#i like to be tall and thorough

[coolnonsenseworld]

I wanted to say that outside of semantics and divisions - I am simply happy to find communities that welcome with kindness - that welcome you by a good heart and not the ability to conform. I am happy for the opportunity to be surrounded by people who care. It's a funny world we live in - making the same mistakes over and over, multiplying the same suffering by billions. I don't think I hope for an utopia anymore, I don't think such a thing exists - but you can't call me hopeless either. And that's what matters.

As a side note - this piece is set in DanceAU, which might be better known to Patrons so far, but still it was the best and most fitting option for this occasion..... also there are 12 DanceAU pieces incoming, because I might be making another calendar so. get familiar with these mutts

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.

He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him. 

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.

Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.

He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.

It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.

His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.

Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.

He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.

When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.

His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.

If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy. 

The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.

The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.

And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with. 

And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.

He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–

You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t. 

He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[chikaras-garden]

Imagine you go to buy some furniture with Jason (or dick), and all they can think about the entire time is how easy it'd be to fuck you. Would he be able to bend you over that counter over there? Would it be too high? Too low? Would you somehow get hurt?

The idea for this was instant. Like a fever dream. 

“Nah,” Jason says, patting his palm against the kitchen island you point out to him. With each option, he spends a full two minutes pacing around it, bending to inspect the countertop, the cabinets—how thorough he is would be admirable if he actually liked anything. 

Hands in his pockets, he strolls back over to where you’ve been waiting for him to decide. “That one’s too tall for you.”

Almost ready to give up, you half-heartedly point to the one next to it. “What about this one?” 

“C’mon, baby,” he scoffs. “That’s got wheels.”

Incredulous, you ask, “Why can’t we have wheels?”

“You’ll get hurt.”

“Huh?”

“Can’t have you slipping on me,” he tuts, already strolling away. “Broken jaws aren’t sexy.”

You stay right where you are, growing more confused by the second. “I’m not going to break my jaw while I’m cooking, Jay.”

He pauses and turns just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes glint with an I know something you don’t know sort of mischief, and one half of his mouth twitches into a shit-eating grin. “Didn’t say anything about cooking, kitten.”

You blink. Your cheeks grow warm. Oh. Oh. Oh, God.

“Jason Peter—”

“No wheels, less than three inches higher than your waist, no pointy door pulls, and I think you’d look nice against a white quartz top,” he interrupts, firing off wish list items like bullets, as if he’s not talking about the ideal qualities for a kitchen island on which he plans to rail you. “Let’s keep looking, baby; might have to bend you over a couple of these to see how comfortable they are for you.”

[solbaby7]

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

[hanasnx]

baby daddy jason for when the one parent-teacher conference the sweet unassuming teachers like “mrs. Todd” and you’re “uhhh we’re not married”, but Jason, despite not being up to the commitment, likes the idea. He definitely would not correct the teacher like you immediately would.

Actually idk where I was going with this I had an idea but then it kinda stopped soz

MINORS DNI 18+

You’re not even sure how it happened. In your opinion, it’s best that BABY DADDY!JASON TODD stay far away from you and your daughter. Maybe he sifted through your mail the last time he snuck in, maybe he intercepted your calls, maybe he followed her to school to add himself to her emergency contacts—all completely feasible when dealing with someone so meticulously thorough and annoyingly committed. You’re face to face with him outside your daughter’s teacher’s door.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe in a whisper, avoiding a scene.

Jason’s face twists in feigned confusion, pointing to the flyer on the wall. He reads out its words as his finger follows along, “‘Parent teacher conference.’” He points to himself finally. “Parent.” A smug curl forms on his lips, standing tall in outsmarting you even though it’s not what you asked.

Your nostrils flare as you suck in a breath. Unfortunately, Jason is exceptional at getting on your nerves. You wonder how he managed knocking you up. Advancing on him, he mirrors you, meeting you in the middle as you engage him, “Jason, I don’t want you here—“

The door swings open, and you jump in place, leaning away abruptly. Jason coolly inclines back, shoving his hands in his pockets, he’s got nothing to hide. Your daughter’s teacher greets you both with a cheerful grin, beckoning you in. “You made it! Come on in, come on in.” You exchange a warning glance with Jason, but you clutch your purse strap and duck in while he trails leisurely after.

The meeting goes well, the teacher rants and raves about your daughter, especially about her art skills, showcasing that talent with pictures of it. You open your mouth to speak, but Jason beats you to it, “Takes after her mother, huh? What do you know?” he says with pride, and you witness a genuine grin on his lips as he leans forward to take a closer look at the mess of glitter and stickers in the teacher’s hands.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fiddle with your hands in your lap. One reason you try to stay away from Jason is because of times like these. Makes you second guess your decision to end things with him, and that’s exactly what’s most dangerous.

“So, Mrs. Todd—“ the teacher’s voice breaks you from your stupor, gaze snapping up to her as you furrow your brows.

“Oh, we’re not married.” you object, interrupting her starkly, and she flushes, setting the artwork down with a nervous smile.

“Oh! My mistake. You two just seem so close…”

Jason sighs, raising an arm to wrap around the back of your chair. “Well, not yet.” he says with certainty, and you turn your attention to him, glancing at his arm placement and how the sleeve of his biker jacket brushes your hair. His hand cups your shoulder, which you stare at, and glare when he starts stroking your skin with his thumb. What makes you the most angry is not the entitlement to touch you—which he’s always had—but how he’s clearly messing with you on purpose. This is just like his brand of cruelty, embarrassing you further in a social situation. You tune out whatever crap he’s telling the teacher about the fake wedding and you peel his arm away from you, shoving it back into his lap.

“No, that’s not happening.” you object again, harsher this time and Jason merely scoffs through his nose as you deal with the poor confused teacher.

After the meeting, you’re practically corralled out of that room bickering. You somehow end up on the back of his bike instead of in the car you drove here. Somehow, further, letting him inside your place. Shouting over each other about how inconsiderate he is, and how serious you are, curtly removing your outerwear.

“Would it really be that bad?” he yells, that loud voice that gets you weak in the knees booming through your apartment. You’re lucky your babysitter still has your daughter. “Being married to me, would it really be that bad?”

“It’s not about that, Jason! You know that!”

Your objections are drowned out in how his big body herds you into your bedroom, how his hands push you down to rip off your jeans. How he palms your mouth to shut you up while he’s kissing on your neck, clumsily searching for the give in between your legs. His tip eases in as you lazily bat at his hefty shoulders and thick biceps. “Don’t wanna be Mrs. Todd, huh?” You relax under him the longer he’s inside you, rutting into you with patience as you jerk your head away from him. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t want my name? Don’t wanna be a happy little family?”

Your fist bangs against his rotator cuff and he laughs, husky and light in your ear. His teeth latch onto your lobe, playfully tugging on it while he bottoms out, and you emit a noise from your throat.

“Mrs. Todd,” he chides, “So wet for your husband. S’almost like you want it.”

[b1rds3ye]

Mask On

How the boys react to their new ally who is more adamant on wearing their mask than Ghost himself.

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions (except shorter than Ghost)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1 (~0.8 each)

Warning: Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Reader potentially having insecurities, Not Proof Read

A/N: You know what maybe I want to be the badass masked character 😤

Captain John Price

The captain is thorough, and he immediately knew something was up when he looked up your file only to be greeted with no photo. He’s honestly a little peeved that his rank doesn’t grant him this confidential information, he’s known Simon before he took up the mask so this is the first time he’s genuinely had a faceless ally

But ultimately, as long as he can trust that you’ll be following orders, he doesn’t care if you have a mask or not. But his concern is only that for a fellow soldier

It takes a little longer for him to warm up to you - facial expressions tell a lot about someone’s character. He’s a bit prickly around you, he learns about you indirectly with how you interact with the rest of the 141

But over time there’s a shift. He can’t pinpoint when exactly but the sight of your mask relaxes him. After days separated on a mission, high stakes and adrenaline has Price snapping his head at the faintest of foreign sounds. But upon the familiar sight of your signature mask, he feels at ease

Price is fiercely protective of you and your mask. He likens it to his hat, only far more important - that mask is part of your identity and he knows just how important a soldier’s psyche is. If the enemy manages to take off your mask, he’ll stop at nothing to get it back on your behalf, even if you reluctantly tell him to abandon it

If he can’t salvage your mask, Price has now made it a habit to carry a balaclava for you in one of his pockets. If that’s not available, he’ll even offer you his hat, tipping it down far enough to obscure your eyes

Off duty he finds himself staring at your visage more these days. Looking at how the mask curves over your features, or the small slivers of skin that reveal themselves. He catches himself before you notice but he’s still disappointed in himself, he feels like a Victorian-era prude hyperventilating at the sight of an ankle

“Looking fresh, sergeant.”

You let out an audible chortle at Price’s words. The last mission was a success but at great costs, one of them being your mask damaged beyond repair during melee combat. Your face still wasn’t revealed, but slashes against fabric embedded with dirt and ash have made your signature mask look unrecognisable. Immediately upon returning to base and after debriefing, you were out of commission until you could don a new mask.

Price would be lying if said he didn’t miss your presence for the last few days, hiding away from the rest of the soldiers in base. He has no doubt you’ve still maintained your training and visiting the infirmary for mandatory checkups, but he’s gotten far too used to you being at his beck and call. The famed sight of your mask is no longer in his periphery, giving a nod of approval (not that he ever needed your approval, but he does enjoy your attention).

And now here you are with a new mask, the highlights glowing under the overhead lights and the darks swallowing up the lightwaves like an animal starved. Your updated look had you noticeably confident, shoulders square and head tall.

“Thanks, Captain.”

He can hear your smile and he ends up sitting next to you. Did he need to sit so close? No, but he acts as though his thigh brushing against yours was pure coincidence.

“What are you going to do with the old one?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, giving a light pat to a pocket in your cargo pants that your past mask currently resides in. “I know there’s a lot of memories in this… it’s my first mask… but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll keep it.”

You look at him. Price now has the uncanny ability to read your mood purely through your body language. From the speed at which you turn your head, the inclination of the neck, how your shoulders slant, he’s surprised that such a vicious soldier can act so endearingly in these moments.

“For what?”

“Safekeeping,” he says simply. “I’m proud of my soldiers, sergeant - want to remember their accomplishments.”

You shrug in agreement and fish your mask out of your pocket. You don’t need to know how much Price truly values you, how having your mask will be like having a part of you by his side to motivate him when he’s working alone.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

You’ve got a mask? Cool, so does he. Simon really doesn’t care when he first met you. He offers a simple nod of acknowledgement to you and then it’s all mission talk. If anything, the mask makes him respect you more, like him it’s always the masked ones who’ve seen shit and can get shit done

Even before you two became friends, you two were often paired together for operations. Perhaps it was just assumed the two masked people were on the same wavelength and to be fair, they were right. It didn’t take long for Ghost to admire your prowess on the battlefield

However as the two of you start to get closer, Simon gets a bit of a eureka moment. So this is how all his allies feel when trying to get along with a masked figure, unable to see any of their expressions. Oh how the tables have turned. It’s not daunting for him, more just amusing

He knows the struggles of having a mask so he helps out where he can. He reminds you if it’s been some time since you last washed your mask (advice he does not follow himself) and he’ll offer you some of his obsidian powder he uses to obscure any uncovered patches of skin

Price often has the two of you accompany him for interrogations, he calls it “mask pressure”. There’s nothing more terrifying to a target than having two imposing faceless figures standing on either side of them, unreadable and unpredictable

It’s clear you don’t want to show your face to anyone and Simon doesn’t question it. His natural curiosity is not worth your discomfort and he makes that abundantly clear. If on the rare occasion you catch him without a mask, he’ll sometimes put it back on so that you don’t have to be the only one with their face covered

If your mask is ever compromised, Simon covers you with his hulking figure. No one dares get on the bad side of Ghost who shoots the most terrifying glares towards anyone looking in his - and consequently your - way. He stands in front of you, back rigid and shoulders square, his posture only slacking if he feels you hold onto his back, seeking comfort

A few weeks ago, when left in a briefing, you finally noticed Simon was staring at you from across the room. He had been staring for a good while now, but you - ever the diligent soldier - were distracted discussing tactics with a corporal. So there he was, standing and observing in the corner of the room - his “observing” being drinking the sight of you. And that was when he noticed, among all the glory that was you, that your mask was slightly off alignment. Cue his eyes being trained on your head for you to get the idea that something was wrong.

When your head stayed still - probably challenging his gaze - he tried to change tactics. He added the occasional upward jerk of the head - miming an attempt to shake the mask back in place - but your head only tilted in confusion. You still could not figure out what he was doing.

Eventually he gave up and walked up to you. He lifted a tentative hand, silently asking for permission and you nodded. He pinched at the fabric on the side of your face.

“Your mask’s slippin’,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t the end of the world, only a small adjustment that only someone as observant as him could notice. Still, he felt satisfied at your heavy exhale, you must’ve noticed it’s a little easier to breathe with everything in alignment now.

“Thanks.”

Today, Simon finds your gaze trained on him, head following whenever he moves across the room. You used to stare when you first met, you probably found him intimidating and he doesn’t blame you. He thought you’d be over that though, you two were closer than that. At least he hoped.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He eventually asks and that spurs you into action.

Standing in front of him, you reach up, your hand grabbing the top half of the skull that overlays his balaclava. Your thumb lightly hooks into the skull’s eye socket - a little close to Simon’s actual eye but he trusts you. He feels you tug upwards, and Simon now realises that the skull had been sinking down his face, the peripheral around his brow no longer obscured. He’ll need to reapply the glue for the mask later.

“We really need a hand sign for this,” you mutter.

And so you two make one. It’s discreet, a closed fist with a thumb poking out, dragged from the jawline up to the hairline. The rest of the 141 just look at the two of you in confusion whenever you use it though, your little secret.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny’s generally a good judge of character. Although it’s a little uncanny being unable to see your features, he’s used to it because of Simon. One conversation is all he needs to reach a conclusion as to what type of person you are and now he treats you as if you’re good friends

Yes, he is curious about what you look like under the mask. He used to make comments about it occasionally until he caught you on a bad day

“C’mon Sarge, just a peek.” “Not happening, Johnny.” “What, you ugly?” “… that’s not for you to speculate, MacTavish.” “Shit, sorry. I- I’d never think that of you, or care. I know you’re a looker.”

And Johnny stands by his statement. Even if he’s never seen your face he quickly developed a little crush on you. How you conduct yourself in battle has him watching you with stars in his eyes and he just knows you’ll take his breath away if you ever show your face

When Johnny’s bored, he likes doodling your mask and potential alternative designs in his journal which he’ll show you sometimes. He’s not an artist but he gets the idea across. He’s created a “happy” design, an “angry” one, and the “when I see Soap” design which is just your standard mask with a whole lot of shoddily drawn love hearts on it (you haven't seen that design yet)

He’s genuinely surprised at how determined you are at keeping your mask on in all circumstances - you’re worse than Simon at this point - but he’ll never ask because he doesn’t want to potentially open up old wounds. Despite his curiosity for what you could look like, Johnny will never invade your privacy and ensures no one else does either. If you’re in your room he’ll knock once, twice, thrice, until he’s absolutely sure you’re ready for him to enter

If something goes wrong and your mask falls off he’s looking away and shoving everyone else to look away as well. He’s like a guard dog, shouting and name-shaming anyone who dares look in your direction. No one except other members of the 141 will be able to approach you until you’re covered

Was it smart to have you and Soap - combined to be the most disruptive and obnoxious soldiers on the field - alone to handle a stealth mission that was off the books? No, but you sure as hell weren’t going to disappoint Price or Laswell. The objective was clear and the rules of engagement were even clearer; under no circumstance can the enemy know you’re from 141.

“We’re gonna need to cover our faces,” Johnny mutters absentmindedly beside you. You pull your binoculars down to send him an incredulous look and he chuckles. “I need to cover my face.”

“You got a mask?”

There’s a pause and Johnny’s looking at you, eyes glinting in that familiar mischief. That was never good news.

“You bet.”

You offer a tentative nod of encouragement before lifting your binoculars back up to observe the target site. You hear the repeated shuffles of fabric against fabric and clothes sliding against skin. It’s prolonged, you swear it’s enough time for Johnny to change his entire uniform. His breaths become muted, mouth now covered until it eventually falls to complete silence. It’s unnerving, the designated demolitions expert is not known for his silence, and you have to look back at him yet again.

Of course you expected Johnny to be wearing a mask, but it was the mask itself that took you by surprise.

“Is that… mine?”

“Was yours.”

You squint and somewhere in the depths of your mind, you vaguely recall Soap asking if he could have one of your spare masks back at the base. You humoured him, and said your wardrobe was his.

That was your first mistake.

You figured he was just going to take the piss, wear your mask to scare some privates around the base. You didn’t think he’d actually wear it on a mission. It was unexpected, but it felt like an honour. How he was so willing to identify with you in some of the most dangerous of situations.

But your silence has Johnny getting fidgety. He’s already reaching up to pull the mask off.

“I have a normal balaclava. If you don’t like this I can-”

“Wear it.”

You can’t see Johnny’s face but you see him pull his head back in surprise. Then he smiles, one so wide, expanding his cheeks you can see it stretch your mask. In that moment you’re glad your mask obscures your features as you feel yourself grin at his own joy.

“We’re a team, aye?”

“You bet.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle’s may be close to Simon but he's not entirely used to masked allies. When you first arrived he shot Captain Price a cautious look, a silent conversation between them finished by Price’s definitive nod. Eventually he relents and puts up with you

Subconsciously, without seeing your face he ends up reducing you to a weapon. He respects you like a soldier, a robot. His language is restrained, only issuing orders and you recite them back

It’s only when another soldier cracks a joke on the mission and you laugh does it flick a switch in Kyle’s mind. You weren’t all orders, you weren’t a machine, you were a human (with a damn nice voice might he add). He feels terrible for reducing you to a tool simply because he can’t see your face but he’ll make up for it now

He becomes a bit of a menace in the sparse quiet moments of a mission. He makes the occasional one liner about how you wear the mask so others aren’t distracted by your good looks, but then changes the topic so quickly you’re not even sure he said it

Yes, Kyle’s a little obsessed with your voice. He can’t see you and he doesn’t have the experience like Price or Simon to read body language accurately. Instead, he can read your mood near perfectly with the inflections in your voice (which is arguably more impressive). While he doesn’t want you to ever be upset or angry, sometimes how you taunt the enemy has a shiver running down his spine

Because your mouth is blocked by a mask, many allies don’t offer you food or drinks. Not Kyle though, if he’s grabbed refreshments, he always ensures he has extra for you. At first he just gives them to you and then leaves. But when you said it was okay for him to stay - trusting him enough to just look away when you lift you mask - Kyle’s heart soared

If anything happens to reveal your face, Kyle is immediately by your side. He pulls you close to provide comfort, while also guiding your head into his neck or shoulder to block anyone from seeing you. Another member of the 141 will find a solution to cover your face, you are Kyle’s first priority and he’ll gladly hold you all day

After a long mission, you and Kyle are finally safe upon reaching exfil. Sitting on a helicopter Kyle slumps against his seat, and you do the same beside him. Although he could finally relax, he feels absolutely filthy, swamped in his own sweat under multiple layers. Dirt and mud caked his boots and crept all the way up to his thighs. Some even sneaked up into under his tactical vest.

He spares a look and sometimes he thinks you can’t possibly be human. The heat is suffocating enough without a mask, Kyle has long forgone his signature cap to let his head breathe. If your body language was any indicator, you weren’t handling the sweltering heat of the helicopter engine or Al Mazrah’s temperament. Your chest notably heaving under the weight of your tactical gear, breaths so laboured it sent the fabric around your mouth pulling and billowing with each inhale and exhale.

There isn’t much Kyle can do for comfort, but he tries. He shifts a little closer to you. Your head shifts to look at him, the movement was far too slow, like your head was too heavy and his heart tugs a little.

With one hand, Kyle gently tilts your face up to him. With the other he lightly pinches the fabric of your mask at the junction between your jawline and ear. Teasing it between his fingers, when he pulls his hand away there’s gunk on his fingertips. Dust, dirt and as he squints at your mask he realises that some of the stains are likely the dried blood of an unidentified enemy.

The hand he’s resting on your chin is about to pull away until he notices how you’re resting your head on it. He can’t see your face but he has no doubt that your eyes are near shut, almost drifting off to dreamland. He occupies himself by gently brushing away loose debris off your mask which has you relaxing further into his touch.

“We gotta wash this,” he murmurs defeatedly.

“... yeah, we do,” you grumble, voice thick with fatigue. Kyle does not stop his ministrations - even pulling some fluff off of the cotton of your mask. It does little to actually clean your mask - at this rate it’s going to need pure bleach to clean it - but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you trust him this much, leaning into his touch, entrusting him to be the respite from your mission.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[confessioncassette]

𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐭𝐰 : 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧

Embarrassing. 

That would describe it. The vulnerable feeling walking up the entrance of, happy hotel? Hazbin Hotel?

You didn’t even make it a week in hell. Waking up in this place confused you, you’re not really sure why you’re here. You weren’t a terrible human on Earth, maybe it was lust? Greed? Who knows, but this place makes you sick. You’ve encountered horrors from every corner- robbings, gruesome killings, torture- it just wasn’t your scene. Having to pick yourself up in eternal hell with nothing but the clothes on your back was difficult. 

Until a commercial from the Hazbin Hotel played on a TV while you were walking down the street. 

Would they take you? It would be hell of a lot better to be here than the street. Maybe you could have a chance at redemption… it would be nice to be in heaven. No more paranoia, sleepless nights, or having your soul burn forever. It’d be a fresh start, to flip a new leaf. You could do it, just-

“Why hello there!” 

The abruptness of the front door to the hotel startled you back into reality. 

A tall man resting his hands atop of a cane, dressed in a red suit greets you happily. 

“Hello, I saw your commercial,” you present the poorly drawn hotel poster to him, “I was wondering if you had room for me?”

The man tilts his head to the side, sizing you up and down for a second.

“Splendid! Yes, of course, my dear we have plenty of room for you. I’m Alastor, the host of this hotel, and you are?” The demon stuck out his hand, patiently waiting for you to take it. 

You introduce yourself and shake his hand. Alastors grip is firm and within a millisecond, he eagerly jerks you into the hotel.

“Pleasure to be meeting you, my dear! Quite the pleasure, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” 

He gestures to the main lobby with his free hand. 

“We recently underwent some renovations after the extermination. Everything is brand new and in tip top shape. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about an old rickety hotel. You’ll be staying in luxury!” His cane thuds on the marble floor, emphasizing his last word.

The hotel is beautiful, you’ve seen nothing like it. Stunningly high vaulted ceilings with walls decorated in patterned maroon wallpaper, beautiful velvet curtains draping the large windows, golden light fixtures, a push carpet acting as a runway leading up to a giant staircase in the middle of the lobby. A bar to the left, and a common room to the right. Everything is spaced out, but it feels home-y.

Maybe this wasn’t a bad decision after all.

Alastor was a pure gentleman. He was polite, entertaining and a bit of a sweet talker. He gave you a thorough tour throughout the hotel, and everything is much more than the commercial seemed. 

You met the current residents at the hotel as well, who welcomed you with open arms. And the princess of hell, Charlie, was the most ecstatic to meet you. Bringing you into a giant hug, her eyes practically glistened with joy, “We are here to help you, and we are so happy you’re here!”

–

You hit 1 month today.

Walking down the grand entrance stairs you were surprised by all your friends congratulating you on your “anniversary.” 

A poorly made sign (KunGratZ!), most likely made by Nifty, hung over the bar, balloons scattered the marble floor and everyone was waiting for you by the large dining table. In the middle of it, sat a beautifully decorated white and red cake. 

“Happy 1 month today,” Charlie squeals, “you’ve been doing great!”

Despite this being a small accomplishment, Charlie and Vaggie planned the rest of the day in celebration of you. 

