seats, please.” Evidently this is the one place on the ship where Imperial military formality is somewhat relaxed.

Thrawn takes you over to one table at which there are a few empty seats, and pulls out a chair for you.

You look up at him, murmur a quiet ‘thank you, sir’. He takes his own seat to your right, and to your left, you’re both dismayed and excited to realize, is Assistant Director Ronan. Thrawn’s reminder that you need not wear your veil had been tempting, but now you definitely won’t risk showing your face. Not with Ronan right next to you. He’d probably try to send a holo to the Emperor to snitch on you.

After a brief lull, the conversations pick up again. Several of Thrawn’s bridge officers are also seated around this table-- you recognize Commodore Faro, as well as two other women, the weapons officer Pyrondi and the chief sensors officer Hammerly. The comms officer Lomar is joking over a printed word puzzle in the ship’s daily newsletter with another officer you recognize but don’t know by name. The youngest person at the table is the helmsman, Lieutenant Agral. He looks rather shocked to be seated directly next to his commanding officer, and keeps glancing over at Thrawn and offering to refill his water glass, which Thrawn hasn’t touched once.

They talk of the events of the day, and the latest ship gossip, training evolutions, and who scored highest on the pistol qualification, complaints about the droids not pressing their uniforms properly. It’s one thing seeing them do their jobs, but another seeing them like this— eating, chatting, joking around. It all seems so normal. 

You stay quiet, picking little pieces of your food and secreting them under your veil to eat. Why Thrawn thought this would be enjoyable for you, you don’t know. Even covered, you feel awfully exposed and out of place, unable to join any conversations since none of them bother to address you directly.

“The food isn’t bad, is it.” 

You look over in surprise. Ronan takes a delicate bite of some succulent plant. 

You stare at him for a moment, wondering if he was actually talking to you. A moment ago he had been debating one of the bridge officers about the importance of locally indigenized production of TIE avionics. 

Now he nods to your plate, which is piled with a bounty of food. To Thrawn’s credit, he hadn’t been lying when he said he ate the same as his crew. This is all similar to the meals you’ve eaten in his quarters, except there is no wine on the table.

“Fresh vegetables and fruit. I’ve no idea how they supply the whole ship with it, let alone the fleet.”

You find your voice. “Do they, though? Down on the enlisted mess decks, they all get this too?” 

“Of course they do,” he says crisply, and that settles the matter.

For a moment, you’re stuck on what to say. This could be your chance, your only chance to speak at length with the one person who might have an interest in getting you off this ship. You have to say something. Even if it sounds naive and servile and completely false to your ear. “… is this your first time on a ship like this? I mean, a big one.”

Ronan scoffs. “Certainly not. In my work for the Director— Director Krennic, that is— I’ve had the distinct privilege of touring many Imperial vessels, a few even more grand than this.” 

This is the sort of conversation you had expected as a companion, before you had met Thrawn and had to reevaluate everything you thought you knew about Imperials. Ronan fits the mold, though, so well he seems like a caricature. A self important wind bag, bragging about his connections and deeply, deeply concerned for his public image. By now, you’ve heard the name Director Krennic many times, and had even asked Thrawn about it. But it’s more fun to say “who?” and watch Ronan turn red in the face. 

You slip a look at Thrawn. He gives you the subtlest smirk, his eyes glittering, before returning his attention to the other conversation. 

After Ronan finishes a fawning review of Director Krennic’s accomplishments, he’s able to compose himself somewhat. “But you must feel very lucky to have secured a position with a Grand Admiral,” he picks up. “How did you manage it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Lucky?” You repeat, unable to keep disbelief out of your voice. 

“I should say so. When you were selected, I’m sure you didn’t imagine… well, any of this.” He sniffs, looking around the table, and you don’t miss how his lip curls as his gaze slides over Thrawn. 

“No,” you say carefully. “It’s been quite comfortable so far, at least compared to our accommodations on Coruscant.”

“Well, they can’t make it too easy. Then everyone would want to do it. Still, it’s a rather short, easy path to join such esteemed company.” 

If that’s what he really thinks— that you’re some social climber who volunteered for this-- that any of this has been easy for you-- you dig your nails into your thigh, have to bite your tongue. Briefly, you fantasize about taking a cup of juice and ‘accidentally’ spilling it on him. But if you hope to win his trust, and have any chance of escaping the Chimaera, you have to play along. “I… ah… In truth, the esteem of the company was lost on me at first. I didn’t realize the significance of his rank. I didn’t even know there were non-human officers.” This feels dangerously close to agreeing with Ronan. Thrawn is thoroughly engaged in conversation; you doubt he’s listening to you. 

“Yes, well. The Grand Admiral is one of the very few,” Ronan says, in a tone that suggests he’s relieved about this fact. “A great many exceptions were made to ensure his rise, as I’ve heard it. But he’s managed to charm the right people, I suppose. And you did too, placed with a Grand Admiral. I expect once you get back to civilization he’ll be keeping you in all the latest fashions and jewels.”

And with that, your exchange with Ronan stalls, though you should admit what it really is-- a dead end. What can you even talk about, with him, here? Other than the ever-fertile topic of Director Krennic, of course. 

With a sigh, you return to picking at your food, and you catch the middle of a spirited discussion among Thrawn’s bridge crew. 

“—losing too many fighters, it’s not sustainable.”

“Not the fighters, the pilots,” Faro says tightly. You get the impression that this is a particularly sore spot for her. “Pilot training takes a year, minimum. Just by the math, it doesn’t work out. We aren’t training replacements fast enough.”

They talk freely in front of Thrawn, and he seems to encourage this kind of open discussion and exchange of ideas. They also don’t look to him constantly for reassurance or the final word. 

“But with the hit and run attacks--”

“It’s impossible to stamp them all out at once. They’re like weeds, pull one out and a few days later, three more sprout up.”

“Weeds?” Whispers Pyrondi to Faro, and you miss part of the discussion as Commodore Faro quietly explains what they are; apparently Pyrondi grew up on Coruscant and the concept is unfamiliar.

“How do they reconstitute so fast? With no supply lines, no centralized logistics?”

You shift in your seat and chance a look over at Thrawn— only to find him regarding you curiously. For a moment, your heart is in your throat, at the thought of him announcing to the whole table that they needn’t speculate any longer. Here is a former rebel, in the flesh, to whom they could direct all their questions. 

But he doesn’t, and you sag in relief.

“A question, then,” Thrawn puts to his officers. “Knowing that current strategies of reactive targeting are ineffective, where should Imperial forces direct their efforts?”

Ronan makes a strangled sound— Thrawn may be right, but he is close to outright contradicting official policy, which amounts to contradicting the Emperor. None of his officers bat an eye though. 

“Resource realignment,” Hammerly says promptly. 

“Or stronger deterrents,” Lomar suggests, and you notice Ronan give an emphatic, approving nod. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hammerly says. “Bigger ships and bigger guns are useless if you can’t even find targets.”

More voices pick up the debate, with Pyrondi suggesting, “we need to make better use of intel sources to predict rebel movements and attacks.” You listen with a sort of numb curiosity. To hear your enemy-- if they still are your enemy-- discussing how they would defeat you.

At one point, you feel Ronan shift in his seat. He has interjected a few times, never shy with his opinion, to chastise anyone he disagrees with. This time, as he shifts, he manages to brush his hand against yours, under the table. You jerk away, but in a smooth, subtle motion, he catches you and you feel his fingers curl yours around something small, metallic, and cylindrical. A data stick. 

You don’t look at him. You fight any reaction, and as naturally as possible, slip the data stick into a fold in your sleeve. 

The conversation goes late. You miss most of it anyway, distracted by your curiosity about why Ronan would want to discretely slip you a data stick— and more importantly, what could possibly be on it. As you walk with Thrawn back to his quarters, an announcement comes over the 1MC, taps, taps. The passageway lights dim to red during the ship’s night cycle and Thrawn looks even more intimidating than usual, cast in red and yet his eyes still gleaming out of the darkness. 

“What do you think?” He asks when you get back to his office. 

“A-about what?” The data stick Ronan had pressed into your hand is making you paranoid. As small and light as it is, you fear it might still be noticeable in your sleeve, at least to someone as observant as Thrawn. For all you know he might be able to tell that its weight makes your robe hang slightly differently. 

“The question we were discussing.”

You pull your veil back and sit on the couch, drawing a cozy blanket over yourself. “You really want my opinion?”

Thrawn goes to the small bar, pours two glasses of the emerald wine and brings them over. “You have a rather unique experience. So, yes, when I ask for your opinion, I expect you to provide it.” 

You eye him for a moment, doubtful, wondering what game he’s playing here. He already knows you have no information. He knows you were a nobody. Completely insignificant to the broader effort. But he has a certain hold over you. An inviting expression on his sharply handsome features, his calm, undivided attention makes you blush, which you try to cover by taking a sip of your wine. It is sweet and flowery on your tongue. A sensual luxury. Perhaps Ronan was right-- given the chance, Thrawn will probably indulge you, spoil you in gifts of rare jewels and fine clothes and expensive, lavish meals in exclusive company.

Fine, then. You can play along. “The Empire’s strategies are more effective than you think. Lomar was saying how it’s not sustainable, the rate at which you keep losing fighters, but for every TIE blown up, or transport captured, it costs…” you stop yourself, feeling like you’ve exposed more than you meant to. 

Thrawn is seated close, in the armchair, and he taps his finger on the stem of his wine glass without taking a sip, his eyes ever fixed on you. “It costs you more than it costs your enemy.”

You nod tightly. “The attrition is enough of a deterrent for most people to even think about supporting, let alone joining.”

“You joined.”

“And look where it got me.” 

His eyebrows raise fractionally at that bit of impertinence, but you don’t look away. You hold his gaze, even as warmth creeps up your neck, brightening your cheeks. There is no mistaking the desire evident in his expression. He likes when you challenge him. Your breath catches, from the way he’s looking at you. From how ridiculously handsome he is. You can’t stop staring at his mouth, and the idea flashes through your mind-- how would it feel to kiss him? 

“I-- what was the question?”

Thrawn repeats it-- that current approaches aren’t working. “Where do you think Imperial forces should direct their efforts instead?” 

You bite your lip, flustered, your thoughts scattered. “I don’t know.” because you really don’t, but he narrows his eyes at that, and so you say what originally came to mind. “You should target the Mon Calamari shipyards.”

“Moff Tarkin has attempted that already.” 

“He tried to take it as a trophy. I’m saying destroy it. I mean… hypothetically.” 

“Explain,” Thrawn orders, in a quiet, low tone that always makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I— I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right?” 

“That remains to be seen.” 

“Well-- I mean, I was never in charge of anything--” his silence lets you stammer, and meander to a real answer. “We all used their ships. Lots of us, all the cells, even though we mostly didn’t know each other. And so, we all trained the same way, on the same equipment. If you had a Mon Cal ship, the maintainers and engineers would always know what to do for repairs. But when other ships would come in needing something, or had damage, they wouldn’t always know how to fix it. I mean-- if you take Corellian ships, not everything is standardized even from fourth generation to fifth generation fighters.”

“The use of a common design among and across fleets is advantageous,” Thrawn supplies. 

“Yes. And a lot of times, when we needed replacement parts for other types of ships or anything like that, we’d have to track them down second-hand, or special order. Or figure out a workaround with a substitute, which would take time because it wasn’t just a drop-in, we’d have to do at least low level validation and sometimes minor re-design. That all takes time, and if we were planet hopping or system hopping, we couldn’t just order something because it wouldn’t arrive in time. We’d be gone before the delivery, and usually we had no idea where we’d end up next. So.” You shrug, unable to hide your slight smile. It hadn’t been fun, exactly, but the memories weren’t all bad. 

“Removing the Mon Calamari shipyards would cripple the efficiency of the rebellion.” Thrawn’s tone is warmly approving, and you take another, deeper drink of your wine, because this conversation feels almost friendly. “You’ll be relieved to hear that such a course of action has already been considered and discarded by Imperial High Command. I recommended this to the Joint Chiefs, but my suggestion was rebuffed.”

“Why?”

Thrawn frowns, his air of satisfaction disappearing. “I do not know. A longtime friend and mentor told me that the reason was political but the nuances of such a decision escape me. Nevertheless, your instinct is a good one. And you made the point more convincingly than I was able to.” He taps the arm of his chair thoughtfully. “Most wars will be won or lost on the supply lines, long before any battles take place. You would have done well as a naval officer.”     

Whether he meant it as a compliment or not, the idea rattles around in your head for the rest of the night, and long after Thrawn puts you to bed. You lay with it, tossing and turning in the dark, until you’re convinced it’s late enough. You have to see what’s on that data stick.

As far as you know, Thrawn has never come in to check on you while you’re asleep. And he has never slept in here with you either, which is another bizarre mystery, but not one you’ll find an answer to tonight. You’d managed to keep the data stick from Ronan hidden in your robes, even after taking them off and hanging them in the wall locker. 

Now, you slide out of bed, moving carefully, secretly, as if any noise would alert Thrawn. For that, at least, you probably don’t have to worry. There is an ambient hum about the ship, no matter where you are-- the sound of the air circulator, and all the other life support systems will be enough to drown out all of your footsteps and movement. 

Still, heart beating in your ears, you creep over and retrieve the data stick, then slot it in the data pad. A message reads out on the screen, just a single line.

Your breath catches in your chest.