Everyone enjoyed games, drinks and some people even gave you gifts. Nifty gave you a handmade knife, “to kill the angels”, Charlie made you a bracelet, Angel got you a lovely pink robe, Vaggie gifted you a pair of stockings. Husk gave you all the alcohol you could want, while trying to teach you how to gamble. You and Angel danced to music played by Alastor’s microphone cane until everyone joined in. By the end of the night, everyone had their fill of alcohol and food. 

You ache with gratitude. 

It was quite a lot for 1 month living here, but this is what they do. It’s only been a month, but it feels like family- your home. 

And by midnight, Husk asked what your goal in hell would be. 

“To be redeemed. To go to heaven and live forever as a pure soul! Thank you for everything you have done for me so far guys.”

“Cheers to that,” he nods, lifting up a glass of whiskey. “To you, dear friend.” 

–

“Alright, goodnight toots, I’m off ta bed.” Angel stretches, getting up from the sofa. You both were engaged in deep drunk conversation for a few hours now. Circling the drink in your glass, you suppose it’s time for you too to get off to bed. 

“Goodnight, Angel.” You smile as he blows a kiss in return before he exits the living room. 

Yawning, you get up from the sofa, almost falling. How much have you had? You’re buzzed pretty bad. 

“Need help, my dear?” The familiar static-y voice lingers behind you. 

“Oh, Alastor-think i had t’much.” You smile and you can feel your flushed cheeks radiate heat. 

“Now, now sweetheart. You’re in good hands. May I?” A gentle hand comes to rest on your lower back. 

You nod, letting him easily scoop you up. Your face cradles into his neck. Feels kind of funny, having the spins and being carried. 

“Did you have a good time tonight?” His voice rumbles in his chest as he talks. 

You giggle, “Keep talking, it feels nice.” 

He hums and it satisfies you. “Everyone is proud of you. Not many people in hell are open to the option of being rehabilitated or changed. You should be incredibly proud of yourself.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“I sure did, sweet girl. I loved playing all your tunes tonight. I haven’t heard of most of them, but they were catchy.” 

Your weight in his arms shift as he walks up the stairs. 

“How long have you been in hell?” You ask.

“For quite some time. I could tell you hundreds of stories about how hell was before you got here. Maybe stories before most people got here. The times are changin’.” 

“A lil’ over a month f’me,” you grumble, “I don’t know why I came in the first place.”

“Now darling, you’re at the safest place in hell. Don’t you worry, soon enough you’ll be climbing up that ladder to heaven.”

You sigh.

“Isn’t that what you want?” His ear twitches. 

It takes you a moment to reply, trying to collect all your runaway thoughts. 

“Yes, but, do we know this even works? Does all this work like that? Am I really able to cleanse my soul?” Your chin lifts up to meet his eyes already staring back at you.

Alastors boots click down the hallway and stop at front of your door. Without putting you down, your door clicks and opens. You keep talking to him as he gently lays you down on your bed. Your plush pillows and soft bedding caress you, trying to lull you to sleep in your drunken state.

“I thought souls stay here to burn forever. I never thought a place like this would even exist in a world like…this.” 

Alastor stands next to your bed, red eyes gleaming down on you through the darkness of your room. His figure half illuminated by the moon, microphone at the top of his cane reflecting in the light. 

“Charlie is a dreamer.” He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “She believes it can be done.”

With your eyes fighting to stay open, you close them and put the emptiness beside your bed. “But do you believe it can be done? Keep talking to me, Alastor. I like when y’talk. You know you were my first friend here?” 

“Darling, you’re a pleasure to be around. Your company brings a lighter feel to a room.” He coos as he settles himself. Your bed dips as he sits. 

“Maybe one day you can come up to heaven with me. Wouldn’t that be fun? We could foxtrot on the clouds.” You giggle. 

“You might need a few more lessons in that before then dear, but yes, I suppose that sounds like a grand ol’ time.”

He waits a moment before speaking again, “You really want to get to heaven, don’t you?”

You mumble a yes to him, “You didn’t answer me before Alastor. About if you believe it can be done?”

He adjusts himself to face you directly. “I know it can be done.”

Your eyes shoot open. 

“Really? How?”

“If it’s cleansing your soul you’re looking for, I can do that myself.” 

“Really? You perk up, “You’d help me?”

He cocks his head to the side, looking down at you through hooded eyes. That cat like grin grows wide. 

“Of course! I’m the radio demon, look at all the things I’ve done to this hotel. All the things I’ve done to protect this place. Now, I don’t go around telling people this, so keep this our little secret,darling would you?” He waits for you to nod excitedly. “I once helped someone get to those pearly gates before.”

A demon like him was able to help someone go to heaven before? Alastor is so many great things, you’ve seen it yourself, but this? This was your ticket. He could do this for you, and he’s always helped you before. He’s never let you down. Alastor has been your tride and true.

The smile on your face shows Alastor all too well that you believe him. He knows your pretty head is filled with trust. He’s never given anyone a reason not to. And he knows how naive you are. A sweet, simple naive little girl. So new to this world… 

“I’ll do the best that I can every day if you can grant me this one wish, Alastor. I’ll work hard and you cleanse my soul.”

Alastors eyes darken as his ears twitch. 

“Make that a deal?” He leans in, extending his hand to you like he did that first day. The first day of your new life in hell. His ears twitch in anticipation, and you take it a second later.

“A deal! Thank you so mu-”

In an instant, you’re pushed down on the bed. 

Alastors body is quick to climb over yours. His hands have an iron grip on your wrists. 

“Might as well cleanse your soul now, right darling? No better time to, no time to waste!” 

You gasp and wiggle in his grip. As if agitated, his knee pushes up and into your leg, making you open for him. The dress you wear slides up to your waist as he does this. 

“What is it? Don’t believe me?” He pouts, fakeness and mockery ooze through his voice.

“No-I,” your brain is hazy from the alcohol. Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. 

“Good, never doubt me again.” He growls, voice stuttering and filled with loud static. Pushing your wrists deeper into the bed, he places his hips between your legs. 

“You want to see those gates in the sky? You want to leave?”

His hips grind into yours, his cock already hard. The coarseness of his pants hit into every nerve of your clit.

“I-” you begin.

“Don’t I do enough for you here? Cleansing a soul, HA!” One of his hands shoots down between your legs and rubs harsh circles over your bundle of nerves. 

You let out a moan and arch your back off the bed. Unsure of why your body is responding to him like this. 

“You trust me, yes? So allow me to cleanse your soul, by chaining yours to me.” 

Your brain is too busy swirling to realize what you just did, the deal you just made, and the giant loophole Alastor just wiggled his way into. You buck your hips into his touch, your slick coating your panties. His fingers dance over your covered clit, made easy by your juices collecting there. 

His fingers press roughly into your nerves, and you’re becoming an unholy mess. Your eyes fuse shut, feeling every movement he gives you. And it feels fucking good…

“Feels s’good,” you moan. Bucking your hips relentlessly now, silently begging for him to keep going. 

“I’ll play nice, since you ever so graciously trusted me with your soul.” He coos, upping his pace for you. His lips come down to gently kick your neck. 

“Let go, be a good girl and cum for me.” 

It’s torture. His rough hands give steady and hard pressure, rubbing little fast circles, all while his mouth gives you coaxing soft kisses. 

“I’m gunna-”

His eyes are blown wide, a snarl catches his smile as he eagerly watches every muscle in your face as your head lolls to the side. Your beautiful mouth slacks open and your moans play him a lovely song. 

And there it goes, the pressure in your lower belly breaks. You give him everything he wants. Hot pleasure sizzles every corner of your body and you hump his hand through your orgasm. 

He hums as he watches you work your way down until you slowly stop grinding your hips into his. 

“Up you go, sweet girl.” Hands cradle your back, picking you up slightly to position you to the edge of the bed. Always with care as if every movement was thought out and afraid to break you. 

His body now stands at the edge of the bed, hands pressing your knees open and then guiding your legs around his waist. 

“Who do you belong to now?” He effortlessly takes his cock out of his pants. No time for removing clothes. 

You look down to see him. He’s big, you’re not sure you could take that…

A hand grips your face, “I know you’re curious darling, and you’ll have your fill, but don’t ignore me again or I’ll make this hurt more than you want.”

His face is so close to yours now, you can feel the tip of his cock poking at your clit and it makes you melt. 

“Yours, Alastor.”

He gently grinds his cock over your clit. All the way down the shaft to where his balls press against your slick opening, to all the way back up to his tip. He does this slowly, watching your every move like you're prey. His prey, ready to devour you in an instant. 

“What’s mine, now?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. His antlers grow bigger and the grip on your waist now pricks with pain from his claws. 

“My soul, my soul is yours.” His cock sliding up and down your cunt makes your furrow your brows and whimper for him. You don’t care, you don’t give a fuck, you just want him to keep making you feel the way you do right now. 

“Good girl.” Positioning himself to your opening, he dips his tip in just to catch your juices. As he pulls out, he slicks your wetness in circles over your opening, coating himself with you. 

Without warning, he thrusts in with one sharp movement. You gasp, mouth open for him, and he forcibly sticks his fingers in your mouth. His thumb acts as a hook under your chin. 

“You’re bonded to me forever,” he growls. The fingers in your mouth press down on your tongue as he begins a steady and rough pace. Your body bounces back and forth on the bed, sliding yourself onto him over and over again. You give into the sensation and your body goes limp with pleasure. Your knees slack dead weight to the sides, but your feet still link behind his waist. 

“You’re a lovely sight, who knew you were so naive. A pretty, little naive baby who doesn’t know any better.” 

You coat his fingers with saliva, and he’s fixated on watching it roll down his arm and your neck, letting it pool on the comforter.  

“Look at you, I already broke you, ha!” 

His pace begins to quicken. “You’re so good for me. It drives me mad.” 

He fucks up into you at a relentless pace, everytime he thrusts into you his cock kisses your cervix, over and over and over… 

“Is my darling going to take my cum? I’m going to fill your little cunt.” His hand forces your head to nod for him, and you do your best to say yes with his fingers still in your mouth. 

“You’re clenching around me so hard, I know you want my cock to fill you up.” Taking his hand out of your mouth, his wet hand finds your hip. His hands curl around you, claws wrapping around the small of your back, bouncing you back and forth onto him. 

His eyes are wild, his snarl exposes his gums and his ears are flat as he humps into you just one more time until snarling in your ear as he fills you up. You can feel his pulsing cock deep within you as his warmth seeps in every corner of your cunt. 

He grinds into you as he finishes his high. Once he’s done, his grip on you loosens and fingers smooth over the scars he left. 

The smile on his face is dark as he looks into your eyes. 

His toy for eternity. 

[lola-writes]

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’. 

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service. 

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. 

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use. 

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips. 

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach. 

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder. 

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return. 

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read. 

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug. 

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement. 

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued. 

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped. 

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought. 

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled. 

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom. 

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously. 

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely. 

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it. 

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit. 

_

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work. 

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68). 

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up. 

My breath hitched in my throat. 

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips. 

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features. 

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment. 

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips. 

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts. 

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

 “The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips. 

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly. 

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height. 

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck. 

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine. 

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.” 

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him. 

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file. 

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish. 

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky. 

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach. 

He had a very cute butt. 

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips. 

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

_

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday. 

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair. 

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous. 

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out. 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went. 

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

_

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper. 

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside. 

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets. 

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out. 

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up. 

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me. 

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back… 

Dread coiled in my stomach. 

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight. 

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart. 

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

_

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered. 

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice. 

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare. 

And I was up for the challenge. 

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious. 

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further. 

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked. 

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig. 

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

 “Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame. 

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal. 

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut. 

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected. 

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words. 

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered. 

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers. 

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth. 

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

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Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

[fillinforlater]

Pink Sheets of the Gangbang Queen

Male Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 1759 words

Tags: post-gangbang-unclarity, a fuckton of cum, the biggest creampies you can imagine, sluttiest_woman_ever!Gaeul, riding, reverse cowgirl, mating press, cumming again, surprisingly sweet

TW: nasty, a lot of cum by different people

Credit: @friskyriskywhisky had the idea and wrote most of it, I just expanded it as far as I could. Maybe there will be more Gangbang Queen stuff, but this was basically just a double BFH lol

(A/N: Have fun with this crazy, short piece!)

“I want one more…”

Gaeul lies on her nasty bed, which is not only the size of a New York apartment room but also a lot more comfortable. The fresh evidence of sin is all over the once royal pink bedsheet befitting of a princess, a queen to be more accurate. Her comically large pillow is full of wet fingerprints, there are even hints of Gaeul bending over it because she loves it when men penetrate her from behind and fuck her into the soft thing. The headboard and the walls nearby are all smeared with her own slick and the cum from the dozen of guys who unloaded a week's worth and then some for her, on her, because of her. Who knows how much genetic coding is now dripping down those walls, or the side of her bed or along her thighs.

Either way, Gaeul knows that the pungent creampie of hers only feels this good because at least ten horny men put their spunk deep into her cunt. Be it fat cocks, long ones, small, smelly, oddly shaped—Gaeul takes them all and her insides shape to each accordingly. For the horde of cocks it’s an incredible feeling with a surprising snugness, while Gaeul yearns and shouts (as long as there is no shaft testing her gag reflex) for them to finish quickly and deep. Though a marvelous feeling, she is never satisfied. She needs one more, she doesn’t even care if it’s the tiniest rest or a gigantic, creamy load—all that matters is that he cums inside her.

Gaeul’s once-animated and sex-crazed sexual partners have either left or completely passed out on the floor next to her bed—except lucky you, the only one lying naked next to her. Lucky you, who she now eyes, admiring your features while you're half asleep. She crawls over and gently flips you onto your back, stirring you awake in the process.

In your state of extreme grogginess, you aren't able to tell at first if you're being eaten alive or attacked by a savage animal. Just when your fight or flight response springs into action, a pair of lips press against yours. They instantly calm you down like a mothers embrace after a lucid nightmare. You can't help but smile unconsciously at how gentle it feels. Gaeul’s floral-scented shampoo reassures you who's currently kissing you, her touchy, wet and tender fingers reminding you of the first time she checked out your body…

It was a rainy night in one of the many underground bars in Seoul—the type of bar that makes you raise an eyebrow at first, someone with connections has recommended it, looks suspicious; then you fell into the trap of fun conversations and nice liquor that ultimately led to a selection ceremony. This was the moment you realized why this was not a commonly visited place.

Everyone went silent at her entry. Gaeul, the well-known (at least for most people that regularly visit these exclusive bars) gangbang queen was craving men tonight, many men. She was not picky, in fact, there was only one condition you had to fulfill:

“Three days worth of cum. If you had sex or jerked off during the last three days, you’re out for tonight.”

No one dared to defy her or lie to her. She diligently checked everyone’s balls and was extremely thorough, especially with you, who she gently pushed against a bar stool, hand past your waistband. Your breath hitched, hers too when her slender fingers caressed your balls.

“Tall, horny—and at least ten days of cum.

“I’d love for you to join the after party in my pink bed.”

That’s how Gaeul found you, touched you, lured you in and turned you on, like she does at this moment…

It's been minutes now, with no signs of stopping or letting go from Gaeul, her lips still fully attached to yours just to occasionally back off and peck at it again. The last remnants of a dream that could never match this disappear. They are replaced by memories that slowly creep back and your heart drops. You remember what happened not long ago, right on these pink sheets—don’t lie to yourself, you know it happens every other night.

Those soft lips of hers were satisfying other men not too long ago, fully enveloped around shafts of different shapes and sizes. That tongue of hers glided across the cockhead of multiple partners and made sure that no spot on their balls was left out. She would fill her mouth with as much manly musk and precum as she could before her throat was getting assaulted by who knows how many cocks, endlessly coating the back of it with thick cum and forcing her to gag and cry, which everyone knows is a huge turn on for the gangbang queen.

It’s those lips that form a seal around yours and it’s that mouth you attack lazily with your tongue.

Who are you to complain though? Gaeul is the greatest kisser your lips have ever met. Your obsession with her took control of your life even though you had no chance with her. You're just a nobody when Gaeul is the well-beloved queen. The gangbang queen - for those close enough to be her little circle filled with lust and desire. Yet somehow you saw a chance and took it, even if it means taking sloppy seconds (or thirds? Fifths? Wait, how many guys are here again?).

Your mind snaps back to the present when you feel your cock poking at her entrance. Hang on, did she even—fuck! You shiver in both pleasure and disgust. You're plunged into her sloppy cunt, extremely tight, even after being abused by multiple men (some girthier than the ridiculous sex toys she has in her collection). 

Gaeul’s walls hug your tip first, then slowly adjust to your size, like they have become your personal sexy toy. The pleasure really kicks in when the gangbang queen puts your hands on her hips and adds your name into the mixture of huffs and moans. Her incredibly damp cavern and how slippery her whole crotch is against your own, it displays a reality you don't want to admit: You're fucking Gaeul through the creampie of other men. Using the foreign substance as a sticky wannabe lube as you slowly ramp up your pace, you're thinking with your other head only; that’s not an uncommon occurrence with the gangbang queen around. 

Sex with her has you drunk, dazed, carelessly chasing your own high. You want to be the only one to have your load inside of her cunt. Gaeul yearns for breeding, and the sperm of all the other disgusting men, still unconscious in this room is deemed not enough. At this moment you decide to fuck the creampie out of her and replace it with your own.

You're frantically thrusting in and out of her, she replicates your passion as she rides you. Heaps of old cum get forced out with the assistance of gravity but mainly due to the pump that is your cock and the endless pumping into her cunt. Gaeul switches to a reverse cowgirl position and it's only now that you notice that her ass got absolutely filled as well. 

This should not be a surprise, she is the gangbang queen after all, yet you want to look away. This is exclusively other men's cum leaking out of Gaeul and onto your abs. It feels extremely wrong, fucking filthy and somewhat gross. The eagerness of the girl on your dick makes you forget that though. For a short while, you just admire her back, her small, shapely ass and the way her moans are in perfect harmony with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and cum being squeezed out. 

With your whole cock still buried inside her, bottoming her out, you two clumsily get into a mating press position. Gaeul is the most flexible girl you know, her small frame easily capable of folding and bending into every position you want. This position quickly becomes your favorite, because you don’t have to see her leaking asshole anymore, but you know that she is gaping and the worthless spunk steadily leaves her anal cavity. 

Every time you thrust into her, you see and feel her whole ass and thighs ripple. Shock waves across the smooth, stretched, spotless skin gets sent in all kinds of directions because you dig your hands into it. There's still a disgusting amount of cum defying gravity, defying your forceful pounding into Gaeul, but you are sure that if you just keep on fucking her, and press her whole body into the mattress, the petite gangbang queen will leak out all the rest. Through the lewdest of sounds and a clear lack of stamina, the thought of Gaeul filled with nothing but you pushes you through.

You feel the knot inside you loosen, strings and little last spurts of cum hitting her cervix as your tip is right up against it. Gaeul has her feet right up against your back, her heels pulling you deeper inside her. She's still rutting against you, her clit drawing circles against your crotch enjoying the friction and satisfaction it brings. The art of the orgasm, Gaeul has mastered it. In her scream, you find an infinite sea of bliss. It draws out your orgasm a few more seconds; perfect seconds.

Post-nut clarity kicks in and you try to block out the other people who are regaining consciousness in the room. Witness how ethereal her beauty is under the ceiling light. You want to kiss her. You want to tell her how much you love her. However, the harsh reality kicks in harder than the post-nut clarity as she shifts her gaze away from you and looks at the time. You close your eyes, take a deep breath to cherish just how fucking good her cock-warming cavern is. 

You pull away, unfazed at the mess in front of you at this point. Party time is over and you’re victorious but defeated, a bit deflated even. Why is the girl you’re falling for the wrong type of queen? 

"Hey..." Gaeul reaches out and grabs your forearm and pulls you a little closer to give you one last peck on your cheek. "Drive safely, okay?” Her fingers tiptoe towards your hand until it reaches the back of your it, her thumb gently rubs circles on it. A new level of intimacy that makes your heart stutter. “Message me when you’re back home."

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter six)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, roughhousing, overstimulation, mild bondage, insane amounts of teasing, some mild dubcon scenes/allusions to dubcon, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, eventual piv (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 6/6

SERIES MASTERLIST

words: .......13.5k

a/n: WHEW what a wait. thank you, as always, for your patience this past month or so! as i’ve mentioned i’ve been busy as hell, but it is with many internal screams that i can say! welcome to the final chapter of this series!! what a ride we've all had these last few months! buckle up for like. essay length extensive smut and also plot. in varying order. as always, feedback makes my world spin round at rocket speed, and just. thank you guys for all the love ever since i posted chapter one last november (november me with a brand new sideblog had no clue this would become a Thing i finished let alone a Thing people liked!! that's all on you lovely humans. ily)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

Heaven was his head between your thighs.

His hands on you, everywhere. Hot mouth pressed to your skin, your neck, your thighs, your cunt. He was slow. Thorough. Pulling cries out of your mouth that got louder and louder until your back arched on the bed and you lay slumped and panting, twisted in his sheets. Taken apart and stitched right back together.

It hadn’t started like this. Not even close.

You woke to a soft light on your face, the curtains parted slightly. Your throat felt sore, and you were tired. Body heavy, slumped across a bed. His. It came back to you in fragments. The party. The photograph. His hand in your hair. His eyes after, apologetic and pleading. Falling asleep right here, next to him, but there was nobody beside you anymore. Your eyes adjusted to the room; you’d never seen it at this time of day, with sunbeams lighting up the walls. You could hear a soft tapping sound, like rain on the windowsill, but it was a bright and sunny spring day out.

Typing. That’s what it was.

Steady, satisfying clicks as the typewriter punched ink onto paper. You turned your head towards the desk across the room.

Coriolanus was sat there, focused, a breakfast tray pushed to one side. He didn’t notice you for a while, and you rolled over to take him in, a slight squint in his eye as he concentrated. You pulled your tired body up and leaned against the pillows, and he turned.

“Morning.” He said in surprise.

“Hi.”

This was strange. Like a warped sense of a morning after.

“Coffee?” He offered. “It’s still hot, I think.”

“Please.”

As he stood to pour from the French press, you took a look around you, eyes landing on the nightstand. A glass of water stood tall next to the silver chain he’d given you last night.

So innocent. If someone took a peek through a crack in the wall, they’d think you were a perfectly normal couple. Domestic bliss.

Not so much, you thought, as he walked over and handed you a cup.

He didn’t linger, but sat down at the foot of the bed, and that only made things stranger. He’d never been one to shy away from physical proximity, but here you both were, sipping just-hot coffee as he eyed you carefully. Like you were an animal in an enclosure, and he hadn’t quite figured out which approach to take with you yet.

“Are you working on something?” You nodded toward the cluttered desk.

“Just the usual. Work.”

“Oh? Didn’t know you worked in here.”

“I don’t, usually. Never have, in fact.” He sounded sheepish. This was entirely new. “But I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Oh.

You said just that.

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“I can go if you’d like. Leave you to rest.”

“No, that’s okay. Stay.”

His eyes softened a little, shoulders sinking down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You considered. You hadn’t really thought much about it.

“Tired, I think. This is helping. Thank you.” You sipped at the cup of coffee, careful not to spill it on his sheets. An oddly comfortable silence hung in the air.

“I called Cordelia. She’s coming over this afternoon, we can figure it all out. Print a story you’re happy with.”

“Wait, what? We don’t have an appointment for three more weeks.”

He glanced awkwardly at the floor, and cleared his throat.

“I thought you’d want to make it as quick as possible. It will be, and it won’t shine badly on you. I’ll get Lucille to pack your things, and if you don’t want to go back to your parents, I’d be happy to put you up somewhere in the city for as long as you’d like. It’s the least I could do after everything that I-”

“Coriolanus, stop.” You shook your head, bewildered.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

He paused.

“Of course.”

“How the hell are you meant to know what I want if you’ve never asked me?”

He frowned, eyes darting from the floor, to you, to the floor again.

“I… Well, I assumed that-”

“Don’t assume.” You interrupted. “God, when will you stop assuming you know what’s best for me? It’d be nice to feel like I have a say in this. Don’t you see that if we do this, we’ll just end up right back where we started? I don’t want that, do you?”

“Doll, I think this would be for the best.”

“Why, am I getting too difficult for you now? You got someone new lined up ready to take my place? Someone less complicated? More complacent?” You snapped.

“Of course not, it’s not that.”

“Then why? Why do you want me gone? Because it’s pretty damn clear that you do from where I’m sat.”

He sighed, turning to face you, but looking at your lap. You gripped the cup with a vice, like you were trying to snap off the handle. You placed it on the nightstand.

“I’ve just been wondering if this has become about something… else, to you. and I wanted to say that if that’s the case, this can’t continue. Because… well, I’ve grown fond of you, and it isn’t fair to keep you hoping.”

Your confusion softened your sharp edges.

“Hoping for what?”

For whatever reason, he didn’t meet your eye as he spoke.

“Hoping that… I can give you something I don’t think I’m capable of. Or at least, not anymore. It’s not fair on you. I can’t give you what you need.”

“And what exactly is it that I need?”

He shifted, looking awkwardly to the floor. At first, your frown only deepened, then it hit you. A knowing smile crept onto your face.

“Oh my god… you think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

His frown only widened your grin. you were pretty sure you must’ve looked insane. Despite yourself, you let out a laugh, and his frown only deepened.

“When you… you’ve been upset lately. The other week at the luncheon, and then last night, I thought it was-”

“That I was, what, in love with you?”

A cocky, shit eating grin now took over your face.

He started a sentence, but stopped himself. You could see it on his face; he was completely thrown.

“So you’re not.” He checked.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed, Snow. ‘Course not. That’s never what this was about, I mean, we have rules for a reason. Sure, we’ve been breaking them like it’s our day job, but not the golden one. Never the most important.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked a little sheepish.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” you repeated, “I’m not in love with you.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. His shoulders sank down, like he was relieved.

“I see. That’s good, that’s… for the best.”

“So will you cancel Cordelia?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want., it’s done.”

You nodded.

“See, this is better. It’s a lot easier when you ask me things. And I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t exactly been the most talkative either.”

“It’s not exactly our strong suit.” He agreed.

“Yeah. You know, while we’re on the topic, there’s something else you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

“You can run me a bath. A hot one. With bubbles.” You added.

It was slight, but you saw it. He perked up.

“Okay, doll.”

The bath was hot, and it smelt like the softer parts of him, like fresh linen and the spice of his cologne. Again, he didn’t linger, just ran the bath, saw you into the room and let you be. It was frustrating – while it was nice to soak in the hot water and feel your muscles relax, you wished he would just talk to you, instead of acting like you were something to avoid, something to walk on eggshells around. This change in his demeanour wasn’t a completely unwelcome one – you didn’t mind feeling as though you had the upper hand, and held all the cards for once – but you didn’t like being treated like you were broken, either.

You sank your head underneath the bubbles and stayed down there for a few seconds, the rush of water clouding your eardrums. It was a peaceful kind of noise, and when you came back up for air, you found yourself breathing a little easier.

You pondered. Processed, considering the steps to take next, rolling your neck out and stretching your feet to the edge of the tub. Anytime you thought you’d reached any sort of plateau with Coriolanus, something new would pop up out of seemingly nowhere. You hadn’t minded the danger at first, it drew you in and kept you hungry for more, but you’d grown tired, weary from the whiplash knotting your neck.

When the water cooled, you looked around, but couldn’t see a towel. You cleared your throat.

“Snow?” You called out.

Soft footsteps. Then, his voice from behind the door.

“Everything okay?”

“I just need a towel. I can’t see one near me.”

“They’re in the linen closet in the corner.”

You eyed the floor between the tub and the closet.

“I’d have to get out and drip bathwater all across the floor. Can you just come in here and hand me one?”

Silence.

“Please?” You added.

More silence. Then he quietly cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Okay, fine. I’m coming in, I won’t look.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

The door cracked open and he made a short beeline to the closet, unfolding a towel and holding it out. When he walked to the side of the tub, he looked off to the side like the colour of the walls was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

You pulled yourself out of the water, shivering as the cold air hit you. Then you backed into the towel and took it from him, wrapping it around yourself, sinking into the soft cotton. He stood behind you, paused, seemingly suspended in place and unable to move. You heard him draw in a breath, inches from the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. His breath caught on the droplets of water gathered on your skin, and it warmed you and gave you a chill at the same time.

“I know you are.”

Then in a flash, you spun around, lips on his, hungry. He kissed you back like he had something to prove, and hell, maybe he did. His hands tangled in your wet hair and yours made for his shirt. The towel slipped to the floor and fell in a pile at your feet. One button came open, you broke the second, which flew into the air and landed on the floor with a tap. He pulled you in closer, hands all over you, and you worked frantically at the third, not caring if it broke, not caring about anything.

“Doll.”

You looked up at him, at his blown-out eyes.

“Want you to fuck me.” You breathed.

“I can’t.”

You jolted to a stop, catching your breath. He took a step back.

“What?”

He pulled in slow breaths, like he was trying to cool himself off. His eyes pressed shut.

“Not like this. Not until I know you trust me again. I don’t… I can’t hurt you again. I won’t do that. I need you to forgive me first. Completely.”

You exhaled slowly, then cleared your throat, lowering to the ground to pick the damp towel off the tiles. When you came back up, half-covered, he was staring at a spot on the wall again, breath laboured.

You tied the towel around you, and looked right at him as he looked away, eyes averted.

“You sure about that, Snow?” you drawled. “You sure as hell don’t look it.”

He swallowed thickly.

“I’ll let you get dressed. I’ll just be in the bedroom.”

You brought your hand to your lips, brushing over where he’d just kissed them once he’d turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. You eyed your pile of clothes with disdain.

He was back at his desk when you walked out, wrapped in a shirt he’d offered you, hair towel in hand. He didn’t look as focused on his work this time.

“I cancelled Cordelia. So don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you.” You made for the bed, and climbed back onto it. “Rather just talk to you anyway.”

His jaw tensed. It seemed he was still doing everything in his power not to look at you.

“You know, there’s this thing called eye contact. Remember that thing Cordelia waffles on about? It’s important when you’re having a conversation with somebody. I’m a big fan, myself.”

His eyes shot daggers at you. But at least he was looking.

“And what did you want to talk about, exactly?”

You shrugged, and he glanced back at the desk, and pretended to study one of the papers there.

“I don’t know. All of this, I guess.”

Much to your annoyance, he didn’t answer. Your eyes swept the room again, and you brought the towel to your hair. The sun was high enough now to light up the silver chain on the nightstand, and you took it in your palm, turning it over.

“Did you mean it when you said I could have this?” You wondered aloud.

He looked at you again.

“Wasn’t sure if you remembered that.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then I meant it.” His words shouldn’t have made you smile, but they did.

“Will you put this on me?” You asked.

“Uh. Sure.”

The chair creaked as he pushed it back from underneath him, and he walked over to you cautiously, perching on the bed, taking the dog tag, then ever so gently brushing your hair to one side.

“Can I just ask-”

“Anything.” He said quickly.

The cool metal slid onto your chest as he secured the chain, falling low.

“When you were out there, did you…” you swallowed.

Say it.

“…hurt people?” You praised your voice for not shaking. The silence in the room was deafening. But he finally answered.

“I did what was necessary.”

“It must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was.”

“Do you think about it much?”

“More than I care to admit. But it was a long time ago.”

You turned to face him.

“Doesn’t make it less real. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. What matters is that I’m here now.”

You smiled.

“You didn’t get too bad of a deal of it either, President Snow.”

He put your hair back into place, fingertips trailing your shoulder.

“I certainly didn’t.”

You thumbed the cold steel, an odd feeling of satisfaction washing over you.

“Was it worth it?” Your voice sounded quiet, even to you. You were fully aware of the weight of the question, heavier still from the complete understanding that you barely knew what you were asking.

“Yes.”

It should’ve scared you, the surety in his voice. But it didn’t.

Warm breath caressed your shoulder blade, and it really shouldn’t comfort you, but it did. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you. For putting it on. I always get these things tangled.”

“My pleasure. I meant what I said though, sweetheart. No wearing it where anyone’ll see, okay? I need you to promise me.”

You turned your head, shifted so you faced him. You suddenly realised just how close your faces were, and your voice dropped low.

“I promise. It’s nothing new. We’re no strangers to secrets, you and I.”

Your noses were almost touching, and he was looking down at your lips. You drew in a breath, and inched in impossibly closer. You felt his breath on your lips, hot and shallow. Your nose bumped his.

And then his lips were on yours again. But just as quickly, he pulled away.

“Don’t.” You pleaded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t. Not until I’ve fixed this. Please, just… tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You sighed, pulling away.

“This is what I want, Snow. But…”

“Yeah?”

“I just… never knew it would get so complicated. I think for now, maybe I need a little time.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“I might go home over this weekend. Spend some time with my parents. No tricks, okay? No messengers, no word from you, the entire time. I’ll come back here on Monday morning, and I’ll tell you what I’ve decided then.”

He nodded.

“That’s fine.” He cleared his throat again. “So you’ll leave tomorrow morning?”

“If that’s okay.”

He seemed as satisfied as one would expect with that solution.

“Yes. Of course, anything you want.”

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked a little disappointed by the formality.

“And Snow?”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Before I go, will you lie next to me for a little while?"

It was oddly intimate, the way the day stretched on. He lay next to you for a while, and you sank into the sheets and eventually dozed off. When you woke, he was still there, quietly tapping at the typewriter and poring over paperwork. You spent the rest of the day in his room, in bed mostly, with food being brought up to you which you shared in mutual silence or casual conversation. Lucille packed your bags, and you spent the night in his bed, a little distance between you. But when you woke up, you had to slowly pull away your woven limbs.

Leaving was a quiet affair. Snow gave you a chaste kiss goodbye, and Henry snuck you and your bags through the back exit and kept to backroads, so nobody would know who you were or where you were going. Your parents didn’t know why you were visiting either; they didn’t need to. As far as anyone was concerned, you were taking a short weekend trip to check in with your family.

The two days passed quickly. You spent the time reflecting, debating what your next move would be, and listening to your parents argue. You found yourself glancing at the clock by Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday night you were practically crawling out your skin ready to leave. You considered what he’d offered you; an apartment on your own, somewhere in the city. But the thing is, you’d grown used to his moods, to just having him around, if only to dig your fingers into and pry open, searching for secrets. Life would feel awfully dull without it. You’d never met someone who was a match for you, who challenged you. You wondered if he felt the same.

Monday morning rolled around and you let out a heavy sigh of relief as you climbed into the car. Henry glanced back at you, but didn’t comment.

The second the manor came into sight, your head clouded with doubt. Would he want you to stick around? You’d spent the last couple of days toying with all outcomes like some omniscient god, but until now you hadn’t considered the fact that Snow might’ve done some thinking through of his own.

But as you pulled up at the side door, there he was. Standing perfectly poised, waiting for you, and all your worries washed away as he looked at you. Henry opened the door, and Coriolanus offered his hand as you stepped out the car. He looked at you with the same intensity as he had that very first night in his room, when you’d finally dropped the charade, and you returned the stare. Even just feeling his hand on yours set your skin on fire.

When you finally got inside and it was just the two of you, he stopped you.

He looked regal before, proud and superior. Now, you could tell it was a façade, laced with a nervous discomfort.

“Well?” He prompted.

You looked at him. Took in the way his eyes couldn’t stay in one place for too long, the tightness in his jaw that only appeared when he was under pressure, and the slight urgency seeping through his otherwise controlled question, and realised then that you hadn’t been the only one going a little insane these past few days.

And now, you had the upper hand again.

“Upstairs,” you answered. “Your room.”

When the door closed behind you and he paced towards the desk, you almost smiled at the parallel. It felt like an age ago that you’d strutted in here, dressed in his suit jacket with something to prove. You knew the cards you were about to play now like you had then, but your thoughts still raced.

Snow cleared his throat.

“So? Have you made up your mind?”

You waited for him to turn and face you.

“I have.”

“And?” So quick to reply. You’d never heard him so on edge.

You wet your lips, taking a step towards him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying stretching this out a little, watching him squirm.

“I’ve decided that… I’m staying.” You said finally.

He let out an audible breath, almost like he didn’t care about you hearing his reaction anymore. Like he’d been strung out the entire weekend, just like you. Like he’d imagined this conversation in a million different ways. He stepped towards you. This was an old dance; one you knew well. You closed the gap between you, and his hand grazed your jaw.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He said. You held his gaze, he brushed your lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Can I…” His voice dropped.

“Not just yet.”

You relished the little frown that knitted his brows.

“I know you, Snow.” You continued. “You’re good at what you do. You’re better at this than anyone out there. You’re dedicated, and I think that… something tells me you’re going to be President for an awfully long time. I want to be by your side when that happens. I’m not going away when this arrangement suits me too. But I have terms.”

He watched you as if he was mesmerised, and you wondered if he even noticed the way you slowly walked him towards the bed. You hid your smile as the spell broke, and the back of his legs bumped the ottoman. He gazed down at your lips, just a little thrown off kilter.

“Tell me.”

You got closer, lifting your hands to the lapels of his shirt and giving them a tug, turning him so you were stood against the ottoman and he was facing you. He moved so easily, as if this was a dance, one you’d practiced a hundred times over.

“Let’s start with this. You said you’d do anything for my forgiveness, right?”

“I meant it.”

“Good.” You nodded, “Because there is something you can do for me.” Your hand traced his jaw, and he leaned into it.

“Name it.” He whispered, lips pressing against your palm. “It’s yours.”

You leaned towards him, faces close, noses touching, foreheads pressed together. You could feel the almost on your lips, could feel his breath. You relished in the feeling, that electric tension between the two of you. You held onto it, inhaled it like smoke, before cutting it loose.

“Kneel.” You breathed.

Feeling his brows twitch gave you a rush, and when you pulled back, he looked like art. You slowly moved down, sitting on the ottoman, holding his gaze. Then slowly, steadily, like he was walking a gossamer-thin tightrope, he shifted, nudging your legs open to stand between them, and lowered himself down to the floor, knees gently knocking against the hardwood one at a time. You give him a slow nod.

“Like that. Good. Stay there.”

Your legs parted a little further, and his eyes lined up with the way your dress lifted, bunching at your hips, exposing black lace with white trim, barely covering the space he seemed to lean towards.

He wet his lips, glancing up at you. Eyes bright but laden with want, so heavy he thought he might drown in it.

“Can I…” He whispered, and you felt it more than heard it, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

You smiled a little, and shook your head.

“Fuck. Please, doll.”

“Did I ask you to beg?”

“No. But… what can I do?”

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you considered.

“You can take these off. Slowly.”

You sighed when his palms brushed your hips, pushing your dress up then hooking soft fingers into the band of your underwear, slowly pulling them over your hips and down your thighs. He was gentle, pulling back but staying oh so close to you as he pulled the lace past your ankles, tossed it to the side, and moved in again expectantly.

“And now?”

You pushed your legs apart again, just enough. Drew in a breath.

“I want you to watch.”

A sound slipped from his mouth, and you weren’t sure if it was just a shaky breath or a quiet curse. His eyes darted between your face and the heat between your thighs. If you couldn’t already feel the mess you’d made, the way his lips parted and his eyes went heavy-lidded would give it away in an instant.

His gaze followed your hand, unwavering as you slowly brought it between your legs, and lazily trailed your fingers towards where you were aching to be touched. Then with a gasp, you brushed your finger against your clit and starting drawing slow circles, slipping further down to push against your opening, slipping through the mess you’d made just from seeing him knelt on the hardwood. 

You kept your head tilted back and your eyes closed, touching yourself with Snow knelt between your legs incredibly brazen, even for you. He was mere inches away, laboured breath dusting the skin of your inner thighs.

But as you melted into the feeling, sinking deeper than you could imagine in just a few short seconds, you opened them again. And there he was, darkened eyes fixed on where your fingers ran messy circles on your cunt, and you let out a soft whine. It was enough to make him redirect his stare to your face, and you couldn’t help but stare back, pressing harder against your clit with a broken sigh. You planted your feet on the floor as you shifted your hips a little, getting slightly closer, making it easier for you to carefully swirl a finger around your entrance, then gently push inside.

“Fuck.” He breathed, rocking forward slightly, to which you shook your head, knee pressing against his shoulder, pushing him back. His pleading eyes drove you on, pushed you to fuck yourself faster, obscene wet noises filling the quiet space.

He looked wrecked; lips parted, eyes begging, glancing up at you. And it only made you all the more shameless, bucking your hips and crying out, gasps slipping from your mouth that you couldn’t deny were getting played up a little for effect. He stared on, looking so fucking small between your legs, so hard you could only imagine it hurt.

You weren’t sure if he noticed he was breathing in tandem with you, but as your breaths picked up, got a little strained, so did his. His eyes slitted, heavy with lust as he stared on.

You got a little cocky; let it go to your head. Nothing would ever beat the rush of adrenaline you felt from seeing the most powerful man you’d ever known giving into you, letting you set the rules. It was intoxicating.

“You okay down there, sweetheart?”

He sighed, slow and heavy.

“I…” He trailed off, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is there something you need?” Your voice was breathier than you would like, control slipping from your fingertips, but it was still there and the way he looked up at you. His mouth opened again, jaw agape, on his knees like it was a silent prayer. You fucked yourself faster, mean, dripping down your fingers. He finally spoke.

“Please.” He whispered.

“What did you say?”

“I said -” he swallowed “- I said please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me touch you. Put my mouth on you, I won’t even use my hands. Just let me… baby. Come on.” His voice was raspy and ruined.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet? I’m not so sure.”

His breath was shallow, eyes wide and blown out.

“I’ll prove it to you. Just let me touch you, and I’ll do anything you want. Please, doll.”

You hummed, pretending to weigh it up in your head.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely. Go ahead. But keep your hands to yourself.”

“Thank you. Fuck. Thank you, baby.”

He listened, inching in cautiously, like he was expecting you to change your mind, then he pressed his mouth to you and there it was.

Heaven.

“Oh fuck.” Your breath hitched in your throat.

You hummed as he dragged his tongue over your folds, setting your nerves alight, instinctively rocking into the pressure you’d been thinking about since you got him on the floor. His hands, you noted, sat dutifully on his thighs, gripping onto them like it took a physical reminder for him not to reach out and grab your hips, push his fingers into your soft skin and own you.

As welcome as that sounded to your foggy mind, this was about proving a point. You were the one calling the shots here. So you rocked gently against his face as he kissed your clit, lapping at the heat between your legs, only pulling away at intervals to catch his breath, the daylight making the mess on his chin glisten, only to dive back in again, movements slightly limited by the lack of his hands, which you could see was bothering him.

You couldn’t help but tease him a little between gasps.

“I have to say I missed this. Seeing you underneath me.”

He looked up at you. But there was little defiance in his eyes, just want. Want so depraved that it sent a flush through you, making you feel a little unmoored.

“If I didn’t know better, Coryo, I’d say you were enjoying this.”

Face buried between your thighs, a broken whine sent a little shock through your core. You moaned, getting a little strung-out, a little breathy.

“Is that a yes?”

You felt him nod.

“Good. Glad to see you’re putting up less of a fight this time. It wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Giving in?”

This time, his eyes contained a little more fire. He pushed his tongue firmer against your clit, cutting off your question with a gasp. A few moments passed, and you heard him hum.

“Is there something you want to say, baby? Go ahead.”

He pulled back, catching his breath again.

“Still don’t want me to use my hands?”

You shook your head.

“Then can you… if it’ll feel better.” He glanced at your hand, resting lazily on your thigh.

“What?” You knew what he was getting at, but he shot you back a look as if to say, don’t make me say it.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Then say it.”

“Put your hand in my hair. You can… be rough, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

Your smile turned into a sly grin.

“You want me to pull your hair? You sure?”

“I’m sure. I don’t… I liked it, last time.” He confessed quietly.

“Liked what?” You pushed.

He took a steady breath, looking down at the velvet seat you were perched on. He gritted out the words steadily, pointedly.

“When you sat on my face. I liked it.”

You pressed your lips together to hide your smile.

“I know you did.”

He paused, looking down at the floor. Then he looked back up. You brought your hand to his hair, fingers running through the soft strands. He started peppering kisses along the insides of your thighs, something he’d been too desperate to consider when you’d first given him permission to taste you. Now, they sparked the fire even more, and as much as you liked the careful attention, you guided his head to where you needed it. Keeping his words in mind, you gave a slightly rough tug on his hair, and he responded with a pained hum that edged you closer.

At one point, you saw his hand shift to try towards his pants, but you yanked his hair in response.

“No touching yourself yet. Or I’ll only let you watch, okay?”

You built up a rhythm, growing careless with the tugs on his hair so that you felt pressure in all the right places. Your fingers pulled harder as you got close, and you could hear his shallow breath as you took what you wanted from him.

“Fuck. Coryo, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that. You wanna make me cum?”

He nodded as best as he could with your hand gripping tight in his hair, and the motion only brought you closer, legs growing weak and tired, hooking over his shoulders now that you’d let him closer. You felt the ache build, almost painful with how long it had been, and you felt yourself snap, spinning out of control as your hand tensed, then fell from his hair. Then his hands were on you, gently this time, smoothing over your bucking hips with a level of control that you melted into as the feeling washed over you. He didn’t stop, pressing his tongue against you harder as you fell apart, shaking like a leaf as he worked your cunt until your cries bordered on screams.

“Fuck. Oh my god, that’s it, I’m…” You broke off into a shout, something so outlandish it sounded foreign to your own ringing ears, but you were too far gone to care. You could vaguely feel yourself grabbing at him as he pulled away, at his hair, his hands, anything, as you slumped back onto the bed. Slowly, he propped himself up, placing a knee between your legs and leaning over you. And his eyes, heavy and wanting, had you aching all over again.

He held back a little, clearly still in the space you’d pushed him into.

“Can I…” He whispered, those desperate eyes fixed on your parted lips as you caught your breath.

“Yeah.” You gasped, and he lowered his head towards you.

This time, he kissed you softer. Still hungry, still wanting, but slow, methodical, like he wanted to relish it. Almost like he wasn’t trying to own you, but in that moment, you could almost go so far as to believe the contrary. And your head swam with pride, feeling his lips on yours as he gently pressed you into the soft mattress.

But you didn’t sit in the feeling for too long.

“Was that okay?” He gasped.

“Yeah. More than okay. But you used your hands at the end there, baby. You know what that means?”

His eyes narrowed as his head cleared a little.

“Lie on your back for me.”

He obliged, dropping onto the mattress and shuffling up to lean against the pillows.

“I missed you, you know.” You murmured as you followed suit, hovering over him to get another kiss.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Thought I was gonna go out of my fucking mind with how much.”

“Yeah?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”

“I hoped not. Glad I was right.”

You smiled again, and shifted closer towards him.

“I could always show you how much I missed you, if you wanted.” Your eyes darted down to the front of his pants, the outline of his hard cock pressing against the material. He went a little quiet again, nodding a little, and you grinned. Climbed onto your knees so you were just a little above him, then swung a leg over one of his to sit carefully on his thigh. You paused for a beat.

“I won’t touch you until you tell me to, baby.”

He sucked in a breath.

“You can touch me.”

You tutted.

“What do we say?”

“Please.” He added quickly.

Without a word, you leaned in, brushing a hand over his cock, starting gentle, but quickly adding pressure. You could tell he was holding back, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering as he tried to control his breath.

“Not getting shy on me again, are you?”

He didn’t answer, just met your eye and you took it as a challenge. Unbuttoned his slacks and with a glance and a nod, slid them down his legs. You licked your palm slow, making sure he was watching closely.