[CELES STAVEN. IF YOU KNEW HER ON CORUSCANT I CAN HELP YOU.]

You stare at the words, reading them over again, trying to temper your hopes a little, but the prospect of escaping is an exciting one, burning in your chest. Ronan knew someone at the cloister. His family? The surname was different, but that must be who he was asking about. But did he know how they kept you anonymous? Faceless, even with each other? Even those you thought you knew, you had never known their names, at least, not their real names. Celes. You wrack your memories for some clue-- anything-- if only he had said what she looked like. Or better, what she had sounded like. The shape of her hands. 

A chill passes through you, and your throat gets tight, tears prick your eyes. Here in the dark, all of a sudden, you feel coldly, desperately alone. 

You wipe the message, then input one of your own. It can’t be too long. You wish there was space to explain all this. He’s looking for an easy answer, and you don’t have one. Perhaps you could try to just ask him directly, you’ll likely see him on the bridge tomorrow morning but-- no. Too risky. People would have questions if you were seen chatting together. Ironically, Thrawn wouldn’t care about such a breach of etiquette, you’re sure, but to others it would raise suspicion.

[NO NAMES. NEED A HOLO.] 

You take the data stick out of the datapad. Now, you have to find a secure place to hide it until you can pass it back to him, but there is nowhere in the sparely furnished room that you can be sure Thrawn or a cleaning droid wouldn’t find. On your person, then. You could sew it into your robes.

If only you had a needle and thread. And light. 

After some rather desperate, breathless searching, mostly by touch, you find a travel sewing kit at the very back of a high shelf in the wall locker. That will work-- it has a needle, at least, though the thread is too heavy and the wrong color. You can salvage palebug thread from your embroidery. You slip your robe off the hangar, and crouch by the viewport. With the stars your only light, you painstakingly pick loose the thread of one of the flowers on your slipper. One from the side, where you think has the least chance of being noticed. 

The work is agonizingly slow. This could be the night Thrawn decides to check on you, you expect the hatch to open at any moment but you can’t rush. The thread itself is prone to breaking, and with each stitch undone, it shines in the starlight, as delicate as crawler silk, shimmering even from your light breaths.  Once you have a length of thread long enough to double on itself, you set about sewing an extra, hidden pocket into an inconspicuous fold of your sleeve. The data stick is small and light enough, as long as no one knows to look for it, it should never be found. 

And now, you’ll just have to figure out how to hand it back to Ronan.

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☆ Link to Part 9 ☆

[takeariskao3]

Hi Hannah! I saw your ask about someone reading TPFY in spite of the dramione endgame and I want you to know that isn't how all of us feel! I am so excited for your sequels and I can't wait to read your take on dramione because I know you won't bash Ron.

Any chance you have a spoiler or snippet you can share with us while we wait? 👀👀👀

LOVE YOU 😘

gahhh!!! this is so !!!!!! thanks for wanting to follow along even after installment 1 is finished and posted. that has me so excited for the follow ups, you have no idea!

i do have a little spoiler to share from the eventual draco/hermione fic <333

The clifftop made for a picturesque party, Draco could at least give the newlyweds that. The indigo sky yawned above, stars twinkling as if they were in on the celebration, while a light sea breeze wafted across the grassy moorland and inebriated the reception just as much as the libations. 

Most of the people in attendance were old school chums of either the bride’s or the groom’s, which made for an eclectic, and borderline frightening, combination of people. Draco had made it his life’s mission to avoid socializing with anyone from his youth, and yet there he was, forced into the undertaking against all his better instincts. 

He decided right then and there that he would never forgive Theo for it.

Leaning against the temporary bartop, Draco sipped his G&T and vaguely wondered how much longer he would have to stay at this infernal wedding.

A cascade of ginger hair floated toward him in her cream and ivory bridesmaid gown, bringing his self imposed isolation and silent suffering to an effective end. 

“Weasel,” he greeted without bothering to glance her way. 

“Oh, darling,” she lamented with a sardonic smile. “I’m afraid I’ve been Potty for years.”

He knew that, of course. It had been hard not to, with how often their names were splashed across headlines, but it felt…telling, somehow, to let on that he’d kept up with the basic knowledge of their lives. So, instead, Draco pulled a grimace. “My sincerest apologies for the misfortune.”

His rudeness didn’t put her off in the slightest, in fact she propped an elbow against the bar and looked like she might stay a while. Finnegan brought her a flute of sparkling wine, along with a grin and some pointless small talk. Then they were alone again; left to view the gathering from the perimeter of the fairy lights. 

Most everyone had taken to the dancefloor, the string quartet leading couples in an unnecessarily upbeat waltz. Potter, the one not currently standing next to Draco, had Lovegood in his arms and was trodding on the bride’s foot nearly every other box step. It was honestly painful to watch. Full of mirth, he wondered if perhaps the woman next to him preferred Draco’s company over her husband’s for that specific reason.

Not three feet away from Potter and Lovegood, Pansy and Longbottom weren’t bothering with the melody at all. Instead, they clung to each other in an obscene embrace that made Draco feel like he was intruding on something indecent. 

Then his gaze snagged on Granger, laughing without restraint as Terry Boot led her in small circles. She looked positively carefree. Nothing of the tight expressions or stunted pleasantries he’d grown used to. 

A pang of something reverberated through his middle. He fundamentally refused to identify it. 

Next to him, Weasley—no, Potter—God, this was getting confusing—Ginny followed his line of sight and the corners of her mouth twitched into an insufferable smirk. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” she inserted after a few short moments.

Downing his ice diluted cocktail, Draco waved to Finnegan for another and didn’t bother with an answer. 

“Harry mentioned you were helping them,” she murmured for his ears only. 

He raised an eyebrow. The last thing he needed was a sodding Gryffindor, let alone a Weasley, to examine his aims and motivations. So, he peered out over the crowd, seemingly unconcerned, and promptly deflected, “What’s it like?”

She glanced up at him with a pinched brow and let the silence ask the question for her. 

He clarified in a nefarious whisper, “To have the savior of the wizarding world collared and leashed?” 

Ginny laughed, and judging by the sparkle in her eyes, it was genuine. 

“I imagine it’s quite heady,” he continued, chasing down the moment when she would inevitably retreat. “To control someone so…distinguished.”

She gave him no such satisfaction. Ginny Potter turned to face him, mirroring his relaxed position, and considering him with an open and curious expression. He almost respected her for it, if it weren’t so inconvenient. 

“How very stereotypical,” she chuckled, “to examine a relationship on the basis of power. Did the conclusion of mutual trust and support really not occur to you?”

Draco scoffed. “It may have, but it’s the second to least probable explanation.”

“And your least probable?”

“That he’s a good shag.”

Something flinty and wicked ignited in her countenance and she grinned at him. 

“No,” Draco heaved dramatically. “Don’t tell me. It will ruin my life.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of champagne. 

The song drifted to an end and the swaying bodies slowed to a stop. Most everyone clapped politely in the interlude, while several others swapped partners or vacated the dancefloor altogether. 

Granger extricated herself from Terry Boot, and was halfway free from the throng, when Lovegood caught her hands and pulled her back. The two girls giggled happily, and Granger allowed herself to be led through a series of steps and twirls. It looked positively laughable. However, Draco couldn’t find a single sneering thought in his own head. 

A slight cough to his left pulled his attention back to the present. 

Fuck’s sake, Ginny had caught him staring. Again. 

Thankfully, Finnegan chose that moment to deliver Draco’s drink and he could ignore her knowing look by relishing the burn of gin at the back of his throat. 

Raising his glass to her in a farce of a toast, he made to escape. “Enjoy your evening, Potty.”

He’d only begun to move away when her low voice followed after him. “Hermione can’t resist a project.”

Draco turned halfway, icy indignation seeping into his bloodstream. Before he could decide on a rather un-witty retort, though, Ginny took a step closer. 

Steely determination hardened her features. “Make sure you’re worthy of it.”

“Or what?” he hissed. The taunt formulated smoothly and without hesitation. “I’ll have to deal with you?”

“Hermione is quite capable of handling you herself,” Ginny tossed him a small, terrifying smile. “But if you betray her, or Harry, I’ll gladly hide the body.”

His nostrils flared at being so brazenly threatened, but he had no doubt of her resolve, or frankly, her abilities. 

Ginny’s expression once again smoothed into passive amusement, and she tapped her glass against his lightly. “Enjoy your evening, Malfoy.”

[fifty-twohertz]

smut as my first post, dear god what have i made- wip : [ m!prince x gn!assistant/reader - referred by they/them though written w/ m parts ] - pt 1/?

An uninterested prince sat on his throne, he paid no attention to the suitor before him as they hastily left much like the others that followed before them.

His gaze fell to his assistant beside him, he looked over their solemn expression to secretly wonder how it would differ if they were to show emotion. Either by the product of happiness or something else.

That was where the prince's thoughts wandered, allowing the images to linger. Fingers that caressed the edges of their lips. A hand that rested on the curve of their neck that craned down for a kiss.

The thoughts gave him a sudden excitement. Perhaps too much as it made his crotch suddenly stiffen.

The prince crossed his leg over the other before anyone could notice his erection as it pulled against the loose fabric. However his gaze remained on the assistant and it soon caught their attention.

"Yes, my liege?" They questioned.

Even as the prince had attempted to keep his thoughts in place, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander from their eyes to their lips. He flicked them back up before he got anymore careless.

"How many more princesses in the same dresses must I see until we are finished?" The prince asked in his usual childish manner, shifting in his position as his erection persisted. Unwilling to point out the tension that had unintentionally grown. It could either be translated as apprehension or just the prince's desire.

Even then, he didn't feel the need to risk to find out whether the other felt the same. His conscience may have been obscene at the moment but he wouldn't let his impulsivity win.

"Until you find one that suits you." The prince found their answer to be one he did not favour.

As the remaining thread of his morals thinned, he pointed in front of his throne, "Come here for a moment."

The assistant obeyed, standing in front of him.

"And how are you so sure that any of this will help?" The prince said, the tip of his shoe raised up. Up the assistant's leg and caressing near their inner thigh. "Perhaps I'd like something else rather than this."

The assistant's face remained blank for awhile until it flushed a red hue. A grin spread across his face, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Lightly tracing the shoe's tip a little higher just to tease them. Raising his hand up, holding their chin and turning their face back to him. "Well?"

They began, "This is a throne room —" Though the assistant's words swayed as the prince leaned forward, head tilted against theirs, barely any distance between their lips. "And?" Heated breaths fell against each other, gazes locked and communicated every thought without a word. "You want this as much as I do."

[tsarinatorment]

Camp Half-Blood Beads

@mavie-wisegirl​ asked about the stories behind my bead designs in this post; there’s a lot of them so I elected to answer in a separate post rather than make that one obscenely long.

To reiterate from the original post, by all means ask questions about these, yes you may use these designs as long as you credit me, no you may not use any of the ocs listed in the original post.

Yes, I’m listing these by year.  Yes, I know Rick’s gone on record saying the books are not set in any particular year, but if I didn’t assign years to these I would have gone actually insane trying to work out which kids were around when, so have some semi-arbitrary years for my own sanity.

I’ll include the canon beads just for completeness but I won’t go into any detail about them because, well, they’re canon!

A lot of these are early-days vague ideas that still need concreting; if anyone has any theories/ideas that tie in with them, I’m all ears!

I’ve preambled enough, I think, so here they are, starting with the oldest I’ve made so far (there will be three more, but I haven’t worked out those designs yet):

1995 - Half-Eaten Strawberry The strawberry fields suffered a major catastrophe; something kept eating the fruit before it was ripe, leaving them unable to sell any and provoking a camp-wide endeavour to find and stop whatever was responsible!

*****

1996 - White Rose A quest was issued by Aphrodite, sending a trio of campers out to find a particular flower she had her eye on, but was heavily guarded (of course), so she enlisted demigods to do it instead of doing it herself.

*****

1997 - Panpipes The satyrs are a much-beloved and hard-working part of Camp Half-Blood, so when the tables turned and they ended up the ones in need, the demigods rallied around their friends and protectors.

*****

1998 - Grapes The Maenads discovered that Dionysus had been banished from Olympus and that he might be found at Camp Half-Blood.  The god, of course, promptly made himself scarce, leaving the campers to deflect his rabid followers before they destroyed the camp.

*****

1999 - Eye and Tooth Most demigods are at least aware of the existence of the Grey Sisters, but that didn’t make their sudden visit to Camp Half-Blood any more welcome.

*****

2000 - Chariot The last year chariot races were held before their reinstation by Tantalus, a beloved camp activity suddenly turned on its head and forbidden after a disastrous race which killed several demigods and mutilated even more (referenced canon event with no canon timeframe).

*****

2001 - Thalia’s Pine Canon.

*****

2002 - Centaur in a Dress The Party Ponies came for a visit and gave the campers one hell of a summer they won’t be forgetting in a while (canon bead design).

*****

2003 - Burning Trireme The camp decided to replace the chariot races with a seemingly less-fatal boat race instead.  Unfortunately, while not fatal, the nymphs took great offence when the boats and attacks launched at the boats started polluting their river and had their revenge.  The boat races will not be returning (canon bead design).

*****

2004 - Golden Apple Luke’s quest (canon event that happened that year).

*****

2005 - Silver Bow The Hunters of Artemis visited camp and stayed for a while.  Unfortunately, they didn’t mix well with the pranksters of Cabin Eleven, and things got very out of control (referenced canon event with no canon timeframe).

*****

2006 - Trident Canon.

*****

2007 - Golden Fleece Canon.

*****

2008 - Labyrinth Canon.

*****

2009 - Empire State Building Canon.

*****

2010 - Greco-Roman Union The events of HOO (considering adding the Athena Parthenon to this design)

*****

2011 - The Sun The events of TOA

*****

2012 - Skull and Halo The events of TSATS (likely to actually occur in the same year as TOA and therefore not have its own bead, but I had OCs from this year in need of something for their camp necklace so this is a placeholder design for now).

[watch-out-it-bites]

Cool intro post finally

Hello there! Wlelcome to mine vent blog!! ⚠️

If you see this, you've either been following this blog and know The Horrors or The Wonders, you stumbled across it randomly and have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, or you saw I posted things pertaining to Za.p..io [I Refuse To Say The Name And Will Censor It If Possible. It's Not A Discomfort Thing, It's Just A Hiding Thing], or something else!! Who knows how you came here, I'm interested in all reasons!!

Anywho! Most people call me Bread, but my name is Miette or Woibzy! Bread is preferred, solely because I find it cute.

I am a slice of wonderbread :-)

I like cute stuff! I Collect/View dollstuff, my favorites being Lalaloopsy, Strawberry Shortcake, Polly Pocket, and My Scene! Of course there's more but. Teehee :-)

My favorite words are: Moist, Mellow, Plush, Blip, Yarn, Heart, Bump, and Lamb.

My adjectives ARE UNNECESARY. YOU DO NOT NEED THEM, and WHY DO YOU WANT THEM

My pronouns: He, That, It, Bud [They Is Okay But Not Preferred]

My age: No, Lawl :-))

My faces: :-) :-P :-D :-( >:-( 🙂🍞😡 and more!

I love: DOLLS! Drawing! Making stories! Researching! Having an obscene amount of alt accounts [Over 23 Currently. Lawl.]

I hate: Eating Fish, RABBITS, I forgot, FORGETTING

------ ? : This is a vent blog with little scraps left in the microwave and on the rug for you to only realize you're in the wrong house and I took your food and you. So. Teehee. Maybe.

What's your main: LOOKS AROUND AND RUNS AWAY VERY FASTLY

Would anyone actually ask these questions: ............. ;;-( no but I'll answer them as to raise more ;;-(

My BEST BUDDIES:

@ornithicpalliation (outlandishCriminal) @mimescantscream (Mimesy) And Literally Every follower Here Minus Crimas Because They Are The Number One FIEND On Here ..

Stuff detailing blocking tags .. Under The Cut. Also a tiny warning!

⚠️ But anywho, this blog is a vent blog!! I feel the need to say that yet again, that's actually the main reason I'm making this post! Alongside the fact that there's 10 of you here now! Wow!!

( Sorry for the clunky paragraphs, they will stay. Probably. I don't know! )

Anywho again, if you do plan on following, I suggest blocking a few tags. Aka ONE

#don't let them see this!

That is the main vent tag. It'll usually have gross or overly emotional stuff on it! I have a few other tags that aren't bad but. They're unique. ;;-) { as if i'll detail what any of them are for, lawl. you'll figure it out. maybe. who knows !! }

I get scared very easily from very dumb things! Why would I detail what they are? You'll find out eventually, or you already have!

this does have some zapio stuff. But it's not gonna be detailed or elaborate or anything like that on here. That's for - - -.

;;-)

Teehee. I go bye bye now.

[simplyghosting]

So apparently I have a career readiness/social media project where I have to talk about all my social media accounts and what I post and I’m not sure my professor is going to believe me when I tell them that this is literally the only social media platform I have. 

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

[joshslater]

Dionysus

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was very hesitant when he picked me up at the nightclub. I could feel the disappointment and outright hostility from all the women and a lot of the men as the God walked up to me, started to make out, and then asked if I was up for some fun. That's what you get away with when no one ever says "no" I thought. With his incredibly handsome face, black hair, and athletic build that was probably not a word he was used to hearing. It would be impossible for him to know I was into guys, and coming on so strong could land you in hot water or rather knocked cold on the floor. Turns out he could know, and there was more to him than just utter handsomeness and unparalleled confidence. Way more.

It was back at his place he asked me if I could look like someone else, who would I pick? That's a game I've played many times before, so I instantly knew to answer Marco Albieri, the soccer player. He raised an eyebrow, took a step from me, and asked me why. "I don't know what it is about soccer players, but something about the game makes their bodies stunningly handsome. And Marco is just a step above the rest." He smiled a bright smile, made a dramatic gesture, and I was Marco. Looked exactly like him at least. It took me a moment to even realize what had just happened, but I could see myself in the full-length mirror. Or I couldn't, I should say. I saw Marco Albieri in full Paris Saint-Germain F.C. game kit. Mesmerized I took a step closer to the mirror, and Marco on the other side of the glass stepped closer as well. I looked just like him, my wettest, wankiest dream. I'd come so many times to exactly this fantasy. There was even a sheen of post-game sweat making all the skin glistening in his hallway designer lights.

He approached me from behind, still handsome but now by a much narrower margin. "You ready to fuck?" I didn't even answer but just turned around and kissed him. He wasn't shy in grouping me back. What followed was the longest fuck fest I've ever been part of. We went from room to room. It was like this body had limitless stamina, though it was the body of Marco after all, but an insatiable horny lust as well. Perhaps he had that too. It wasn't until early morning I fell asleep next to him, exhausted.

It was almost noon when I woke up, disoriented by everything. It was like it wasn't until now the craziness and impossibility of last night hit me. I could see Marco Albieri in the mirror at the other side of the bedroom, without shirt, and the most unkempt hair I had ever seen him with. I knew for a fact the secret hairstyling trick was body fluids. I suddenly felt very uneasy and exposed. Vulnerable even. I was here on vacation. How could I leave if I didn't look like my passport? How could I leave this building looking like Marco? There would be fans stopping me instantly. What the fuck am I thinking about? I'm erased from the world. No one I know, no one in my family would recognize me. Could I convince them I'm me and not a millionaire soccer player? Perhaps. But my life would be so complicated.

That's when he lazily strolled into the bedroom, completely naked showing off his chiseled body, one mug in each hand.

"You did this! How the fuck did you do this? You can't leave me like this!" "Morning!"

He handed me one of the mugs. On reflex I took a large sip of coffee only to discover it was red wine. It took me by surprise and I almost sprayed his white sheets with red mist of wine, but instead got some down my lungs and started to cough.

"Is this really the best you can think of?" he said. At first I had no idea what he meant. Then, still coughing, I realized it was my body again. The one I used to fly here, check into the hotel, and go out to nightclubs with.

"I... It's awfully inconvenient if I tried to leave with a different body." "That's it? That's the only reason?"

I felt stupid and unsure what to say. I liked my body, so why was it so hard to defend it? He took a large sip from his coffee mug of wine and climbed into bed next to me, but standing on his knees looking down on me.

"When's your flight back?" "Eh, in... On Sunday." "Plenty of time to let loose. How about going to the beach like this?"

This time I noticed the shift. The bed sagged down a bit under the extra load and I didn't even have to look in the mirror to see the freakish muscles. Two huge chest muscles peeked into my field of vision, and moving my arm I could see it was thicker than what my legs used to be.

I felt light-headed as we walked down to the beach. Probably the wine. He was subtle and classy, black Nike sneakers, black boardshorts, and a white T-shirt. I was anything but subtle. Probably twice his mass, annoying flip flops that flipped and flopped every step, white compression shorts that looked blindingly bright against my deep tan, a purple thong that peeked up over the rim of the shorts by the hips, visible because the neon yellow tank top was cropped above the belly button to show off the abs. The stringer waved for every step as my obscene pecs push out the yellow fabric like a hanging flag. It touched my body in surprisingly few places. Top of the traps and the nipples more or less.

After spending a few hours getting everyone passing by on the beach to turn their heads to observe the freak show he asked me to play floatation device for him. We went out in the water and did our best to have sex just outside where the waves broke. I think anyone who paid close attention could tell what we did, but no one could be really sure. He didn't appear to care.

"I made you something," he whispered. "What?" "A surfer," he said and begun walking towards the beach. As I wiped my long hair out of my face I understood he changed me again. No more shaved head, no more enormous meat slab. I still had a six-pack, I was still 6'-something, and my skin was deeply tanned, but that's about where the similarities ended. "Why?" I asked as I lied down on the beach towel next to his. "First dive bar opens soon, and I thought this would play better to the crowd." I was feeling woozy. "We want to play to the crowd?" He reached over and squeezed the pec closest to him. "Well, make them jealous at least."

There was something nagging at the edge of my thoughts. Some question I felt I needed to ask. I just couldn't quite put it into coherent thought.

"Did you drug me?" He made a high-pitched "Mmmm" sound. "Just a bit. To fit with the rest. Just go with it."

I shut my eyes, relaxed, and let his hand stroke me. I don't know how long we lied like that. Not too long, because the sun hadn't moved that much, but I sure did dozed off.

"Come on!" he said, like it was asking me to hurry up for the third time. A bit confused I got up from the beach towel. I wore a pair of eye-popping turquoise board shorts with black pattern and trim. Neon turquoise, if such a color was a thing. I knew it had a real trade name, but somehow it kept slipping my mind. They had a good fit, not loose, not tight, but rode low on my lithe body. Fuzzy pubes peeked out over the waistband, like a little forest edge where the treasure trail from the belly button ended. I looked around for a shirt or something to put on, but there was nothing except for a pair of flip-flops. These didn't look as cheap and fit much better than the previous pair though.

"Is that it?" I asked incredulously. "What more do you need?" he said, and looked at me like he wanted me for dinner. "Come!"

The bar wasn't far away and already busy when we arrived. He almost danced in, basically dragging me in, holding my hand. I was woozy from whatever I was drugged with, but in a way that made everything look amazing to me. In any direction I looked I was delighted by what I saw, no matter how mundane. The bar was not even half full and everyone looked as relaxed as you would expect from a bar half a block from the beach, though no one else was bare-chested. The decor was a random mix of styles, as expected by a dive bar. Tables for two or four were lined up in front of the bar at the back of the room. From a backroom somewhere behind it pumped music. I looked at my watch to see if it was already dance time, but I was only wearing a red nylon cord as a bracelet.

"You must be thirsty after a day in the sun," he said and handed me an Aperol Spritz. I could have sworn he hadn't left me for the bar, but then I didn't really trust my senses. We took a table for four and sat next to each other, facing the rest of the room. "So, tell me about your day," he continued, as if he hadn't been there for all of it.

For whatever reason I found it hard to figure out where to start, like it was all jumbled together despite nothing of consequence had happened. I began to describe how I had woken up in bed and how he surprised me with breakfast. How I had mistaken the red wine for coffee. I could feel his hand moving down my abs and into my board shorts. As he pulled out my erect cock from the shorts my immediate thought was of surprise. I hadn't realized I was hard. I continued to talk about how we went to the beach, while he was jerking me off with one hand under the table. It then hit me that I had no idea what my dick looked like, if it was big or small. I had never seen it. He had transformed me somehow into this surfer. How could I have forgotten something so monumental.

At that point I shot my load under the table. Four or five large pumps. I was suddenly aware again that there were people around us, and looking around tried to figure out if any of them could see I had my dick out. At the same time I was still feeling high or whatever it was. "I'll get a refill," he said, stood up and headed for the bar. I decided to put my dick back into the shorts.

"Hey, dude. Is he like your boyfriend?" someone standing next to me asked. How long had he been there? He was handsome, not quite as tall as I was now, but more muscled. The tight billabong shirt didn't hide much. "Him? No. We just..." I was trying to think of a good word. I wasn't sure what he was, or what was happening at all really. "Wanna check out the dance floor?" "Yeah... Yeah, I would."

I followed him towards the bar, and away to the side into the dance room. It was far from packed, but we were not alone at least. Immediately I regretted following him there, even before he started moving to the music. Once he did I knew I would look silly. I started to mimic his moves best I could. He smiled a crooked smile, though not an unkind one, when he saw what I was doing. He leaned forward and barely audible over the music asked "Are you up for a second round?"

"What do you mean?" I asked back. "I saw what that other dude did to you. I live nearby, if you want to try something that isn't over in minutes."

In the door opening I see him standing with two large drinks in his hands. He looks emotionless, which in itself was a scary contrast to how he looked before. He then drinks one of the drinks in one go, then immediately empties the other one as well. No sooner has he turned away with two empty glasses when I feel a desperate need to take a piss. He's fucking with me.

"Don't go anywhere," I say and dash towards to men's room.

It's empty. I go to the lone urinal and yank my dick out of the white thong. I'm confused, but happy I got there in time to relieve myself. Why am I wearing only a white thong to a bar? As the piss is streaming for longer than I can ever recall I look down my bare smooth legs and find a pair of eye-catching red hightops. When I'm finally done I have a look at myself in the mirror. Cute, young Latino boy with a red baseball cap on his unkempt hair, and a grey shirt. The shirt in a way makes the thong stand out even more and look intentionally inappropriate. Perfect!

I return to the dance floor and find the guy waiting. "There you are. Let's go!" he says, almost demanding. He doesn't say anything on the way to his apartment two blocks away. I keep looking his way, and it feels like my dick is growing bigger every time I look at those muscled arms. His pace is brisk without being conspicuous, he clearly wants us to get to his place as quickly as possible without being seen. In through an unlocked entrance, up two flights of stairs, and in through his apartment door.