“Fuck.” He breathed.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me properly, I’m just gonna have to work harder then, aren’t I?” You drawled as you slipped your hand underneath his boxers. There was a soft thump as his head dropped back onto the headboard and he cursed as your fingers grabbed the base of his cock.

“Like that?” Your mouth pulled into a sly smile.

He hummed, breaking off into a sigh, lips parted and eyes towards the ceiling as you fisted his cock. I’ll take that as a yes.

You swirled your thumb around the head of his cock, gathering messy precum that had gathered at the tip from your teasing, and it hit you then that most of your interactions until now had been psychological, toying with words, with ideas and almosts. You knew by now what made him tick, which words you could use to push him to the edge, but you’d barely had the chance to touch each other. But you were a fast learner, and you knew what you wanted from this.

You wanted to make him fall apart.

So you picked up the pace, and it must’ve ached with how fast you were fucking his cock with your fist, but his determination not to lose his cool made it all the more exciting. It got wet, and that was one thing his composure couldn’t hide. It egged you on, shifting your own hips on his tensing thigh as your sore cunt pressed against the muscle.

“You can hold back all you like, but I can tell you’re fucking close.”

His eyes fell shut in a lust-clouded haze, breath picking up. His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned. You were tempted to take it down your throat, really see how he held up then, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet, and you were on a high learning just how to make his body respond to your touch, how to make him weak. So you worked your wrist and felt his legs jolt a little, and you knew it was a matter of seconds.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to ask nicely. I don’t know how generous I’m feeling just yet. Convince me.”

“Jesus.” He gasped.

“No, just me. Go on, baby. Beg me. You wanted to earlier, right? Now’s your chance.”

An honest-to-god whine left his mouth, voice cracked and completely fucking ruined. You slowed your motions.

“No, baby, don’t stop. I’m so fucking close, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum. I fucking need it, I did everything you said, I got on my knees, I fucking… fuck, I did what you told me, didn’t I? Everything you asked? And I didn’t touch myself, I haven’t… fuck. All weekend, I haven’t-”

You pressed your lips together.

“Poor thing. You’ve gone this whole weekend without cumming?”

“I was a little fucking preoccupied.” He gritted out.

“Over little old me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Please,” he repeated, “I need to cum. I did what you wanted, doll, I- shit-”

Satisfied, you picked the pace up again, obscene wet sounds filling the room as his hips rocked a little into your hand as he got close again. Too far gone now to hold back, his face contorted in pleasure, eyes fixed on you. Then, in a seemingly small motion as you leaned into him a little, the dog tag that had been sitting tucked under your dress - and had stayed hidden against your skin all weekend - slipped out, the pendant swinging into the air beneath you, and as Coriolanus caught sight of it, you felt his hips tense, then his cock was twitching and spilling into your hand.

“Shit, that’s so… oh my fucking god, doll.”

You pulled your hand from his boxers and brought it to your mouth, cleaning it off a little.

“You really did need that, huh?” You smirked, and he sighed.

“Yeah. I really fucking did.”

You nodded at his boxers.

“Can I take these off now?”

He pressed his head into the headboard again and nodded, so you carefully pulled them down his legs. Panting and overheated, he unbuttoned his shirt as you threw the fabric to the floor.  What he didn’t expect you to do, though, was put your hand back on his still-twitching cock that sat tired and used against his stomach. He flinched a little as you palmed it, and you looked at him mischievously. Started to move your hand again, slow and steady, but firm.

“That’s… baby. Stop, I already came, I… fuck.” He winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You chuckled, voice turning a little dangerous.

“Oh, you thought we were done?”

“Doll, that’s not – shit – that’s not fucking funny. It’s sensitive, I…” It turned into an uncomfortable hum, but you felt him twitch under your palm, slowly getting hard again. His leg gave a little involuntary kick, much to your satisfaction.

“I… what the fuck.” His voice went quiet and strained, and yours got menacing.

“Oh, you can take it, can’t you? Thought you said you liked me taking the lead a little. You can handle it, can’t you, Snow? Or do you want me to stop?”

“Mm. That’s… was different. Please.” You kept going, a rush washing over you as you wondered if he even knew what he was begging for. You got more daring, rubbing your palm over the tip, and grinned when he cried out.

“You want me to stop? Just say the word. I will.”

He was half-hard again, more cum leaking from his tip as you sped up just a little.

Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head frantically as the rest of him trembled.

“Didn’t think so.”

His face was twisted like he was holding on desperately, trying to maintain control as you relished in his permission, and palmed him harder.

“Jesus fuck.” He said, voice getting louder now, legs twitching and hips bucking up in little jolts you were certain he couldn’t stop if he tried. You had him now, pliable like clay between your fingertips, shaking apart.

“Is that too much for you?” You taunted, getting cocky now.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snapped, but it fell flat when his voice broke halfway through the question. You laughed.

“I know exactly who I am, Snow. I’m the girl you’re gonna be stuck with for a long time, and I’ve got some demands to make. So listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once. You know what happened last week?” You were aware you were starting to sound almost as insane as him, but you didn’t care.

“You don’t ever,” you spat, “do that to me again. If you do, I swear on all of Panem, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”

He whined, desperate, so far gone you weren’t sure he was fully listening.

“Say you fucking understand.”

“I… I understand. Fuck. Please. I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“You’re lucky I’m giving you another chance. From here on out, you only get to treat me like a whore when I tell you to. Okay?”

“Yes. Yes, okay. I understand. I’m… shit.”

“This is a partnership, starting now. We help each other. We trust each other. We talk to each other. We don’t go behind each other’s backs, or fuck around with other people. Okay?”

“Okay. That’s… doll, can you slow down just a little? You’re… I’m…”

“You’re gonna cum again?”

He nodded, chasing his breath. You leaned towards him, lowering your head to his chest and dragging your tongue against his collarbone.

“Good. You can cum again, Coryo.”

“Thank you. Thank you - fuck. That feels… I’m-”

“You gonna cum all over my hand again, baby? Do it, I’ve got you. You can cum now.”

The second time he came was with a pained cry, painting your hand until it dripped down your wrist and onto his stomach. When you finally released your grip, he slumped down and sighed, aftershocks still jolting through him.

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?”

“I did. And I understand.”

“Good.” You murmured into his ear, and you felt goosebumps rise on his torso, “Then I think we can come to an agreement.”

The week went by in a blur of whispered words and tangled limbs. He rarely left you alone, and you barely felt the time pass, every waking moment spent together, flesh on flesh. When he worked, it was at the small desk in his room, and he took plenty of breaks to lounge in bed with you or run you baths.

You learned each other’s tells, growing comfortable touching each other, but Snow stuck to his word, much to your annoyance.

Not until you trust me again, he’d said. Wasn’t it clear enough by you staying?

You’d all but moved into his room, sending Lucille back and forth with hampers for your clothes, which now hang in one side of his closet, or sat folded in his previously empty drawers. You felt closer to him than you ever had before, and the two of you had skin littered with bruises which made you grateful you didn’t have any public functions to attend for quite a while. He’d stopped leaving you to go into the city and work, instead managing people from afar, and letting them get on with their jobs so he could weed out the weakest links.

For the first time, it felt a little like he was yours. Or as much yours as he possibly could be. And as you spent more time together, not just half-dressed and desperate, but talking, really talking, you slowly started to feel like you could be his, too.

“Tell me it feels better than he did. When you were together.” He whispered one morning, when you’d not long woken up and he’d immediately ducked under the covers to get between your thighs. He paused, fingers inside you, looking at you intently, and at first you were confused as to what he meant. You heard the tinge of vulnerability in his voice, and took the cue.

“You really think you deserve that? After everything?”

“No.” He whispered, eyes dropping down again.

“So what do we say?”

“Please.”

“One more time for me.”

He spoke up, voice gorgeously wrecked.

“Please. Tell me it’s better.”

“That’s good. And since you’re being good, I’ll tell you. He didn’t…” you swallowed, catching yourself, “He didn’t really like doing that. what you’re doing.” Your facade cracked a little and you glanced off to the side, not sure what reaction you were expecting.

“Really?” His voice was dumbfounded. It made you laugh.

“You know, Snow, a lot of guys don’t. They’re lazy about it. Want to get it over with, get to the real thing.”

A wide smile pulled at his lips, wolfish.

“Who wouldn’t want to do this?”

“Easy for you to say, handsome.”

He grinned wider.

“Can I try something?”

“I don’t know. will I like it?”

“I think we both will.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Okay, Coryo.”

His smile only deepened, pulling into an excited smirk as he gripped your hips once more, lightly kissing your thighs as he got closer to where you wanted him.

You gasped as his tongue worked you, and when you came, he kept going, easing up only after you’d fallen apart more times than you could keep count.

“Can’t believe you still won’t fuck me.” You pouted one day, as he sat at the desk with a pen in hand, scratching against paper.

He turned around to face you.

“I told you why. Not until-”

“I trust you again, I know. But how do you know that? I could trust you just fine and you wouldn’t even know it.”

“I’ll know.”

You hummed.

“Or,” you started, slipping off the bed and pacing towards him, “you could just fuck me now and call it square.”

He chuckled.

“Nice try, sweetheart.”

You pulled a lip between your teeth as you stood next to him, and he moved his chair out towards you. You smoothed a hand over his dress shirt, and grabbed a hold of his tie. Then you hooked a leg over both of his and lowered yourself onto his lap, face right next to his. You’d grown comfortable with being close to him, and while it still felt electric, you could handle it better. You rocked your hips on his as you got comfortable.

“Feel familiar?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m getting flashbacks.”

You smirked.

“Can I take this off?” You tugged at his shirt.

“Only if you play nice. No acting up, okay?”

“If you say so.” You shrugged, making quick work of the tie and buttons. Once the shirt was off, your lips were all over him, trailing over his chest and neck, tongue tracing lines across his collarbones.

“You don’t have to be anywhere for the next week, do you?” You murmured into his ear.

“No.” His breath hitched a little.

“Good.”

With that, you closed your lips around his pulse, and sucked.

While you littered his whole torso with bruises, and your neck was given a few of its own, you started rocking your hips lazily against him, playing coy like you didn’t know what you were doing, like you couldn’t feel him rock hard between your legs.

“Now this really is taking me back.” His voice strained when he spoke.

You only hummed in response, lace panties bunching in an all-too-familiar way. But you didn’t work your hips like you had something to prove this time, you went slower, taking your time, but staying deliberate in your movements. Your lips met his, breaking away only to breathe, then again when you felt his hips roll a little and his breath get laboured.

You rocked your hips harder, nice and firm. You could feel his cock twitch through his pants, right up against the wet spot forming on your panties. The friction had you shaking.

“Feel good?” You breathed.

“Yeah. Feels real fucking good, sweetheart.”

You smiled as your head lolled back, gasping loud to make sure he really heard it.

“You know what would feel even better, though?”

He mumbled something back but you didn’t catch it, lost in the haze.

“Think it’d feel better if you were fucking me for real right now.”

You didn’t expect the broken moan that escaped him, hands gripping your hips hard. Like the thought of it was enough to make him shatter.

“Baby,” he warned, “don’t.”

“But it would be so easy.” You pressed, “pushing my panties to the side and fucking into me right now.”

“Doll-”

“I know you want to.” you whispered against his ear.

“Do you now?” His strained voice told you everything you needed to know.

You nodded. “Mhm. I know you do. I also know that it’s driving you crazy, having me this close, but not able to take what you want. You must be going out of your mind, you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because I am too. I’m tired of this rule, Snow. Let’s just forget about it, and fuck me already.”

“Get up.” He said firmly. You started.

“What?”

“You heard me. I said get up, sweetheart.”

You climbed off his lap and stood, cautiously, legs shaking from how close you’d gotten. He did the same, towering over you a little as you failed to hide the smile on your face.

“Get on the bed.”

You took in a breath, shaky with nerves.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You sat back on the bed, peering over the mattress as he ducked down to pick up something from the floor.

“What are you-”

“Eyes closed.”

“Okay.” You shut your eyes, then felt him get close to you, his lips meeting yours as he knelt in front you, mattress dipping as he shifted. His hands brushed your arms, slowly pushing them behind your back as you melted into him, and before you could open your eyes, you felt the smooth silk of his tie wrap around your wrists and pull.

“What-”

“You want to act up, doll? Fine. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum all over my fingers before you’re begging me to stop.”

His hand slipped between your legs, pushing your lace panties to the side and pressing a finger into your wet cunt as you cried out. Your eyes pleaded at him, desperate.

“But why can’t you-”

“I said,” he repeated, pressing his finger into the spot that make you see stars, “not. Fucking. Yet.”

He spent hours fingering you open, making you cum until you cried. Then he cleaned up your tears and kissed like you were his whole world as you fell into an exhausted sleep, his words floating around in your head.

The black box was tied with a crisp white ribbon, and sat waiting for you on your bed. You approached it with caution, thumbing the piece of card on top of it. It was a note written in ink.

Wear this tonight. Think you’ll suit it well.

-       C.S

You’d gone into your room to collect something of yours to take to Snow’s room. You rarely went into your room anymore, most of your things had found their place in his, much to your satisfaction.

It was the first day in about two weeks that Coriolanus had finally had to leave the house to go into the city, but he’d promised it would just be for the day. It was also the first gala you had to attend since you’d made your decision, which you were slightly nervous for, but mostly excited to get out of the house, because although the sacred oasis that his room had become, it would be nice to have a change of scenery.

And that brought you back to the beautifully wrapped box lay in front of you. You were buzzing. You turned the note over in your hands, pulling it to your face to breathe it in. It smelt like newly printed books, and something distinctly him.

You recognised the label on the box, it was one of your favorite designers. You pushed the lid away to reveal the most beautiful dress you’d ever laid your eyes on – and you’d seen some impressive pieces.

It was a dark crimson red with gold embroidery, soft as silk. You unfolded it gently, letting the fabric spill out towards the floor. It was a little more revealing than anything you currently owned, with a deep slit up the leg and a plunging neckline, waist cinched, but the rest of the dress was floor length. A smile crept onto your face.

After counting down the hours, it was finally time to make your way downstairs. Snow stood in a full suit, waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

“You look beautiful.” He remarked.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself.” You smiled in response.

You met at the foot of the stairs, and he took your hand in his.

“Thank you for the dress. It’s gorgeous.” You added, not sure why you were lowering your voice in your own lobby.

“I knew it would suit you. Now you’re almost ready to go.”

“Almost?” You frowned, not sure what you could possibly be missing.

Coriolanus lifted his hand to pull the white rose from his breast pocket. He examined it, then lifted it to your hair and tucked it gently behind your ear. Your lips parted in surprise, and your hand reached up to meet his.

“But it’s your signature. I couldn’t-”

“I know. But people won’t be looking at me tonight. They’ll be looking at you. And this way, when they do, each and every one of them will know that you’re mine.”

That knowing smile crept back onto your face, and you leaned in to press your lips to his.

When you pulled away, you thumbed his tie, realising the color matched your dress exactly.

“I’m sensing a similar theme here.”

“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been seen out in public. It’ll be good to show up like this, show a strong front, not leave any doubters.”

You hummed.

“And when we get home?”

His stare drew you in; you could get lost in it and never find your way out.

“That depends.”

Your gaze lowered to his lips, then back up again.

“Missed you today.” You said.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You promise?”

He smiled.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

“Snow?”

He hummed in response. Your hand felt like it could melt into his, thumb brushing your palm.

“What would you say if I told you that I trust you now?”

His hand stilled. His eyes bored into yours.

“I’d say… that I believe you.”

You held your breath in, letting the anticipation wash over you.

“Later?” You whispered, and he nodded.

“Later.”

The ball was one of the most extravagant you’d seen, large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fountains of champagne dotted around. The health minister had outdone himself, and when you said so to Snow, he muttered a comment about him spending more time planning parties than doing his real job. But he smiled to all the right people, and his hand in yours calmed your nerves as a large procession saw you into the ballroom.

You danced until your feet turned numb, spinning on the ballroom floor, every time Coriolanus put his hands on your waist or wrapped his hand around yours drawing you in further, bringing you closer to forgetting everyone was watching you when his eyes were on yours, each stare becoming some secret language you were now terribly well-versed in. He didn’t let himself get distracted this time, quickly gravitating back to you any time he got pulled away into a conversation, and you basked in the attention, the two of you flirting to high heaven. When you’d spun until you were dizzy, he went to get you a drink, and you stepped off the floor of twirling couples.

It was then that you saw your mother, standing anxiously to one side, the stem of a champagne glass pressed between her fingers. Your parents rarely made it to these functions, but apparently, they had made time for this one. Suddenly aware of your frown and not wanting to arise suspicion, you plastered on a false smile and swanned through the crowd in her direction.

“Oh, darling. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course I am, mother, I wouldn’t miss it. Is everything alright?”

She glanced around the two of you nervously, fiddling with her glass. You touched her shoulder and gently guided her further into the corner of the room. You rarely saw her this distressed, usually the picture of grace and poise.

“What’s wrong?” You pressed.

“Have you heard from Nathaniel?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Nathaniel Greene? Not in a long time.” You figured the little stunt of yours from the month before should go unmentioned.

“I heard from his parents the other day. They’re completely distraught.”

“Why? What on earth happened?”

For a second, echoes of threats that had long settled to the ground popped back into the forefront of your mind, and you swallowed thickly. You sat down in two small chairs at the side of the room.

“They can’t begin to understand why. Perhaps it was work, perhaps he was gambling, or in debt, but nothing could possibly explain such a cruel fate.”

“Mother, tell me what happened. Is he…”

Her hands shook, and you took the glass of champagne from her and placed it on a nearby tray.

“He’s not dead, my darling. It’s worse. A messenger came to his house late the other night. They asked him to pack a bag, and they took him away. To… I can barely say it.”

“Mother,” you gritted, “tell me.”

“A peacekeeper, of all things.” Horror filled her voice. “They sent him away to the districts, for the next twenty years. But what could he have done? I can barely understand it. Can you imagine? A young man of his standing, wasting away in that place? His family is ruined.”

Right then, the crowd around you parted in a way that could only announce the presence of one person.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

You lifted your head to meet cool blue eyes and a slightly suspicious stare. From where you sat, Snow towered over you both, drink in hand.

“Everything’s fine.” You replied, “my mother isn’t feeling too well. Do you think we could find my father and have him take her home?”

He nodded at an Avox nearby who stepped dutifully away without missing a beat, and a server offered your mother a tray with a glass of water on it. You stood and faced Coriolanus, conscious of the now very interested crowd, and nodded to the large double doors that stood to your right.

“A word?”

He followed you in cautiously.

“I just heard something interesting.” You started.

He stood up straight, setting his jaw when you finally turned to face him. Even though you were barely alone, just a closed door between you and hundreds of people, it felt electric to be standing so close to him again with nobody watching you.

“What’s that?”

Playing it safe. An interesting move.

“Oh, just some rumor about an old friend of ours.”

“Who would that be?”

You smiled.

“I thought it was funny you asked about him the other day. Were you worried if I left you I’d go back to him?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Coriolanus.” You drawled. “You sent Nathaniel off to be a peacekeeper so I couldn’t go back to him.”

His stony façade fell through a little.

“And if I did?”

The deep frown you’d plastered onto your face for your mother’s benefit fell away, and your lips curved into a smirk.

“I’d say... well played.”

He blinked.

“You’re not upset?”

“Over him? Barely.”

“You’re - ” Snow paused, “so you’re not angry that I sent him away? The districts are hell, you know.”

“I’m sure. I don’t care, Snow. If anything, I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

You shrugged.

“He had it coming. He slept with my closest friend a week after we ended things. He never knew I found out. I’ve just been waiting, really, for him to get what he deserves. I doubted you’d let him off without a warning. There I was thinking you’d lost your touch for a while.”

You wanted to bottle the feeling you got from his eyes burning into you, with something that tasted like admiration.

“I nearly did let him off, for your sake.” He confessed. “But... if that's the case, I'm glad I changed my mind."

“So am I. It was that weekend I left, wasn’t it?”

“Damage control." He said tightly, "You can’t blame me.”

“Thought so. Good work, Snow.” You stepped towards him and revelled in the apprehension on his face with a smirk. “It’s a shame for his family, but they were never particularly nice. Collateral, I suppose.”

“You really don’t care at all?”

“Does it look like I care?”

“No.”

“I think you can read me as well as the next person. So I don’t care. Is that so tragic?”

He shook his head, bewildered. A strange smile appeared on his face.

“No, that’s… that’s good.”

You smirked as a thought popped into your head.

“How long do you think he’ll last out there?”

“Who knows? I hope you’re not banking on him ever coming back.”

You fiddled with his tie, smoothing it down.

“Never. We can’t all be Coriolanus Snow, can we?”

“Certainly not.”

You stepped even closer, and his back bumped softly against the wall. His gaze fell to your lips. You'd painted them a red so deep it was almost black, matching the dress.

"You like the color?" You asked.

"Yeah. Reminds me of when you kissed me in front of everyone and I couldn't get it off."

You laughed.

"Well, it was one way of getting your attention."

"It drove me fucking crazy, you know. It's all I thought about when I jerked off for weeks."

Fuck. Your eyes went a little heavy, laden with want.

“I hope this hasn’t changed our plans tonight.” You murmured.

“Has it changed them for you?”

You shook your head quickly.

“No. You?”

“Of course not.” He brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face.

“Good. Because now he’s out of our way, I’m tired of this party. I want to go home."

His eyes darkened a little and he drew in a breath.

“I’ll go say my goodbyes.”

With one of his hands on the doorknob, you stopped him.

“Snow?”

“Yes?”

“I don't want you to be nice. Later, I mean.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was just a few squeezes shy of breaking off the doorknob.

Your body slammed against his bedroom door with a force. His hands travelled under your clothes; wanting, needing to touch. You sighed and gasped at the feeling, his cold hands on your skin shooting chills through you, tugging off your clothes, kissing your neck, taking all that he wanted but still desperate for more. The rose had long fallen from your hair and lay, forgotten, on the hardwood. He kissed you with purpose, like he was once again trying to prove that he owned you, all the while understanding that he couldn’t. Maybe that’s what pushed him to touch you, to kiss you like it was the last time, like he was scared you’d float away somehow, even though you both know that wouldn’t really happen.

You understood it, because you felt the same way about him.  

You revelled in it, in the way his hands wrapped around your back, lowered to your legs, and lifted you up to push you harder against the door. His lips travelled across every square inch of bare skin he could find, your dress pushed down to your waist, lace bra exposed.

“Take it off.” He whispered, and you arched your back, reaching for the clasp and unhooking it with lightning speed. The lights were dim in his room, casting shadows that danced as the two of you moved together. Your head fell back against the solid wood as Coriolanus licked a trail up your neck. It was depraved, more passionate than anything you’d felt before. You could hardly think, blood pumping through your veins faster than you could stand. The only thing louder than the rush of blood in your ears was the sound of your breath mixing, hot and heavy as you took, impatient and without apology.

You cried out as his hips pressed harder into yours, and you could feel his length pressing up against you for the hundredth time. Except this time, you could finally let yourself imagine him inside you and trust that he wouldn’t turn this into another round of the game you’d thought endless. You squeezed your legs around his hips.

“Bed.” You gasped, and he grinned, wolfish and thrilled. You were the luckiest girl in Panem, to get to see him look at you that way.

“Been waiting to get this dress off you since I had it made.”

“Don’t tear it. Be gentle.”

“With you, or the dress?”

You narrowed your eyes as he carried you to the bed and placed you down on the mattress.

“Thought I told you that already.”

He was careful with the dress, slipping it over your hips and draping it over the back of the desk chair. When he came back, you were propped up on your elbows, legs bent at the knee, stare unwavering, panties the only thing left to take off. He was still wearing too much, shirt messily undone, pants still fastened but barely concealing the tent beneath them.

“You sure about this?” He checked.

“That a trick question?”

“Doll.”

You laughed. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Take off your shirt, handsome.”