As soon as he whisked me in and closed the door behind us he grabs me, shoves me into the wall next to us, and forcefully kisses me on my mouth. "You fucking whore! I'm so fucking horny you better know what you're doing."

He snores loudly again. I had tried to ignore it to spend a few more hours in the bed, but it's getting pointless to try to sleep any more. I carefully get up and get dressed. No need for a shower, now that everything dried. I make a final check I got everything with me that I brought in. There is that nagging feeling that I'm missing something. Well, whatever it was it can't be important. Quietly I exit his apartment and make my way out of the building. I feel restless being so quiet and calm, like it is unnatural for me to be that way. I basically explode in emotions as I exit the building and literally dance down the last few steps.

I try to think what to do next. My mind is like a spinning punch bowl of thoughts and I'm only able to fish out simple verbs. Party! Drink! Dance! Fuck! The sun is barely up, but perhaps I can find some nightclub still open.

[navybrat817]

Summertime Treats - Pancakes

Pairing: Charles Blackwood x Female Reader Word Count: Over 880 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), housewife kink, slight praise kink, Charles Blackwood (he's a warning) A/N: Another day, another Summertime Treat! Charles and pancakes just go so well together. I hope you lovelies enjoy!

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog​ for new fics and notifications. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly.

I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! Please comment or reblog if you desire!

You hummed happily as you finished setting the table, double checking the silverware and straightening the coffee mug. You smoothed out the small wrinkle in your dress with a smile. Everything looked perfect. It was what Charles deserved. 

Your circle of friends always made you feel out of step, especially when you admitted that you enjoyed the idea of being a housewife. You tried to explain that you liked the idea of taking care of the man you loved, like he would take care of you, but they didn't listen. Because what strong, independent woman could possibly get off on acting like that?

Well… you could. And you could only describe meeting Charles as fate. You were charmed from the start when you met him at a party. When he complimented your dish, you thought you melt on the spot.

"Susie Homemaker was born in the wrong decade," one of your friends sneered.

Charles merely smiled at you. "I think she's perfect."

The rest was history. 

"Good morning," he smiled as he walked into the room moments later, seeing everything set at the head of the table. "You look even happier than usual."

"It's a special day," you smiled back, pulling out his chair for him to sit.

"And what makes today so special?" he asked, knowing exactly why.

"It's our anniversary," you answered, placing the napkin in his lap.

"I could never forget," he assured you, taking your hand and kissing it. You never sat down until he had his first bite. "And I plan to spoil you all day."

"Only if I can spoil you in return."

Truthfully, you loved to serve Charles. You felt satisfaction when he came home after a long day, greeted you with a soft kiss and told you how beautiful you looked. Every meal was met with praise. But his absolute favorite? His weakness?

Pancakes.

"I do have to ask. What have you done to these?" 

Your stomach dropped as he cut into the small stack. "I… tried something a bit different today," you told him nervously. "They're cake batter pancakes. I thought they'd be a nice treat."

You put your hands behind your back as he brought a piece to his mouth. Suddenly the sprinkles and icing looked silly. What if he hated them? You'd make him a fresh batch of your original recipe, just the way he liked them.

You were about to apologize when his head fell back, an obscene moan escaping as he closed his eyes. "Darling, these are… exquisite."

"You… you like them?" you asked softly, visibly relaxing. 

"Like them?" he repeated as he opened his eyes, digging in for another bite. "I love them. I'm half tempted to punish you for hiding these from me."

Your thighs clenched at the thought. His punishments always lead to pleasure. "I'll be sure to make them again."

"You better," he said with his mouth full before he noticed there was no plate in your normal spot. "Are you not hungry?"

"I am, Charles," you answered, your nerves gone now that you knew he was happy. "But… I was hoping you'd feed me."

He stopped in mid-bite, smirking as he pushed his chair back. "Oh, darling. You worked so hard to make breakfast special for me. You must be starving."

“I waited patiently all morning,” you said as you took your usual spot in front of him, gently pulling the napkin away. "Let me, please," you offered as you sank to your knees.

He exhaled as you unbuckled his belt and pants. "You make me feel like a king."

“And a king deserves to be worshipped by his queen.”

His fingers brushed along your cheek, the touch featherlight as his eyes darkened with lust. “So lucky to have you,” he whispered, your heart racing in your chest. You were the lucky one. 

It didn’t take you long to get his cock out, stroking it just how he liked it. Serving on your knees didn’t make you powerless. You had all the power in your hand… and your mouth and cunt. “Be as gentle or rough as you want,” you urged as you licked the head, tasting his pre-cum before he stopped you. 

“Wait,” he said, gently tilting your chin up. He brought a forkful to your mouth, watching as you took the bite of the treat you put so much love into. He smirked again when you swallowed, licking the icing from your lips like you would his come. “There you go. Now open wide. Let me see those pretty lips around me while I enjoy my breakfast.”

You savored the way your lips stretched around his thick length, letting it rest for a moment on your tongue as you took him in. Swirling your tongue, you teased him as he took another bite of his breakfast. He could use you, wreck you, and you’d beg for more. You wanted to choke on him until you couldn’t speak.

"My darling, you always look so beautiful with my cock stuffed down your throat,” he groaned, making your pussy throb with need. But you would be patient and wait your turn. "This will be our best anniversary yet."

And just like his good girl… you would always keep his belly full and his balls empty. 

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing. 

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna. 

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day. 

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest. 

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse. 

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need. 

And that shout is heard. 

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties. 

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.” 

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound. 

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone. 

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night. 

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different. 

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak. 

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing. 

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?” 

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest. 

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad. 

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair. 

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow.  A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day. 

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay. 

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep. 

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm. 

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him. 

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall. 

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again. 

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.” 

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car. 

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.  

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck. 

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes. 

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to. 

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs. 

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him. 

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape. 

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live. 

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground. 

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.” 

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen. 

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks. 

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost. 

“No,” he answers. 

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs. 

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom. 

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open. 

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight. 

It’s Eddie. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.” 

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.” 

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck. 

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time. 

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.” 

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone. 

And then Buck wakes up.

[moralesispunk]

Din Djarin NSFW Alphabet

This is the first of my NSFW/SFW Alphabet series! Content will be under continue reading as NSFW content (this is from comments by @ginger-swag-rapunzel and @academiacrypt)

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

The fact that there was so much pining and yearning after one another before you and Din do have sex, aftercare is something that is in his second nature. He has never been big on it before - him and any previous partners just taking care of themselves - but he will care about you. 

He will like to clean you up with his mouth and if its after a rough quickie he will tell you to keep your eyes closed for a moment longer to give you a soft kiss. If its after a time where you are in no rush, he will hold you close to his chest and love the feeling of you falling asleep in his arms after, placing gentle kisses to your head.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part on themselves / on their partner)

He never really thought of his favourite part of his body but if he had to answer he would probably say his arms or his hands. They make his job easy. Also, when his hands are on your body his size kink really comes into play when he notices just how small you look underneath his hands as they take over the whole length of your side.

His favourite part of you, if he really had to choose, would be your thighs. He loves spending hours between them, gripping them tight and moving to bite and suck on them. He loves letting his hand rest on them when you are outside of the Crest or the way they hang over his own when you sit on his lap in the Crest. In a close second are your hands. They are small and soft and gentle and no one has ever held him as carefully as you do with your hands.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum - I am a disgusting person)

It is no secret that this man has a breeding kink (whether that is actually wanting you to have his warriors or just the thought of it) so cum-play will be something he is in to. He will like to watch it come out of you before pushing it back inside and when he is feeling especially dirty (after the two of you have a quickie outside the cantina) he will tell you to stay like that for the rest of the day.

D = Dirty Secret (What do they secretly want)

He never really thought he had any particular dirty secrets until he realised two fantasies that he wants to try with you. The first is hunter/prey and he realised this that time he was teaching you how to fight and you looked to perfect trapped under his arms. The second is pretending you are inexperienced and he has to show you what to do and this is relating to that size kink we spoke about a moment before.

He will be quite nervous to bring these up to you and he will most likely mumble it to you while he babbles away during sex. When you bring it up after he will shy away from it a little but he if you’re comfortable with it then it’s definitely something he will think about making a move on.

E = Experience (Do they know what they are doing?)

He has experience in the sense that in his younger years he had quickies when the need came but he is not experienced with the more intimate side. He wants to spend hours between your legs learning what works for you and learning how your body reacts to his touch. With Din its about something new for him - intimacy - and it will be something new for you too. 

F = Favourite Position (Self explanatory)

Din will love taking you from behind, especially doggy. It does make it easier because you do not have to struggle with keeping your eyes closed the whole time but he loves watching himself push into you while he grips tightly at your thighs. He also loves the obscene moans that leave your mouth as he does so.

When he wants to see you fall apart he will have you underneath him as he sits back on his heels, your legs bent to your chest. Your eyes will be closed but he will love to watch the way your eyebrows furrow the closer you get before your mouth hangs open when you finally reach your peak.

Once he shows his face to you he will still love this but will enjoy missionary, resting his forehead against yours so he can look deep in your eyes. The first time he can do this there will be tears in his eyes from you looking into one another’s eyes for the first time.

G = Goofy (Are they serious during sex or goofy?)

All in all, Din will be serious. He can be sarcastic, like he is most of the time and sometimes funny things happen during sex - bumping heads or funny noises - but Din will quickly move on for that, stopping your giggle with a moans when he thrusts that wee bit deeper.

H = Hair (Are they well groomed?)

It wasn’t really something he thought much of until he met you. He didn’t know why he was taking time to comb his hair a little more or trim in the shower (he is hidden under layers of armour) but he is thankful for it the first time you have sex. There is hair there and it is definitely on the natural side but its tidy.

He doesn’t mind what you are like as look as you’re happy.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment?)

Very. Maybe not in a way you think intimacy shows itself. Its not all roses on bed sheets and candles but its the closeness. He physically cannot hold you any closer to his body and at some points you’re not even sure where you end and he begins. Din will also admit most of his feelings in this moment when his mind is cloudy with thoughts of only you. He will kiss into your skin how much he loves and cares for you and what lengths he would go to to protect you from the world.

J = Jack Off (Do they masturbate?)

Din has needs, so yes. Not as much now you are staying on the Crest with him and he would much rather have your hand or mouth around him than his hand. When the need hits and you’re not there then yes, he will but he will be thinking about you and how pretty you would look on your knees in front of him in the refresher right now.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Din has a lot and they come into play most of the time (if you’re okay with it). Size kink and innocence - because you look so small and sweet underneath him. Cum play - because the thought of you carrying his child sends him absolutely feral. Hunter/prey - because of what I said earlier he would love to know your heart is racing as he follows you through a forest. He is also a bit of an exhibitionist - making you cum under the table in the cantina as he tells you to be quiet.

L = Location (Favourite place to do it)

Anywhere to be honest. You and Din have had sex everywhere on the Crest. In the pilots seat. In the bunk. Against the wall of the Crest when you first walk in before the door has even shut completely. The cantina. A back alley. Anywhere and everywhere.

M = Motivation (What turns them on or gets them going?)

You. You doing anything. He loves watching you as you play with the Kid, thinking about how great a mother to his children you would be. He loves watching you walk around the Crest with short shorts so he can see your thighs and the marks he has left all over them. When you are out of the Crest he loves how close you stay to his side as you walk through the busy streets and how the mark he intentionally left on a visible part of your neck has stopped anyone from making any rude comments to you. Any time he looks at you, thoughts of what he wants to do to you are there in his mind.

N = No (Something they will not do. Turn offs.)

Din will be up for most things but he wont want to hurt you. He does enjoy biting or sucking on your skin but anything that will cause actual pain is a no go. He is also not a massive fan of being tied up. He will try it if you ask but will find it almost too frustrating.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills, etc.)

Din is a giver. He loves to watch you squirm under him as he coaxes another orgasm from you while he holds your thighs open with his shoulders and your body down with an arm slung over your tummy. He will hold your hand while rubbing circles on your side, telling you how good you are being for him.

But he also loves watching you on your knees for him, especially when he gets to hear you gag against his cock with tears pulling at the corner of your eyes. He will definitely be sarcastic as shit and maybe even a little patronising but he will hold your face gently in his hand as he does so.

P = Pace (Are they fast or rough? Or slow and sensual?)

It depends on the situation. Din can do both and he does them well. When he needs to take his frustrations out it will be fast and rough (but he wont hurt you). When he wants to show how much he loves you but can’t find the words it will be slow and loving.

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than regular sex)

When he needs to but there isn’t a lot of time then quickies are the answer but he would rather spend hours between your legs first if he had the chance. He will never leave you unsatisfied UNLESS he is teasing you and will make sure to make up for it by making you cum more times than you can count when you’re back on the Crest.

R = Risk (Are they open to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He is open to experiment and loves how much you trust him. He wants to look into those kinks he has thought about with you - Hunter/prey, choking, cockwarming, etc. and you will try them all but he doesn't want to do anything that would hurt you too much. Choking, light biting, sucking he is all for but nothing further than that.

Unless we are talking about a dark! Mando AU and he will be open to even more risk...

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

This depends on the situation. A post-bounty stress relief will be short but rough. Not unsatisfyingly short but not as long as the hours he can go when you are both flying in hyperspace. 

He can go around 2 rounds in a row but he can drag them out till you don't know anything other than him and forget your own name.

T = Toys (Do they own or use toys on themselves or partners?)

He had heard of them being used but never before tried them himself. At first, he isn't sure about them when you bring them up as he would much rather watch you fall apart under his own touch. However, when you let him watch you use a toy on yourself his interest will be peaked. When he does use them on you though expect his mouth and fingers to be involved too.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

Din would tease you 24 hours of the day 7 days a week if he could. Sometimes, when he comes back from a bounty and just wants a release, there won't be any teasing because he can't control himself. But I'm hyperspace with nothing else to do? He will have you on edge for hours. He does not like to be teased though. If you tease him even a little expect to be flipped over and ruined.

V = Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Din isn't loud but he is constant. He will moan quietly in your ear just for you to hear but he will babble non-stop, telling you how good you are being for him and that this is for walking around the Crest all day in nothing but your tiny shorts and shirts and he just wants to make you feel good. While he isn't that loud he wants you to be. He will ask you to use your words and will want to hear every moan and groan to leave your mouth. When he first hears you moan Din rather than Mando prepare for him to absolutely lose it.

W = Wildcard (Random headcannon for your character)

The first time Din tells you he wants you to be his riddur will be during sex. He will be looking down at you and see you so perfect laid out below him and he knows he never wants to live a life without you. The words fall out his mouth before he can even stop them and it will be a while before he brings it up properly again.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Listen, we all know Din is packing and he knows it. A good 8/9 inches and thick as well. When you are on your knees and he can see you struggling to take him that will get him going. Expect to hear him smugly ask if you're okay and tell you you're doing so good for him.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high. Din has to be away for days at a time for bounties so when he is back to the safety of the Crest he wants nothing other than your two bodies to be tangled together. He isn’t as young as he used to be so while he can’t go as many rounds he can make them last long enough to make sure both your needs are satisfied and then some.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Din is not big on the sleeping thing. He has naps to keep him going but rarely a full nights sleep. After sex however, with you asleep in his arms he wont be long behind you and he will have a longer and deeper sleep than he has ever had before.

//

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179

[gumnut-logic]

It was late.

It had been a very long day.

A very, very long day.

Scott had been held back at the danger zone by bureaucratic nonsense and a CEO throwing a fit over a couple of Thunderbirds parking in his carpark and the resultant damage to a nearby building.

The insensitivity and self-involvement had John reining Scott in over comms. It wasn’t like he was going to hit the guy, really, no matter how satisfying it might have been. But it had been a gruelling and messy rescue digging people out of a collapsed shopping mall.

He and his brothers had been digging for hours.

Eventually he had to call it and had sent Thunderbird Two back to base.

He had intended to follow shortly after, but…obstacles.

It was just past three in the morning when One streaked into a hover above Tracy Island. The shift to vertical flight was smooth and mostly subconscious. Scott felt his ‘bird in his bones.

As he lowered her through the gap left by the pool, a dim light from the lounge told him he wasn’t the only one awake.

He had his suspicions who it might be and that only had him working through post-flight faster.

It could be Grandma, but chances were it was Virgil waiting for him to come home.

He didn’t always do this. Only after the difficult ones.

And this one had been far from easy.

Scott hurried up to the locker room and, shucking his uniform, washed the sweat and grime from his skin. It felt good to be clean, an extra step further away from the tragedy they had left behind.

He didn’t bother getting dressed other than to throw on some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. he would check on his brother, possibly grab a quick bite of food and a drink, and then hit the sack.

The house was quiet as he made his way to the lounge. No doubt Grandma and Virgil combined were a force that saw the younger Tracys safe in bed. Virgil likely then turned on his partner in crime and bundled her off as well.

He was determined like that.

Sure enough, a quiet step into the lounge and he found his brother in their father’s chair.

Asleep.

Dark curls let loose from their product by a long-ago shower were a hastily combed mess on his forehead as Dad’s chair held Scott’s brother as if it were its owner. The worn upholstery cradling worn out rescue operative ever so gently.

Scott’s bare feet made little sound as he stepped across the hardwood floor. It was a warm night. The open windows let in a soft breeze off the Pacific laced with the honey scent of flowering pōhutukawa trees.

Virgil muttered and shifted in his sleep.

The sound drew Scott’s attention back to his brother. The desk lamp was the only source of light in the room beyond the starlight far above. The moon had already set and outside was almost as dark as it got, the ocean murmuring in the distance.

There was paper on the desk.

Scott didn’t use much in the way of paper himself. Most of his work was digital, often holographic and as ecologically sound as he could get it.

Virgil, however, did keep a stash of different surfaces to art on in his studio. Paper was one of them. Obviously, some had made it out tonight.

Pencil sketches covered the white sheets. Eyes, half drawn faces. Gordon popped up in one corner, a familiar smile on his face. Thunderbird One had her grapple out and was lifting something half-drawn.

He found his own face staring out of the paper. His drawn self was obviously angry and glaring at a faceless head.

Scott arched an eyebrow at the obscenity scratched into the cartridge under the non-person creature.

Virgil had obviously not been happy that Scott had been held up.

There were other words on the page amongst the drawings. Virgil doodling and possibly venting in the process. Even Scott could see the emotion drawn in graphite.

He sighed.

As if agreeing, Virgil snorted and tried to turn over in the chair, a manoeuvre that wasn’t recommended.

Scott caught his brother under his arms as he tried to slide off the leather upholstery.

He earned a grunt for his efforts. Bleary brown eyes opened and stared up at him. “Sc-t?”

“Hey.” A soft smile. “You planning on camping out tonight?”

Another grunt and his brother tried to right himself in the chair. “You took too long. Why didn’t you sic John on ‘em?”

“I did. But not until tomorrow. John needs his sleep as much as you do.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. Tol’ him.” Virgil’s eyes drifted closed again and he began to sink back into the chair.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to bed, little brother.” Scott gripped Virgil a little tighter and pulled him up and out of the chair.

Various limbs pinwheeled a little and Scott ended up with his arms full of dopey brother, but he got the man on to his feet.

Virgil grumbled into his t-shirt and Scott let off a snort of a laugh. His biggest brother was hopeless when his sleep was disturbed. It was an ongoing source of prankdom – at the risk of the perpetrator’s life.

Hell, Gordon had managed to draw in a second pair of eyebrows on Virgil’s forehead once – while the man was supposedly awake and nursing his coffee.

The double-eyebrowed death monster that had resulted once enough coffee had been ingested was of legendary proportions. Grandma had literally roasted Gordon alive and a ban on markers on anyone’s faces had been instituted for all eternity.

Gordon was a multitalented artist, however, and simply switched mediums.

The honey had Scott blowing a circuit.

But dopey Virgil was a familiar and smile-inducing feature of the Tracy household.

Scott found himself grinning.

“Shuddup.”

Well, at least Virgil had managed a couple of neurons worth of thought.

Scott’s smile only got wider.

Virgil groaned and pushed his brother away and stumbled a little. “’M gonna bed.”

“You do that.” Scott had to stick out a hand and steady him as he wobbled into the side of the desk. “Need a hand?”

That triggered some incoherent grumbling that threatened bear territory. Scott couldn’t help himself and just grinned more as Virgil teetered away in the direction of the elevator.

The fact Scott had to save him from falling into the sunken lounge was probably a sign that the answer to his question was a definite ‘yes’.

A hand on his brother’s elbow prompted more grumbling, but the elbow wasn’t yanked away and by the time they made it into the elevator, Virgil had pretty much faceplanted himself into Scott’s shoulder.

The grin turned into a fond smile as he hit the button for the residential levels.

“You neeb togoto bed too.” It was muffled by the sleeve of Scott’s t-shirt.

“That’s the plan.”

“You bedda.”

Scott wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Or what?”

More incoherent grumbling.

Scott pulled him in a little tighter as the elevator doors opened.

It was like leading a zombie down the corridor, though Scott could easily empathise. He was looking forward to his own pillow as soon as he saw Virgil to his.

A yawn escaped.

His brother looked up as if the medic had bypassed his brain and booted in safe mode. “You need sleep. Go to bed.”

He gestured towards door to Virgil’s rooms. “After you.”

Virgil frowned. “You first.”

Scott rolled his eyes and, reaching around his brother, activated the door and, with a little manoeuvring, manhandled Virgil into his rooms.

“Hey!”

His hand returned to his brother’s elbow and he marched him into his bedroom, amid protests.

“You need to look after yourself.” Virgil finger was jabbed into Scott’s breastbone.

Was it possible for a human to have one half of his brain awake and the other asleep at the same time? Apparently, some birds could do that. Gordon had gone into great detail that year they spotted some migratory waders landing on their beaches mid-transit.

In any case, Virgil obviously wasn’t all there as Scott backed him up against the end of his bed and pulled back the covers. Virgil continued to nag Scott to bed with varying levels of coherence. Smiling, Scott gave his rambling brother a gentle nudge and their gentle giant went Gulliver, flat on his back.

“Scott?!”

The eldest yanked up the covers and muffled the outraged mutterings. “Yes, Virgil?”

But his protests began to fade away and, as Scott pulled down the covers a little and tucked them in, he realised Virgil’s eyes were already drooping again.

Dopey indeed.

He brushed curls off his brother’s forehead. “Sleep, Virg.”

“Mmm, Sco’, go bed.”

Softly. “I will.”

“Mmmhm.”

Scott couldn’t help but smile a little more as Virgil drifted off.

A final touch to his brother’s hair and Scott straightened, his body creaking enough to remind him, that yes, he needed his bed as well.

He slipped quietly out of Virgil’s room and secured the door. A glance down the corridor, a thought, and he walked quietly down to check on Gordon.

The last he had seen of his fish brother had involved sad eyes and concrete dust. A quiet step into his rooms and he found Gordon as he had suspected he would.

The aquanaut was tangled in his sheets and throttling his pillow.

There was a frown on his face.

Much practised manoeuvring and he managed to straighten the Fish out and untangle him from his bedclothes.

Half asleep protests were halted by a plushie squid that awake Gordon would claim to his death never left the mantle above his bed.

Scott knew better.

His little brother quietened, falling into a deeper sleep.

After that, Scott couldn’t help but check in on Alan. It was probably a fortunate thing, because opening the door found Alan asleep in front of it.

The littlest Tracy had a history of wandering in his sleep. Scott had it checked out and it was directly related to early childhood trauma. Which one was a game of pick one.

It was managed, but occasionally it flared up. One of the most common symptoms was climbing out of bed and sleeping on the floor. Sometimes, the piece of floor chosen was a little inconvenient.

Scott was just happy the piece chosen wasn’t a balcony. Five and now Eos had been tracking Alan while he slept for years and issued alerts if he should wander too far.

Scott slipped into the room sideways and, with cracking knees, lifted his little brother off the floor.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Alan shared his sleep type with Virgil and slept like the dead. So, it was easy to move him over to his specially plush rug and snuggle him up with a pillow and quilt from his bed.

Alan muttered something about Virgil pulling him up, possibly something to do with the day’s rescue.

Scott reached out and touched Alan’s cheek.

His little brother mumbled his name and leant into his hand.

Scott blinked. The emotion that suddenly gripped him was just a sign of how tired he was.

Letting go, he pushed to his feet and slipped from the room. In the corridor, he closed his eyes and leant back against the wall for a moment.

One to go.

He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “Eos? You there?”

“Where else would I be?” Despite the smart-ass remark, her voice was quiet. Something she had learnt the hard way.

He ignored the comment. “John’s status?”

“John is currently in REM sleep. No signs of nightmare. Pulse regular, respiration as to be expected, body temperature 36.7 degrees Celsius. John is well, Commander.”

Scott let out a breath. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You’re welcome. Kayo and Mrs Tracy are asleep in their rooms, as is Hiram. Which is a concern, if I may say so, because he left Max on the ceiling.”

A blink. “Again?”

“It would appear so.”

Scott groaned. “Keep him out of the hangars this time.”

“I will try. But you know how he is.”

A grunt and Scott pushed himself off the wall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good. Virgil was adamant you do exactly that.”

A frown. “Or what?”

“He said ‘or I’ll knock his ass out and drag him there myself’. His tone seemed humorous, however, John said it was a half-truth.” A pause. “Which half, I’m not sure.”

Another grunt. “Both halves, most likely.” To stave off a round of questioning at that, Scott quickly followed up with, “Tracy Island out.”

The house fell quiet after that and he let his shoulders drop, rolling his neck as he made his way to his own quarters. In his rooms lay freedom. A moment where he could just be himself, relax and sleep.

Sleep.

The door clicked shut and exhaustion caught up with him. It was a matter of steps to his bedroom, a modicum of the last of his energy to shove the covers aside, and he let himself fall face first into his pillow.

His body melted into the mattress.

It had been a shitty rescue, but his family was all home, safe, uninjured and resting.

He could let go.

So he did.