He pulled off the white shirt methodically, and you shifted onto your knees to pull off his belt and toss it to the floor, eager to speed things along. You took in his toned chest and let your gaze sink down to his boxers, where his cock stood painfully hard beneath the material.

“Can I…” You prompted.

“Fuck. Yes. Please.” He sighed as your nails trailed up the bare skin of his thigh and brushed softly over his cock.

You smiled at the addition and took one last glance at his face, anticipation clear on his features that morphed a little in the near-darkness. Then, you pulled the material down his legs and his cock sprung free, and you forgot that you’d done this before, that you were used to this, to him, to being with him in almost every sense. It all slipped away, and as your hand reached to touch him with nothing between the two of you, it felt like the first time you’d ever done it. The breath he sucked in as you started to push the precum around his tip urged you on, making you brazen, and you readjusted your knees on the bed and got closer, then licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip.

“Oh my – fuck.” He groaned, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face, grateful for the darkness.

“That okay?”

He laughed, something dark and untethered.

“You fucking know it is. Such a fucking tease.”

“Wouldn’t be such a tease if we’d done this sooner.”

“Somehow I doubt that, sweetheart – ah.”

He was cut off by you taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking hard as you gripped the base. You pumped your hand a few times and revelled in the sounds he made, choked out grunts and broken sighs, mixed with the occasional curse or a cry of your name.

You felt his hand gently brush against your hair, ever so cautious.

“Can I…”

“Mhm.” You hummed in the affirmative, and he sighed, all low and shaky as he pushed his fingers through your locks, not guiding, just careful pressure on your scalp as he let you take the lead.

“Baby,” he gritted out, “I don’t know how much longer I can… fuck, that’s-”

He sucked in a sharp breath as you stopped, pulling off, lips swollen. You looked up at him, stunned as he caught his breath.

“Coriolanus?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we turn a light on? I can’t… I want to see you.”

In the shadows, you could just make out the glint of his eyes and a dumbfounded smile.

“Of course.”

He stepped away, kicking off his boxers, and you watched him reach over the desk to switch on a small lamp. It lit up his face and you took him in, a thin cast of sweat shimmering across his face and chest. When he turned, you glanced away like you hadn’t been staring. He caught on with a grin.

“Like what you see?”

Such a dick.

“I’d like it better if you were over here.” You mumbled as he paced back towards you.

“You’re the one who wanted the light on, sweetheart. Now I know why.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Snow.”

“Coryo.” His breath danced against your lips as he closed in, lips sealing against yours as he pushed you back on the bed.

“Coryo.” You repeated with a smile when he pulled away kissing down your neck and chest, feeling the shape of the name in your mouth.

Then his hands were on you again as if they’d never left. More heat pooled between your legs as he trailed his hands down your thighs, and you let your head fall back as his fingers pressed through the seam of your panties.

His breath got shaky again as his fingers pushed the scrap of wet fabric to the side. You gasped as his thumb went straight to your clit, determined, rubbing tight circles against the hard nub.

“Oh my god, Coryo, I-”

“So fucking wet, sweetheart. Is this all for me?”

It was too much all at once. You pressed your lips together tightly and nodded. Beside yourself, your left hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your moans.

Then he fucking stopped. Your hand fell from your mouth, and you felt the lace get pulled down your legs.

“What are you…” You trailed off. The dim light let you make out his face and you could see his expression now, wanting, but careful, methodical.

“Open your mouth.”

When your lips parted, a little in response, but moreso in surprise, the two fingers he’d been using on your clit slipped into your mouth, pulling your jaw open as his other hand propped him up. You could taste yourself, hot and heavy, spilling onto your tongue.

“I want to hear you, baby. You can’t cover your mouth like that if I’m gonna hear you.”

You nodded, brain a little dead.

“Good girl. Now I don’t have a free hand, know what that means?”

You cried out a little, tongue trapped beneath his fingers.

“Touch yourself, doll. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you nice and fucking close, okay?”

A little self-aware with him hovering right above you, you snaked a hand between your legs, but when you saw the look on his face you stopped wasting time, pushing two fingers inside yourself, heel of your hand bumping your clit as a whine slipped past your lips.

He kept talking, whispering hot and heavy into your ear, dragging his lips over your neck, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, every touch burning your skin like it was molten. When you’d lost yourself enough, mouth still parted; his fingers gentler now he’d made his point, he ducked his head lower, trailing his lips over your tits, placed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. Your moans got louder, feeling like every inch of skin he covered was hardwired to your cunt, your fingers getting tired and sloppy as you got yourself closer, dripping down your thighs.

You made a sound and he glanced up at you, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Just fuck me. Please, I can’t wait anymore, Coryo.” You whined, trying desperately to slow down your breathing.

“Poor baby. Couldn’t make yourself cum first?”

You shook your head, any more and you were sure your eyes would start to water.

“That’s okay, doll. I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.”

He lowered himself down towards you, arms either side of yours, crowding you in. Then his hands travelled down, lower, and your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as you felt his cock press against your entrance.

“Fuck.” You whispered, and he was strangely quiet. You blinked, and looked down at him, and you’d never seen such a pained look on his face. His lips parted, eyes heavy and slitted as he looked down at where his cock rubbed up and down like he was in a trance, slowly nudging your clit and getting himself wetter, tip glistening in the dim light.

Desperate for friction, you started rocking your hips, aching for him to push inside of you.

“Not just yet.” He breathed, voice strung-out and insane. “I won’t make you wait much longer, baby.”

“Please. I need you to fuck me. Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Usually, you’d see a sly smile appear on his face, but he just pressed his eyes closed as if the thought was going to send him over the edge. It was the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. Then, finally, you felt his cock catch at your entrance, and slowly press inside. You gasped at the pressure, at the size of him, and he was barely even moving.

“That’s it, baby.” He breathed. “I’m right here.”

He shifted his hips a little, and you clawed at his back, nails digging in until he hissed, rocking your hips to beg for more. You didn't want him holding back, not when you'd waited months for this. You strained your neck lifting it from the bed to whisper in his ear.

“I meant what I said, Coryo. Don’t be fucking nice.”

It was as if something in him snapped. Like he was holding on by a single thread, and you’d send him spiralling out of control. His hips jerked forward and you cried out as he filled you to the hilt, then rocked into you again, picking up a pace that was almost punishing. You tasted it, still wet on your lips, clung to your skin, and now, deep inside you.

Danger.

“So fucking pretty. Does my pretty girl need to get fucked, huh? Just like that?”

You could barely form words, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in further, feeling pinned open and beautifully used. Your cries melted together in your head until you could only understand bits and pieces, and as he fucked you, unrelenting, you felt your back slide up the mattress. Your nails dug into his back, and you were sure they must’ve drawn blood. His forehead pressed against yours,

For a second, he slowed, looking down at you.

“That okay?” He muttered.

You nodded, frantic, barely there.

“Yeah.”

He sped up again and your legs grew weak. He reached his free hand down to grab hold of your thigh and push it higher, the new angle making you see stars, clenching around him impossibly tight.

“Good fucking girl.”

At some point, as you exchanged fewer words and more heated glances, you felt your hand slip from his back and come to rest against over his on your thigh, to hold it in place. He took it in stride, taking it in his, fingers interlacing as his thumb brushed yours.

You didn’t think much of it. How could you? Not when he was stretching the walls of your cunt as you gripped him like a vice. Not when you could barely hear the words coming from either of your mouths. But oddly, it was the gentle contrast that pushed you to the edge as he fucked into you just like you’d asked, hard and unrelenting, mean.

Despite it all, it was the thumb that brushed yours that had moans spilling from your mouth as you both took exactly what you wanted from each other. It sparked something in you, something that let you know you were safe here, that there weren’t any walls between you anymore, no twisted games that wouldn’t benefit you both equally.

“I’m close.” You gasped as his cool blue eyes spilled into yours, and you knew he was all yours.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? I can feel it.”

You nodded silently, muscles in our thighs tensing around his back, the hand that was twisted into yours now falling onto the bed beside you. He gripped it tighter, and fucked you harder, with a point to prove. When your eyes slid shut in ecstasy, right on the edge of falling apart, he squeezed your hand, palms hot and clammy against each other just like the rest of you.

“Look at me, baby.” He urged, fighting for breath. “You’re so fucking close, I need – shit – need to see you when you cum for me.”

It wasn’t hard to keep your eyes open, to keep them on him when he looked like that, like he was carved by the fucking gods, brow scrunched and shining with sweat, eyes bluer than ever, lips parted in an o shape. It was the prettiest sight you’d seen, and your hand tensed around his when you came, trembling like a leaf, mouth parting in a shout you barely heard, eyes focused on him, only him as he fucked you through it.

"Fuck, that's it, doll. Like that? Right fucking there?"

You cried out in response, and as you spilled apart, you heard your name slip past his lips through your ringing ears , followed by a string of curses, each one filthier than the next, not letting up once as he followed you over the edge, hips stuttering as you felt warmth fill your walls and his head fall down onto the pillow beside yours.

A few moments passed as you let the feeling wash over you, feeling the wonderfully sore, sticky mess between your thighs after he pulled out. You heard him catch his breath, then tumble onto his back by your side. You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, then at him, and with a smile realised he’d been looking at you.

“Like what you see?” You echoed. He smiled, coy.

“You know I do, beautiful.”

You sighed, satisifed.

“Keep calling me beautiful, Snow, and I might start thinking you want to fuck me.” You teased. “Wouldn’t want to give a girl the wrong idea.”

He laughed, bright and loud. A few more seconds passed, and you hummed.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I’m just a little annoyed I didn’t get to ride you.”

He swallowed then smiled, almost awe-like, transfixed. It was a feeling that you’d gotten used to over the past few weeks, but it felt new this time. Different.

“You’re not done?”

“Are you?”

He glanced at your lips, then back up again, voice earnest.

“Not with you, sweetheart.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good. Then lay back. Head on the pillow for me.”

He obliged, blonde curls spilling over the fabric. You liked it when he grew his hair out a little, you thought as you hooked a leg over his waist. His hands came up to touch you, but you pressed his wrists back into the mattress.

“No touching, Coryo. You hear me?”

He nodded, eyes darkening again, and you lowered your head to kiss him, deep and slow. Felt yourself meld into him with a smile as his cock hardened against your thigh.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the white rose he'd given you, discarded haphazardly on the wooden floor.

And something inside you just knew, you’d never get bored of this.

a/n: hope you liked it. thank you again for the love and for screaming along with me this whole time <33

taglist: (more in the comments) : @superchatnoir07 @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904@pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @ohstardew @ohmeadows

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You are found guilty

(Neuvillette sentences you for your horrible crimes. That's it. sfw)

“It saddens me to announce this… But you leave me with no choice. I shall render the final verdict.” 

The Iudex of Fontaine stood before you, tall and regal with his imposing gaze of impartiality. With a solemn clearing of his throat, he prepared to deliver the ultimate decision. “In light of the evidence provided, and the gravity of your actions, I shall announce the final judgment.”

“N-no… Your honor, Please,” - you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief at what will come. Your hands came clasping together, a silent plea for mercy.

“According to the judgment of Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale…”

“I beg you, d-don’t.”

“... The court finds the defendant guilty.” 

The court fell silent, as the words of the Chief Justice echoed throughout the hall. The silent witnesses of your case were immobile, and no one was here to defend your sins. You clenched your fists, your gaze searching Neuvillette’s despairing one. 

“But monsieur, I am telling you, I am innocent. Look, I have a child!”

Another silence bestowed upon the room. Neuvillette cleared his throat and in the same eloquent tone of formality interjected. Although it took him a great deal not to break out of character - “My dear. For the last time, a four-foot Otter plushie cannot constitute adequate evidence of being a child.” 

You sulked. Had this been a true courthouse, the onlookers would have shaken their heads in disbelief at your feeble attempt to feign innocence. But there were no living spectators in this courthouse. In fact, you and your beloved were not even in the Opera Epiclese. In reality, it was the sanctuary of your home, and the so-called eyewitnesses were your countless pillows or plushies that blocked Neuvillette from hugging you at night when you monopolized the bed with them.

“After careful and thorough consideration, the court has determined that you shall be sentenced to... “ - Neuvillette paused for the dramatics. “An eternity of cuddles and kisses provided by the Iudex himself.”

“Have mercy on me, Neuvi. I used the Otter plushie as a pillow and fell asleep once, it’s not like I forgot to give you a goodnight kiss on purpose, honey.” 

But of course, your beloved would not let such deeds go unpunished. That’s how your life was with him, along with the endless ‘legal jokes’. Neuvillette's professional life demanded impartiality and severity in accordance with the law, but at home, in the comfort of your arms, all formality dissipated. For his sanity, he relished returning home where his need to physically bury his face onto your chest was systematic. All you need to do is either caress his silver hair, embrace him in bed, or give him a loving kiss - it doesn’t matter, he is already a puddle of a dragon in your arms.

However, dare to forget your nightly cuddles and it will rain heavily outside out of the blue.  

“I am afraid the decision is final, dear. No chance of parole, either.” - He sat beside you, arms warped around your form to envelop your face in much-needed kisses. He peppers gentle pecks on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anything to reach the quota of the skipped smooches you neglected him. 

“Aw, man. Not even on good behavior?”

“Absolutely not. The court renounces your plushie rights for the upcoming nights.”

It appears that if one yearned for a large Otter to embrace, they may have had one right by their side all along.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Second part to this (direct continuation)

NSFW, minors do not interact

Fem!reader x zandalari troll, fingering, squirting, size kink

“So tired just from that?” Daz’ai’s words were teasing but playful as he watched you wobble and lean on the door for support.

Between having your knees locked the whole time and the thorough job he had done eating you out you were wobbling as if the ship was in a storm instead of docked. You were also in no condition to protest as Daz’ai lifted you up and carried you to the bed where he then carefully laid you down among the pillows.

You watched as he undid his belt, unable to tear your eyes from him actually. It was mesmerizing watching his tattoos catch the sunlight, watching muscles move under taut skin. He moved slowly and with purpose, giving you a sly smile and watching your reaction when he finally stepped out of his pants.

Surprise was not quite the right word, you already had a good idea of what you would be dealing with, but still there must have been a look of shock on your face, which only seemed to make Daz’ai smile more.

“Don’t you worry, I have nothing but time to get you ready. It’s one of my favorite parts” his eyes never leaving your face.

He settled down onto the bed and pulled you close, your back flush against his chest, dwarfed by his size. His knee nudged your thighs apart and you felt him nestle his cock between your legs, rubbing against your still wet folds.

Automatically you angled your hips back, trying to give him a better angle to line up with you, which only made him laugh.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, trust me when I say that’s not going to work” the rumbles of his laugh and voice traveled pleasantly down your spine and straight between your legs. “Let me enjoy you like this while you find your legs again”.

Slowly he thrusted between your thighs, the remaining wetness of your cunt let him slide easily. His hand pressed down on to the top of your leg, nudging you squeeze him between them firmly and you happily complied.

Clearly he was in no hurry, lazily thrusting while the hand that was on your leg drifted up and under your shirt. Rough, calloused fingertips gently pinched and rolled one of your nipples and you let out a soft sigh in response.

“Not many humans making their way to Dazar’alor, even with the war over, so what brings you here?” he asked nonchalantly as if he was not currently grinding between your thighs.

Between soft sighs you managed to answer him, “Just needed a change. I went my whole life living in one city, figured it was time to get out in the world”.

Once more his low, rumbling laugh sent pleasant tingles down your spine and left a warmth between your legs, “Now that, that’s something I truly understand” he said.

Tentatively you reached down and ran your fingers along his tip as it poked out from between your plump thighs, feeling the beads of pre cum forming. You pressed his shaft up against your folds and clit more firmly, enjoying the friction as he continued to grind against you.

“And not shy, I like that” he said as he gave your nipple a particularly firm pinch that made you let out a loud moan, “I like people who know what they want”.

You closed your eyes, exhausted from both the long voyage to Dazar’alor and from Daz’ai, though more than happy to let Daz’ai continue with you how he pleased. With how tall he was, your head was only up to the middle of his chest laying like this, making you feel completely enveloped by him as he curled around you. He reached down with his free hand to tilt your face up to look at him, at this angle his tusks got in the way trying to kiss the top of your head, so he settled for just pressing his forehead to the top of your head instead.

It would be a lie to say that you were not at least a little confused by him, he was awfully gentle and affectionate for a hook up.

“So,” you began, “have you been with humans before?”

Another laugh from him pleasantly traveled down your spine from where you were pressed against him, “Many times, I’m actually quite fond of humans, the soft little things you are” he gave the fat of your hip a squeeze with the hand that had been resting on your thigh.

The smirks and giggles from his crew made more since now, an apparent pattern of behavior for him, not that it mattered to you. You had just been curious to see the warship up close, the fact that the captain was handsome and had a things for humans was just a bonus.

“So is this how you usually get someone in bed with you? Invite them to your ship and bring them back to your quarters?” you teased.

“I usually just head to the tavern, find someone interesting, then hope they have a partner who also wants to come along too” he smiled back.

You blushed at his words, figuring it was probably not a joke. He was confident, knew what he liked, and clearly was very experienced, and it was wildly attractive.

Carefully he rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him, setting you to straddle his hips, and seeing him under you was quite a sight.

Regal would be a good word to describe him. From the little bit you knew of Zandalari culture you knew he was not just handsome to you as a human, but definitely drew attention everywhere he went. He was tall, well muscled with a broad chest and back, and very impressive tusks. You remembered hearing people on the voyage to Dazar’alor giggle over tusk sizes and possible correlations, and well, maybe there was some merit.

A few stands of long white hair had slipped free from where he kept his hair tied up. His tattoos were mesmerizing, the ink shined like gold in the light and you traced your fingers along the lines on his chest. As you touched him he watched you, though you could not meet his gaze, there was something about the glow of his solid colored eyes was just too intense.

“So,” you began, “you have a thing for humans?”

“I do. Is that a problem?” he asked back, his hands on your hips encouraging you to grind against him.

“No, I’m just surprised, I always heard that the Zandalari were pretty insular”.

He snorted, and though it was hard to tell for sure, you were fairly certain he rolled his eyes, “Not insular” he corrected firmly, “We are explorers and keepers of knowledge, we just have our way of life and very few are willing to leave and give it up”.

“Oh” you said softly. His tone was firm, but not annoyed or angry, though it left you feeling like you were a kid back in school being scolded by a teacher for asking a dumb question.

“One of the most important things to us is collecting and preserving knowledge. You cannot build the libraries we have if you refuse to travel and learn about others, and I quite like learning about others, especially hands on”. He moved a large hand up to your breast to gently give you a squeeze and seemingly to make his point.

“And what have you learned about humans?” you asked.

He let out a low hum before speaking, “Humans are cocky, you see a Zandalari and want to start a fight. I’m no fighter, but I’ve sent many cocky humans home with wounded pride.

“And humans come in so many shapes and sizes, unlike Zandalari. My people value strength almost above all else, does not leave a lot of room for different looks, it’s boring. But a human like you? Soft and round, how much better it feels to have soft thighs around my cock, how good those wide hips look bent over, being able to grab on and get a good handful of someone?” his other hand grabbed onto the fat of your hip, “So beautifully different than what I was used to”.

Your face was red hot from the way he spoke, from the way he looked at you with such desire.

“So, my pretty little human, think you’re steady enough now for me to really tire you out?” he asked.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, still worn out from earlier and now overstimulated from his shaft rubbing your clit the whole time, “All yours” you smiled still.

It was surprising how quickly he could move. Before you knew it he had flipped you onto your back on the bed and was seated between your legs. His hands started at your knees and he took his time gently squeezing and playing with your thighs as he worked his way up, occasionally stopping to kiss the tops of your legs. You marveled at his hands, only two thick fingers and a thumb per hand like all trolls, and you were eager to experience what he could do with them.

Daz’ai slowly dragged one of those thick fingers between your folds and tentatively pressed against your entrance. “You’ll tell me if anything is too much, ok?” it was not a question as much as it was a command.

“Ok” you answered back, already panting in anticipation.

The stretch from his finger was incredible and you squirmed under his careful touch as he began to enter you. He paused periodically, anticipating when it was getting to be too much even before you needed to say anything. Occasionally stopping to rub his finger along your wet heat while he patiently waited for you to adjust.

“By the light you really know what you’re doing” you gasped as he slid his finger in a bit farther.

“I’ve had plenty of practice” he gave you a sly smile.

Expertly and thoroughly he worked you over, sliding his finger almost entirely out before gently working in back in and softly rubbing against your cervix once you were able to handle it. Many time he paused just a few inches in to stroke your most sensitive spots, making you see stars. None of his movements were fast nor particularly intense, instead he was precise, listening to your moans and constantly adjusting what he was doing.

As he settled into a steady pattern and rhythm with you, his free hand moved to your clit. His pressure was light as he started, tentatively varying it until he found what really made you moan. Never once did he falter in his rhythm, nor did he look away from your face.

“Just relax, pretty little thing. You’re still so tense, and haven’t I been so gentle with you?” he cooed.

You closed you eyes, just focusing on how incredible everything felt.

It was hard to tell how old Daz’ai was exactly, all you knew was he was older than you, wildly more experienced than you, and that you were more than happy to let him lead.

You could feel how hard you were clenching around his finger as you got closer. The tension in your core building endlessly from his steady pace, enough to leave you panting but not enough to tip you over the edge.

“Please” you begged him for the second time that day.

“Hmmmm? ‘Please’ what?” he asked back, a teasing tone in his voice.

“More. Please”.

“I was going to drag this out as long as I could, but if you’re going to ask so nicely” he trailed off, pressing another kiss to the top of your leg before making sure you felt every bit of him, his steady pace increasing and making your toes curl.

All you could manage was incoherent babbling, strings of “yes” or “oh fuck” as you felt like every nerve in your body was on fire in the most incredible way. The first waves of your release hit hard, your brain locking up and not being able to make a sound for the first few moments, then came a new feeling. A spray of fluids from you that coated Da’zai chest and the sheets under you.

“I’m so sorry! That’s never happened before” you exclaimed in your embarrassment. “I don’t know what- I didn’t mean to”

Swiftly he cut you off, looking highly amused as you babbled on in a panic, “I have that effect on people. And whatever you think just happened? No”.

“No?”

“No” he repeated, a cocky smile now on his face, “Though, now I know I’m the best you’ve ever had”.

Even without seeing yourself, you knew your face was beet red. He was right. He was the best you have ever had and by a wide margin. You had had plenty of good sex in your life, even great sex at times, but Daz’ai’s idea of foreplay was an entirely different thing.

He dragged himself over to lay on his side next to you, pausing only for a moment to use the corner of the sheet to wipe himself off, “Don’t look so embarrassed, it felt good, right?” he asked.

“Yeah” was all you could manage, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest from your orgasm and your embarrassment.

“It’s normal, not something everyone can do, but my ego does like that I must be the first to get you to squirt” slowly he ran his fingers along your hips and leg, “And that was just a finger, imagine how good it’ll feel riding my cock while I play with your clit and nipples”.

You squirmed as you felt your cunt flutter in response to his words, already feeling more wetness forming at the thought.

“I’m going to have so much fun playing with this pretty, soft body” he cooed at you as he tossed an arm over you and happily kneaded his hand into the fat of your hips.

The way he looked at you made you blush more than his words, the intense desire mixed with a gentleness.

“You look so good like this, feeling so good, so pliable and ready for me. Rest for moment, close your eyes and doze if you need, and then when you’re ready I’m going to make sure you come looking for my ship any time you’re in the city”.

[vinelark]

Thinking about bbs au where Tim talked first.

Tim: so I'm robin

Kon: I'm sorry bu- wait what?

Tim: I'm robin

Tim: what were you going to say?