-o-o-o-

[queenbeean]

forbidden / dark!nomad!steve rogers

part three

warnings: this is a dark fic, MINORS DON’T INTERACT; dubcon, prostitution, heavy smut, voyeurism, exhibitionism and more stuff i’ll come back and add

author’s note: this is not edited, if you pls would tell me what you think about it, if people are liking it or if i should stop

fun fact: it took me three more days than i planned to write this part and i’m sorry if it sucks

pairing: dark!nomad!steve rogers x f!reader

taglist: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork ; let me know if anyone wants to be added

Steve grunted in annoyance. He couldn’t quite get you out of his mind. He tried convincing himself that it was only the knowledge that he was taking your virginity. That was it. That had to be it. He let you go get some rest after he and Bucky explored your sensitive spots. He had never been harder than at that point, with your cunt and your sweet nectar and your intoxicating scent so close to him. He had always prided himself in being a patient man. Even after so many fall outs and events that led him to where he was right now, he never experienced something quite like this. Wanting to just get Bucky out of there, spread you on the table like you were his last meal and fuck you until he tired.

Last night he had to settle for showering by himself like he always did although the thought of you on your knees while he washed your hair...

“No.” He hit his table with his fist. Pushing the button on the intercom, he all but growled. “Get Lauren in here. Now.”

“Boss, do you mean Lorraine?” Roman wondered.

“Yeah, whatever. I want her here in two minutes.”

Steve heard Roman swallowed hard. “Uh, yes, Boss, I’ll bring her right away.”

The room was silent again. Only his thoughts running wild with thoughts of you. The way you were so willingly obedient. He had loved every bit of skin he got to touch the night before. The way you were so sensitive in between your soft tits. The way your toes curled whenever he ran his calloused fingers from your belly button to where your clit was nestled, the sides of your outer lips...

“Sir, you requested me?”

Steve looked in front of him, to the door where Lorraine was sporting a mischievous smile. He smirked. He knew Lorraine would always be up for a good fucking session no matter what time of the day it was. She was so thirsty for him but would always try to stay for more. What else could he offer her, he didn’t know. “Close the door and come here.” He got up from the chair and unbuttoned his shirt and pants, then proceeding to take them off, leaving him in the nude. He saw Lorraine taking her gown off and dropping it on the floor. He couldn’t help but compare her body to yours. But he mentally shook his head.

“On the table. Now.” Steve growled and took a condom from his desk drawer. Once he put it on, he walked up to Lorraine and made her lay on the table. “You are always so wet for me.” He marveled at her glistening lips and gushing hole. “Open wide.” Lorraine spread her legs wider and used her fingers to spread her lips.

Steve groaned at the sight and quickly pushed his impressive length in. Both him and Lorraine moaned out loud. “Sir, y-you are so b-big.” The lady in front of him gasped but he was too distracted by the way his cock struggled to penetrate her hole. He could only pray you’d be able to take him.

“How many times have I fucked you and you are still this tight.” Steve grunted and continued his assault on her pussy. He pulled her her closer by her thighs and lifted her up slightly. Lorraine moaned louder and tried to grip his hands, the new angle had his tip reaching that spot deep inside.

“S-sir, p-please.” She shut her eyes and squirmed, her orgasm was coming fast and Steve knew this. He pulled out of her and helped her up. Without much of a word, he took her arm and brought her to the side of his desk. She tried to stand in front of him, chest to chest but Steve wanted to picture your face instead. Besides, he didn’t want to give Lorraine false hope or hope for that matter.

“Leg up.” Steve tapped her left leg and she immediately complied. He used one hand to spread her ass cheeks and the other to push his cock in. The squelching sounds were obscene along with the slapping of skin.

“I’m s-so close, Sir.”

“I know, come on, cum.” Steve grunted as he felt as her walls squeezed him hard. He was so close but he needed something else. With one arm, he hooked her leg on his arm and brought his free hand to rub harsh circles on her clit. The amount of pleasure from that along with her orgasm had her squirting all over. Steve chased his orgasm as the squeezing got more intense but what made him cum hard was the sound of the door opening and innocent eyes widening as they looked at him.

You gasped at the scene in front of you. The Boss has orgasmed once with you but were you able to make him cum like she did? Would he grip your hips as hard and rut into you as deep and hard as he was with her? Adverting your eyes, Roman, who had brought you in, gave you a little push before leaving you inside with the sex-smelling couple.

“Y/N?” Steve heaved as he pulled out of the blonde. “Get upstairs. Wait for me.” Your eyes followed his gesture and you noticed for the first time the stairs that wrapped around the wall to your right. “You can leave now, Lorraine.” You heard the Boss say.

“Oh, yes, Sir.” Her voice sounded disappointed and you caught a glimpse of her. She looked sad as she put on her gown back but when she caught your eye, her lips turned into a smirk. “Good luck doing what I did.” You heard her whisper to you and unknowingly to you, so did Steve.

You continued up, getting more nervous than you already were. Part of you had been excited about the Boss taking your virginity. He was handsome and big everywhere and it was foolish of you to think that way of him. He had a reputation and the only way he paid attention to you was because of your virginity. You couldn’t afford to think he was different with you for something besides that.

But now, after seeing how hard he had cum thanks to Lorraine, you were sure you were going to be a disappointment to him, probably to his business too. And you didn’t know what could be of you if you didn’t please him enough. He might sell you or offer you to the lower class which in this town was known to not have enough to afford so the women sent there were used more often and with less precautions. It had been really good luck that Marina found this place for both of you.

Your thoughts stopped when you reached the second floor and opened the door. Your eyes widened as you took in the dark room. A single bed in the middle, covered with dark colored sheets. Ropes were tied to the four posts. The wall to the right of the entrance was all window. The opposite one and the one opposite the door along with the ceiling were all mirror. On the last wall, your heart started beating faster. All kinds of contraptions, toys, lubes, and whatnot were on there.

Walking to the window, you tried to settle down your heartbeat. You needed this so you needed to stay calm and do whatever he asked of you. He was the key to your survival and you were going to do everything in your power to make your way here.

With that new mindset, you exhaled and waited patiently for the Boss. Should you be worried that he’s taking a long time to get here? You were sure you were in the right place because it was the only door up here.

As you decided to go check again, the door opened and the Boss walked in, freshly showered and only wearing a towel. Water droplets were falling off his locks and into his broad chest while the ones on his abdomen trailed down and disappeared when they touched the low-hung towel. You swallowed hard again.

“I hope you were well rested.” The Boss said, snapping you out of your naughty thoughts.

“Yes, Sir. I did.” You looked down and the hard beating of your heart prevented you from listening to his bare feet stepping close to you.

Suddenly, his naked lower half appeared in your line of vision and your eyes snapped up. “Did you like what you saw?” He asked and you noticed that he was now drying his wet dirty blond hair with the very same towel that had covered his beautiful cock.

“I- Sir, I-”

The Boss took one of your hands and placed it on the middle of his chest. “I don’t want to have to remind you that I expect an answer when I ask you something. Is that clear, doll?” His voice was deep and you clenched your pussy.

“Clear, Sir. I apologize.”

“So?”

You swallowed and scrambled to remember what he had asked you. “Y-yes, Sir. You have a beautiful body.”

“It’s all yours today.” The Boss whispered as his hands started playing with the hem of your gown, a little distraction from the sweet smell of in between your legs. “Touch me, Y/N.”

“Yes, Sir.” Your hand moved, trailing down his sculpted torso until you reached the small hairs that surrounded his cock. Then you wrapped your small hand around him, noticing how your fingers wouldn’t meet. And you squeezed him a little.

Steve moaned. “I-I already know you like my cock but what about downstairs? I could tell you were aroused when you saw me fucking Laura.” He started bucking his hips, helping you fuck your fist.

You placed your other hand to help jack his cock off better. “I d-don’t know, Sir.”

“You do know, pretty girl.” Steve moved his hands to the straps of your gown and let them fall off of your shoulders. “Now tell me. I want to know how naughty you are.”

At his words, you started pumping him harder. “I-I,” You swallowed hard and felt the wetness gathering in your outer lips. “I liked the way you f-fucked her. I-I wanted to be in her place b-but you are so... big. What if I can’t fit you, Sir?” As your concerns grew bigger, you guided his cock closer to where you needed him most and you realized you started to slightly hump against nothing.

“Oh, fuck.” Steve groaned and he felt his ball sack tighten at your words. “Your pussy will fit me, doll. I’ll make sure of that.” He stopped you and grabbed your arm, pushing you towards the bed. You whimpered as you struggled to settle on the bed. The Boss was fast to get on top of you and faster than you could realize, he was ripping your gown from the middle, moving it aside so he could stare at your tits. “I have so many plans for your body, doll.”

An estrangled moan left your lips when the Boss dove onto your nipples, carefully taking the nub in between his teeth. “That feels so g-good, Sir.”

In response, Steve took your other nipple in between two fingers and toyed with it until he had you gasping. “Do you think your pussy is ready?” He asked in between licks.

Another set of moans broke out as you felt his saliva being brushed around by the thick hairs of his beard. “Yes, Sir, please touch me.” Your thighs tried pressing together but his thick body prevented you from having any sort of friction.

“Are you going to be a good girl and do as I say?” Steve asked as his fingers trailed down your body until his forefinger found your drenched bundle of nerves.

“Y-yes, Sir.” You said in between moans. You gasped as he started gently rubbing your clit, applying enough pressure to have you writhing underneath him.

“Yes, what?” Steve smirked and dragged his finger lower, to where your cunt was gushing and with two fingers, he dipped them enough to have them thickly covered of your juices.

“Oh, Sir, please.” You moaned again when you felt his fingertips swirling around. “I’ll be your... your g-good girl.” You responded when you felt him remove his fingers.

Steve did something he has never done before and it wasn’t spreading your juices all over your lips but kissing you as he did that. And you tasted magnificent. Like nothing he has ever tasted and it drove him even crazier. Your tongue slipped a little into his mouth and it only made you kiss you harder. Almost as if he wanted to bruise you for being so sinful to him.

“Enough foreplay.” He grunted more to himself than to you. “I’m only going to tell you once. I need you to relax, otherwise everything will hurt that much more for you.”

Your eyes widened before you closed them and you started taking deep breaths. “Yes, Sir.”

“Open your eyes, Y/N. I want to see them as I take you.” He whispered in your ear and as soon as you did, he thrusted one finger inside your tight channel.

“Fuck.” You moaned and shut your eyes but quickly opened them for him. His finger was dragging up and down your walls deliciously. It was thicker and longer than yours and...

“Language.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You whispered but your breath caught in your throat when he added a second finger. It wasn’t slow and it was a very big stretch. You put your hand on his shoulder but he distracted you by attacking your lips with a kiss once more. His lips were enough to distract you from the momentary pressure and a slight curving of his fingers had you gasping, giving him the best opportunity to enter his tongue and massage it with yours. Both of you moaned and the incessant pumping of his fingers had you clenching your walls but you needed more. “Sir?”

Steve wanted to do anything you’d ask him as you looked at him with those doe eyes of yours and your breathless voice, all thanks to him. “Yes, princess?” But he never stopped pumping his fingers.

“Can you go faster?” Steve smiled, genuinely and it had been a while. You were such a precious thing and he couldn’t believe how lucky he had been when you were brought to him in a silver platter. Such an innocent being that he thought he’d never have as his actual self... “I’m sorry, Sir. I overstepped-”

“No, doll. You didn’t but your scent is driving me crazy. I think I’ve opened you enough for my cock.” You whimpered when you were left empty as he went for a condom and lube although he smirked at that. With how wet you were, he doubted he’d need lube. But he had to also remember that it was your first time and that he was well packed. He kneeled in between your legs when he came back, then he spread your legs as much as he could without making you uncomfortable. “Remember, doll, relax as much as you can.”

Steve saw you nod as he rolled the condom on. He could smell as your scent got stronger and your heart beat faster and his own heart swelled. For the first time in a while, he felt happy. You wanted him and he never knew he’d want you as much.

Once he saw you more relaxed, he positioned himself at your entrance. The contact of his supersensitive tip to your gushing hole had his abs contracting. He took a deep breath and pushed it in slowly. He winced when he felt you tensing. He looked over at you and felt bad when he saw you shutting your eyes tightly.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” When you did, his demeanor changed. A lone tear left your eye and he cursed at himself. Another first for him, stopping. “I’m going to pull out.”

“No!” You interjected and gripped his waist. “I’m ready, I promise.” This time your eyes were pleading for him to continue. Many things were going through your head. If he didn’t want to take you, what was going to happen to you? Did you not feel good enough for him? “I know I’m not experienced but please let me try to please you, I know I can do it. Please.”

The breaking of your voice made it difficult for Steve but more than that, your scent and the way you looked underneath him. He didn’t know how to be gentle and but he knew that girls like you were easy to break. One rough snap of his hips and he could destroy you and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to not care about your well being.

“Okay, doll. I’ll play with your clit a little more.” He said and dropped his head to kiss you once more. You placed your hands on his prickly cheeks and returned his kiss with as much passion as you could as you tried to focus on it instead of the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your bundle.

Once he felt you relax, he started kissing you from your cheek to your jaw and the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“Oh, shit, S-sir.” You yelped in surprised when you felt his teeth nip at your soft skin.

Steve used the distraction to wet his cock in your juices and enter you again, very slowly. This time it was a tad easier to penetrate your pulsing walls.

“Fuck, doll. You feel so-so good. Fuck, fuck.” Steve moaned loud as he kept pushing in very gently.

“Sir!”

“Call me Steve, Y/N.” He didn’t even realize he told you to call him that but he didn’t regret it one bit as you screamed his name over and over until he reach the deepest spot inside you even though he was only half way in.

“Steve?” You whimpered as your walls struggled to accommodate him. “You are so big.” You gasped in between breath intakes.