Kon processing the guy he made out with yesterday is also the teammate he just realised he has a crush on an hour ago and that he was just about to break it off with the guy he made out to ask his crush out so was about to break up with and then immediately ask out the same person: ...nothing.

in the au where tim spoke first, kon’s brain would go static for a very long stretch of seconds and he would vaguely consider that he was being pranked (tim somehow? figured out kon’s feelings for robin before kon did and is pulling some sort of? joke??) and tim would be like [fond sigh] you like pineapple on your pizza and you and bart are currently tied in your competition to see who can sneak attack me in uniform and the shampoo at the Tower always makes your hair extra fluffy which you only pretend to hate and also— [launches himself right at kon to springboard off kon’s shoulder in a patented robin battle-and-also-reaching-tall-cupboards move]

kon: [automatically catching him] okay okay OKAY just hold on i’m—

tim: [settling on kon’s shoulder] sure, yeah, take your time

kon: shut up i’m—you’re—the whole time?

tim: unless you think i’m some sort of shapeshifter—

kon: obviously i know you’re not a—are you. a shapeshifter

tim: if i were a shapeshifter i would’ve shapeshifted myself taller than bart by now

kon: fair enough. okay. so you. so i. so we.

tim: [nodding] getting there

kon: so that’s why you were so weird around nightwing

tim: okay, he deserved it

kon: oh my god, i yelled at superman about you. in front of batman and nightwing.

tim: ah. about that…

kon: and that’s how you’re friends with red hood—

tim: mm, i don’t know if i’d go that far

kon: and why superman was so stressed out when you were kidnapped—holy shit. and—

tim: listen i promise you can ask all the questions you want and i’ll be so very thorough and honest about it but if you’re not mad at me—

kon: i’m not mad, i’m processing

tim: okay great. do you want to maybe make out more while you process

kon:

tim:

kon: yeah that sounds good

[vickiee-mcmuffin]

Just a little lie

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Stark female reader

Trope: Explicit smut, Daddy kink, Age gap (18+ warning, minors dni)

Summary: You join the mystic arts after your dad, Tony Stark, suggested the idea. You hated the idea until you met your teacher, Doctor Stephen Strange.

A/N: Hope you like this fic…

You were in your early twenties and had never really been one for hobbies. Most of the time, you felt pretty content just laying on your bed, your phone in hand as you scrolled through app after app. But your dad seemed to be obsessed with pestering you about doing something. Anything. To go outside, to maybe help him and the other Avengers, or to just try anything different. Truthfully, you never really paid all that much attention to him.

And it was a day just like any other when he entered your room, sighing when he got sight of you. “You’re not gonna stay in here all day, are you?”

“Hm?” you let out, your eyes stuck on your phone.

“I think you spend far too much time in your room.”

You shrugged. “It’s a nice room.”

“Y/N…” He placed a hand on your phone before pulling it from your grasp. “I have an idea. You might not like the sound of it, but I really think it’ll be good for you.”

Frowning at him, you slowly sat up. “What is it?”

“I want you to try something different.”

“How different?”

“Does the mystic arts interest you at all?”

“The mystic arts?”

“I may know a very good teacher. It took a bit of convincing, but he told me he’s willing to teach you if you want to try it out. Don’t you think it’ll be fun? You’ll learn a lot?”

Slowly, you laid back down on your bed. “I don’t know. What kind of whack job teaches mystic arts?”

Your father let out a little chuckle. “He’s a very reliable whack job. What do you say?”

You snatched your phone out of his hands and gave him a little shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it, I guess.”

You could hear your father sighing at that, but your eyes were quickly back on your phone, your focus on the video you had been watching before he came into the room. Mystic arts sounded more strange than fun…

******

There was a knock on your door, and you looked up from your phone with a raised eyebrow. Your father stood there with a sly look on his face.

“Yes?” you asked.

“There’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

“And who might that be?”

“Your new mystic arts teacher.”

Your eyes rolled. “I don’t feel like meeting him.”

“Please,” your father pleaded. “Just do this for me. And if you aren’t interested, I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”

You blew out a breath of air and lifted yourself off the bed. “Alright, okay. Since you asked so nicely.”

“I’ll wait for you in the meeting room.”

You moved extra slowly, already fully convinced that your father was wasting your time. But when you walked into the meeting room, you almost stopped right there in your tracks when you got sight of one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Tall and dark-haired with grey streaks tucked behind his ears, the man tilted his head as he looked at you. You couldn’t help it when you smiled at him, noticing how he sent you a small smile right back.

“Y/N, this is Dr. Stephen Strange,” your father said, gesturing between the two of you. “Strange, as you know by now, this is my daughter, Y/N.”

“Yes, Stark, I know who she is, because you wouldn’t stop pestering me to teach her,” Stephen said, rolling his eyes before he focused all his attention back on you.

All of a sudden, the mystic arts sounded a lot more interesting.

******

It had been a whole month since Stephen Strange had become your teacher. And he was a good teacher indeed. Thorough and clear and communicative, but there was something else he was much, much better at. Something you couldn’t tell anyone about, especially your dad.

There just had been something about Stephen that you couldn’t get enough of. His voice, his touch. The way he looked at you. It all drew you into him, and before you knew it, the two of you had more than just a student-teacher relationship. It became something better and wilder and dirtier and forbidden. You fell for him hard and fast, and you had spent the past few weeks lying to your dad when you left the Avengers compound. You’d tell him you were going to hang out with your friends when really, you were darting over to the New York Sanctum to meet up with Stephen so he could take you and make you all his.

It was what you were doing at that very moment. Looking over your shoulder, you gave your dad a little wave. “I’m going to meet up with the girls now!” you called out. “I don’t wanna be late for dinner!”

“Have fun, sweetheart!” he replied.

After quickly opening up a portal right to that familiar building in New York, you stepped inside, instantly spotting Stephen.

“Hey,” he said lowly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you said with a little giggle.

He stepped over to you and quickly closed the gap between the two of you. “I need you so bad.”

Still giggling, you tilted your head at him. “You only saw me a few hours ago…”

“That’s too long.” Stephen laughed, pressing his lips to yours. He gave you a long, deep, wild kiss, his big hands on your hips. “What lie did you tell your dad today?”

“I said I was going out to dinner with friends.” You pressed your lips to his again, loving the feeling of Stephen gripping your hips tighter. He pulled you up against him and it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he was just as eager to have you as you were to have him. Your legs wrapped around him as he carried you, and you knew exactly where he was taking you. It was a place you had been to many times before, and that was his bedroom.

Stephen threw you to the bed before covering your body with his own. He was all big and broad as he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue darting right into your mouth as he grabbed your hands and pinned them to the bed. You could feel him getting hard from behind his pants as he ground into you, your hunger for him growing so fast. Your lips and tongues were clashing together as you pushed your hands through Stephen’s locks, tugging at them as you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter. God, you wanted him. And from the feeling of his hard cock pushing up against you, you were pretty sure he was craving you just as bad.

“Please, Stephen,” you said when you pulled away from his lips, making sure your voice was light and teasing. “Please, I want it.”

He let out a deep grunt above you. “You want it, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.”

“What do you want, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to take me,” you whispered. “I want you to take me and make me all yours. I just wanna be yours. Please. Please, Daddy.”

And you knew that nickname was gonna make him lose it. A second later, his hands were on your top, pushing it over your head before he tossed it to the side. Eager, big hands yanked your jeans down, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” Stephen said, tilting his head at you. “Such a gorgeous fucking girl.”

“Please…”

“I’ve got you.” His hands found your panties before he gave them a harsh tug down your legs, and then you were completely exposed for him, every part of you utterly on show. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Mm, what would your dad say if he saw me staring at you like this? He’d be so mad if he knew I was looking at his daughter all naked for me.”

“Yeah, he’d be pretty angry,” you said with a little chuckle.

He ran a thumb against your slit, moving it up towards your clit where he gave the little bud a rub.

“Very angry,” he continued. “Especially since I’m your teacher. Your much, much older teacher. Ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

He was working your clit just right, rubbing and rubbing as his eyes scanned all over your body. You wanted to feel him, wanted him to fill you up already, but you let him circle his thumb against your clit, your toes curling as your hands yanked and pulled at his sheets.

“So close,” you whispered. “So close, Daddy.”

“Cum for me. Cum for me right now.”

You were pretty sure only Stephen could make you cum on demand. You writhed underneath him as your orgasm took over, pure pleasure and heat taking over your body as Stephen undressed before you. Soon, he was all bare, his hard cock on show as he pulled you right onto his lap, your pussy hovering right over his tip before he pulled you down onto him, the swollen head pushing into you with ease thanks to how soaked you were.

“Oh my God,” you let out, your eyes quickly shutting. “God, feels so good.”

“Good girl. Take it. Take my cock,” Stephen murmured below you. His hands landed on your hips, holding you in place so you could work your pussy along his length.

With shaky hands, you rested them against Stephen’s chest. Pleasure was already pumping through your body as you lifted yourself up and firmly pushed back down on his cock, letting him fill you up to the brim.

“Oh, Stephen,” you cried out, your nipples hard and your pussy soaked, and your need to cum once again rising.

“That’s it. Ride my cock,” Stephen said. “Your poor father is back at the Avengers compound, waiting for you to get back to him, huh? But here you are on my cock screaming out my name.”

You gasped as you began to bounce on his cock, that swollen tip hitting that sweet spot so deep inside of you. You threw your head back as you worked your pussy up and down, up and down. It all felt so good. So filthy and bad, but so good at the same time.

“Feels so nice, Stephen,” you let out. “Your cock feels so nice.”

“Yeah? Keep riding it. Don’t stop until you cum around my cock. Come on. Don’t stop.”

You whimpered and worked your pussy up and down his cock faster, letting out little squeals every time the swollen head of his cock hit that spot so, so deep inside of you. Your pussy was stuffed with his cock, your little hole all soaked and dripping as Stephen pushed his cock so deep inside of you.

“I’m so close,” you said with a whisper. You could feel your orgasm blossoming. The delicious feeling that you were chasing. It was right there for you to grab as you bounced more and more, your nails almost digging into Stephen’s chest as he thrusted into you deep and hard from underneath. It was too much for you as you came around his cock right then and there. “Daddy, fuck. Oh, God. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop. I won’t fucking stop until you cum.”

“Mm, Stephen. Please. Please, please, please.” You weren’t even sure why you were begging or what you were begging for. All you knew was that Stephen felt so good buried deep inside of you. He always took you so good. Every single time. But you were always taken aback by how well he knew your body.

“Good fucking girl.” Stephen’s teeth were clenched as he flipped you both over, his cock pulling out of you. His scarred hands found your hips as he turned you around, your stomach on the bed. He grabbed at your hips, maneuvering your body so that you were on your hands and knees. “There we fucking go,” he said. “You think I’m done? Not even close.”

With that, you felt the soaked head of his cock brush up against your entrance, and then he was slamming his cock into you a second later. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt him stretch you out, the sensation drawn out and oh-so-delicious. It was filthy, but you couldn’t get enough of him.

“You feel so good, Stephen,” you said as Stephen pushed into you from behind. Deep. He was so deep. So deep you could feel every inch of him, his heavy balls pressed right up against your pussy. Your fingers clawed at the sheets beneath you, desperate to cling on to something as he took you and made you all his. “Feels… Feels so nice, Daddy.”

“I know. I fucking know,” Stephen muttered. “Mm, your dad would be so mad if he saw you like this, huh? He’d be so pissed off seeing you bent over with your ass in the air like this. With you taking my fucking cock.”

“He’d be so mad,” you said with a little sigh. “He’d be so angry if he saw what you were doing to me.” 

“Yeah, he’d be real fucking pissed, wouldn’t he?”

“Mhm,” you said, your eyes half closed.

You were getting lost in the pleasure of it all. Stephen was pumping his cock into you deep and fast and hard and rough, stretching you out so perfectly and taking you in a way only he could. He was balls deep inside of you, your little hole completely stuffed to the brim with his cock as he pulled out and slammed back into you with a deep, masculine grunt.

“Stephen,” you whined. “Mm, you’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he muttered. “You like that big, hard cock, sweetheart?”

“I… I do. So much!”

“That feels so good, doesn’t it?” Stephen mumbled. “I want you to cum for me. I want you to cum right around my cock. You’re so close. I can tell you’re close.”

He was right. You could already feel yourself clenching around his cock, that pleasure growing inside of you so fast you could barely take it. He kept sliding his cock deep inside of you, fucking you so deep that you were certain you could feel him in your stomach. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, you let him fuck you. You let him take you and make you all his, his length stretching you out and the swollen tip of his cock hitting that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense and wild, your pussy dripping wet and your need to meet your peak growing by the second. Your shaky fingers grabbed the sheets below you as you desperately cried out, your pussy being fucked and stuffed and pounded from behind. It was all too much. Too good. You couldn’t hold on much longer. You could feel how close you were, how wet you were, how hungry you were to cum.

“Stephen,” you cried out. “So close. I’m so… I’m so…”

“Cum for me,” he muttered from behind you, his fingers digging into your ass. “Cum for me. Cum right around my cock. Do it. I know you wanna do it. I know you’re close. Just fucking cum for me.”

It was with one more deep, long thrust of his cock that you lost all control. It just felt too good and soon you were cumming right around his cock, your pussy gushing and soaking his length as he carried on pounding into you from behind. You screamed out his name and fell to the bed, and then a second later, you heard Stephen let out a deep grunt as he pushed into you hard and fast. He was cumming too. You could feel him emptying himself inside of you, the liquid hot and sticky as he coated your walls with his seed. It was filthy and wrong. You both knew that. Stephen was so much older than you and he was one of your dad’s friends, but God, you just couldn’t help but love being so raw and dirty for him. You were pretty sure he loved it just as much as you did.

“Mm, Stephen,” you said softly. “So good.”

He was panting from behind as he flipped you over and got you settled on your back. Your mind was all hazy as he moved into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth, cleaning you up gingerly. It was funny that he could be so rough and animalistic when fucking you but then so sweet and gentle when it was all over and done with.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he got into bed, sliding up next to you.

You nodded. “I’m okay. Tired, but okay. Who wouldn’t be tired after all of that?”

He pulled you close to him, your head on his broad chest and his arm wrapped around you. You laid there in pure silence, with you listening to the sound of Stephen’s heartbeat in your ear. It was a comforting sound.

“You know, your dad would kill me if he saw you in bed with me like this,” he murmured. “He’d strangle me himself, or set his entire team onto me.”

Looking up at him, you gave him a playful roll of your eyes. “You say that all the time.”

“Well, he’d be pretty mad, don’t you think?”

Craning your neck, you gave him a little kiss. “Well, we better hope that we never get caught. That won’t end too well.”

“No, it won’t.” He laughed before his eyes landed on the clock. “How long do we have until you need to get back home?”

You followed his gaze to the clock. “Um, about an hour.”

“So, that means we have enough time for round two then, huh?”

Giggling, you looked back into his eyes. “At least let me get a little bit of rest first.”

He hummed and held you closer, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose into his neck as you got lost in the feeling of him. He was right about your dad being pissed. There was no way he’d approve of you being with Stephen, but at that moment, you told yourself to forget about the consequences and focus on the wonderful feeling of being there in Stephen’s arms. You were pretty sure there was nothing better than being tangled up with him.

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike pt 1

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” I did my best for an ace x ace relationship, based on personal experience. Both parties are moderately sex favorable since writing from my own experience is easiest, so I’m not sure if this counts as QPR. Written mostly in spite over all the Alastor smut. And overly innocent reader inserts. I don’t mind some smut but c’mon people.]

[Part 1/2 Word count 5506/12026]

[cw: blood, violence, mild gore, attempted sexual assault, fluff]

Behind every great man is a great woman? Well, behind every sophisticated murderer is an equally charming murderess. Maybe not as accurate a statement but that’s how you and your partner were. You met Alastor during prohibition. You weren’t the headline performer at the speakeasy he liked to frequent. You were attractive but other girls there were more stunning.

What caught his attention was the passion in your voice. You were deep and sultry as New Orlean’s summer nights. Your notes slipped into his core as inevitable as the Big Easy’s flow. Combined with your poise and aura of untouchability, he felt drawn to you. The lean radio host had never felt a pull like this to anyone.

But he noticed other men drawn to you. But they had no appreciation for you, just your flesh and the pleasure they might take from you. So he took to following you home. At a discreet distance; he hadn’t yet introduced himself. At least a dozen times he intercepted ruffians that moved to harm you. They weren’t nearly as cautious and thorough as him.

One night Alastor had just prevented another uncouth man from approaching you and was wiping off his hands when he heard your voice. Not how he normally did, trained and melodic. No this was harsh, panicked. Fuck! Another one?! There really was no end to the lowlifes.

You had screeched at your assailant, “Get your hands OFF ME!” You were shrill enough to make him wince, but only for a second. He was stronger and just gave you a dark grin with more teeth missing than not. “Let’s have some fun babycakes.” He started dragging you to an alley.

You managed to stomp on his foot with your heel. “Augh, you bitch!” He shoved you up against the brick wall. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled.

“I believe the lady has made her opinion clear,” came another voice in the foggy night. “Let her go.” The voice was vaguely familiar, something you heard regularly…

It distracted your assailant long enough that you could reach for your hat. It was a tad out of style but had it’s advantages. Namely, needing a nearly foot long hat pin to keep it in place. You pulled the pin out while he looked out at the other man.

“Fuck off before I kill yo-“ his words were cut off by the sharpened steel pin suddenly piercing his eye. You jammed it into his eye socket with all your strength. Maybe you could have hit what little brains he had but the other man ran up to slit the bastard’s throat.

The man gurgled desperately before falling to the ground. He twitched, blood flowing from his neck and eye. You leaned back against the wall, chest heaving.

The tall lean man seemed oddly calm. He cleaned his knife before pulling your hat pin out of the corpse’s head. Blood fountained out from the eye socket as he cleaned the gore off your pin. He turned, presenting you the slim steel by the decorative knob.

“Are you all right cher?” You took the pin back but didn’t replace it. You didn’t want any leftover gore in your hair.

“Alors pas! Give me a moment cher.” You took a few deep breaths and looked up to see a (thankfully dry) red tinged hand waiting for you. You placed your shaking one into it. The owner assisted you to your feet, guiding you away from the ever growing pool of blood.

“Quite a fright you’ve had my dear!” His crisp voice, with its transatlantic accent echoed as he escorted you away.

You shuddered slightly, realizing how bad things could have gotten. “At least it was just a fright. Thanks to you mister…?” You trailed off, still trying to place his voice.

“Alastor.”

Your eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Ah! You’re the radio host!”

“I’m flattered you remember me! I’m afraid I have you at a disadvantage. You are Y/N, correct?” Dazed, you nodded. “I’ve been enthralled by your performances for months now, I had to learn more about you cher.”

“Why thank you, I’m glad you’ve been enjoying them.” Suddenly you felt dizzy and stumbled along the path. Alastor swiftly caught you.

“I believe you’re a tad unsteady after being handled so roughly. May I?” Confused, you nodded and he immediately swept you into a bridal carry. “If you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort you home.” He paused and added, “I will need directions of course.”

The thought of a man you just met bringing you home made you flush all over. No matter how gallant he was, the radio host was a stranger. But you didn’t think your legs could support you long enough. “If…if you would please.” You glanced back at the alley. “What do we do about…”

“Hmmm,” Alastor hummed as he strolled away. He had no difficulty carrying you. “I suppose a dead man is an inconvenience but I believe getting you somewhere safe takes priority. Certainly over a lowlife’s corpse.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. You directed him to your apartment, amazed that he was able to carry you that long and with ease. Once there, you allowed him inside. Once inside with a lamp lit, you realized what a mess both were. Your coat was splattered with blood and grime. Your dress was stained wherever the coat hadn’t covered it and your hat was long gone. The hat pin in your hand was mostly clean, but you spotted some blood and gore by the finial. Your shoes weren’t worth mentioning.

Seeing the result of your ordeal made the bile rise in your throat. You barely made it to the sink before vomiting. Thankfully you hadn’t eaten before leaving work so it was just bile. You faintly heard clinking and water being poured. Alastor appeared with a glass of water for you. “Ma cher, you look like you need a wash up. If you like, I can stay in the main room or I can make my way home. I wouldn’t want you to feel unsafe.”

You found yourself asking him to stay as you cleaned up. Maybe you were being naive but he did just save you and you felt he didn’t have anything untoward in mind. When you asked about him, he merely chuckled and told you not to worry.

After you were cleaned and dressed in a nightgown and housecoat (and had added a torrent of tears to the bathwater) you emerged to find Alastor reading the newspaper in a chair. He’d made jambalaya for you both. “My mother’s recipe! So good it nearly killed her!” he quipped. Once you’d eaten you couldn’t keep your exhaustion at bay.

“You’re welcome to spend the night Alastor. I’d hate to send you home in the middle of the night.” The only problem was there was only one bed, yours.

“That is much appreciated Y/N. I can make myself comfortable in the front room for one night. I’ll leave you to rest while I clean up myself.” He pressed his lips to your knuckles and murmured “Bonne nuit, cher.”

Alastor left your sleeping form and made use of your washroom. He cleaned up methodically; it wasn’t the first time he’d had to wash up after a kill. His jacket was ruined, but at least the rest of his clothes were in decent enough shape. At least he wouldn’t scandalize anyone on the way home tomorrow.

Still, he was surprised that you had fought back as much as you had. Evidently that passion from your songs emerged elsewhere too. And the way you dispatched your attacker… he shivered at the beauty of it. The unexpected metal gleam in your hand, the furiously graceful arc as you swung and your perfect aim into the lowlife’s eye.

Alastor wasn’t much interested in pleasures of the flesh, he never had been and wasn’t still. He wanted to see more of you like that. Not scared and in need of rescue, but the hunter he recognized in your eyes.

“It seemed the songbird I’ve admired has talons.”

—————

The next morning you insisted on making breakfast; biscuits and gravy. Alastor seemed to enjoy it but he didn’t leave after eating. You thought he would need to get home before heading to the radio station. When you asked he said he was staying “just in case.”

Just before lunch there was a knock at your door. Alastor was closer so he answered it, almost like he was expecting it. Two policemen stood on the other side. “What can we help you with officers?” Alastor asked jovially.

“Is this the home of a Miss Y/N?” At your affirmative nod, the stockier of the two continued, “We’d like you to come down to the station Miss. We have some questions to ask you.”

“Ah, this must pertain to the dreadful ordeal my dear Y/N went through last night,” Alastor interjected. “Ma cher, why don’t you grab your things and I’ll accompany you.”

“And who might you be?” The lanky officer asked.

“Alastor, my good man. You may have tuned into my radio show!” He smiled thinly as the short one had a flicker of recognition. “I rendered some assistance to Y/N, so it’s probably best if I’m there as well. It would save you gentlemen a trip to my home to escort me in for questions, ha ha!”

By then you had your shoes and bag ready. “Dear you look lovely. Do you have your pin from last night, I’m sure these gentlemen will want to examine it.”

“Oh, that’s an excellent point Alastor.” You placed it in your bag, making sure the cover was on the tip.

Once at the station, you found out the trail from your attacker’s body to your apartment was fairly obvious. Some blood on the bottom of Alastor’s shoes led the way. As for what happened:

“The man accosted me on my way home. I tried to fight back, but he was ever so much stronger. It seems I was loud enough to grab Alastor’s attention. I’m so grateful he stepped in! The beast was distracted and I was able to get ahold of my hat pin. My mother always said not to leave without one and she was right! I meant to just scratch him but I’ve never had to do such a thing before; I hit his eye instead. Before I could do anything else Alastor was between us and then the ruffian was dead.”

“Indeed! I heard Y/N order the lout to release her and I ran up to assist. I had just been dealing with another lowlife who had also been following her. To think there are so many ne’er-do-wells on our streets! In any case, I dispatched the man and assisted Y/N home.” You hadn’t realized there had been another man following you. You shivered at the thought.

“And why were you in the area Mr. Alastor? Records show that neither your home or place of employment are in that area.”

Alastor’s eye twitched but his smile never faltered. “I’d had a lovely evening at the jazz club and felt a late night stroll was in order. I wasn’t even paying attention to where my feet were taking me! Perhaps it was providence guiding my way so I might save the lady’s virtue.”

“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”

“I could barely manage to walk, I was in such a state. Alastor had to carry me home; I was in no condition to report anything, officers.”

“The lady had been assaulted on her way home and forced to defend herself. I felt it would be unworthy of a gentleman to leave her alone in her time of need.”

After a barrage of questions and a thorough examination of your hatpin, Alastor’s knife and the minor injuries you had suffered while being manhandled, the officers let you both go. They would provide all the evidence to the district attorney. But it seemed unlikely that either of you would be charged. You had been defending yourself and Alastor had defended you.

The charming radio host escorted you back home. “Won’t you be late for work at this point?” His broadcast covered a good portion of the afternoon and early evening.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He patted your hand nestled into the crook of his arm. “I still feel your wellbeing is more important however, my dear.” You felt a blush warming your cheeks. “On that subject, I believe you’re due to perform again tonight?” You nodded, he really did enjoy your performances if he knew your schedule. “I believe I will go mad with worry cher, might I escort you there and back home?”

This man was insinuating himself into your life so easily. Perhaps killing a man together had that effect. “Please do Alastor. I don’t believe I will be able to go on my own after yesterday.” You had reached your apartment while talking. “Then I shall return after I complete my broadcast. Until tonight cher.” He kissed your knuckles and saw you through the door before leaving. You turned on your radio and tuned the dial to Alastor’s station. About ten minutes after his broadcast normally began you heard the crackle of his voice.

“Salutations listeners! Thank you for your patience ladies and gentlemen, I know everyone has been eagerly awaiting the show. I am Alastor, a pleasure to be sharing this time with you all.” You sighed in relief. You would have felt terrible if helping you jeopardized Alastor’s job.

You left the radio on, letting his voice fill the apartment while you took care of minor tasks. Eventually he signed off with his normal outro “Until next time dear listeners, thank you and goodnight!” You didn’t know how long it would take for him to get from his station to your apartment but you felt it best to finish getting ready.

So you were dressed for the evening when he arrived. That was the start of a new routine for you both. Alastor walked you to work and back, enjoying the illicit beverages and your voice. Sometimes he would stay the night in your front room but he mostly dropped you off before making his way home.

He was a lovely conversationalist and those walks were much more cheerful than they had been. You felt easy around him in a way that was foreign but fulfilling. Eventually your friends and coworkers at the speakeasy asked if you two were courting.

You honestly couldn’t answer. You’d never had a beau before. According to friends over the years, you had been asked out by a lot of fellows and turned them all down. Was that why none of those men talked to you again? Apparently you hadn’t realized their intentions.

One night, a couple months after the attack, you mentioned this to Alastor. “Isn’t that strange, cher? They think we’re a couple!”

He stopped dead, his lips barely keeping their ever present smile as the rest of his features went blank. “Is…is this what courtship is?” He blinked down at the hand in the crook of his arm, the high heeled feet he had shortened his stride to keep in step with, the new gleaming hat pin he’d gifted you.

“I…am not really sure. I’ve never had a beau before.” You looked up at him, seeing the lips that gently kissed your knuckles every time you parted, the dark auburn hair you would stroke when he was stressed, the patterned bow tie you had given him the same day he gave you the pin. “Although, if this is what courting is, I’m glad it’s with you Alastor.”

“Hmm…” he resumed walking, this time humming one of the songs you sang that night. Once at your place, he finally replied. “I believe I agree with you my dear. Since we are a couple it seems, I’m glad it’s with you, Y/N.” He not only gave your hand a kiss, but leaned down to kiss your cheek as well. “I suppose you can tell your friends tomorrow they were correct. Bonne nuit, ma cher.”

Roughly a month later, Alastor was spending the night in your apartment when you felt the need to ask a question that had been lingering in the back of your mind. “Alastor, cher,” you sat next to him, pulling his attention from the book he was reading. “Had…have you killed other people before that night?”

He froze, which really was all the answer you needed. “Are you still?”

For a man so glib, it took him a moment to find his silver tongue. “And if I am?” He choked out. “What will you do, Y/N?”

You studied him, making sure not to move and not to touch him. “I would ask what sort of people they are. And if they are of the same mold as the men who attacked me…then I’d also ask you to be careful, cher.”

He relaxed slightly. “Unfortunately there are a great many like-minded men in the world, although a few less in this city in the past few years.” He paused. “I can’t help myself dear. I see them acting as they do and feel the need to remove them from this life.”

Gently, you placed a hand over his. “I can hardly blame you for that. Especially after you saved me.” Your other hand turned his head to look into your eyes. “Your secret is safe with me, Alastor.”

The man was usually so composed; it was kind of cute to see him so surprised. He then cupped your cheek and lightly kissed your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into the kiss.

It was one kiss and it didn’t last long. Pulling back from each other, he licked his lips while you pressed your fingertips to yours. “That was quite nice.” Despite singing so many songs about love, you had never been eager to try out all the steps of romance.

“Indeed it was. Shall we add that to our list of favorable courting actions?” You smiled and pulled out a paper, a fourth of the way filled with a list. You added “kisses on lips” to it.

Before too long, you were helping him with his activities. Initially you assisted in the clean up, but then you started taking part in the kills. Alastor admired your channeled fury and impeccable aim. You admired his precision and calculated execution. The two of you had to be sparing with your activities however. You didn’t want to draw suspicion. The kills were never closer than a week from each other.

Roughly a year after you met Alastor, the subject of marriage came up. It was while you two were disposing of another uncouth man; he made the mistake of trying to get you away from your beau and received knife stabs from both of you. You no longer had to rely solely on your hat pin; you had a stiletto blade of similar size now. Alastor finished covering the body in dirt; he refused to let you help with digging at all. Instead you kept an eye out as he did.

You provided him with a cloth to clean off the dirt. “Merci, ma cher.” Once he was ready you put it back into your bag and linked arms with him. As you walked together, satisfied, he asked, “Y/N, shall we get married?”

The question caught you off guard and you stumbled forward. Just like that first night, he caught you smoothly and lifted you into his arms. “ Alastor, darling, where is this coming from?”

“Some at the radio station inquired as to our relationship. I was informed that a successful courtship as ours generally results in a marriage.” He hummed as he carried you. “After some thought, I realized the prospect of wedding you is…very appealing.”

You nestled into his embrace. “I haven’t given it any thought. It would make life simpler, you wouldn’t have to dash around between our homes and work.” You mulled it over. You would like seeing him every morning instead of on occasion. The thought of your dresses next to his suits in the wardrobe, helping each other clean up after a kill, relaxing quietly on the couch while you both read… “Yes. Let’s get married Alastor. I’d like that.”

He smiled down at you, looking oddly tender considering what the two of you had been doing just half an hour ago. He leaned down to kiss you softly. “Let’s get you home and we’ll work out all the details tomorrow, my dear.”

Initially the two of you planned something simple. But once both your and his coworkers got wind of the nuptials, they insisted on a grand party. Apparently they all felt the two of you were adorably hopeless. Neither of you had realized how invested those around you were in your relationship. You and Alastor concluded that resisting your friends well-wishes was as pointless as resisting a hurricane.

So while the ceremony was a small affair, the party after was held at your club and lasted deep into the night. The proprietors had managed to get a bottle of champagne for you and Alastor. Despite it being your wedding reception, you couldn’t help performing one of Alastor’s favorite songs. He then kept you on the dance floor the majority of the evening. He danced as well as he talked. It was a good thing you’d had over a year as his primary dance partner.

You heard some ribald jokes about his stamina. At least that’s what they sounded like. You still couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered much to either of you. All you cared about was your husband was having a great time, out dancing everyone in the building. Once it was time to leave, he carried you into a cab, then carried you into his home.

Despite what the guests had suggested, he was tired after all that. Frankly you were too. So once divested of all the fancy clothing, he tucked you into the bed and climbed in next to you.

For the first time since you met him, he looked nervous in the faint starlight. Of course. This was so far beyond both of your experiences. You probably looked the same. “Alastor? May I?” You held out your arms to him. He gave you a nod and you embraced him, slowly nestling your body against his. “Let me know if it’s too much, cher,” you murmured as he wrapped his arms around you.

He started to relax with you. His breathing matched yours, your heartbeat synchronized with his. You felt his arms growing heavy, their grip softening. Alastor nuzzled your hair and kissed the crown of your head. “Thank you for marrying me, Y/N.”

You smiled. “Thank you as well Alastor,” you replied before drifting off to sleep.

The two of you did have sex eventually. The first time was a few weeks after the wedding. You were both back to work after a brief honeymoon; when you got back the other singers, the band, even the bartender were all curious about your bedroom activities. They surrounded you while Alastor was conversing with another patron. When all you talked about was how nice falling asleep with him was and the cute sight of him sleeping as the sun rose, they stared at you slack jawed.

Your coworkers consulted amongst themselves. You heard snippets of “do we need to explain this too, did no one tell them about that, they’re both such lookers too, I don’t wanna tell her, you do it, no you, I ain’t gonna tell her.”

After some discussion it seems Mimzy, another singer was appointed to talk to you. “Y/N, sweetie, doll, did your mama ever tell you about the birds and the bees?” She guided you to the bar and requested drinks for you both.

“Mimzy! I do know about sex. Gracious, I’m aware of adult urges and where babies come from.” You threw back your drink. The curvy blonde breathed a sigh of relief; at least she didn’t need to go over the basics.

“That is usually what a honeymoon is for dearie.” Mimzy tossed back her own drink. “Look cutie, what you and your mister do at home is your business, but your friends don’t want you missing out! You two are good together; I’ve never seen either of ya this happy before.” She downed another drink before hopping over to the stage.

Alastor came up to your side. “Looks like your friends are all in a tizzy dear.” You smiled up at him. “Did you have a strange conversation with your colleagues today too?”

“Ah yes,” he leaned on his new cane, a wedding gift. “Concerning my bedroom prowess and your presumed enjoyment thereof.” You couldn’t help but laugh huskily. “The station manager even told me to ‘remember my duties as a husband.’”

You gave him a peck on the cheek. “I believe you’re going above and beyond your duties cher.” He kissed your hand and held it while the two of you listened to Mimzy’s set. “I’d best get up there darling.” You gave his hand a squeeze before going to take the stage.

You sang a mix of familiar tunes and a couple new ones you’d picked up on the honeymoon. To finish the performance, you sang the same number from your wedding night, which you had come to think of as Alastor’s song. Many of the patrons were familiar with the two of you, so listening to you sing to your husband made a number of them go misty eyed.

Once back at home, Alastor cleared his throat while unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you want to, cher?”

You continued to remove your jewelry. “Perhaps one day.” You applied cold cream to remove your makeup. “And you cher? Do you want to?” You asked back as you wiped your face clean.

He was putting up his suit, more intent on making sure it lined up on the hanger than usual. “Perhaps one day,” he echoed. He stopped fiddling with the suit and stood there in his underclothes. Alastor’s ever present smile was still there but his eyes looked lost.

You finished your nightly routine and went to him, asking gently before taking both his hands in yours. “Ma cher, when have we ever been a normal couple? We already have almost a full page of physical affections we enjoy. If we want to see if sex will be on that list one day we can. But not unless we both want to try it.” His smile became more genuine and he pressed both of your hands to his lips. “Thank you my dear.”

You gave him a playful look and started humming the opening bars to his song. Alastor gave you a quizzical look back as you started singing it. Before the first verse was over you pulled him into an impromptu dance. In the privacy of your bedroom, you and your husband danced into the night to your voice. To your delight, he joined you in duets and sang a solo for you as you slow danced together.

“Ah, my sweet songbird. I am glad I married you.”

“I’ve never really seen myself as a songbird before. If anything…” your eye caught sight of your hat pins on your vanity, “more of a shrike.” He looked at you in surprise. “A butcher-bird,” you clarified.

“No no, I’m aware. I never thought of that comparison for you. It fits though, they’re pretty little killers that impale their victims.”

“I’m glad you agree darling. Now, we should get some rest.” You put out the light and pulled him into bed. There was a bit of hesitation on his part as he laid down. But he was soon settling into what was becoming your normal sleeping positions: you nestled against his side with his arms around you.

A few days after that, he asked if you’d like to give sex a try that night. You didn’t have any problems with the idea so almost a month after your wedding the two of you tried it.

Of course you were both terribly awkward; Alastor pulled your hair more than once and you elbowed him in the neck. But the two of you managed it. Multiple times that night in fact. Evidently that was what those stamina comments were about. Afterward, as he held you close Alastor mused. “Hmmm, that was rather enjoyable. I still don’t understand everyone’s fascination but I’m not opposed to the occasional romp as they say. What did you think darling?”

You thought back. “Once we figured things out it was fun. I agree though, I don’t understand why everyone is so obsessed about it. It’s rather messy in the end. And I think we can add it to our list, as an occasional activity.”

He chuckled. “You can add it tomorrow.”

The next day, you joined the other singers chatting before the sets started. One of them was gushing over her new beau and you realized this was a great opportunity to let them know. “Alastor and I had sex last night,” you stated, cheerful and straightforward. Again with the slack jawed looks. “Multiple times actually. I’m glad I’m in such good shape, it was more exertion than I expected.”

After a beat one of the girls asked “Well? How was it?”

“Hm? Oh! It was fun. My legs are pretty tired so I don’t think I’ll be dancing much tonight though. Alastor enjoyed it too, so we decided to do it again someday.” You heard the band warming up. “I’m up first tonight, best get up there.”

As you left the group they started talking rapidly to each other. “Do you think they actually did? Don’t see why not, they are the strangest couple I’ve ever met, at least they’re strange together, I thought for sure one of them would be more excited about doing it…”

Your lives settled into a comfortable routine together. You both continued with your jobs; his broadcast was quite popular and as you increased your skill and song repertoire, you became more successful in the nightlife scene. He accompanied you everywhere which was exactly how you liked it. Every so often the two of you would kill a ne’er-do-well or three. Occasionally you had intercourse. You often danced together, both at the club and at home.

This continued for a number of years. By now almost everyone around you was used to the idiosyncrasies in your marriage and just didn’t question it.

One night in late summer the pair of you were in the woods, hiding the latest kill. As you kept watch in the humid air, Alastor was dumping dirt over the corpse. “Are you sure you don’t need help cher?”

He grunted while lifting more dirt. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I made my darling wife fill a hole like this?” You could only shake your head in amusement. You shifted your feet but lost your footing in the process. Both legs swept out beneath you and you landed firmly on your rear. You did your best not to cry out in case your voice carried.

“Cher!” Alastor dropped the shovel to help you up. “Are you alright Y/N?” You nodded as you grabbed his outstretched hand. “Just slipped, I’ll be fine Alastor.”

You looked up at your husband and noticed that the branches of the nearby trees gave him the illusion of antlers. You were about to mention it when the sharp crack of a rifle rang out and suddenly his forehead blossomed into a spray of blood and brain matter. “ALASTOR!” His name ripped from your throat. He couldn’t hear it though; his smile was wiped away as his body dropped to the ground.

“Aw shit! I thought he was a deer!” The man who killed your husband yelled out, realizing what he’d done. You screeched and ran in the direction of the voice, pulling your hat pin out as you did so. The hunter wasn’t far. You leapt at him, screaming and crying. He was bigger than you but he wasn’t expecting a furious murderess to launch herself at him at full speed. He fell to the ground with you straddling his chest and you plunged the hat pin, the one Alastor gave you for your last anniversary, into the man’s eyes and throat. Over and over you shoved the steel into his face. The blood spray and viscera didn’t scare you anymore.

You faintly heard, “Jesus Mary and Joseph crazy bitch!” through your own screaming. You whirled in that direction to see the second hunter aiming his own rifle at you. You started to move toward him when you felt an intense pain at your brow, followed by nothingness.

—————

Part 2

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 18: Spanking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7590

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, over the knee spanking (my favorite cmdmdmd), paddling with a hairbrush

A/N: I really hope this one isn't too messy, I haven't been feeling super great and I am posting this at *checks clock* 4:26 in the morning skdnfksnf so please be gentle with me! 🙈

⭐

The Duke of Meropide was a truly infuriating scoundrel! 

You’d been arguing with him in his office for almost an hour now and it felt like all you’d done is go around in endless circles. One moment he would in all seriousness shoot down a suggestion or a point you’ve made, and the next he would abruptly ask you about tea or cookies with equal sincerity. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and you were quickly reaching the end of your patience with him. Had the topic of reform and rehabilitation of ex inmates not been so very important to you, you’re sure you would have stormed out of his office a long time ago. 

“For the final time, my lord, I care for neither your white tea nor your black tea.” You intone as mildly as you can manage given the state of your nerves. “Please, just listen to me for a moment. That is all I ask.” 

Perfectly casual, Wriothesley reclines back into his tall chair and brings his hands together over the bend of a propped up knee. “I have been listening. Quite attentively too. However, I just don’t see how your proposal is going to work and I think you might be barking up the wrong tree, miss. My apologies for saying so.” 

“No offense taken.” You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “But why do you think it isn’t going to work? Have I not explained the steps to successful rehabilitation enough for your liking?” 

“No, you’ve been perfectly thorough. Excessive, even.” 

Spine snapping straight at that, you pin him with a furious look you don’t even try to conceal but he just waves it off without missing a beat. 

“The problem is, I don’t think you understand how the Fortress of Meropide functions. It is you who hasn’t been listening to me, I’m afraid.” He continues on, as stony and impassive as ever. “As I already said, the inmates are free to leave once their sentences are served in full. It’s just that the vast majority of them do not wish to return to the surface world and choose to stay here of their own volition. There’s nothing I nor you can do to change that.” 

“But — but that’s because there weren’t any systems in place to help them!” You stammer, desperately rifling through your stacks of paperwork and statistics in search of the findings collected on job and housing placement welfare. Finally locating it with a triumphant puff of air, you jump to your feet and shove it at him over the desk even when he tries to once again wave it off. “The proof is right here, your grace. It should take only a moment of your time to read and understand the data presented in this report for someone as no doubt well informed as you are.” 

Stilling, Wriothesley steadily meets your look of challenge with a cool stare of his own. A beat passes and then, heaving a rather terse sigh, he reaches out to reluctantly accept the sheet from you. “I’ll look at it but I’m telling you, miss. These graphs and numbers don’t mean anything in the real world.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, impertinently standing over him while he reads even when you know you’re really pushing your luck here. He was a duke, a by all accounts certificate wielding lord in the flesh and blood, and you, a lowly commoner, had no right to try and force his hand like this. Still, you hold your ground though, confident that you knew what you were talking about when you had the data to back it up. It was he who didn’t understand how the real world worked after spending so much time underneath the ocean in this rust bucket of bolts he called a fortress. 

His eyes steadily move over the page, taking in everything at an agreeable enough pace to placate you into silence, and Wriothesley eventually gives his head a curt nod when he reaches the bottom. “I see. It’s just as I thought.” 

You have but the blink of an eye to feel the first dawnings of hope start to crest over your heart and then, unceremonious as can be, he reaches over to neatly deposit the paper into the trash bin. 

“It’s garbage.” 

“Wh - wait just a minute - what do you mean it’s garbage?” You stammer, spit and sputter in white-hot affront so potent you start to feel your cheeks becoming warm. It takes every single ounce of self control you possess not to round on the desk and throttle the life right out of him! “If you didn’t understand the information all you had to do was ask, your grace and I would have gladly taken the time to - -“

“I understood it perfectly, miss, and I am once again telling you that it is your understanding of the situation that is inherently flawed, not mine. You simply can’t make the prisoners do something they don’t want. I trust that you do understand that much, at least?”  

“It is not a matter of making them!” You seethe, hands clenching into tight fists at your sides. “It’s giving them a viable option between spending the rest of their lives trapped under the sea or being able to rejoin their friends and family on the surface. I expected you to have at least a little bit of sympathy for the people under your care!” 

Heaving another soft sigh, Wriothesley unfolds his legs and sits forward to brace his elbows on the desk in the most impolite slouch you’ve ever seen from someone who was supposedly a part of the aristocracy. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think I care about them a shade more than you do. We’re talking about people who have made a new place for themselves down here and it would be remiss of me to start kicking them out just so you can get your brownie points. This is their home.” 

You jerk as if he’d physically struck you. “Now you listen here - -“ 

“No. I have listened to you enough for one afternoon, miss.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip without either raising his voice nor sharpening his tone, but the low rumble in it is still enough to stop you in your tracks. 

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him stand from his chair and sedately step around the desk to come loom over you with his imposingly massive frame that leaves you pitifully craning your neck back when he stops in front of you. 

“It’s time for you to listen to me now. I’m sure you had good intentions in coming here with this little scheme you cooked up but I’m telling you it isn’t going to work. The inmates who choose to stay here like the simplicity of life in Meropide and the stability it provides them. So long as they work hard and stay out of trouble they’ll have no problems earning a living for themselves but can the same be said about the overworld? What’s going to happen when they get fired from the jobs you place them in after running late one too many times? Or what about when they fall asleep during their shift from exhaustion? Do you know what happens when either of those things occur down here? They simply don’t get their regular number of coupons for the day but they can always come back and do better the next. Will they have that same security up on the surface?” 

“T - that’s why rehabilitation is so important.” You rush to say. “We can teach them to reintegrate into society so that they won’t have to worry about things like that - -“ 

“Everyone worries about things like that, little miss. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your eyes flash at him dangerously. “Do not call me that! In fact, I believe I’ve had quite enough of you at this point! I want to speak to someone else! Preferably a person with something more substantial than rocks for brains!” 

Wriothesley scowls at that, narrowing his own eyes back at you in warning. “You can want it all you like but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. I’m the only person you need to speak to right now … and I would suggest you reconsider how you’re speaking to me.” 

“Hah! Or what?” Riding high on adrenaline and jittery nerves, you impulsively reach out to jab a finger at the center of his big, beefy chest. “You can’t throw me into a cell just because you don’t like the tone of my voice! Is that the kind of operation you're running down here? Maybe when I get back up to the surface I should contact The Steambird about the tyrannical power trip his grace is on!” 

He snorts a brief laugh as if the very notion was a ludicrous one, though you couldn’t tell if it was your assertion or the thought that you might go to the papers that he found humorous. “That’s funny, but I don’t need to throw you in prison just to put you in your place, miss. I’m giving you one final warning to knock it off and calm down.” 

You take an aggressive step closer to him, head tilted all the way back now so you could see his face past the bulky mass across his pectorals. “Enlighten me then, my lord. What are you going to do to me if I don’t bend the knee?” 

“I think I might start by taking you over my knee first.” 

Giving a startled jerk, you go stock still and just stare at him for the span of a single heartbeat. The ice suddenly gripping your veins is instantly replaced by a hot, raging inferno that seems to make your blood boil and, seeing red, you viciously bring your heel down on the top of his boot, grinding it in for good measure. “I’d like to see you try it, you ba - -“ 

His hand shoots up and, much to your squawking surprise, he grabs around the meat of your upper arm to tug you into him, making you stumble and half fall against the bend of his elbow. Before you even have a chance to draw a full breath to berate him with his other hand cracks across the meat of your ass with a deafening whap! The sharp pain is immediate and splintering, rocking you against him with the abrupt impact as your mouth warbles open in equal parts hurt and shock. He gives your arm a tight yank to keep you pressed in against his side when you try to scuttle away, nudging you insistently until you realize you have no choice but to look up at him except … except you’re not sure if you do so with impotent rage darkening your face or if it’s a tearfully remorseful expression he sees looking back at him. 

Perhaps it was a frustrating combination of the two? 

Wriothesley regards you in contemplative silence for a long moment, his own facial expression not giving much of anything away while the blinding sting across your backside gradually settles into a constant burning throb, but you don’t know what else to do other than stand there and wait for him to say something. You couldn’t believe he’d struck you like that — like a child! You’d only just met the duke today so for him to be putting his hands on you like that was beyond ridiculous, and completely inappropriate. But for as mad as you were, even for as much as your body trembles with frantic, clawing anger, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak just yet … he would hear about it soon enough. In great detail and at even greater length, once you’d recovered enough to not need to worry your voice would crack and waver over your words. Very soon indeed. 