“I’m going to move now, doll. You feel so good.” That was the only warning he gave you before he started off slow but after rubbing your clit a little more and getting you wetter, you were slick enough to move more freely. He moved one of your legs over his hips and you moaned loudly, the obscene sounds of your juices squelching had him closing his eyes in pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Steve, more, please Sir.” You begged with tears in your eyes. Your nails were marking his back as if you were marking your territory.

He allowed himself to go faster, his hips thrusting harder and harder until he felt his balls were slapping your back entrance. He grabbed your other leg and hooked it over his arm, the new angle making reach further inside you and he knows you felt it as you tried stopping him but this is what both of you wanted.

“You are squeezing me too much, doll. Are you ready to cum?” Steve groaned as your walls gripped him too hard. If you weren’t so slick, he’s sure your pussy would push you out. But he was relentless and you felt like heaven.

You nodded at his question. The incessant pumping of his cock inside of you was almost too much and you were about to break...

Suddenly, your world was turned upside down. Steve rolled both of you so that now you were straddling him. You let out a very pornographic-like moan and dropped your head back as you felt yourself sinking into his cock, almost entirely.

“Steve!”

Your walls contracted hard enough to induce his orgasm at the same time as you started milking him for all he was worth. Your palms were firmly on his chest as he prolonged your high by moving your hips in circles, making both of you moan uncontrollably.

“Open your eyes, Y/N.”

You tried so hard and finally opened them to be greeted by the most beautiful sight ever. Steve’s reddened and pleasure filled expression would forever be engrained in your mind. He was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and he had just given you the greatest pleasure of your life.

“Steve?”

“There you go.” Steve praised. “Good girl.” He rolled you both again, being mindful of your weak body while making sure he didn’t slip out of you. He cupped the back of your head and laid you gently on one of the pillows. You were done for the night. He could feel the light aftershocks and the slight squeezing of your walls on his semi hard cock. “I’m going to pull out now.”

“No,” You opened your eyes and gripped his forearm. “Not yet, please.”

Steve nodded. You were right, he’d needed to give you time so pulling out wouldn’t hurt you as much. But what he didn’t know was that you didn’t want to be empty of him. He was a man you’d never have so you wanted to prolong the illusion a little longer. Come tomorrow, you’d be another of his pleasure assets, your Boss but for now, he was just Steve. The man who made you feel alive.

And Steve, as he laid next to you carefully, felt whole for the first time in a long, long time.

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 13.1

Summary: Ivar clarifies your role, and Hvitserk reaps all the benefits. Words: 2588 Notes: Content Warnings for bondage (possibly uncomfortable), BDSM humiliation and dirty talk, orgasm control, roleplayed dub/noncon (now that the relationships are established I’m going to remind you less often that they’ve already negotiated consent and safety measures).

Previous posts:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

(Fic begins below the cut because it starts off with a bang, baby)

In your current predicament, the world has narrowed down to two things. The vulnerability of your body, and the total neediness of your cunt.

The two are most certainly related. Ivar is not one to make idle threats. When he told you over the phone that he believed you deserved punishment . . . it seems that he had immediately started making plans.

You’re alone, now, helpless on your own bed. Of course, it’s Hvitserk’s bed, this week. Ivar has bound your wrists to your ankles, and pointed you with your spread legs aimed right at the door. The open door.

What a sight Hvitserk is going to see when he walks in.

“You know you deserve this,” Ivar had said, trussing you up with methodical fingers. The way that he took your clothes from you, you’re not sure you’re going to get them back until Hvitserk’s no longer in town. “You had freedom, and you wasted it. Now you have to understand that you are here for our pleasure. Not the other way around. This pussy,” he said, giving it a sudden rub followed by a quick slap, “is here for our use. So . . . I’m not letting you use anything else for a little while.”

Your hands are tied to the insides of your ankles. You can try closing your legs, but your thighs won’t come quite back together with your arms bound right there in the way. Lying on your back as you are, the slit of your swollen pussy lips would still be visible between your raised legs to anyone standing in the doorway anyway. So why bother.

He had assured you that he would make sure Hvitserk “stumbled in” fairly soon, before you got too stiff in this humiliating pose. But you’re sure he’s going to stretch out the suspense as long as he thinks you can handle it.

You rock your body anyway, fruitlessly seeking just a little relief. After opening you up, Ivar had carefully applied a liberal helping of lube all over your pussy, inside and out. “I want you wet and ready for him.” A bullet vibrator came next, positioned carefully on top of your clit by a small shibari harness wrapped around your upper thighs and waist. “I am not turning this up high enough to make you come,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You are not to come until your punishment is over. This is here merely to keep you focused.”

And fuck, are you focused. You’re cursing yourself for allowing Ivar to learn your body so well, to know just exactly how high he can turn up the vibration without pushing you over the edge. And the pattern, fuck, that pulsing, wavelike rrrm, Rrrm, RRRM is damned hypnotic. You can’t possibly ignore it. And yet you want to sob every time the wave crests too soon, the intensity dropping well before the tension building between your thighs has anywhere to go.

An even more powerful thrill rushes through your body as you hear movement at the door. Lifting your head from the mattress, you see Hvitserk’s eyes widen, his steps arrested on his way into the room. He does a doubletake before his brain can fully process the obscenity he’s truly seeing in front of him. He glances back down the hallway, then slides inside and shuts the door with a shark’s smile spreading across his face.

“You seem to be kind of stuck, Y/N.” His eyes roam over the backs of your thighs, and what’s on display in between. There’s no way not to feel completely, horribly exposed to him. It’s so hot you’re probably about to start dripping all over the sheets. “Can I help you?”

You look him right in the eyes. “I need to be fucked.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, settling down on his knees beside the bed, definitely not lining up to drive himself into you like you so desperately need.

“Yeah.” You nod, quickly. “I need it bad.”

You arc and whine when Hviterk’s fingers slide around your opening, gliding between your outer and inner lips. “You’re wet enough for me to believe you.” The pads of his fingers dip inside, but only shallowly, stretching the rim of your opening in a wide swirl.

“Fuck,” you sob. That’s a lot of entirely unsatisfying stimulation right there. You need to feel filled up, not stretched out. “Please, Hvitserk. I’m here for your use, so use me, fuck me, put me out of my misery.” You have crane your neck to make eye contact with him, looking down the line of your body and between your own legs.

His eyes are dark as he stares at your naked and readied body, which shudders with the strength of your need. His eyes flit up to the ropes that bind each ankle to a wrist. “Ivar did this?”

“Yes.”

His fingers slide along the thinner cord tying the vibrator down onto your clit.

“He said it’s my lesson. I need you to fuck me until I learn.” Having to explain this to Hvitserk somehow makes your predicament all the hotter.

Hvitserk moves in closer, until you can see his face between your ankles and don’t have to contort your neck so badly anymore. “That’s what Ivar wants.” His softly scratchy voice adds weight and intimacy to his words. “But what do you want?”

His fingers are still just teasing, up and down and around your entrance. He hasn’t even taken his dick out. “Fuck! Did he send you in here to test me or something?” You’re starting to feel desperate. “This isn’t about obedience, Hvitserk. I need to be used. I want it this way. I-I just want you to fuck me like a toy.”

“That’s it?” he asks, a wicked gleam flashing through his deep-set eyes. “All this” he gestures at your body “is just here for me to play with?”

“Uh huh.”

He grins and nips at your inner thighs, and finally presses two of those long fingers into your pussy.

You throw your head back and keen your pleasure.

He toys with you, for a while. The relief of friction, of satisfying depth and pressure, starts to give way to fear that he might accidentally push you into orgasm before Ivar had permitted it. That hadn’t sounded like it would be such a hard rule to follow, when you thought that Hvitserk was going to come in here like the horny bro he’d been acting like before, and just sink his eager cock straight into you.

But even when there’s no contest to be won, Hvitserk evidently loves getting up close and personal with the pussy. He pulls his fingers out just to bring them to his lips, plunging them into his own mouth to taste you with a little savoring sound as he locks a promising look onto your eyes.

He’s not done. Hvitserk’s fingers slide under the ropes that bind the vibrator against your clit, then he’s pushing them out of his way and removing it.

You sigh, relieved to be free of the temptation and missing it immediately at the same time.

But then Hvitserk’s mouth replaces the device. And this is not just a taste. This is business, the same masterful pace and pressure that won him the contest earlier.

“No . . .” you wail at him, drowning under your own conflicting needs. “No, Hvitserk, Ivar said not to.”

He lifts his head just barely far enough to answer you, so that you can feel his breath against your slick and sensitive parts with every word. “I’m supposed to use you how I want, right? And what I want to do is eat this pussy like a birthday cake.”

“You can’t,” you insist. “I’m not allowed to come!”

He barely hesitates. “But I want you to,” he says, voice breathy and urgent. And he begins another round of his very best work.

There’s not really any other type of ordeal quite like this one. Pleasure blooms, white-hot and urgent, beneath Hvitserk’s tongue, and you can do nothing but grit your teeth and try to push it back. You could use your safeword if this was truly bothering you, Ivar had told you that Hvitserk was informed how that works. But this is a challenge you prefer to ride out, come what may.

You know Ivar well enough to be sure that he’s monitoring this, although you don’t see him darkening the doorway this time when you strain your neck to look. Perhaps he’s waiting just outside the door. Or hell, maybe the walls just are as thin as the boys keep saying. Either way, it makes you want to do him proud. Show him you can endure even this absolutely torturous pleasure, and follow his command despite it.

You manage to hold out, though internally you’re screaming. Your body is clenched in a line of sheer, stubborn tenacity against that insistent rapture when Hvitserk finally gives up, swiping his face with the back of his arm as he stands up. “Fine. Is this what you want?” He pulls out his dick, proud and rock-solid with a bit of a graceful curve toward the tip. He gives himself a crude stroke. “On to the main course, then.”

You sob your victorious agreement.

He grabs a rubber. Ivar had literally left a bowl of condoms right next to you, on top of a guest towel. It doesn’t get much more demeaning than that.

Hvitserk whips his shirt off and then leans over you, ready cock bobbing, and grasps one of your swaying feet in each hand. “This is so fuckin’ hot,” he intones, staring at the ropes. “Can you handle it if I leave you like this while we fuck?”

You let out a shaky breath and agree. You’ll stretch out later. This is, just as Hvitserk said, too fuckin’ hot.

The angle has your hips turned up rather sharply. He misses on his first attempt to enter you, cock slipping off your lubricated lips. He mutters an obscenity and then laughs it off, reaching down to line himself up better with an endearingly self-deprecating smirk.

It’s fun to watch him handle himself. You can’t do much to help the process, your body positioned precisely how Ivar wanted you left, with very little wiggle room. A lock of dirty blonde hair falls into his face as he peers down and lifts up onto his tiptoes to drive himself downward into your body.

It just got real, now. There’s nothing more grounding than an urgent cock pressing deep, deep inside.

Hvitserk leans over you, eyes going wide and tight around the edges as he sinks all the way into your aching pussy. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight like this.”

Your eyes bulge a little as you agree. This angle makes you feel full as hell.

Hvitserk stares down into your face as he starts moving his hips. That eye contact of his, fuck. You’re not sure how to handle it. Somehow it feels more intimate than the rubbing of your naughty bits together. He fucks down into you with an increasing pace, his lips curling up in a cheeky smile. “This is it, huh?” he glances down, looking at the way your tits bounce between your imprisoned arms, at your upturned cunt swallowing his cock down. “What you were begging for.” He interrupts himself with a sigh and a smile, bites his lip as he repeats an angle that must be particularly good for him.

“Fuck, yes,” you say, relishing the relentless depth of every one of his increasingly-wild strokes. “Use me.”

He puts one knee up on the bed, balancing the movement by wrapping an arm around your raised leg, and deepens the already-maddening intensity of the position. He groans with abandon above you, guttural sounds as he does exactly what you’ve encouraged him to do. You let him rut into you with no concern for anything else at all, neither your comfort or your pleasure. It’s worth it; the rush of this feels better than any soft, candlelit evening you could get out of a partner that was focused only on making you feel good. This is so much more complex; it scratches a deep itch you couldn’t even begin to explain, to let every boy in this apartment use your body according to their own wild and selfish desires.

Hvitserk is going to come soon. You can tell by the way his face is twisting to one side, almost wincing, the pleasure apparent in the wild sparkling of his eyes as he continues to attempt to hold onto your gaze even through all of this. You can hear it in the way his grunting breaths are matching the rhythm of his strokes, and the way his thrusts have gone from fluid to insistent, driving at a tight, brutal angle so deep that you swear he’s going to hit your backbone.

He invokes your name like a curse when he finally blows, drawing it out into a long and ragged sound. He can’t keep his eyes open for that moment, making you feel like you can finally catch your breath just as he’s losing his.

He shudders inside you, sealing himself in deep as he comes down from it. He’s propped his weight onto one hand that presses into the mattress just beside your head, so you don’t have much of anywhere to look aside from his heavy brow as he sags in the air right above you.

This time Ubbe’s not ready and waiting. You can’t see the doorway, but if Ivar’s there he has yet to announce himself. This time Hvitserk gets to stay nestled inside you as long as he wants, and you catch your breaths together.

When he lifts his head, his eyes are glittering with easy mirth and hints of something deeper. You smile back, squeezing your inner arms into contact with his body. It’s the closest to a hug you can do in these restraints.