“I told you what was going to happen,” He says at last, perfectly calm and even toned as ever considering he’d just hit you. “Didn’t I, little miss?” 

Glaring daggers at him, you give your body a furious wrench against his hold but he keeps you in place easily enough. His hand was just so big it seemed to nearly encompass the total width of your bicep, allotting him the perfect hold on you that would only cause pain and discomfort if you were to truly struggle which left you with very little in the way of options. Grudgingly, you go still again and petulantly turn your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. You needed to focus on calming yourself before anything else. Acting rash now was only going to get you hurt. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” You finally manage to hiss. “But you've got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He volleys right back, not missing a beat, and you irritably twitch when you realize he’s thrown your own words back at you. He’d be in for a rude awakening soon enough, if you had any say in the matter. 

“Enjoy your fun while you can, your grace. I was only bluffing earlier but now I think I really will go to The Steambird and tell them everything that’s transpired here today! What do you think about that, hm?” Impulsively, you whip your head back around to pin him with a biting look of challenge, but he just lifts his brows up at you as if in surprise. 

“I think you are indeed a mouthy little brat in need of a good spanking to correct that attitude of yours. What are you going to do at The Steambird then? Take your pants down to show them your red bottom and let them take pictures for the morning paper?” Clicking his tongue, Wriothesley shakes his head as if in disappointment. “You’re not thinking this through all the way, but I suspect that’s a problem you regularly struggle with. Come, let’s get you sorted out.” 

You suck in a horrified, raking breath when he shifts as if to move back towards his chair and quickly dig your heels into the ground to stop it. “W - wait! You can’t do this!” You wail, and a foolish pitter patter of hope skips across your chest when he actually pauses to look at you again. Maybe you could still talk your way out of this. It might cost you some of your pride, but that seemed a reasonable sacrifice given the situation. “Ah, what I meant to say is … I’m sorry?” 

A sudden, clipped bark of laughter bursts out of him. “No you’re not.” 

“I am, really! I’m very sorry for, um, stepping on your boot like that. I’ll have it cleaned and polished if you’d like. Just please let me go. Please?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Wriothesley starts to pull you into motion again and you reel back against his hold even when it makes his thick, blocky fingers sink into the meat of your arm. “Wait! I promise I’m sorry, I really, really am! I didn’t mean it! I swear!”  

Breathing out a patient sigh through his nose, he gently (surprisingly so) tugs you around to stand in front of him even when you stumble and drag your feet in a blithe attempt to avoid compliance. “You’re only sorry right now because you’re in trouble. I’m going to give you something to think about and a chance to reflect on your actions, and then you’ll really be sorry. Is that clear enough for you, miss?” 

“You can’t do this …” 

“Oh, but I can. Take a look around you and tell me where you’re standing. This is my fortress which means I get to make the rules here. If I decide bratty girls who like to run their mouths even after being told to calm down — repeatedly, might I add — need a spanking to get them in order then that is exactly what’s going to happen. And do let me remind you that I gave you plenty of chances to heed my warnings but you didn’t. You can thank your own attitude for getting you into this predicament.” 

You try very hard to keep your expression in check but you’re pretty sure you fail rather miserably at it, and a flash of that vulnerable fear still manages to creep into your face. “I am not a child!” You insist, shuddering violently. “You can’t treat me like one! That’s not fair!” 

“Oh, I’d say what’s not fair is barging in here like you own the place and not listening to a word I say. You’ve certainly acted like a child so I think I’m perfectly in my right to treat you like one now.” 

Not giving you a chance to think of something else to say and further stall, Wriothesley suddenly swoops down and curls his arm around your thighs so he can yank you right up off your feet. You choke in surprise as much as at the sudden rush of movement, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he straightens up with you clutched across his front. Stinging hot tears flood your eyes all at once and you seethe, kicking and flailing, as he effortlessly carries you back around to the desk. It’s like you barely weigh anything in his arms which neither shudder or strain to hold you no matter how wildly you try to fight him. Even when he takes his seat again he still manages to much too easily manhandle you into place across his lap like you weren’t even struggling with every single ounce of strength you possessed. 

In shockingly quick order you find yourself spread across his legs, on your tummy, but still you hiss and twist until his hand abruptly strikes across your upturned ass again. You jump so hard you nearly collapse right then and there but the thick, burly arm now curled over your trembling body keeps you firmly in place when you lurch. Wheezing frantically, you try to push yourself upright but it’s no use, and his palm swats you over your pants again, rapidly draining you of the energy to keep up the effort any longer when it hurt so bad it seemed to rob you of the ability to even think straight. Mewling at the deep hurt, you jerk forward at the next strike and let out a pitiful, broken little sob. 

“I warned you to stop.” He reminds you again, falling into an easy steady rhythm. Whap, whap, whap, whap. One cheek and then the next, each hit somehow worse than the last as the burning sting grows and spreads across your defenseless backside. Even your desperate squirming was not enough to dissuade him from finding his mark as he peppers your sit spots in quick, agonizing succession. “I gave you so many chances too, but you just wouldn’t listen. Why is that, huh? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” 

“Please stop — oww! T - that hurts, you damn brute — oww!” 

“Keep it up and I’m just going to keep adding more. When you can’t sit right for the next week you’ll think back on this, I promise you that.” 

Clenching your teeth, you fiercely try to keep the tears at bay so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry but the intense, constant crack of his hand on your ass soon wins out and they start to track wet lines down your burning face. You sniffle sadly and weakly kick your legs out behind you, making an attempt to curl them up and shield your already sore behind, but he just roughly tugs you further across his lap. Abruptly finding yourself slipping forward to half dangle over the side of the chair, you gasp and mindlessly stiffen up across his lap to stop your balance from tipping. That quickly proves to be a mistake though when the tense way you’re now holding your body just seems to make it hurt even worse, and you plaintively shake your head with a wordless shriek. 

“Please stop it, your — ah! Your grace! I’m begging, I can’t — oww!” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kept acting up.”

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

“Ow, ow, owowow, ow! You’re … you’re doing it too hard! Stop it!” 

Wriothesley chuckles somewhere far above you, the low timber of his voice blanketing over your muddied senses to make you shiver. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going hard enough yet. Not for the way you were behaving. Not to worry though, all in due time. This is just the warm up, after all.” 

You go stock still across his legs, your heart skipping a long, harrowing beat. A warm up - -

“Yeow! Sto - ah - ahhhp! Please!” 

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

Hanging your head low, you openly sob and kick at the air now, clutching his thick boot with one hand while the other hangs onto the chair leg in a death grip to somewhat steady yourself. The sharp stabs of pain seem to chip away at your consciousness bit by bit, each slap of his massive hand taking with it a little piece of you each time it recedes. You’re so dazed by the constant onslaught that you almost don’t notice when he abruptly pauses and grabs under your arms. 

Then you’re suddenly being hauled up and forced to stand on legs that immediately threaten to give out under you but Wriothesley just guides you around to stand between his legs. Furiously trying to wipe the evidence of tears from your face with a sleeve, you blearily watch as he brings his hands up to unbutton the front of your pants which he unceremoniously tugs down your legs to leave them bunched around your ankles. You can’t help but gasp, your cheeks burning even hotter at having your panties suddenly exposed to him, but you don’t get the chance to so much as suck in a shuddering breath let alone actually voice your protests. 

Just like that, he’s dragging you back down over his lap and you twist against his hold with renewed fervor, clawing viciously at any part of him you can reach. His palm mercilessly swatting you across the back of your underwear freezes you in place though, and you let out a high pitched, keening sound at this new level of hell he’s introduced you to. It’s so much worse without your slacks in the way and just the thin layer of cotton to protect you from the full brunt of his punishing slaps. You’re so caught up in trying to process the extent of it when he shifts over top of you that you don’t even think to shriek at him to stop — but then his unoccupied hand fists the material of your panties and yanks them up to pull firm against your screaming backside. You outright squawk and choke at the sensation only to realize what he’s doing a split second later when he swats your ass again and the hurt suddenly feels like it’s skin to skin. 

Howling in distress, you jerk and writhe against his legs but Wriothesley’s hold on your underwear effectively stops you from crawling away. You simply can’t escape it and the space between your ears is soon once again filled with the sharp swat! of his hand lighting you up. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever experienced, even putting aside the inherent humiliation of being spanked over his knee with your pants around your ankles. 

“Waaa - aahhaaaaaa! Your grace, I - I’m sorry … owwww!” 

“Are you now?” He murmurs, punctuating the soft tone of his voice with two blistering slaps, one to each cheek to leave you withering in his hold. “And what are you sorry for, little miss? Come on, speak up.” 

That was incredibly difficult to do when he wasn’t letting up on your ass for even a moment but, hoping against hope that placating him might make this end quicker, you suck in a haggard, gasping breath to steady yourself. “I’m sorry for - eek! I’m sorry for all the rude things I said to you earlier! Oww! I - I shouldn’t have come in here and - ahh! Ahh! I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your fortress, your grace! I promise I’m sorry!” 

“And what else?” 

What else? What else even was there! 

You desperately try to think, to figure it out, but your head is swimming so fast you start to think you might pass out. Loosing a broken moan, you agonizingly kick back and try to find purchase on the floor, only succeeding in half sliding off his knee. He easily readjusts his hold and rather meanly pulls harder on your panties though, making you squeal when they dig into your cunt and it essentially forces you to straighten your legs instead of slouching away from the continuous barrage of his hand. You choke on some kind of mindless animal sound and try to shove yourself forward in your desperation but he just spanks you even harder for the trouble. 

“Well? I’m waiting.” 

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dancing on the tips of your toes as if that would somehow alleviate some of the deep, throbbing ache encompassing your rear end. “I don’t know your grace, I don’t know but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

You just barely manage to catch the sound of him clicking his tongue over your wailing. “How can you be sorry for something if you don’t even know what it is? You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I am!” 

He stops so abruptly you lurch, gasping, as if he’d followed through on delivering the next blow. Shuddering uncontrollably, you warily twist to look over your shoulder with big, wet eyes to watch him fold your panties down over your ass to join your slacks around your ankles. Realizing what he’s doing your fight or flight instincts seem to kick in like never before, and you hysterically wrench against his hold. To your stumbling surprise you actually manage to slip free for a split second, for the span of but a single heartbeat, and then he’s reaching up before you can get your trembling legs to cooperate and he roughly tucks you down across his thigh again. This time with that heavy, corded steel arm locked around your waist. 

“Wait, wait, wait - -“ 

Smack! 

Your ass promptly erupts in splinters, every single nerve ending in your behind vibrating numbly at the impact. It punches the air right out of your lungs, leaves you gasping for even a sliver of air, but he doesn’t give you a chance to fully process the hurt. Smack, smack, smack, smack! The crack of his hand across your bare skin sounds deafening now and you shake uncontrollably as you cry out in unrestrained agony. Back and forth between each burning red, swollen cheek, he pays equal attention to both sides until it feels like the tingling flesh is quite literally on fire. You writhe against the blinding hurt and sob so hard the shudders wrack through you from head to toe even as you weakly try to push up and squeeze through his arm. It’s no use though. Wriothesley’s hold is as good as iron and all you can do is wrench at each blistering crack without any way to escape it. 

“Well?” He expectantly prompts, but you’re a little too far gone in the swimming daze to properly respond now, just noising a series of incomprehensible whines and mewls with every strike. Quickly picking up that you were slipping under now, he breathes out a stilted sigh. “If there is but one thing you take away from this,” He intones, still bringing his palm down again and again, and again. “Let it be to pick your opponents more wisely in the future. You don’t just get to walk in here and start calling the shots, do you understand me?” 

You croak out something that might be a yes, incomprehensibly slurred between all the tears and snot running down your face, and the sad little hiccups making your throat constrict. That seems to be good enough for him though, and he just presses on. 

“I was nice enough to invite you to come to Meropide,” smack, smack, smack, smack “Even though I could have turned you down right from the start. I already knew your little pet project wasn’t going to pan out,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I figured I’d at least hear you out first and this is how you decided to repay me? Despite what you probably think, I don’t like having to punish people,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I’m not about to let some upstart little brat come in here and try to tell me what my inmates need. You don’t know the first thing about this place no matter what all your worthless charts tell you.” 

Smack, smack, smack! Smack! 

You flinch, weakly rocking forward when the next slap never comes. Groaning thickly, you squirm and dance on your feet, trying to shake off some of the discomfort even though it’s useless, but still he just sits there. You’re distantly aware of him breathing a bit heavier than before, either worked up from the act itself or the physical exertion of delivering a sound spanking, and you just whine low in your throat at the resounding throb throughout your body. It seems to claw through you and set every single nerve to trembling vibration, leaving you quaking violently in his hold. 

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, Wriothesley draws a steadying inhale. “Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Y - yes …” You croak out with no shortage of effort, but his blocky fingers just dig into your hip to give you a brief jostle

“Wanna’ try that again?” 

Your already strained heartbeat somehow manages to become even more wild at the panic that rushes in to smother over you. What did he want? Would he spank you again if you didn’t figure out the answer? 

“Yes, sir?” 

“That’s better.” He relents, giving your shuddering thigh an amicable pat. Silence descends over the office for a drawn out beat and then he suddenly leans forward, half dragging you with him while he opens one of the drawers on the desk to rummage around. “I don’t think you’re really sorry, not yet. But you will be soon. I know I have that damn hairbrush Sigewinne gave me somewhere.” 

A hairbrush? 

Your blood turns to ice at the implication, and the fresh wave of fear that abruptly grips you in a chokehold seems to clear some of the fog from your head. You could think just a little bit clearer now and you did not like where your thoughts were going, not one bit. Surely he wouldn’t actually take it that far after already abusing your ass so much with his hand. 

“Your g - grace?”  

Ignoring or just not hearing the weak little mouse squeak, Wriothesley settles back into his chair again, grabbing a pinching handful of your inner thigh to drag it over his knee once more. He doesn’t quite force your body across his lap but he does make sure you’re stretched out in a rather inelegant sprawl that leaves your legs embarrassingly spread and you start to shake in earnest now. You hadn’t thought it was possible for the human body to vibrate at such a high frequency but that's exactly what seems to be happening as the crushing reality of the situation gradually settles over you like a shroud. 

And then, the press of something solid and flat touches your burning ass, and you practically jolt right up off his legs altogether. 

Your skin crawls with it making you feel truly sick and nauseous even as you frantically try to twist your neck around to see. He’s got you at such an awkward angle though that you can’t make out much of anything and your panic rapidly starts to ratchet up into damn near a full on attack until he gently taps the object against your behind to pull your attention back into the moment. 

“I’m going to give you twenty spanks with this brush, little miss. I want you to count them, and don’t forget to show me some respect while you do it.” 

“I - I - I can’t, sir, I can’t, I can’t take anymore, p - please, it’s too much - -“

“Hush. I’ve got you,” He coos, unexpectedly gentle and soft, but it doesn’t do much to ease your heaving gasps or the erratic pounding of your heart. Still, you find yourself grudgingly getting pulled into that tender croon and you make a conscious effort to calm down even as you sway unsteadily over his thigh. “You’re alright. You’ll just get yourself all worked up over nothing acting like that. Deep breaths. That’s it. Now take another for me. Good girl. See? You can listen when you want to. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

He offers the pudge around your hip a reassuring, possibly even approving squeeze when your breathing starts to slow to a normal, wheezing pant rather than the thin lungfulls you’d been sucking in just moments ago. You decidedly disliked him a great deal, perhaps more so than you’d ever disliked any one single person in all your life, but you were at least glad he was able to keep you grounded. Never mind the fact he was the cause of it to begin with, you were just thankful it didn’t feel like you were going throw up and pass out anymore. 

And still the throbbing burn across your ass keeps pulling tiny little whimpers from your dry throat. It really was too much. 

“Is it necessary?” You finally manage to rattle out. 

“The brush? In my eyes it is, yes. This will show me whether or not you’ve been paying attention this whole time, if you can be respectful towards me throughout this last leg even though you’ll probably want to curse me to high heaven and back. If you can tell me you’re really sorry when we’re done then it will be over. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

Groaning in defeat, you hang your head low and just take a moment to think. Your options were regretfully limited but … you wanted to trust him at his word and, more importantly, you just wanted to have it done and over with already. The pain crawling across your backside was immeasurable, gradually receding to a dull, distant, but no less teeth clattering ache that reminded you it was there with every thrumming pulse, and he was right to say you wanted to curse him for it. You would have given anything to do just that but Wriothesley had made it clear what he expected of you. Obedience, compliance, respect. 

Perhaps you should have expected no less from the reclusive Duke of Meropide but you certainly would not be making this mistake again. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper into the stillness at last, a sort of numb surprise curling over you at the lack of bite in your own voice. You’d expected to hear bitter tears, anger, defensive pride, not … such a soft, almost shaky little note of submission. 

The very idea that his unjust treatment of you had somehow accomplished exactly what it was meant to chills you almost as much as it brings you a strange sense of comfort which he only further enforces by warmly caressing his unoccupied palm over the curve of your bare waist. 

“Good. Then let’s get started.” 

An expectant pause and then — whap! 

You violently lurch, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden intensity of the impact. It was so different from his hand, so hard and unforgiving that it made your stomach feel like it was about to burst right up out of your throat. Reeling and weakly gasping in the aftermath, you futilely arch against the sting, kicking your legs out, but there’s no escaping it or shaking it off. The pain seems to engulf you all at once, making you choke on a haggard, gutted little sound. Like you couldn’t even scream around it and only whimper in breathless, mind numbing agony. 

“O - one, sir.” You finally manage to rattle out to his humming satisfaction. 

Whap! On the other sore cheek. 

“Oh! Oh, oh, oooohhhh, n - nnghhnhn!! Two, sir …” 

Whap! Back to the first. Whap! The second again. 

You can’t quite formulate the words now, just laying there spread out on Wriothesley’s lap while your legs uncontrollably shake and you suck in quick, faltering thin gasps of air in an attempt to reorient yourself. It was like the sharp, oppressively heavy stroke of the wooden brush was knocking your brain around and making it hard just to remember how to breathe. Sniffling back a rush of fresh tears, however, you force your mind to stay focused in the here and now rather than drifting off to some faraway place where you currently weren’t getting your ass beat. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Why he was making you count like this, to keep you firmly planted and present to ensure your attention didn’t start to slip at the first chance and you remained attentive for this final part of your trial. The sadistic bastard. 

“Four, sir …” 

Whap! Whap! 

“O - oooh, gods … s - six, sir.” 

Whap! Whap! 

You have to take a moment to collect yourself, to breathe through the sickening pain that encompasses your backside, and he waits patiently until you eventually lift your head again. “Eight, sir.” 

Whap! 

“Eeekk! Ahh, ah … nine — ahhn, sir!” 

Dazed and more than just a little lost in the hazy delirium swimming around your head, you slowly start to find and grasp at a tiny fraction of your inner strength. Your voice comes quicker, albeit thinner, as you hold your breath tightly over the course of the next few swats of the brush, finally seeing an end in sight just over the horizon. A few more and then you would be done. You could leave this place and never see the duke again for as long as you lived. 

“Fifteen, sir!” You hear yourself blurt out, nearly sobbing in relief only to choke on it when the next swing cracks down on the opposite cheek a second later. Seething viciously, you shake for a moment before gritting out the next number. And the next. 

You’re practically hysterical when you finally get to nineteen, all but blubbering across his lap, but you take the last strike like a champ, squealing a cursory, “Twenty, sir!” And then immediately giving in to the urge to dance on your toes, trying in vain to chase away some of the skin crawling ache by moving around. He leans back into the chair, just giving you a moment to process it on your own terms, before eventually loosening his arm around your middle so he can help you up. You move gingerly and wheeze through the process of getting your jelly filled legs underneath you but, at last, you find yourself standing between the wide spread of his knees and you cautiously reach back to rub your sore bottom. 

You regret it immediately, hissing at the intense heat coming off the abused skin as much as the stabs of pain just brushing your fingertips against the tender area causes. But before you can truly process the full brunt of it, he takes your wrist in hand and tugs it away from your behind so he can hold it between the two of you instead. 

“You’re welcome to try but it isn’t going to do much to take away any of the pain. You’ll have that reminder in the back of your mind for the next few days, any time you sit or your clothes rub against it.” A pause while he studies you with that frustratingly impassive expression, taking in your wet face, the clumps of your eyelashes where they’re sticking together, the distant look in your eyes. He takes it all in and then offers you a small, brief smile. “Are you sorry now?” 

You almost choose petulant silence but, not wanting to tempt fate any further, you slowly nod your head. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry for how I acted towards you today, and for not listening when you told me to stop. I won’t do it again.” 

“Good girl.” Giving your fingers a quick squeeze, he reaches down to take hold of your hips in both of his massive hands and carefully guide you back a step so he can rise to his feet as well. “Alright, go stand in the corner. Face the wall and keep your cute bottom uncovered.”

Immediately planting your feet into the floor when he tries to nudge you in the general direction of the wall, you send him a flustered look of warning. “You said that would be the end of it.” 

“It was, and you did so well for someone whom I suspect hasn’t been spanked nearly enough in her lifetime. But,” Wriothesley quickly holds up a hand to stop you when you draw a sharp, scathing breath to snap at him with. “It’s usually customary to give you a chance to further reflect on your punishment while the sting settles the rest of the way in. Besides, I need to run down to the infirmary to get a cream for your butt and you can’t very well sit down right now, can you?”

“You are infuriating!” You practically spit at him, fists clenching with the urge to reach out and punch him square in the solar plexus. “What exactly do you think this is, your grace? A fun little afternoon we’ve shared together over tea and gossip? I don’t want your stupid cream! I want to leave this place and never be forced to look upon you ever again, do you hear me?” 

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear.” Wriothesley murmurs with an accompanying quirk of his brow to go along with it. “Gotta’ say though, I wasn’t expecting you to bounce right back to your earlier attitude so fast. Usually brats like you need a bit more time to recoup some of their charge after getting it all out of their system like that.”

You reel back in abject shock. “Brats like me? You have some nerve acting like I’m the problem when you just - -“ 

He reaches up quicker than you can react and abruptly pulls you into the front of him, one hand lifting to cradle your head against the firm, muscular wall of his body while the other curls around your back so you can’t escape. Your skin positively crawls at the contact, lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, but then … he just gently rocks you back and forth, softly petting your hair while he does it, and you go stock still in your surprise. You didn’t understand it. What he was doing or why he was doing it, and you understood even less why it almost made you feel a bit — funny inside. Tingly, almost. 

“There, there,” Wriothesley murmurs, just holding you tightly enough to prevent escape but still soft enough not to smother. “Is this what you need instead? I didn’t take you for the sort but I have no problem giving it to you as long as it gets rid of that grumpy frown for a little while. You’re way cuter when you don’t look so damn mad …” 

You stand there for a long beat unsure of how to react. Knowing you should kick up a fit, fight him tooth and nail, drag his name through the mud for how he’s treated you here today and yet — somehow the heat of his body, the heady scent of his muted cologne seems to drain the fight from your body. It leaves you feeling empty and hollow, and a sudden rush of emotions quickly floods in to replace it all. You don’t really understand it, nor are you entirely sure you want to, but you were a little too tired to keep up the pretense any longer. Not while there was a veritable storm whipping up inside your chest.

Eyes watering with a new, inexplicable sheen of tears, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch at his waistcoat. Maybe it would be okay if you entertained this for just another moment longer … maybe you could attack him when his guard was down after you’d finished fighting back the sobs suddenly threatening to wrack through your body. He’d chipped away at you, wiped the slate clean, so to speak, and now he was filling you back up with a comforting warmth you wouldn’t have expected from him given his icy demeanor. 

You still weren’t particularly fond of his methods but at least there was some amount of peace to be found in his embrace, and you may or may not have liked it just a teeny tiny bit. Not that you’d ever admit that to Wriothesley, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You could certainly keep the secret.

⭐

Crossposted: here