Hvitserk turns his head, following the line of your arm up to ropes that connect it to your ankle. “Let’s get you out of those,” he says gently. He withdraws his cock with a shaky breath and eases himself back up to standing. “I can’t believe you—” his mouth is set at a wry angle and he shows his awe in a little shake of his head. “I’m sorry I—”

He’s cut off by Ivar’s return, his voice a sharp, loud contrast that instantly shifts the mood. “Leave those, Hvitserk. I will handle that.”

Hvitserk had just been reaching for your ankle. He drops his arm and melts back a bit.

“Did you enjoy my gift?” Ivar asks, stepping in between the two of you. He sets his crutch so he can stand more solidly beside the bed, and looks you over. His eyes crackle with a deep blue fire at whatever mess he sees in your face, and the expanse of your naked skin. When Hvitserk doesn’t give much of a response, Ivar moves to loosen the rope at your closest ankle. “Would you like to help me give her the rest of her punishment now?” He spares one pointed glance for his brother. “You are the wronged party, after all.”

“That wasn’t the punishment.” He looks at Ivar with a raised brow.

“Of course not. She loved that.” Ivar says, matter-of-factly, and then his whole face breaks out in his evilest grin.

Next Chapter

Link to my other Hvitserk fics

​

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 3

You were busy humming away and cleaning the dishes when Childe eyed your bed again.  He couldn't shake the feeling that this was where you'd hide evidence if there was any to begin with.  He glanced in your direction and shifted off of the couch, careful not to make the couch squeak from his movements.

No sooner did he crouch at your bedside that he could see the glint of something with a distinct shade of red.  He pulled what looked to be a large laundry bag out from under the bed, his hand rummaging around to find one of the domestic Fatui masks that only covered the eyes.  

From the looks of it, these are all the stolen masks, he scanned beneath the bed once more, but found nothing but dust bunnies.  So Zhongli was right about you.  What have you been up to, girlie?  The sound of the facet turning off warned Childe that it would be seconds before you turn around and see what he was doing.  

"You've been awfully quiet over there, Aj-" You spun on your heel and noticed him kneeling at your bed with widening eyes.  "-Hey, what're you doing?!"

Childe doesn't do deception--well, besides lying to you and Teucer, that is.  Then there was the time with Aether...Okay, maybe he does a bit of deception, but...He kept his ground and didn't answer.

Panicked, you ran over to him.  "Whatever you're doing, put it back! You don't go snooping around for ladies' panties when they invite you over, do you?!"  You came to a halt when you saw him holding one of your prizes, expecting him to do something, anything than what he did next.

Childe peered over with a sly grin and lifted the mask high in the air for you to see.  "What's this, Reed? Don't tell me this is for some sort of roleplay...?"

"Eh?!"  He watched you turn beet red in a heartbeat with amusement--and suspicion.  "N-No! Not at all!"

The ball was in his court now, and he spiked it back.  "What's wrong ojou-chan?  I was only asking if you do it for performances like the opera.  Don't tell me you were thinking something dirty-"

"Shut it! Shut up!" You reached for the mask, but the man got to his feet and towered over you so you couldn't grab it.  "Give it back and stop going through my stuff! That's not the definition of 'make yourself at home,' you know!"

"So, what do you use these for?" A slight tilt of the head gestured to the bag of masks on the floor.  "They're Fatui masks.  Are you the one responsible for their disappearances after all?"

"Give me that-" You grabbed his forearm and heated the skin enough to make him lose his grip from surprise, but not enough to burn him.  Satisfied with regaining your prize, you shoved it back into the bag with a huff and kicked the whole thing back under the bed, ignoring the pain in your toe from hitting it too hard.  "Mind your own business."

"As much as I'd like to," Childe followed you back into the kitchen area while your mind was set on drying the dishes, "you've peaked my curiosity.  What're they for?"

"If you weren't snooping, I would've eventually told you," you grabbed one of the plates and a towel that sat to your left.  "But since you decided to peek I think its within my right not to tell you anything."

"Oh-ho?" Hot breath brushed past the top of your ear and his chest pressed against your back so you were practically cornered against the counter.  "Then I guess it's within my right to believe whatever I want about you then? No matter how obscene or dirty?"

"Quit playing games with me, Ajax!"  He could see how red your ears were, and your flustered state was more than apparent since heat was practically radiating off your back.  It seems he's learned something new about you; your pyro vision amplifies your flustered reactions...this information should be useful in determining any lies you might come up with.  "And back up, will you?  I c-can't move--"

"Tell me then," he teased.

"Ugh, I don't remember you being this annoying."  He heard you let out an agitated sigh before you slammed your towel down on the counter and replaced the dishes back to their normal spots in a cupboard.  "Can you keep a secret?"

Delighted to hear your cooperation, Childe nodded and allowed you to move freely again.  "I know a thing or two in keeping secrets."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to tell you...but what I tell you stays between you and me.  And you can't tell the Millelith--"

"I swear it."

"Okay, good.  You already know how much I hate the Fatui," you took the liberty to throw yourself onto the couch and roll over so there was enough space for him to sit next to you.  "I may or may not be getting some much-needed revenge on them for all the crap they've done."

"Oh?  How so?"

"Let's just say I play some pranks on them."  Childe scrunched his nose up as he discerned what exactly you meant by that.  "Oh, don't bring up that missing Fatui stuff with me.  I've only heard about it from you; my involvement with the Fatui usually ends in them getting bruises or occasionally a broke bone."

"You've said you don't like to fight, but you sound like quite the troublemaker."

"I only fight if absolutely necessary.  Sooner or later the harbinger that tried to drown us all will turn up again, and when he does, he won't be excluded from my list."

"You have a list?"  The awkward laugh that left him sounded more nervous than intended.

"Er...not really.  Anyone that's Fatui is my target.  There's not a single good person in that organization."

"Is that so?"  Childe turned to your fireplace and thought to himself.  For a brief moment the friendly façade he put on faltered to reveal lifeless eyes.  But just as quickly as the mask cracked, it melded back together to form a smile.  "You may be right about that, ojou-chan!"

.........................

It appears she truly has no involvement with the missing persons reports, Childe reviewed all the information he gathered on you as he left your apartment and entered the bustling nightlife of Liyue's streets.  He had no intention of reprimanding you for your attacks against his men; you posed as little of a threat as a fly.  Of course, that determination of your abilities didn't stop him from wanting to spar with you; you may have a chance to surprise him, especially if you were fated to discover his real identity...Was it bad that the idea of you finding out excited him?  To face you head-on while you're in a fit of rage--that would be oh-so thrilling.

Oh!  For a split second he glanced back at your distant apartment window.  'Fire isn't something I want to play with.'  And she even neglected to summon a flame...The attacked don't even have a burn on them.  It was true that those wielding the same element would have a certain resistance to injuries made by that element, but to not have a single blister on them?  Either you were incredibly weak, or you've never used it on the agents.

To rely on your own physical strength in a world of elemental beings...you're a brave one aren't you, Reed?  Perhaps after all these years apart there was some part of you like him--one that was fearless against foes, one that charges into battle rather than run from it.  You were cautious--a trait he did not possess--and smart, too.  Whatever role you play now is sure to be an interesting one regardless of the outcome.

As for that small part of you that's like him...well, he'll have to drag it out.

"Master Childe!"  The harbinger visibly tensed and whipped his head in the direction of your apartment to ensure he was far away enough not to be seen by you.  "Sir!"

"Shh!"  A harsh glare shut the agent up, but realizing his actions, Childe played it off with a laugh.  "Aha...apologies!  Why don't we walk--"  He guided the agent away from your window's view.

"Master Childe," the man spoke in a hushed tone that made it obvious the shushing had intimidated him, "we seem to be having trouble contacting another one of our agents..."

Childe's face fell.  "It's late.  Are you sure it's not possible they're attending a dinner party, or perhaps an opera?"

"No, no.  We've been trying to get in touch with him all day, but he never answered his door.  He never asked for leave, either--"

"--Give me the address."

The housing setup for the Fatui in the Liyue Division was quite similar to that of Mond's--that is, agents were located in a single hotel during their deployment.  These living quarters overlooked most of the city and were located on the opposite side of town from your apartment.  It was quite the walk, so you often ended up hiding in the funeral parlor while furious agents scoured the streets in search of the vigilante during the early morning hours.  Perhaps an even greater advantage is that the hotel and the Northland Bank were about ten minutes apart from one another, giving you just enough time to escape the chaos before the agents could call for reinforcements.

Childe entered the missing agent's room alone.  He had sent the messenger back to wherever he came from; working alone would be much less distracting.  The room was dark and the only light source came from the open window to the right.  He didn't miss a beat to light the nearest candle and explore the room more.  

The place was neat--too neat for a bachelor agent in his twenties.  Everything was in its rightful spot, from the books strewn about to the weapons displayed along the walls.  Even the clothes were neatly folded in their drawers and the uniforms neatly hung in the closet.  On a second look, this was an abnormality.

You see, agents are given three of each uniform component to ensure consistency in case something were to happen to the clothing in battle.  To put it simply there were three coats, three pairs of gloves, three pairs of shirts and trousers alike, three pairs of boots, and three masks.  Each one was resting in the closet.

So he abandons his post without informing his lead officer, leaves his uniforms...Childe returned to the dresser and yanked the drawers out once more.  Everything that should be there, was.  And the clothes hamper next to the dresser was empty.  "He left with the clothes on his back?"  No, it's too soon to draw conclusions.  Still...this is how every missing agent would disappear.  No dirty dishes, untouched clothes, and their uniforms neatly put away.  It wouldn't raise any red flags if this hadn't happened before.

Childe scanned the room for the last time before he pinched the candle nub.  Every agent that disappears does so without a trace or clue of where they could've went.  Perhaps they're taken at night, after their shifts end or when they're enjoying Liyue's nightlife?  Reed couldn't have done this.  It's too elaborate even for her antics.  This is the work of something big...but what?

As he walked back to his apartment, he was unable to come up with the answers.

.........

"What festival is this again?"  Childe was glued to your side as the two of you strolled through the main street of the city.  It was lit up with lanterns that cast a warm glow upon his red hair.  Despite both of your busy schedules, your childhood friend still had the audacity to ask you to show him around the festivities since he had only recently moved his work to Liyue.  You were a bit reluctant at first, but this would be a great opportunity to get closer to him since your previous meetings were short.  And with the streets crowded with tourists and locals, it made Childe all the more difficult to be spotted by his subordinates.

"It's called the Lantern Rite," you answer with your gaze preoccupied by the fires lit beneath the stoves of the local restaurants.  "It's meant to celebrate the lives and sacrifices of the adepti."

"I see.  This is certainly different than Snezhnaya, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

Childe's eyes flicked down to you.  Why were you so disinterested?  Was he boring you? Or perhaps you weren't into festivities anymore?  His nose crinkled as he thought, then his nostrils picked up on a delicious aroma.  Seafood!  "How about I buy us something to eat?"

"Hm?  Like what?"  Your question was answered once you followed his stare, and your heart dropped.  The stall he was eyeing just happened to be next to some sort of stunt show.  That's new, you grumbled inwardly as you watched visionless people spin fire without a smidge of hesitation in their movements.  Since when were their performers during the Lantern Rite?

"How about something reminiscent of our homeland? I've been feeling a bit homesick these past few weeks."  He stepped forward, but your feet were planted firmly on the ground.  "Reed?"  

"...I'll wait here.  Go ahead."

The harbinger's shoulders slouched in disappointment.  Maybe you weren't in the mood to hang out with him after all.  Still, he wasn't the kind of guy to be dissuaded so easily; he picked himself back up and walked over to the vendor.  While he waited to be served, Childe admired the street performers that danced in the middle of the walkway.  They didn't have visions, yet they exuded themselves with such poise that most vision wielders lacked.  Their elegance inspired him, and he had a difficult time refraining from joining in.

The look of pure awe didn't go unnoticed by you, where you now stood in the shadows as far from the performers as possible.  He was definitely enjoying the show--a little more than you'd like.  Your gaze returned to the poi and staffs that were lit ablaze and twirling through the air.  And just like Childe's look of awe was noticed, your cynic stare was noticed by him as well when he was back with food.  

You hadn't even realized he returned.

"Your crab roe tofu, ojou-chan," he held the tray out for you to take.

"...thanks..."

A second glance to the fire wielders, and Childe confirmed his suspicions.  "Well this is certainly a surprise."  His chuckle yanked you back to the present.  "Ironic, too."  You snatched the tray away without saying anything and stuffed tofu into your mouth.  "What's a girl with pyrophobia doing with a pyro vision?  That seems a bit cruel even for the God of War and Flame."

"I-I'm not afraid of it."  Your skin flushed a faint pink at the words while you glared at him.

"You're not?  Then please explain why your stove and furnace have never been touched.  If you ask me, it's pretty obvious."  Your silence caught him off guard.  You always bantered back, but this time you couldn't even look in his direction.  

It was difficult to blink the tears away as the memory of a burning house flashed through your mind--the thick smoke that coated your lungs, the sticky heat that threatened to burn you alive, the screams of your mother...And when Ajax disappeared the next day too, only for you to think the Fatui had got him too--Or the memory of his return, and when you tell him the news of your father he didn't even care.

Does he even remember his response?

You weren't hungry anymore.  "I have a better way to spend the night.  How about we spar?"